The Cathedral
Between Dreams

I found myself inside an enormous cathedral, its interior constructed almost entirely of gray stone. The central great hall rose several stories high, with multiple levels of elevated walkways running along its interior walls. Towering pillars supported elaborate Gothic arches, while stained-glass windows admitted pale, colorless light.

There was something distinctly Escher-like about the architecture. Certain arches appeared to lead into chambers with entirely different orientations of gravity, as though the direction of “up” could change simply by passing through a doorway. The cathedral seemed to operate according to a geometry that was somehow both impossible and perfectly coherent.

From one of the upper walkways, I could look down into the enormous central chamber. The main floor was open and empty, without pews, chairs, or other furnishings.

At one end, the floor transitioned into a broad staircase spanning the entire width of the hall. The stairs descended gradually into a pool of completely black water that occupied the lower portion of the cathedral.

Across the water stood a series of enormous stone arches, all aligned at the same level. Within one of them was a massive metal door.

I needed to reach the other side.

I began making my way across the black water using an inflatable paddleboard. The cathedral was dark and foreboding, and the water itself seemed impossibly deep. I couldn’t see anything beneath its surface.

Partway across, a large silver snake emerged from the water to my left. It was strangely featureless, with a smooth, metallic appearance. Its enormous body coiled upward, preparing to strike.

Before I could escape, it lunged and bit me directly in the ribs.

I awoke with a start.

What made the experience particularly startling was that, upon awakening, I was experiencing intense muscle spasms in precisely the location where the snake had bitten me. The sensation was almost electrical, as though I had been electrocuted in that spot.

For a moment, the boundary between what had happened in the dream and what I was experiencing physically seemed extraordinarily thin.

Eventually, I fell back asleep.

Remarkably, I returned to the same cathedral, continuing the journey across the black water from where it had been interrupted.

This time, I made it across.

I found myself crawling up the broad stone staircase, emerging from the dark water toward the massive metal doorway. The door, which had previously been closed, now stood open.

Beyond it was an intensely bright white light.

I was no longer alone. Other people were emerging from the water around me, crawling up the same steps toward the doorway.

Waiting to greet us was a group of people dressed in college graduation gowns and mortarboard caps.

They were helping those who emerged from the water in various ways. Some reached down to assist people climbing the steps. Others stood with clipboards, organizing and scheduling classes for the new arrivals.

It was an extraordinarily peculiar transition: moments earlier, I had been desperately trying to survive a crossing through dark water, and now I was apparently being welcomed into something resembling an academic orientation.

The graduates seemed to have an organized purpose. They were there to receive us, help us, and assign us to classes.

I passed through the open doorway and into the brilliant white light.

That is where my memory of the first dream ends.

A few days later, I found myself back inside the same cathedral.

I recognized its enormous central hall, towering pillars, intricate arches, and interconnected upper walkways. The architecture was essentially unchanged.

But the environment had undergone an extraordinary transformation.

Where the cathedral had previously appeared in shades of gray and black, it was now overflowing with brilliant, iridescent colors.

Every pillar, wall, archway, and surface shimmered with impossibly intricate, multispectral fractal patterns. The architecture glowed with vibrant purples, blues, golds, pinks, and greens, resembling the intensely saturated, geometric environments often described in psychedelic or DMT experiences.

The entire building seemed alive with color and complexity.

It was as though I had returned to precisely the same place, but was now perceiving it through an entirely different layer of reality.

I was no longer attempting to escape through the flooded great hall.

This time, I was exploring.

And I was hunting something.

I ascended a staircase along the side of the cathedral’s enormous central chamber, opposite the upper walkway from which I had previously observed the hall.

At the top of the stairs stood an extraordinary stained-glass window. Its centerpiece was a brilliant, intricate fractal mandala, radiating vibrant colors throughout the surrounding stonework.

The staircase ended at a T-shaped junction.

A walkway extended in both directions, allowing passage either to the left or to the right.

I chose the left-hand path.

The passage turned into a relatively short corridor, which opened into a medium-sized chamber.

At the far end was a thick glass barrier, perhaps six inches deep, separating my side of the chamber from the space beyond.

A narrow vertical slit, only a few inches wide, passed through the glass.

And on the other side was a monster.

The creature was grotesque, massive, and visibly consumed by rage.

Its body was disproportionately weighted toward the front. Enormous shoulders and powerful arms dominated its anatomy, while its hindquarters and rear legs were comparatively small. Its proportions made upright movement seem nearly impossible; it appeared built to move on all fours, hauling its tremendous bulk forward on its oversized forelimbs.

Like the cathedral itself, the monster was covered in brilliant, iridescent colors.

It could see me.

It snarled and howled, apparently furious at my presence, but the thick glass wall kept us separated. It couldn’t reach me or pass through the barrier.

The narrow slit was the only opening between us.