The Cathedrals of the Dead
The beach I was standing on was dry, sandy and very white. The sun was high up in the sky and shining brightly, and the ocean was somewhere in the distance, I could hear it sighing softly. I heard seagulls calling too, and somehow they made me feel melancholy, reminded me of a time I was spending with my partner, probably in Ocean City or thereabouts. I look all around me and half-buried in the sand are gigantic, dried-out skeletons. I look down and see a skull laying on its side, half-buried. It looks almost like the skull of some sort of gigantic seafaring creature, like a prehistoric whale. I see conical teeth, and molars in the back. The skull is huge, and I’m thinking I could climb down inside of it, through the eye-socket maybe, and have enough room to spare to make it into a little dwelling in the ground. As I was peering through the eye-socket, I began to hear a voice. It was a very loud voice, and it didn’t seem to issue from anywhere in particular–in fact, it seemed to issue from all over, from the huge primal skeletons themselves. The voice sounded very masculine, and very very old. It also echoed, as if reverberating from some vast cavern underground. The voice echoed, simply and yet powerfully: “We are the Cathedrals of the Dead.”
The voice continued to echo and reverberate in my mind as I slowly began to wake up. I checked the time on the alarm, about 45 minutes before it was supposed to go off. I switched the timer off and got up to put on a pot of coffee. The echoing voice gave me chills, and also a profound sense of sheer antiquity that it seemed to carry along, an age that goes beyond my understanding. This was one of those dreams that aren’t easily forgotten, ones that grip you firmly and stay with you long after you enter the waking world, and continue to haunt you when you least expect it.
I am now left with a profound sense of awe, and in a state of deep contemplation.