Dreams trace a course of differences, expected or not, and imaginative or mad. Here is another, presented solely for it's involvement of Bartholomew Kuma.
A joking synopsis: Zombie-apocalypse (Or something reasonably like it)! Also, a Pacifista gives a presentation ... They must make riveting orators.
On a more serious note: violence and killing, mention and content of war.
This would mark the first time I've noted both involvement of Pacifista as distinctive elements in dreaming, and also the presence of Kuma as an influence on a global scale in the events and concept of said dreaming.
Often Kuma is found at later points to take on the role of a subtle benefactor of humanity or society in some manner. This is no less found in the following notes. In my genesis of dreaming of him, Kuma rapidly gains inertia as an engine of insight, often one with a sense of observation and complexity of outlook which exceeds my own.
Section is as follows:The segments of the dream began seeming normal enough, in a situational way. I was residing in the basement of a house: I don't know the purpose of why I was there, but it seemed to be study purposes; it was a little cluttered, though mostly with interesting trinkets and items, along with many books, and models of objects. Upstairs lived a respectable and decent family, and I had a sense of ease in the place.
I'd gone upstairs into the kitchen for something, searching absently. It was a nondescript and small home, but functional and relatively inviting; I recall the clean, white surfaces of walls and cabinets, and the dark, faux-stone of countertops. The people there did not share my habits, but I was musing while standing by the kitchen table, absently staring at an ash-tray sitting there - but there was something strange, as suddenly a terrible anger or fury had come over me. It had a forceful power to it, entirely uncalled for, irrational, and overbearing, and I had the feeling that if I didn't resist it at the moment that something terrible would happen; a sort of voice from within told me that in order to resist or detach from that, I had to do only one thing, which was pray. Even in attempting to make the effort, it was as if the same anger-force itself was also attempting to confine that action. Just as anger is a primal emotion, that conscious will to be calm also had it's fundamental essence. (Although I am not a religious individual, while the site and flare of anger was specific and infectious, it seems that the essence of calm was one embedded in a cultural or conscious site in the mind; I felt it could take on any number of possibilities for others. This was merely the first and most basic reaction from deep in my memory.)
Confused as to the events, I decided to go for a walk - but my thoughts were continually drawn to the ashtray of cigarettes. Something seemed odd, as what came to mind was dust... A layer of very fine dust which had settled throughout the house , much as any home possesses in minute quantities. I knew in the dream that the dust had a kind of response to it, as if it were some kind of responsive or affectative material, like a network of programmed chemicals or nano-substances.
There was something about common borderline-ingestable substances... Not a kind of material which could be added to food, as that would be too easily detected, but instead put into secondary substances, such as aerosols, cigarettes, common scent-sprays, coatings of ventilation filters; this was some form of advanced toxin or reactive/targeted chemical substance which had long since waited, dormant, over very many surfaces (it seemed to cover the whole large town/small city where this place was, indicating some form of wide dispersal through other means, perhaps agrarian), and it's various layers and threshold of density allowed it to activate some form of programming in itself, activated remotely, or maybe even powered remotely, by radio waves or some similar signal from somewhere in the world.
The dream jumped to what must have been about an hour hence, and I was jogging rapidly down an obscure street, watchfully. There was a colored man about my age with me, and he seemed to be a friend of some form - we were moving in tandem, being careful not to be seen, if we could... Because where we could see, there were bodies in the street: people who had been cut down attempting to flee or fight. They lay in doorways, or having fallen in heaps against walls. I tried not to pay attention, and luckily most had died huddled, trying to protect themselves, or strewn upon the ground, on their faces, as if having been pummeled or trampled. I could not see any instances of cutting or lacerating trauma, but I knew that armed conflict was occurring elsewhere.
There was something terrible happening, a sort of Hate-Plague had come over virtually all of the population of the world... People were suddenly turning on one another, in simple divisions of the Plagued, who were very numerous, and those who were not - just innocent people attempting to live their lives, suddenly thrust into this carnage. It seemed that about 70% of the people had become Plagued... And those 30% who were not were hardly prepared. This hellish 'civil war' was rapidly having devastating consequences to all populations. In their fury, the Plagued had set to the innocent with fists primal anger; now that this virus or toxin was working deeper into their cognition, they were beginning to bring primitive weapons to bear.
My friend and I were running along somewhat of a certain path, searching for something. I recalled receiving a message a few hours ago in that dream, an email, perhaps a letter, showing a certain part of the city, though not one definite: some place with a reasonable amount of open space, outside. There was edited into the picture the sign of a sort of target on the ground, and that was it.
It was a message sent carefully and with caution, as if the message would have been tracked somehow, or by someone. It was also done in haste, as if there were many which would have to be sent, such as to diverse or dispersed groups across the country.
My friend seemed to have a little bit of formal training in the military, or at least a liking of such conduct. All he had at hand was a kitchen knife for defense, and I was unarmed... Regardless, we kept on running, intent on finding this place in the image, if we could - we knew we had only about 10 minutes to find it, as it'd been a little over an hour since this disaster began. We knew that bands of roving Plagued were roaming the main streets and along the highway, chasing and killing innocent people. So far we didn't really see anyone except for those already killed, and the few who were in shock, or who had come out of hiding and were wandering the street in shocked confusion. I recall watching one man virtually stumbling aimlessly and wordlessly down a distant alley.
My friend and I were running towards the first clear place, a sort of small park - it would have been a rather beautiful little setting: trapezoidal, with one main, gated entrance, such as for vehicles to pull in, leading to a small stage or podium, backed by large trees. It was walled on all sides by a reasonably tall brick wall, except for a main iron double-gate, and two smaller side entrances.
As we were running through one side entrance, cutting across the park to the opposing side, we spotted some discarded memorabilia from some form of minor presentation or public speaking which had happened just a few days ago... There were kerchiefs left carelessly in a few corners of the area, or long since wind-swept under bushes, dropped or left by those who didn't really care about events. These seemed important to us, and we managed to snatch one for each of us. Briefly holding them up to see their designs, they were either black with that white target-symbol/cross of the Pacifista's jackets emblazoned across them, or the same design with a kind of abstract in the center of the target-mark: a kind of red-toned set of geometries and curves which struck me as being more like a human heart, or a rose, or reminiscent of the pierced/immaculate heart of the Mary, often seen in some religious Christian divisions.
My view in the dream changed due to a recollection: In that public speaking from a few days ago, I remembered watching a Pacifista there, speaking clearly and slowly with great meaning and significance. Though it lacked what could be considered much animation, it's message was clear: remembering past wars and the persistence of human values. As it seems, it had been nearly three decades since some form of last World War; Pacifista had been developed and deployed as a countermeasure in this war, and due to their ferocity, there had been an armistice called. I could briefly recall their numbers only being in the low thousands, but that being far more than enough to affect the outcome of the entire war on a global scale; the singular presence of any Pacifista was enough to easily quell vital fronts of enemy resistance, and strike their surroundings with a chilling psychological impact because of their inhuman strength, capability, destructiveness, and invulnerability. Since then, their use of their primary laser weaponry had been strictly outlawed by all nations - it seemed markedly more destructive than known, and seemed linked to a secondary effect: acting as a 'paint' mark to an orbital defense network which could dispense a weapon known as 'Heaven's Judgment' from satellite emitters. (For some reason, such laser weaponry could not be removed or deactivated from the Pacifista, but that they could be trusted not to use it again if it were outlawed, as they were lawful or trustworthy entities.)
The Pacifista themselves, with Kuma as their sole true consciousness, had since become known formally as "Decommissioned Sentient War Devices," and were given basic rights as legal persons. Since the war had come to an end, nearly all nations had agreed to disband war as it was once known; however, virtually all nations still kept a formal military, due to fears of invasion or mutual protectionism still existing. In the passing of this last War, the Pacifista had also been exposed to many of the tenets and effects of war; collectively, they had become the single entity most acquainted with war and it's tragedy, suffering, tactics, strategy, and human and environmental impact. Although they were at one time both purveyors of destruction and also hired out to many of the world's powers like mercenaries, they had a strong insight into the effects of war, and the dynamics of the world's governments, known and unknown...
Even though most people did not consider them fully self-aware entities, they had gathered a large amount of collective information. Since the war and their decommission, as they could not be destroyed morally, or fully deregulated or incapacitated under formal action of any government or body, be it military or otherwise; so they instead formed a sort of representative anti-war protectorate, or a borderline political entity, though of a passive kind. I recalled the term 'Militarized Pacifists,' and remembered images of Kuma at the head of this dispersed organization, spread worldwide; himself, walking before assembled lines of individuals, or standing, speaking to gathered crowds. It was treated respectfully like the Legion of veterans, and maintained a sort of private 'army,' but that was only more as a kind of discipline-based organization, such as people having the right to know how to defend themselves, operate machinery, organize themselves, be disciplined, and have a sense of camaraderie, and to feel the knowledge that they should be able to protect themselves and their families and what they value.
Overall, though, it was a marginalized operation, heeded only formally and in passing by world powers and any political entities (from federal to municipal), virtually nobody felt threatened by the Pacifista themselves, who acted as Kuma's agents (although there were people who worked for him and his organization under it's administrative wing who were also known simply as 'agents'). Moreover, Kuma was seen more as a figurehead, one whose influence only waned as the decades were passing into more cunning and underhandedly dangerous forms of war and control.
In this public speaking, the Pacifista had come with this message of recalling human values and the conditions which should precede peace, and that everyone should maintain a virtue and a vigilance against war, hate and disrespect. At that gathering, not many in the crowd were paying much attention - they were only there for the novelty of it, seeing something as socially defunct as the massive Pacifista speaking over values long repeated, which few cared for. Not everyone considered the Pacifista 'people' or worth listening to, as they were not regarded as fully conscious entities; they were sentient, but not sapient, though at some point they had been granted a token extent of self by Kuma's decree - a courtesy to them as technically living beings, even though they were still linked to him as a singular entity via some unknown means.
Although most people thought the Pacifista quite slow and inattentive (due to the way they act), I knew that human agents there had been handing out these kerchiefs, perhaps as reminders; I could see them, men and women in formal, black clothing, dutiful and easygoing. Most people accepted the kerchiefs politely, but otherwise disregarded them, or tossed them away like one would pamphlets, or perhaps ridiculed them as 'old junk' from a past and forgotten war and time; somewhat of the same regard was held towards the Pacifista as well. Still, the Pacifista there was watching with rapt attention to the reactions of people, and their initial response to the imagery on these cloth tokens; little could be garnered from it's blank, white-lensed stare, but there was an inhuman attentiveness and sense of calculated purpose in it's mind. There was something in the symbolism which was significant; the kerchiefs were meant to be easily taken in hand, or held or stored. Their black tone seemed suddenly more like a shade of mourning and that target-symbol was a reminder of war, or inversely a light of directed focus against the hidden, obscure shadows of the past. That central human heart/abstract seemed just as significant to the overall design, and as a whole the entire image seemed designed to elicit a certain division subconscious response: hope, or hate. Taken as a set of symbols, it could be taken many ways.
Back to the present in that dream, my friend and I had taken up a couple of these (we had our own, but they were long since abandoned at our homes), and folding them roughly in half as we were jogging through the park, I tied mine around my head like a headband, and my friend tied his around his arm. We knew at the time that somehow the Pacifista knew this disaster was going to occur, and that they were only capable of giving a cryptic warning. To have given a direct warning would only have a worse effect, causing an underlying layer of fear, which would have made the Hate-Plague all the worse. Something in the attention of the few 'clear individuals' there at the public gathering had been just above a certain level, leading the Pacifista agents to be able to disperse a quick warning or beacon in the form of that image of that single place in the city; because of the disaster, the 'Pacifist Military' and all other capable military would be recalled to the nearest agency center. To that end, there was a helicopter en route past the city, but they would literally have only a span of minutes to stop, or else they would be swarmed and killed by the roving Plagued...
My friend and I continued running, and we knew we had to cross a main highway which bisected the town. The highway was on higher ground than the rest of the town itself, and provided a fair vantage point - but it was also a congregation point for the Plagued.
The Plagued were essentially still people.... But this dust-substance had affected them and essentially rewired their brains: anger and discrimination had taken over. They no longer had any compassion, only a loyalty among themselves. The only physical feature of them was a slowly graying skin, or yellowedness, also a certain blotchy complexion and darkness around the eyes and areas of blood mass... They banded together, and had a cocky, arrogant attitude, but were rather slow to react, as if somehow dis-coordinated or drunk, but no less deadly towards others. Many were armed only with basic armaments, knifes, bottles, rocks, whatever they had at hand... But they didn't hesitate to kill others.
As we neared the highway, the chaos was continuing. Regular people had fled their homes, and were attempting to leave on the highway, but vehicles were mercilessly smashed, and the highway was virtually empty. When my friend and I managed to sneak onto the highway, we were no longer sure where the pickup point for the helicopter was... There was only one reference image, and it was quite unclear - nothing more focused could be managed, as there were others actively hunting for information or reason to incriminate or hunt down the Pacifista agency or anyone potentially even lightly affiliated with them.
My friend and I were starting to despair, as we wouldn't have been able to make it to the pickup point anyhow - Plagued had found us, and were moving to block off our progress.... We were near the edge of the town, and it was surrounded by tall conifer forest. We briefly ran that way, and found there were youths (teens) there who had run into the forest to try and survive. Though most had run far away, a few stragglers with a sense of responsibility had snuck near to the town again to look for survivors... But they could not stay long, as they would soon be hunted by brave Plagued. I remember the youths yelling at me 'Don't go to the lights!' before they fled back into the forest.
The Plagued still acted like people, superficially. The town was 'their territory,' and they sought to clean it of all those unaffected by the Hate-Plague... But the Plagued themselves didn't want to go into the forests, as they still seemed like unsettling, dirty places to most, full of underbrush and bugs and filth. Just as there were those who were immune to the Plague, there were also Plagued who took on extremes of affectation from the substance.... They became like 'ghouls' ... Night-hunters, with a light, like a torch or flashlight, in their face; their bodies were distended and wraith-like, with gossamer filaments of wispy flesh hanging from them. They hated the cities, but instead moved, roving into the forests to hunt. They were the 'lights' which the youth had warned against. I could see that the youth were already at least learning to survive....
My friend and I had to turn back. There was nowhere else to go, but we knew that eventually some military vehicles would be moving from the north towards the city, and it would take them past this city - we could only pray that they would return to the park to check for those who were able to combat the Hate-Plague: very few, only myself and a handful of others. It turns out there was a reason why the Pacifista had chosen that one area to speak from: It was rather defensible, with only two entrances, essentially.... Perhaps enough for an isolated group to defend themselves for a few hours. The Plagued were slow and cocky, and were inclined to wait out their prey, once numerical superiority was achieved... It was our only hope.
As we turned back, I could see a handful of sane individuals had banded together and were trying to fight off the Plagued. One middle-aged man had a chainsaw, and was yelling at the Plagued threateningly, and behind him cowering in the safety of their ruined house were his two daughters. Another man had an antique sword, and was swinging it about to make himself look more threatening... Meanwhile, a gang of Plagued were slowly approaching from the highway, calling insults. Reaching down, I picked up some large rocks and started hurling them at one of the Plagued, a middle-aged woman. She didn't react to the pain, but kept on coming forward. My friend eventually dashed at her and tackled her down, and was forced to kill her, presumably. At the same time, another Plagued male, a youngish man dressed in a sort of gangster-fashion, was coming at me steadily, brandishing a small switchblade, taunting me. I wasn't armed with anything, but found a pair of nail-clippers in my pocket. Quickly flipping out the sharp file/pointed section, I bared my fists, with the point in one hand, and the Plagued man came at me with a clumsy, downward stabbing motion....
Grabbing his wrist, I stepped behind him quickly, and put my arm around his neck, jabbing the filepoint into his jugular, and tearing it open in a fit of adrenaline. Letting go of his wrist, I tried to snap his neck or jar his head, before kicking him to the ground. I didn't really wish to kill him, but I didn't believe that he had to suffer in his death, and I'd tried to knock him unconscious.
I could see for a moment that this Hate-Plague had been dispersed throughout most of the world. Not having known full war, or any war, for decades, much of the world had grown complacent. Only the Pacifista agency and a few groups had any resistance towards the 'new war methods' which people were now using.... The Pacifista group and their agents had managed to safeguard only a few cities through active boycotting of certain products, or bribery or inserting of their own activists into certain shipping or industrial complexes, in order to keep certain products from being dispersed across most of these cities.
Now that the cataclysm had occurred, they would have to worry first about securing their borders, and attempting to gather the survivors of this massive disaster. Because of the Hate-Plague, essentially all of the world would have been sent into a state of civil war. I could see Kuma for a moment, speaking to an assembled group of his loyalists and the coordinators of his military; there would be much to do in containing damage, reducing casualties, and dealing with the political backlash of the sudden chaos. Even then, the Plagued were still essentially people, but would no longer be capable of caring for themselves or maintaining themselves for any more than a week before food supplies ran out - logistics would be a shambles. Essentially so much of the population would then be political hostages, tokens to those behind this terrible act of domination.