little horn is born

I’m floating above a white room filled with people in white robes. There’s chanting and ritualistic motions are happening — they are moving in arranged patterns, as if they are tracing occult symbols with their feet. I can’t see the gender of the robed people, they all either have hoods covering their heads or they’re bald.
Voices start to raise from inside my head. They are murmuring, and I’m told that I am privy to this ritual because of my work with children — that children are actually an alien consciousness, that they are the bringers of the new world. This wasn’t in some lame “the children are our future” kinda way; but rather that their wild, uninhibited imaginations unleashed will usher forth the dawning new world and devour the old adult world in its wake.
I am about to watch one of the attendees undergo a transformation of consciousness. A larger robed person comes into the room, this one is male, he is surrounded and centered. He begins to shake, turns his head upwards and stares at me steadily in the face, his body beneath his head shaking franticly. It looks like a painful metamorphosis, but his face shows no sign of affliction. His pupils dilate past his iris and is eyelids begin to widen.
Mine open. ♨

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