I was joined in time by a number of fellow resistance fighters who oddly enough appeared to be fellow theology doctoral students in my here-and-now, and a number of former high school students of mine. There was absolutely thrilling drama--I assure you, it really was--as I picked the assault team that would be joining me to attack the fortification. I decided to take a team of six on the assault itself, and everyone in the group of twenty-odd wanted to go. Now I had to pick people, and try to not hurt their feelings that they didn't get to be on the front lines in my war-dream. Very stressful--you don't want to hurt anyone's feelings by not picking them for your assault team in a dream! As the tension mounted while I picked my team, filling it out with a last pair of theologians in the burly Chris Dorn and the ruthless artist Pat Anderson, I stilled the agitation--particularly among the high schoolers--when I asked coldly, "How many of you are prepared to kill?" Totally dramatic. That quieted them down! Well, for a second, because I then did pick three girls, two of them former high school students and one a college friend who is the most "Luna Lovegood" person I've ever met, to be a squad of three who would accompany the assault team and guard the helicopter that would be landing us a couple of miles away to the northwest of fortification. (Not one of these three possesses anything remotely like these skills in real life: I'm fascinated that my mind picked them as combat-ready soldiers for this dream, when I imagine that in reality they'd be dangerous to themselves while attempting to shop.) This choice set off a storm of debate, not least among the three girls themselves. I ignored that and commandingly told the getting-ready-to-pout people that I didn't pick to not just sit there, but to organize themselves into rotating squads of five to guard this current location of ours. Rejoining the assault team preparing to leave on our attack, I promptly woke up. The drama had been great fun, as it was the kind of thing that seemed utterly real and sensible in the dream, but I was disappointed to have missed out on the action sequence.
In the way of dreams, I'm left wondering if the dream took hours of my dreaming night, or was just in the last five minutes before waking up. Delicious tension, though: I haven't had a dream that I remembered so well in quite a while. The action/adventure dreams used to be much more regular for me, with exciting chase sequences in exotic European locales. I miss that: nothing like running at breakneck speed through a sidewalk café in Paris, leaping up onto and over the tables with china and food crashing around, while chasing or being chased by your enemy.
In other random news, amea points me to an incredible parody of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince written in the mode of Eliot's The Waste Land. Spoilers!