More Tales from Ev*A*Dream
One does not simply become an Empress of Ev*A*Dream by being handed a title and pretty clothes. There are a number of tests you're given by the Bestowers and of those tests, sometimes your ass is handed to you on occasion. Also, you're never told you're being tested. You're led to go here and there by a series of inner promptings where you either know what to do or say or you don't.
Most of these things happen on the astral, in other dimensions, or just here. But this was definitely another place that's not here.
It reminded me of an island like Haiti, a very poor place and having recently suffered a travesty of some kind, I couldn’t tell. I was part of a crew that was invited to take part in something I had no idea, as was usual.
We were to stay at the house of a respected family and upon arrival, found ourselves at a place that was at one time quite majestic, but was now in an advance state of disrepair. This photo was the closest thing I could find, but it had the type of windows you'd find at an old factory, fogged up and/or dusty.
The young son greeted us at the door, a very pleasant young man in his late teens. Once inside, the decor was at one time absolutely gorgeous, but now, the trappings were dusty, tattered, faded colors, and you could see the foundation literally crumbling right before your eyes.
The other two gents with me were making the decision that we should lodge upstairs. I was thinking if they had earthquakes in such a region because a light tremor would take the place down. However, you didn't think about fear or dying when in those situations, and if you did, it had to be no more than a passing thought because you came there to do what needed to be done.
They began to walk up the stairs, but when I started up behind them, the entire staircase crumbled and disintegrated into a gigantic sinkhole in the floor.
"I think I'll stay down here," I said.
As with most problems, they get sorted out, and you move on to other things. Funny thing about being in other dimensions is you don’t waste too much time thinking about crumbling house foundations and disintegrating staircases.
Later we met for dinner, becoming acquainted with the mother and father of the young man. It was a wholesome meal setting. The woman was almost apologetic for the offerings, but we expressed our appreciation and assured her the food would be good. And it was, leaving us more than satisfied. No one can deny that a home cooked meal, even in the poorest of settings, can be downright magical. Not just the conversation where you get to hear everyone’s happenings and stories, but you look around at the many surrounding old furnishings and curios in the dining room, you notice that they each had their own stories to tell.
