I had one of the most profound dreams of my life last night, and honestly, I cannot stop thinking about it.

People always joke about dreams being random, but every now and then you have one that feels different. Not chaotic. Not meaningless. It feels layered, like your subconscious is trying to communicate with you through symbols and strange little puzzles. This was one of those dreams.

And before I even get into it, I need to explain something.

I’ve heard multiple times throughout my life:

Never ask for the date in a dream.

Apparently it freaks people out. Apparently weird things happen. Whether that’s internet mythology, lucid dreaming lore, or something deeper, I don’t know. But naturally, my awkward self completely forgot this rule the second I became aware enough to ask questions.

So here’s what happened.

I woke up in the middle of what looked like an old town. Dirt roads. Crowds of people. Banners hanging everywhere. I couldn’t tell whether it was a protest, a celebration, or some kind of gathering, but the atmosphere felt heavy. Almost staged.

I walked up to a couple standing nearby and casually asked:

“Hey, do you know what date it is?”

The second the words left my mouth, they slowly turned toward me and just stared.

No answer.

Just this uncomfortable, silent stare.

Then they frowned and walked away.

At first I brushed it off and kept walking, but something already felt wrong. The dream had shifted. You know when you suddenly become aware that everybody around you is acting like they know something you don’t? That’s exactly how it felt.

So of course I asked somebody else.

“Do you know what date it is by any chance?”

Again, they slowly turned and stared at me.

No expression. No answer. Just this eerie awareness that I’d asked something I wasn’t supposed to ask.

That’s when a woman suddenly grabbed my arm and said:

“Quick, you’ll be safe here.”

She pulled me into an apothecary.

The inside was dim and old. Shelves filled with jars, herbs, powders, bottles. Behind the counter stood an Asian man grinding coffee beans with this exhausted, almost defeated expression on his face. For some reason, I felt convinced he knew the answers I was looking for.

So naturally, I asked him too.

“Do you know what date it is?”

“No.”

Flat. Emotionless.

I tried making conversation instead because the silence felt unbearable.

“Did you grow those coffee beans?”

“No.”

Every answer was short and cold, like he wanted the interaction over as quickly as possible.

Trying to keep the conversation alive, I stupidly asked again:

“Do you know what date it is by any chance?”

That’s when he stopped grinding, looked directly at me, and said:

Don’t ask those questions.

Not aggressively.

Not loudly.

Just directly.

Like a warning.

Then his wife appeared from the back room and quietly said:

“Come with me.”

But I didn’t follow her.

Instead, I started thinking logically inside the dream.

If nobody would tell me the date, maybe I could figure it out another way.

I looked around the apothecary at the products on the shelves, thinking maybe they’d have use-by dates on them. But instead of expiry dates, they only had the date they were made.

One jar said:

1850

And suddenly my brain started spiralling.

If this was the production date, was the current year actually 1849? Was I looking at it backwards somehow? Or maybe back then they didn’t even use expiry dates at all. Maybe people were just expected to judge freshness themselves.

The second that thought hit me, the dream completely changed.

It zoomed out.

Not metaphorically.

Literally zoomed out.

Suddenly I was standing inside what looked like a spacecraft or some kind of futuristic processing room. In front of me was a slanted mortuary table with a body covered by a white sheet.

Beside it stood a woman holding a clipboard, calmly checking off a list.

But this wasn’t judgement in the religious sense. It didn’t feel like heaven or hell. It felt administrative. Organised. Mechanical.

She was reviewing this person’s life like a file.

“He didn’t do this part right.”
“He definitely didn’t do this right.”

Then she pointed toward a family nearby and said:

“So he’ll be going to this family over here.”

And suddenly the body started sliding downward on the table.

Curiosity completely took over me, so I grabbed the sheet and pulled it down.

Underneath wasn’t really a human.

It looked more like a mannequin.

No hair.

No colour.

No defining features.

Just a blank human form waiting to become somebody.

And as it slid downward, the body physically shrank into a tiny fetus.

That moment hit me like lightning because the day before in real life I had joked to Brad:

“Don’t go to the light. It’s a trap. It’s just a vagina hole at ten centimetres and you’re gonna get reborn again.”

And here I was watching rebirth happen right in front of me.

Not spiritually.

Not poetically.

Literally.

Then suddenly there was a baby beside me.

An actual baby.

White blonde hair.

Tiny sharp teeth.

Almost fang-like.

My mum was standing nearby smiling and saying:

“Oh my god, look how cute it is.”

But I was horrified because this thing was not cute.

Its skin looked strange. Its features looked compressed together. Honestly, it reminded me of Voldemort.

And the weirdest part was that nobody else seemed disturbed except me.

That’s when my alarm went off in real life.

Except the alarm wasn’t even set for that time.

I turned it off immediately and literally said out loud:

“Fuck no. Take me back. I’m not done with this.”

And somehow, I went straight back into the dream.

This time I ended up inside a crowded house party. People were drinking, laughing, acting chaotic. I’d apparently ordered hundreds of dollars worth of pizza, except it had all been dropped on the floor and destroyed.

I remember being genuinely annoyed.

Then I somehow fell asleep inside the dream and woke back up inside the dream again.

I looked around asking where the food was because I was starving, but everybody was shoving pizza into their mouths in this disgusting competitive way, almost mocking me while doing it.

It felt greedy.

Animalistic.

Mindless.

I remember thinking:

“You people are gross.”

And then I saw movement near the ceiling.

At first I thought it was a bird floating into the room, glowing orange in the dim light. But then it turned toward me.

It wasn’t a bird.

It was a giant floating goldfish.

Bright orange.

Huge flowing tail.

Detailed scales.

And somehow it looked too real.

I could smell it.

I could feel its presence.

The second it realised I could see it properly, it started floating directly toward me.

I panicked.

“Get away from me.”

Then suddenly I remembered:

Wait. I’m in control here.

So I looked at it and said:

“I’m scared of you. You need to leave the room.”

A tiny square window opened in the wall.

And the fish floated silently out into the darkness.

Then I woke up.

And honestly?

I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

The entire dream felt like a conversation between fear, death, rebirth, awareness, and control. Like my subconscious was exploring the idea that reality itself might be layered, symbolic, and stranger than we realise.

Maybe dreams really are just dreams.

Or maybe sometimes they’re mirrors reflecting parts of ourselves we normally can’t see while awake.

Either way, I think I’m going to start writing these experiences down from now on.

Because something about this one felt important.