Posted by: normanlgreen | March 2, 2013

Dream, March 2, 2013 Mountaintop University

Dream, home, 7:05 am

A community planning committee meets in a grassy field. One other committee person and myself arrive ahead of the rest. The grass is winter yellow in the light from a low sun in the East as we face South. Everything looks washed-out. I set a packet of papers on a yellow field stone as we survey a wide undeveloped area. We could be in the Frazier River delta as hills stand indistinctly in the distance. One mountain juts up to the left of our view. A village built high in the crevasses near the peak shows itself with white mud walls and red roofs. I look away, then look back to see that something huge and ominous has descended from a cloud bank that hovers above and behind the mountain. The object, which dwarfs the mountain in front of it, appears all of a piece, in the green black of sunglass lens. Its shape is hard to pin down with long descending lines and gradual curves across many planes with no breaks in its surface, only bends and corners. I look down to see if my papers have blown away, but cannot find the stone on which I set them. I look back to the object from the sky. Clouds move in around its edges, making it less obviously alien.

We turn back to look across the four lane street to where we parked our car. Two other committee people have arrived. They look unsure about crossing the street, so we trot across to them. I want them to see the object before it becomes obscured. With no crosswalk, we have to wait for gaps in the traffic to cross.

At last we have all gathered in the field. The cloud bank has moved in to fill the space behind the one mountain. I find my packet of papers. The committee agrees to go to the mountain village to investigate. At the foot of the mountain, we find an elevator to carry visitors to the peak.

At the top stands the grounds of a long established university. Some of the buildings date back many hundreds of years while others are being built by crews of workers. Piles of rubble show recent demolition. Road graders with wide blades fill in the low patches with ground red brick. One of the committee women and I follow a path past temporary fences. We reach an open area where several of the old structures have been removed. We wait for a grader to pass us. Across from us stands half of a crumbled class building of red brick and white sandstone. Once it had been symmetrical, but now the top right corner is missing. Above and below each of the glassless windows is a lintel and sill of the sandstone. Above the main entrance The stone has been carved into ornate stalactites topped with a frieze. We feel disappointment that this early 19th Century building had been deemed irreclaimable by the university’s administration. We turn to walk back toward the center of the campus but take a different route than that by which we left it. We pass a grove of Oak on our left and find a twin to the building which we had just seen in half demolished state. We discuss the decision to save one but not both. The reclaimed building has been converted from classrooms to supply depot.

“Stamp pads and fountain pens,” declares the woman.

It is now late in the day – time to descend the mountain. I find my older brother and his friend. I realize that I am a child visiting this school. I have a young friend with me. Both of us are there as the guests of my grudging brother and his snide friend. The older boys herd us into the lobby leading to the elevators to the base of the mountain. When the elevator door opens it reveals a space the size of the inside of a good sized refrigerator – I believe it is the interior of a soda vending machine. When all four of us try to climb inside, my young friend is the last. There is not enough room. My brother’s friend pushes the little kid out the door and tells him “Fend for yourself.” I get out as well. My brother and his friend follow me. My little friend disappears into a corner as I fight with the obnoxious older boy. I pick up a chair which has a cross piece to support the two back legs. I place his head in the small rectangular space between the strut and the seat. I hook the strut under his chin and give chair a twist, hoping to break his neck. The action does not seriously hurt him, but he gives me a look to show that he will keep his distance from me and not cross me or my friend. We all get into the next elevator – one that has enough space for all four of us.


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