Genevieve In The Garden

Genevieve drives all the way out to Livermore on the morning of Saturday July 13, an uncharacteristic anxiety twisting her heart and guts most of the way out there. When she gets to the library, Sophie is there managing communications that might come in during Saturday from Archie and Marshall at the Grove, Jo in the field, Mitch and Roger in the City. Viv very briefly says hello to Sophie and then goes to the safe in Archie's old office to take out the URIEL group dream/trip journal to add a dream of hers from last night.

I was in a tiny garden; it was about five feet wide, fifteen feet long, a white fence along one side, mesh fence around the other sides. Rose bushes, violets, a berry bush; it didn't feel like a perennial California garden at all. I felt crowded; the land felt bad, poisoned. There was a set of small wooden steps leading off out of the garden into the heavens, and I remember counting them as seven; at the top of the stairs was God. The Judeo-Christian Yahweh, the ultimate Patriarch; sometimes his face was that of a bearded old man, sometimes it was a wise old Lewisian lion. Always it was wreathed in clouds. I couldn't help but think of Alpha Leonis, and of the God of Genesis when he returned to Eden in fury after Adam had eaten of the Tree. God sat in glory at the top of these seven steps/heavens. He seemed frazzled, frustrated, a combination of upset and... infatuated to see me there. I definitely wasn't expected or invited. He proceeded to engage me in conversation. There was a lot of conversation, and the verbal details are very hard for me to remember, and this in itself is distressing because I normally have very good recall of my dreams. He asked about me and Andy, and if we were ready to be sacrifices for the future being planned for us by URIEL. I said that URIEL would never allow that to happen, that I knew in my heart that Archie and Marshall would never fall victim to the blandishments of the Owls. He said that wasn't what He was talking about. He showed me a series of images in my mind, mockingly laughing at me: Minoan women attending to the bull-leaping ritual—taurokathapsia—the face of one of the bull-leapers was mine. An Old Babylonian cylinder seal with women leaping bulls, an Indus Valley sculpture with the same motif, a woman on top of a pair of Brahmin bulls. Zeus and Europa. I tore my hair, shook my head while Yahweh laughed. He asked me if I ever wondered why He made this game for us. I said we were a way for the cosmos to know and take pleasure in itself, and He laughed. "Spam in a can," He said back to me. I said I didn't understand. "Do you think I love you?" He asked rhetorically. "Love doesn't enter into it. You're here to save Us. This is a rescue mission, and you'll be burned as fuel to trigger Our metamorphosis. Your personal fate will be an object lesson, about the true motivations of the Anunnakku." I said despite my careful study, I had very little idea still what those motivations were. He said I would soon enough. He said that the Anunnaki motive was remarkably close to my own personal ethos and moreover it wasn't entirely unreasonable, but that He was, unavoidably, on the Owls' side, as they had invented Him. He invited me to consider the fate of a plastic wrapper taken off a snack and tossed in the gutter. The seven of us in URIEL, we were the wrapper, and the new universe we'd birth was the snack. And that He would enjoy it thoroughly. Right before I woke up, I got the impression I hadn't heard the true transmission from the Eighth Density underneath this dream, that something had scrambled the codes, some form of hate or resentment or grudge or fear of my understanding, that the real conversation I'd had with God was much more tender, much more empathetic. I'm reporting this to our shared journal for the usual reasons, but also because I know while I was dreaming this, the Cremation of Care was likely happening out at Bohemian Grove.