I keep a chest of the myths of myself unlocked at the foot of the bed. I toss memories of things from the night into it upon my waking, as they are shadowed and long to be taken up at another dreaming.
Questions about a playground over thirty and forty years past have recently come up and I am doing my best to wipe the sleep from my eyes.
I recall volcanoes, forests, dancers, players, theatres, rehearsals, and more over many an acquaintance and a host of loves and lovers. We were all so stirred and most fulfilled when we were offering our gifts and talismans to the guest.
It was fringe, playful, in-side-out, up-side-down, and breathtakingly ineffable.
I dwelt there for a time and in my sleeping visit there to the point of distraction, trying to make sense of it as an undigested dream.