....in a dream, a variation on a previous dream: the ruins of a Roman colosseum/labyrinth, built on a steep mountainside in Italy, a confounding maze of precipitous stone steps which I was forced to negotiate if I wanted to go anywhere. At one point I stepped off the steps to retrieve something I'd dropped -- a watch, I think, and once I departed the solidity of stone I quickly began to sink up to my knees in a mire whose gravitational pull was nearly impossible to overcome. I did, however, pull myself out, minus the lost timepiece.
There existed everywhere strange and startling beauty: fountains sprung from cafe tabletops and a numinous light shone through the triangular sprays of water. I met poets and I slipped through secret passageways into restaurant kitchens where the frantic & fragrant bustle of a dinner rush was in full steam. Steps appeared and disappeared before me, changing depth and height in the moment I raised my foot to move forward.
At one point I turned a corner to a thousand-foot drop-off, the path narrowing to a mere thread of stone. A man close on my heels pushed past me, turned and shook his head, continued on. I backed up and changed direction.
My attempts to capture any of this with my camera continually failed: blurry, overexposed or lacking any light at all, or a mechanical failure. The only record I could take with me was in the retelling.
(And yes, it's rife with symbols and metaphors.)