I have a backlog of five dream sessions to publish, starting with the night before June 20, which I will publish in separate posts. This first one was extensive.

The whole BCN group was at a bucolic, rural, hilly camp- or village-like spot in lovely clear weather. There was an east-facing downslope just to the east of it. At one point I was at a trough point on a north-south road that ran right along the top of the downslope; it was midmorning; the downslope was covered by meadow grass, while the other side of the road had a shorter lawn, with some trees next to it. The gathering of people was there at least partially for academics, as we had daily homework handouts that were often forgotten till the morning of the day they were due (possibly due to evening expeditions?); we worked on the homework inside a room that was fairly dark but lit well enough to see by intensely bright cracks of sunlight. At some other point, I was walking along outside on a gravel street by a house, maybe the same one; there were porches providing deep shade, again with the sun shining intensely through some cracks and around the edges; I stopped at a window, where a couple of other people were, that had two layers of partially slid-up screen, so that there was an air gap to the inside of the building at the window’s base.

The dream took a hard left turn as I described to one of my friends, but then eventually became immersed in, an odd British TV show. It was a series that ran from 1968-1971 about a humanoid alien who warned people about things (environmental? moral?) through his reinterpretations of Biblical scripture. The pilot show, in the desaturated color of the time, took place in the apse of a baroque church, with all young, beautiful people as clergy — the model-like young brunette woman pastor sat up on a sort of throne in the right corner, while others were in the center, with no one saying anything till the main character got into the throne in the left corner. He had pink streamy-feathered angel wings, maybe a headband, Roman wavy sandcolored hair, and maybe simple Biblical-like clothes, talking in an overenunciated British accent, eventually climbing down from the throne to walk over to the others while quoting from a Bible he was holding (at which point my POV was of another character looking over his shoulder, with the church’s nave to the right instead of behind). It was basically the meeting point of sci-fi glam and BBC historical drama.

The friend who I related this to had an amused and somewhat amazed response to my description of the show while a few of us walked south along another gravel street back in the sunny bucolic place. There was an outlook beyond some buildings we were walking between, to the east and south; I think we were heading back toward the trough point of the road mentioned above.

The other scene that I remembered was in a different place entirely, an open plain, on a cool, overcast, dark drizzly day; there were train tracks, a number of them in parallel, running north-south, and I was walking along/across the tracks with one of my friends, to what purpose I forget.

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