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Aztec Death Altar / Dreams of the Demon

I feel like this dream was sent to me for a reason, a purposeful,
learning experience that I think I am supposed to follow up on. I'm
scratching at how it actually began, but the pieces become much clearer
toward the end. I think it begins....

...in a zoo; dark, humid, scented sour. Everything is a little too faunal, and little alien, and
little animal, not quite human. There are graves, open pits with
skeletal remains, and a grill. It is a stone structure, poorly crafted
of jutting shards of limestone and sandstone, and pieces of green glass;
I think there is a skull built in among the stones toward the top of
the structure, possibly a crowning piece. It is like a short chair,
raised up on a slab, and the glows orange from the heat of the embers
smoldering over its seat. It is the throne of Santa Muerte, the seat of
the Aztec Gods of Death, a funerary pit or pyre with specific
connections to a Mexican Death Cult. I am here to see the ceremony,
partake in the work. The skeleton's feet are taken away, and laid
across the burning coals. This is the practice: the burning of corpse
feet. There is a symbol: the end of the journey; you don't need your
feet anymore, you aren't walking anywhere again; give up your feet.
There are no Gods to be seen, nothing accepting the gift. This process,
however, calls forth the demon Orcon. He is conjured, appears and wanders.

A note on Orcon: he is my creation; he is a character in my novel. I
know this seems a bit like self-advertising, but Orcon is generally
beneficent. His purpose is the benign creative inspiration. His
presence welcome, almost as an incarnation of inspiration itself.

I step out of my apartment here in Lewiston, ID, which in the dream is acting
as some sort of hotel. I am not wearing pants, only a white t-shirt
which is only barely long enough to fake my appearance of being
clothed. I dance and duck among the shrubbery that lines the sidewalk
so that the people who are awake terribly late into the night and
playing in the street do not notice my pant-lessness. I am not ashamed
of being without pants, though, my worry is that they are going to
notice and deter me from my goal. I turn the corner and find a small
nook in a blue wall overlooking the papermill and river. I crawl inside
and build a fire. I struggle to keep the flames enclosed, but they
want to spread to every bit of cardboard and log that I have brought
with. I throw chicken feet onto the flames. I know what this ritual
is, and am celebrating the end of writing my novel. Orcon appears in a
garden across the street. He walks out from among the bushes, and the
people in the street are frightened and petrified. He cries out, "Air,
Water; I must capture the water tribe for the fire nation."

Oh Avatar: the Last Airbender, what are you doing in this dream...? I wake up.

I am close to being done with the novel. I'm on page 427, and have
figured for a while that the novel would be finished around 500 pages. I
can feel it getting closer, and remark on how comfortable I am with
ending this story. I thought to myself the other day how much I wished I
had read a story like this when I was a kid. Now, though, I wonder if I
am supposed to progress past this even with some sort of meditative,
spiritual sign-off, or if I need this ritual as an attempt to restoke
the fires of my creativity. In any case, I can't help but feel that I
am actually supposed to attempt this ritual.

Es essem ne purush to koy venia.

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