As I was gazing at the humanoid forms moving under the dark surface of the lake’s mirror in the east I realized that the ground underneath my feet was shifting ever so slightly as if – instead of on firm ground – I was standing on ice sheets slowly drifting apart. And just as in my previous dream the sky had ripped open to reveal the true universe beyond now the earth seemed to break through the brittle layers of the outer surface and expose its raw skin. I shuffled my feet to allow the sighing sheets of ice drift away and gingerly stepped on the grey surface underneath. It had a firm, soft feel to it. It was breathing.

I knew while I was dreaming that I was dreaming and yet I also knew that there was truth to my dream. There was a reality to my being in that place as I knew a lot of prosaic details about it one wouldn’t care to include in a dream. I knew the people but I knew myself to even in my dream be a stranger in their midst, stranded from somewhere incomprehensible. Didn’t make a difference whether that be the future or far-off New York. The people of the lake as I knew them were no-nonsense, hardworking people who made a meagre living by farming, fishing and hunting. They despised any flight of fancy. Did they know about the living ground underneath their feet? I assumed they did. There was something tense in their behavior towards strangers, secretive and potentially ill-meaning. I felt exposed and chilled as I scanned the winding street along the shore for signs of rural traffic. At the same time I was acutely aware of the breathing ground underneath my feet, a deep, rhythmic organic feeling, not in itself threatening, more like the chest of the mother might feel to a baby. I didn’t want to hurt it, even though I didn’t know what it was. Running didn’t seem to make sense. so I just stood there like someone slightly sea-sick, feeling the rhythm in my feet, and waiting to wake up. Only that I didn’t.