The fantasy I associate with the image above is that I’m the personification of a people. We looked at the world and drew conclusions about how it works. The conclusions that aligned with our desires were refined and codified, and a physical structure was erected, expressing our orthodoxy in columns, arches, and domes.
But one night I dreamt that a great dark horse with a white star on its brow was running wild in the orthodoxy structure. And when I awoke, I was in a vast meadow. Waist-high tawny grass and the boughs of distance trees swayed and churned. The breeze chill on my face was sweet autumn scents and the stench of rotting flesh from an open trench that ran zig-zig to the horizon. There was the buzz of flies and bees, the caw of crows, the laughter of children and the howling of beasts. Shadows of clouds moved hugely over me, alternately cast by swaths of great white formations in an azure sky, then walls of black thunderheads. Light and dark. Light and dark. The earth beneath my feet cried out and there was a sensation in my being like the opening of a door. A wave of unorthodox conclusions about how the world works poured in.