Dream: My mountain, my story
I was in a mountainous region such as Alaska. The snow had melted and left behind sedimentary rock, laid out in smooth, even layers of varying shades of brown, like stripes. I came in to tell a group (church, perhaps), but went out again with a vague idea that I could not ascend to the top (although the side was sheer) or find fossils of the ancient seas.
I walked into a college classroom, where everyone was excited because one of my stories had been published in a magazine. When we leafed through it repeatedly, none of us could find it. I did spot a recipe with my name, but did not recognize it. Then I saw the name “Diane” with a different last name; after some puzzlement, I figured out that she was the artist behind the full-page illustration. My name and story were on the right-hand page. I didn’t know the story, nor did I read it. The magazine appeared to have a gardening/housekeeping theme.
I was starting to wonder what the class was about and why I was in it. Again I had the sensation of, “Haven’t I had enough of this type of education?”
At home, which looked more like a large chemistry lab, I was getting ready to demonstrate something to a group that had not yet arrived, but water was coming out of various parts of the faucet. I called a maintenance man, who wasn’t busy and also wasn’t concerned about the waste of so much water. “I’ll get to it, maybe tomorrow, maybe, if there’s not a gas leak or anything like that,” he said. I could not understand his nonchalance.
In the meantime, I was alone.
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