Lucy, Merle and I are going to do a Birds show. A woman like Julie G comes to show us the way. We look for Lucy. She has taken a moment to check on how the mechanic is fixing her car. We see her in the back seat of a station wagon car, seated sideways, with the passenger side door open. Julie says, "What is she doing?" I say, "She's listening to the engine to see if it's fixed. She'll be along in a minute." We go on to find the room. I go up in an elevator, now alone. I notice the glass wall has a bulge in it like it could break open and leave me exposed to the outside. I get closer to the door, just in case. I get out and ask directions. I am a bit lost and not receiving much help. I find the room. We do the show and everybody likes us. Now I am gathering up my papers and so on to go to another show or lecture situation. We will be late and I realize that even though I had planned ahead and thought I had it all together, my papers are in disarray and I will be late. I am upset with myself. I am in a gas station garage, or what used to be one. I start to leave and have to come back to get the papers. I realize I have trouble being in this space, because of early trauma in a place like it, maybe sexual abuse. I am in a hurry to leave there, something about a baby. A woman is around guiding me. Now I get into the car. We are driving on the freeway. It is Dover and I wonder if it wouldn't be better for the woman to drive as she is familiar with Dover, and I am a bit intimidated by busy traffic; nevertheless, I am driving and I go forward somewhat hesitantly. I notice the traffic isn't as bad as I had thought. I find the right freeway, almost getting on a parallel road and missing the right one. Now I am at the building looking for the poetry workshop room. I go back to where I did the show before and go down a long hall of rooms looking for the place. I notice I'm in the wrong hall. This hall is full of prostitutes hanging out waiting for customers. I (a man now) go to the head madam and say, "Don't you service gays too?" Now I am a woman again and find a group of people in the cafeteria. I ask them where the poetry thing is and a man points to a sign painted on the wall, "Poetry" and an up arrow. We go upstairs and find the room. As we enter, beautiful music comes to our ears and a woman says, "I remember this music. I love it." We enter and I see an easy chair and sit in it. A man wants to sit in it with me and I am hesitant. He slowly comes over and sits with me. We are uncomfortably squeezed together, but it is intimate and the man would like it to be loving. I am unsure. Now a Dr. McCoy kind of man prances around and says that housewives are lucky. They have the house. He goes over to a tableau of plaster statues to point out the house and as he gets in there, one breaks. The crowd is stunned. A priceless work of art is now shattered into pieces. I realize he is a trickster kind of character. I watch as he brings a piece of the face to a woman who had lost a loved one tragically. He says she can...something, maybe relearn or integrate. She holds the fragment of the face and traces its shapes with her fingers and says, "I'll have to have new clothes," and she stands and starts to talk about the face and herself. Meanwhile Dr. McCoy sits in the easy chair with me, like the other man had, and I am crowded and a bit tense. He smiles gently and says, "Let me in." I turn my head and smile timidly up at him and we maintain eye contact. It is beautiful and moving and loving. I am suffused with warmth and love. I touch his arm, indicating I let him in. I lean back into the circle of his love. It is overwhelmingly beautiful and warm.