Last night I dreamed that I sat down at some sort of party, and a man sat down across from me, and I was not able to get up to get away from him. He had blades attached to his palms, but he was very friendly and in a way comforting. He instructed me to put my hands out in front of me, palms outward, my palms against his palms, so that the blades would cut my palms slowly. For some reason he had convinced me that it was necessary to do this — to have my palms cut. He said something like, “I know this is difficult, but it is better than ___.” I cannot remember the word, but everything made perfect sense to me then, when I heard him say it. The blades cutting my palms felt like an ache, and it was uncomfortable how the blood made my hands slippery. I had to be as still as I could, so that I would not move my arms and hands in such a way that the blades would do serious damage to them.
This evening I had a transcendent experience listening to Karma Moffett play Tibetan singing bowls, bells, cymbals and conch. The conch especially seemed to bring me to a misty place. It made me think of sorcerers and how believable magic must be rooted in sensory experience.