Magic and Miracle

I had this very strange and vivid dream na madrugada. It was interrupted by a phone call, and I dearly wish it could have played out to a conclusion, because it was quite a fantastical dream.

I think it grew from some conversations I'd had earlier that evening. One about my sister's love for the show Charmed, and one about the feeling of dark fantasy that Portishead's new album Third gives me.

I'll try to describe it.

A witch of the highest order (I don't know what this would be - are there ranks among witches?) created a curse of sorts for all other witches, a curse that was also a sort of blessing. Because for the youngest witches, they had the opportunity to bear a son who would become a warlock of the highest order (once a generation, most powerful being, that sort of stuff). But the gestation period would be extremely difficult (for reasons unexplained the dream), and perhaps deadly. So, in compensation for the taxing ordeal, the witch who was chosen would, for a period of less than 24 hours, find magic and miracle in three occurrences in her life.

To be chosen, a witch had to particpate in a race, called The Race of the Arm, I think. And here's the most vivid and surreal part of the dream. The scene took place in this vast green expanse of a rolling field, green from horizon to horizon, and perfect blue skies. Each witch holds on to a giant zipper and must race across this field - but I don't know to where; I was interrupted before I found out. The surreal part was that this vast expanse was also somehow the body of a woman, and attached to the zipper were her giant hands, which the witches had to manouver around in order to race.

There were five witches competing, and they had just begun to run when I woke up.

I wonder what it means.