In Tennessee, a gathering in the old neighborhood. In the old house at 914. Very dynamic, high energy. This is going to be a major convergence, and already is. Friends have come from Seattle, it appears, to take things in with me. Many family members, living and dead, are gathering. I am best off with my friends, so we find an upstairs room in a one-story house. There is more action in getting up to date, kicking back, connecting, exploring. But I am aware that I should check back downstairs, so I go down. More intensive gatherings, all the generations attending. For the Big Occasion. I am not completely sure I want to be included in the activities at the center ring of the circus. There’s a difficult sense that if I play the role — or any of the roles — that have been expected, I will be hurt again and caught up in an inescapable enigma, so I am determined to play along, take a shower, put on the appropriate costume, show my face — and then take an alternative route. There is much commotion. I find myself unable to find a space to call my own. I end up half dressed, half showered, half shaved with no place to go, no remedy, and the pacing is picking up relentlessly. My friend has come down from upstairs; he is stark naked and looking for a towel. This throws the whole proceeding into a different dimension. I figure the best thing I can do is to try to gently coax him out of the downstairs scene and return with him upstairs. But we get separated. And I find myself in fact, walking up steps out of a subway after an elaborate commute, and I am on the streets of New York City. I make my way to an institution — a catholic college — where I am to make a presentation on my arts and practices. Another gathering. There is a liturgy going on, however. Very high ritual for a very high occasion at the institution. Some sort of ordination. I am primarily concerned, however, with one of the novices who is cutting some very tall grass that has grown in a plot in the church. There too, with one of the long-term brothers, I see a very strange formation of rock, sandstone, that is actually fluid and seems to be alive as it changes form — a protean stone. And after some dramatic timing sequences — as if I were in the lobby of a ritzy hotel — the connections become disconnections, and I am on the street again, in a plaza. Suddenly, I am aware that the street traffic has fallen dramatically, and that I am in fact in the plaza almost completely alone. I look at a clock and see that it is a 2:20. But though the lights are as bright as Times Square, it is not the afternoon but it is the morning. I realize that I don’t really want to be out at that hour, by myself, in the center of the city. But suddenly I am aware that I do not have my carrying case. I have no wallet, no money, no cell phone. I am out alone in my situation. There is no one who will assist me or provide me with solutions. I’m not even sure where I would go if I had my case, my money, my phone. I’m not sure where I have come from in order to return to. But I know I must keep moving. I start walking, as is my fashion, very fast. I cut into an atrium that has side rooms, like small personal lounges. I situate myself. The room begins to transform with hyperkinetic shapes, forms, images — in hyper 3-D. I go through several thematic transformations. It’s Matrix-like. I am no longer sure what dimensions I am traveling through or what is the ontological nature of the places where I find myself. In one episode, I am aware that I am in the body of a child. I am my child. I am in a font of water, like a neon-lit baptismal font — and the enactment is very important. But the scene quickly cuts into my original situation of being somewhere in lower Manhattan, unsure where, unsure what to do, no clear destination. I look again to see what time it is. It feels so late in the morning that I feel I should just stay where I am — do nothing. Wait until the morning streams and rhythms take hold. Yes. That seems to be the right thing to do. While I am almost totally alone (there are a few others), I feel safe enough where I am. I will see it through. Will make of the situation what I can, and morning will come. I turn to look at a clock again. Wondering about my judgments. I wake up.

It is 3:00 a.m.

Now what.

I decide to write.

Hail begins to fall outside my open window.