I had a dream, last night. I will write it down, here:
I sat with my grandmother Veer, at a table. We discussed mundane things, yet I was concerned for her health. Somebody else came over to see to her, so I went to sit in a greenhouse garden with somebody who could have been either a man, or woman - I don't remember. This person then says to me, "I am the Archangel of the Feeling of Antiquity." I immediately felt that what this being before me was saying, was true. The Archangel continued, "Look at the 'III' on your Make America Great Again hat." I look at my shirt, "I am wearing a MAGA shirt, as well." The Archangel says to me, in a plain tone, "Oh, I didn't notice. But, I'm only referring to the hat. What do you think it means?" Gripping the hat by the bill, I take it off and turn it around so as to see this "III." I say, "I don't know what it means, I- *haha* hold on. I could almost swear I've thought about this before."
I look up as the Archangel floats away, still facing me, and ascends up the leftmost glass tube of a series of three, then reaches the top and disappears descending down the adjacent one. I thought, in that moment, the Archangel was beautiful, as a woman is, yet more so than any woman ever could be. I then say aloud, or think loudly, that the "III" represents three terms - although, that could have been an interjection of my thoughts as I awoke.
I am on a spinning control spire, that is elevated and shaped as a depressed disk. In the center are control panels, and men hunched over computers. I recognized them as being the media - CNN being specifically evident.
I stand looking over the shoulder of Donald Trump. He is in a flying fortress, and stands before a series of microphones, preparing to give a speech. He bumps a mic, makes a funny face (it could have been fear), and laughs while looking to the people behind him. He then speaks to either the world, or the US - perhaps both.
I am back on the control spire. It spins, round and round, overlooking an extravagant church congregation. A feeling of sickness wretches up from my stomach, and I demand to be let down. The spire is lowered, and I am let off.
I awake.
