I was at a performance or award ceremony in what I perceived to be my father’s garden. All around me were trees, flowers, and grasses, and I felt supremely happy.
I went for a walk, and as I strolled about I noticed the landscape changing. Space was shrinking, and the trees, flowers, and grasses were being replaced by stones, walls, and other hard, colorless barriers. My formerly idyllic universe was changing, shrinking, and hardening, even as I walked through it. I felt as though I could panic at any moment when I realized the alterations were permanent and irrevocable. I couldn’t breathe.
I found myself in a cave, clinging to a 160-foot smooth wooden pole that was larger at the top, like a baseball bat. I didn’t know how I could have gotten up there, but I told a man across the way that I could slide down. He advised strongly against this plan, but I let myself go just as I woke up.