Stories of the night

In my dream I am trekking through a mountainous Arctic wasteland pursued by two hunters, or mountain men.  Clothed in furs with frosty beards, they carry big rifles and are always just a few miles behind me. They are not the only problem.  There are huge black grizzly bears lurking behind tall fir trees on this mountain and we need to avoid stirring them up.

I have a traveling companion, a mentor, and he indicates that we are close to our goal, but then I see that the bears are starting to close in. Too many bears in one place is unnatural.  I realize that the hunters called them, to close in on me, and I begin to feel both trapped and hopeless.

That is when I see it, the mansion of "Him," like some giant adult Teletubby place.  We hurry towards it. 

The house is huge, white, full of sloping, curving hallways and we almost slide through it, but "He" is not there.  Instead, the bears have taken over.  Like large wild pets they lurk in the most unlikely places.  We finally come across a young woman with a mop of white blond curls.  She is wearing a short sleeved red man's shirt that buttons down the front, baggy shorts and boots over a sturdy, almost childlike frame.  She is his sister.

We ask if we can talk to "Him" and she says she will see.  A day and a night pass and we are hungry, but afraid to look for the kitchen because of the bears.  When we are finally forced to look for it, we run into her and she accuses us of nosing around the house.  I stand before the refrigerator feeling embarrassed but hungry.  She tells us "He" will be right outside the kitchen door before dawn in the morning if we really want to see him.

The next morning we work our way towards the meeting place, but bears and the threat of bears makes it slow and cumbersome.  We can see the meeting place from afar many times, but not really get to it.  Once we think we get a glimpse of him waiting there for us, but by the time we actually make our way down, he is gone.

By now we are exhausted and take refuge on top of a corrugated metal roof on top of four tree-like poles.  It is built in one of the rooms, like a tropical shed inside an arctic house, but high up off the ground.

She comes the next morning, accusatory and sulky.  Where were we.  "He" said we didn't come.  I try to explain, but it doesn't seem to make any difference.  Then the mentor says, "I think she IS HIM."

Suddenly I realize he is right and, because I have been barefoot through this whole ordeal, borrow his suede leather boots, and swing myself down using one of the trees that support the roof.  I think she will be impressed that I am so athletic, but instead she looks at my boots with disdain.

"They aren't really mine," I explain.  "They are really too small for me."

Thunder fills the air . . .

And I wake up.