This morning I had the weirdest dream.
I opened my eyes to find myself in the back garden of a ramshackle brownstone with a key in hand that opened the basement door, in front of which I was standing.
It led to a room with with an internal fire escape. I began climbing it, and on each floor was a piece of sculpture. The sculptures revealed themselves to me as a succession of charged objects: small twigs ceremoniously tied together; a stone with a coarsely scrawled evil eye. They seemed to suggest a summons for assistance. A plea for self recognition.
As the floors got higher, the sculptures became larger; a frameless door suspended by nothing in one room, the frame itself on a brick wall in an adjacent room. (Imagine that Tarsem Singh of The Cell and The Fall re-designed New York's majestic immersive art/theater installation, Sleep No More).
In the second to last room was this:
Behind it was a tiny black door that I unlocked and opened. A burst of light flooded through a kitchen window as my eyes adjusted on a beautiful lady illuminated by midday sun.