I saw stalagmites in the conference, it was cavernous. A company, a cohort, technically minded people, friendly enough. We were supposed to be researching something like students, possibly in Vietnam. Someone told me they liked the way I thought but didn't love my sense of risk.
Then the dream split open.
A friend's brother drove off the road. His face was sliced up in the truck crash. He found a cabin. Inside was a machine like a milkshake machine at Wawa that took the pieces of his broken face, read them, processed them. It was terrifying in the way that felt like the crash had been necessary. The machine needed it. It ran a couple of cycles. Then it gave him a pink slushie, very cute, very pretty. He drank it easily.
I was watching from outside the cabin. Then I was inside. He felt better, without a face though.
Outside it was misty but scenic. A lion dance appeared, not from anywhere, just suddenly there, as if the crowd had always been waiting. The red of the lions was misty, not intimidating. The right roaring red. Something terrifying had been processed into something nourishing, and now the world was available to be beautiful again.
I felt thankful that the world existed. Happy, and open to its beauty.
Later someone said to me: My silences speak the loudest. I know how to pause. His confidence transferred and registered, landed my hands like fingerprints.