I generally don’t dream of Poseidon when He isn’t either disembodied entirely or hosted in a statue of some sort. I don’t generally mind. But last night, I did have such dream. I wasn’t in it, I was watching, and it was a split scene. Off over in one area Hector was being born. I knew it was happening, and it was pretty amazing, being aware of the birthing of a hero. Where I was, a woman was giving birth to Hector’s anti-hero, though in my head in the dream already I wanted it to be about Theseus and the Minotaur, even though by rights I realize it should be Achilles. Yay for partial lucid dreaming. The focus of my scene that I was watching was not however the birth. We were in a chamber just outside of the birthing room, and a tub hovered, somewhat shell shaped, filled with water. In it reclined an older man with something emblazoned upon his chest, and it was very clearly a ritual bath. And as he lowered himself into the water he was very penitent, and he was praying, and he called upon his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
I was lucid enough to have issues with chronology. *sigh* I am a pendant even in my sleep, apparently.
Before the tub, in a simple but ginormous wooden chair, sat a deep blue man. Head to toe, clothing and hair included, as though he’d been painted. I suspected, watching the dream, but I did not dare hope. After a while some time passed, and our penitent man opened his eyes and saw this giant being watching him with a sardonic smile. Shaking his head in mock sadness, he uncrossed his legs and slowly stood up. “I am afraid your Jesus Christ cannot hear you or help you here . . . .”
And then my fucking alarm went off. This was going to be an AWESOME story. And I knew, as soon as he spoke, that he was Poseidon. Dream Poseidon perhaps, but who cares? It was going to be an awesome story!!! And instead, it was time to get up. Damn you, dreaming self. Damn you.