…Hypnopompic dreaming…

I’m pulling off some gathering; complex meetings, directions, angles, dimensions–and in the end I’m aware that all this has taken place and is concluding in my basement in Tennessee, my play area and space of infinitely malleable imagination.

All has been moved out after the conference and only the cleanup remains. And only my daughter lingers to assist me.

Things are shaping up and I am feeling a completeness and thoroughness and satisfaction. The final step somehow seems to be sweeping off the whole floor with burgundy wine (as a child I used to do it with water). My daughter assists as I pour this wine across the floor and use the broom to spread it evenly.

In one area, where the floor appears deeply black (black as the blackest earth, but this is cement), the deep red wine on black creates a mirror surface that is wondrously and magically powerful. And through the basement windows the full light of day, from up there, from beyond that mundane level, is streaming in, as we quietly go about this task.