I was me (which is not a given in my dreams), working in a city clinic as a massage therapist on staff/salary. For some reason, there was a donor -- a wealthy Egyptian man, coming by that day, and we all gathered outside to greet him. On a wall of the building there was a mural depicting some of the old Gods of Egypt -- I remember Horus and Isis specifically, and I'm pretty sure Sekhmet was there.
A big and I mean BIG stretch limo pulled up and about 18 people got out -- servants, teenage children of the donor, and finally the donor himself and two women, both introduced to us as his wives. I don't know about the customs in Egypt so i don't know if that would be accurate.
He was being all polite and gladhanding his way into the building when the mural caught his eye and he stopped and got a look of amused offense on his face and sneered "Oh look, they remember the Gods after all. At least in their art!"
I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach.
I stepped forward.
"Some of us DO remember, Sir. And some of us give them honor still. Do you?"
And that's where I woke up.