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I had quite the dream the other night. No, nothing like Martin Luther King, or even the somnolent nocturnal excursions of Mary Shelley. This was a big dream, an apocryphal dream. Forgive me for not remembering it more clearly. To be honest, I was very much asleep.

Now, two days later, it is fragmenting into little, fractured, still photographs. At the time it had great power and portent. I will try to describe some of the pictures, perhaps you can make some sense of it.

The dream started with me playing poker at an Indian casino. Most of you know that poker is not my game, I am actually  a black jack player, but I was seated at a table of five card draw. I looked at the first two cards, both deuces. Hmm, a pair. The next three cards were aces, A set, full boat. Not the best full house but it beats kings over aces. I remember plotting my strategy, do I soft pedal the hand, hoping to rake in my table mates money or do I let pride take over and go all in? Aces over twos, I decided to hold back and wait.

There is a blank space - I was transported to a mountain range in the southwest. Slickrock with a large dose of magic thrown in. I was transported to a place where the blue face paint was mined. Stalagmites and stalactites hung from verdant landscape cliffs. I was in a place of magic and power. It was called Tesuke but it was not the same Tesuke as the place north of Santa Fe. Little pools of water where power was mined.

It was a different place, that maybe exists outside of time and our present reality. If I had to describe the landscape I would say think Roger Dean mixed with a bit of Carl Barks. There was another name on the map I was using to check my coordinates and I remember distinctly seeing the words Tuitte Range. Beats me. I must have passed some sort of test because I wasn't left on the side of the road for dead. Somehow I earned a stripe or a feather.

I only get a dream like this about once a decade. An empowering dream where I can don my aspect and soar with the eagles and gods, however temporarily. The flying ones come even less frequently now. You come off of one of these babies and you walk on air for a few days.

The next thing I knew I was in a hotel. A rustic lodge to be more exact. I had left my winnings on the desk and passed out on my feet, standing. Hours had passed but no one had touched anything. Native Americans surrounded me. We had an understanding. It was time to depart.

I wish I remembered more as the vision was very vivid but it becomes fuzzier with each passing hour. When my wife awoke I tried to tell her where I had been but couldn't quite convey the enormity of the experience. This one felt big, heroic even.

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I am sometimes hesitant to share my dreams with people because they can be so otherworldly. I must have quite the imagination. Unless of course, the place I ventured to existed somehow, in some other paradigm. But that couldn't really happen now, could it?