I am in a stadium sort of building, only much smaller, more the size of a public theatre. Imagine a football stadium shrunk down and with white stone (not marble... I'm not sure what it is) in place of the turf. I am singularly focused on my part in the Work we are doing, intent crystal clear. There are three other witches flying with me in an up and down pattern, quick up with a slightly slower descent, around the ovate center of the building. One of them looks uncomfortably close to Stockard Channing, and with that realization the dream becomes lucid.
I look around, my focus scattered now that I realize just where I am. The stadium seats are filled with beings, human and not. I am suddenly uncomfortable and cannot remember exactly what it is I was supposed to be doing. Stockard Channing gives me what I recognize as the signal that we have reached peak power and need to release our intent, but I can't shake the feeling of dis-ease so my contribution is half-hearted at best.
Wake up, I plead. WAKE UP.
And I do.