The Valet Parked Globe 6:00 AM
I am coming out from an event with a group of people. I don’t remember the event, or what preceeded it. I leave the front of the building, and recognize a tree that I’ve seen in dreams before; I fly up into its branches, then glide down and coast along a trail toward my car. I think I’m partly just flying because it feels so good, partly showing off to the other people who are there. I get to where the car should be, and see several similar red cars, but not mine – then I realize that the valet has moved it up the hill. It was originally parked at the base of an embankment, and I don’t remember parking with a valet. I go up the enbankment, and the valet man gives me my keys, and then I realize that somehow my car has become a globe of the world, and it’s perched on a stand on the stone stairs leading up the enbankment. I go down, and try to carry it down the stairs – there is something about it being heavy because it contains everything in the world; I say some magic words to try to lighten it. I try again to lift it, but knock it off its stand, and it tumbles down the stairs, chipping off some of the green stuff on its surface.
Then, somehow, Deborah is here with me; I don’t recall her being here before. She’s upset because it’s too much stuff to put into the car. We get home, and are picking up dog and cat whiskers and putting them in the glass jar.