This was a dream I had some-time ago.
It felt as if I had spent an entire day in a classroom of visions past, doing borderline nonsensical but sensible actions: we each had to do certain tasks within a time frame. I donned a pair of solleretes, breeches, or some garb and ran like I would for a cross country meet. I was solo, moving through a country area near the school; I assumed I would somehow get back inside. Perception pivoted back to the internal gestation of the classroom.
The teacher would ask questions, they would be clear and would break any mild chatter in the class. A question brought towards us, what it was I could not say. I knew and didn’t know all the people in class, I didn’t see all their faces but knew a few of them and the spirit of comradery was there in the room echoing between me and them. The class ended and I wasn’t sure where I had to go next, but I knew there was a class. It was clear to me it was a class I actually had in high school, but where was it, and who was the teacher? Was it Math, I think it was. I knew there was some other faculty I could ask regarding my schedule; time was not existing here and moved however it wanted. I didn’t know how long I had to get to class, what time it was or how long has passed but the concept of time was meekly there and was in a more surreal form than what I’d experience consciously. What felt like old times, something I’d done hundreds of times before, ensued; me and other students bellowed through hallways to other classrooms. Conversations of all kinds could be heard and unheard instantly. I had found a familiar man, taller than me, who held a template with pencil and I asked if he knew where my next class was.