The chicken that’s not Meh-oh

Dream Journal Entry

I had another chicken dream last night.

It started in some kind of government building—something related to social security. I’m not sure why I was there, but I remember the clerk asking for my dad’s signature. I thought, “That’s easy, I could forge it. He wouldn’t care anyway.”

Then, without much transition, she took me to a facility—full of chickens. There were rows and rows of them, and it felt quiet, but oddly tense. She said she’d give me two that she had raised herself, plus a few eggs. I didn’t know what they were for, but I accepted them.

In that same room, there was a low bed filled with foxes. They were sleeping—soft, peaceful, unmoving. She said they kept the chickens safe.

As I held the two small chickens, something suddenly dropped from the ceiling and hit one of them. I’m not sure if it killed the chick or just stunned it, but I remember staring as it slowly turned into a broken egg. Yolk spilled out onto the black floor. I didn’t understand what was happening.

The facility was near the ocean, sitting on these dark black rocks. The sky felt overcast.

As we headed out, I noticed people were packing up and leaving. There was a dead volcano nearby—it had been still, but now it was rumbling. Cracks formed in the rocks beneath our feet, and lava began seeping through. The sea level was rising. The clerk grabbed my hand tightly and told me to watch where I stepped. The ground was breaking open.

I don’t remember feeling afraid. Just aware. Watching everyone around me panic, I stayed still. Focused. The moment felt big, but I couldn’t tell what it meant.

Then I woke up.

The feeling lingered all morning.