I’m in a courtroom where a trial is taking place. The room is filled with people who each have their functions to perform. In the corner, a very old man, my grandpa, is sitting in a rocking chair. He keeps falling asleep, and his snores bother the judge, who wants him quieted or removed. I insist that grandpa’s presence is necessary to the gravity and justice of the court. In deference to the judge, I try to soothe the old man in his sleep so his snores won’t be so loud.
In that corner, water begins to rise in the room. Knee-high, I am standing in it. Small, water creatures begin to appear, some harmless, some with sharp teeth like piranhas. A little fish tries to bite me, but I’m wearing sneakers that protect my foot. I also notice three bunnies underwater. I fear they will drown, but then I notice one of them rise to the surface, take a breath of air, and swim to the bottom again to feed on the grass that is green below water.
I wade out of the knee-high water and notice that the rest of the room is not submerged and that there are animals moving around. I wonder why the underwater bunnies don’t swim out of the deep end of the room to come onto land. I go back to try to lift one of the bunnies out of the water, but I can’t get my hands on it.
I wander further through a door, leaving the courtroom behind me. I enter a much larger room with a vast ceiling. There are many animals making their home in this wild room. I walk along paths that I have made through the habitat. I am the keeper of the animals. When one is in trouble, I help them. Other times, I leave the animals alone, especially when they have young. I leave the path to avoid confronting a mother bear. Again, I detour to respect the territory of a mother bobcat’s den of kits.
As I am walking on my rounds through the habitat, men enter to take command of the place. They want to hunt and kill the animals. One of the men comes to capture me, too, but I fly straight up into the air to try to reach the rafters of the high ceiling. I am a mere inch of grabbing hold of a rafter when my power gives out. I give one more push, which somehow causes me to lose all my power and I tumble down out of the air. I am taken captive by the man who drags me out of the wildlife room and gives me to a burlier man who wraps me in his arms, dragging me along.
The second, larger man threatens to rape and kill me. He says that he might have to simply kill me. I am more confused than fearful. I can’t understand why they’re killing the animals or what they want with me or why they dragged me away and to what. I look at the other men very deeply, wondering about all this, when the answer comes to me. I need to love more. “More love” and “Love more” is what I keep repeating. I need to love these men so much that they stop doing what they are doing. I try. I know they are bad men and un-lovable. I know their actions make them unworthy of love, but I have to find someway or something about them to love anyway. It’s the answer, although I’m not particularly sure what the question is.
I turn in the arms of the man who wants to kill me, and I love him. He’s not especially moved by this. He’s a hard man not easily touched by love or any tender emotion. I try to kiss him, but he suddenly disappears and is replaced by a younger man with dark hair. I am confused again. They are playing tricks on me.
We have been in a small room exterior to the wildlife room, but now I want to be free of this place, too. More than anything, I want to feel the wind. When I move to leave through another door, the men don’t stop me. Instead, they are watching me, maybe to see where I am going. I keep repeating, “I need the wind, the wind!” I am desperate for the wind against my face. As soon as I step outside the door, I feel it, and I want to follow it.
Outside the door, the grass is incredibly green. There are large, mature trees that give deep, cooling shade beside meadows of perfectly green grass where a few horses graze. The horses are special in some way that is a mystery to me. And wind… I keep following the wind, and the men are following me as if needing me to point them in the right direction.
My journey into the wind leads me along a row of beautiful, old trees. In the shade, I come across a stump upon which there is an apparatus made of plastic painted green and brown, a model of a child’s wildlife scene. There are two disk-like spots on the plastic base. As I look at the object, two little men about 2 inches high appear glowing on the disks like holograms. One is an old gnome. The other is a younger person. The little figures are visible when viewed from one direction, but disappear when viewed from another. They seem magical to me, and I truly want them to be alive, but no matter how I look at them, they remain toy-like.
Discouraged by the lack of life in the figures, I travel onward, the green grass to my right, a canal of clear water appearing on my left. I follow the beautiful water, straight and clean in its concrete banks. Sometimes there are railings, sometimes a glass conservatory like a tunnel arches over the water. I run a long way, always thirsting for the wind in my face, running into it. To my left, seen in a place I can’t quite reach without leaving the canal, there is a greenhouse filled with colorful flowers. I come finally to the end of the canal. The glass conservatory, intermittent before, encloses the canal portion, although many of the window glasses are open, allowing the wind to flow in. There is also a long table here running alongside the water canal.
A woman in a long gown is here. We are high up on a hill with the landscape stretching out green and luxuriant below us. We both notice the sky past the end of the canal. Dark clouds are moving in from beyond a mountain range. Despite the shadows, I want to continue my journey into the wind. There is something about the woman that makes me believe I can’t go any further, but that she had hoped I could. That’s what the men behind me had been hoping, as well, that I would find a way forward…into the shadow of the approaching clouds.
I become frustrated with the woman, and I accuse her of betraying the goddesses, of losing their friendship, thus depriving them of power. I recall accusing her with the names of many goddesses, names like Demeter, Cassandra, Frigg. I remember clearly the name, “Cassiopeia” and “Freya.” I hold up a large frame and portrait, about 20 x 24 inches, of a goddess, maybe Freya, and drop it angrily against the long table. Now a slightly older woman joins us. She’s also in a long gown. She seems wiser than the first woman. She faces one of the open windows and raises her head slightly as if smelling the wind. She says, “An eruption,” then turns and walks away. It feels very sad and final, like the clouds are actually full of ash from a volcano and that if I tried to continue forward, I would only come to an end of fire and lava.