Man of War: An X-Files Dream (3/19/97)

I know, I know, I know.  It's invariably boring to listen to someone
else's dreams.  The only reason I'm subjecting you to this one is
because it has some potentially interesting Scully symbolism, and
because something kinda humorous happens at the end. :)
So.  In this dream, my sister and I are on the way to my office; we're
going to have lunch before I have to go to a meeting.  A block from my
office there's a commotion: a traffic jam, traffic barricades,
security guards telling the onlookers to keep moving... And I
remember, "Oh yeah, they're filming the X-Files outside my office
today."  (AS IF THAT INFO WOULDN'T BE SEARED INTO MY BRAIN!!! :) ).
We sneak around the guards and a big semi, and then a vista opens up,
like a vision of the Promised Land: yup, they're filming in the wide,
many-branched alley that runs down the middle of the block.  The
gang's all there, CC, DD, GA, MP...  I was thrilled.  Some assistant
assumes that we're extras, and we get herded with the others.
CC walks past the pool of extras, and selects us to be in the next
scene.  Now, this is a little-known fact, but CC directs
*telepathically*.  Yes, indeedy.  He never said a word, but we all
knew what to do.  We took our places (right next to DD :) ) in a
corner of the alley.  There was a blinding flash of light, and we all
fell down as if dead.  Then Scully appeared, trenchcoat flapping in
the gusts of wind.  She stood there, confused, as if she were rooted
to the spot.  We (including Mulder) were writhing and groaning as if
mortally injured.  We were supposed to pretend we couldn't see Scully.
The feeling reminded me somehow of Hiroshima.
CC stopped the scene and told us to wait around for the next one.  So
there we were -- sitting between DD and GA.  I won't bore you with
details of the conversation, but they were both quite pleasant and
charming.  The make-up guy came and messed with our hair.
On to the next scene.  We take our places (extras and Mulder) and
there's another blinding flash.  We all fall down again.  Now, get
this: not only does CC direct telepathically, he does telepathic
*special effects*.  Because even though my eyes were closed, I could
see the entire scene as it would be shown in the final ep.  Scully
appeared again.  We were all wearing grubby late-19th century
clothing, and we were in a dusty field.  I don't know if the setting
was the Civil War or the Wild West.  Scully was dressed as a man, as
were my sister and I.  Mulder had a terrible stomach wound; I was
terrified he would die.
Scully saw him and tried to get to him, but all these wounded people
kept grabbing her, asking for help, and being Scully, she couldn't
deny them, even though she was frantic about Mulder.
Then this gunslinger guy appeared.  He looked something like MP (built
like a tank) but he reeked of evil.  Scully turned slowly to face him.
They both drew their guns, old-fashioned revolvers.  Then the scene
was over.
More telepathically gained knowledge: the episode was titled "Man of
War", and the theme was Scully as Warrior, her reactions to war itself
and to the mythology of war.
CC wanted us to come back for the next day's shooting, but I was sure
it would conflict with class, so I said good bye to GA and DD.  DD
said something goofy, which gave me leave to do the same.  So I asked
him, "Oh yeah, before I go, I have one last request.  Could I touch
your hair?"
He laughed, but I didn't wait for him to answer.  I just reached out
and did so.  He was seated, so as I did it, I could see that he had
the beginnings of a little bald spot at the back of his head. :)
L.O.
(Sister EP, OBSSE)

and here's a poem based on another X-Files dream...

I had a strange, strange dream about Scully a few nights after Memento
Mori, and I've been wanted to write a poem about it.  So I did.
(Since I am a member of OBSSE, I think this counts as a religious 
vision :) .  Sister Nancy, I am forwarding this to you in case this can be
put to any use on the OBSSE web page...)
In fact, I didn't realize the religious overtones in the dream until I
began to write this....
L.O.

Buried in the earth,
Motes drift in wan light
From high windows.
It is swallowed in the blackness 
Of walls and floor.
Outside, a blank corridor,
But beyond that, a pier.
Waves lap at it,
And soft grey mist envelopes all.
Before me, a sacrificial lamb
Perched on a prim schoolgirl chair.
Her neck bared for the slaughter.
Flame spills over her lap,
The only glow of color
In a black and grey dream.
I comb the strands, and then shear them.
I don't want to do this.
I must do it.
I want to.
I love to.
The shears repeat again and again,
cold metal words whispered in the ear.
He kneels at her feet like an acolyte before an icon.
He is as powerless as I to stop the martyrdom.
And then she is shorn.
But it is her glory that has been martyred, 
Her fire.
Not her steel.
Not her life.
That may yet be preserved.