The backdrop for this story: that Thoth is a collective, which can be visualized as a cloud. At the time my thinking had become way too uptight. I’d been getting hung up on the whole Thoth Is Talking To You, No Seriously We Mean It situation. Which lasted way too long.

This particular dreamlike story came to me via my invisible friends one morning in July 2018, after staring at a wall for a while. The feeling of presences, the pressing-in of something, and then…boom. An unexpected story. It was a very vivid, visceral experience with happy little surprises.

They were trying to get through to me about…something. Maybe you can figure it out, subtle as it isn’t.

In a grand theater of red and gold, about a thousand life forms stare at an empty stage. There’s a wide variety of forms, which are really symbolic representations of these beings. Projections from the Thoth cloud into this created context. It’s a “made up” space for gatherings such as this.

This theater often holds short theatrical plays based on the journeys of the Thoth collective’s members. It’s a way to share, and to celebrate one another in loving communion. The feeling among the audience is warm and familial. Like a family movie night.

My mind’s camera drifts down from the ceiling, zooms to a human-looking young child a dozen rows from the stage. Looks perhaps about five years old. He’s naked with brassy, curly locks and white wings protruding from his back. Similar to cherubs in classic paintings. Around him the diversity of beings quiets to a hush as the lights dim. A cloudy arm appears, floating above the right side of the stage.

A white sign appears in the cloudy limb’s hand. In thick black magic marker it reads, “Earth.” Many among the audience moan “oooohhh.” Then whispers move through the crowd. “What’s Earth?” 

Some whisper back, “A tough place.”

A squid-like creature responds to a small green cloud in the seat beside him, “A high-variability planetoid consciousness sustaining a tiny context of narrow, restrictive dimensions.” “Huh,” replies the green cloud. “That might be something to tr—“

From the left side of the stage, a caricature of a caucasian human male emerges from the plush crimson curtain. He slowly lumbers to center stage, his head bobbing from side to side, his breathing labored, his legs heavy. Someone in the fifth row reacts. “Eeewwwww.” Several audience members gasp and turn from the humanoid form in disgust. A light-blue humanoid in the fourth row protests. “HEY!”

Shushing erupts throughout the theater. “Shhhhhh!” 

With crinkled brow, the character on stage sweeps a fist awkwardly through the air in front of him. “Gosh darn, everything is so hard!” The entire audience roars in laughter.

“I wish I knew what comes next,” he continued loudly, spurring another round of giggles. A muddy, dark-brown mass turns around in its seat laughing. It points at the winged child and its gruff voice bellows, “This is you, isn’t it?! This has to be you!”

“Shhhh!!!!” the crowd responds.

There’s a moment of silence before someone in the back row – knitting – mutters, “Of course it is.” The winged child curls up laughing quietly to himself, proud to give his family a story. The grey Oophling form beside him sends a dozen thin tendrils over the armrest, wrapping him tight in a warm embrace.

The child gives a glowing smile. The play continues a few minutes more. Later they would all say it was one of the most ridiculous and entertaining comedies they’d seen in a while.

I recognize it’s a metaphor…or is it? It’s charming to imagine we actually do this on occasion.