A spirit bird, heron-tall, visits now and then. Days now my teacher's gone. I worry; no one's seen. Query Don the maintenance man. "Sorry you can't ask the Silicon Oracle, but I botched an upgrade. Down." Skeptical, I test it--slip Down to the great Consóle. Three readouts and two sliders-- I know the right one rolls Time. But balks at now; just shows fore and aft! What good's a phobic Oracle? Or has the eye of now gone blind? An image flashes white gold tan fur. Blond bear? And then That very Yeti eight feet tall Treads into the room, terrible as Man. Devour me? But Bigfoot tears off her own cream fur! Great hanks. Under falling curls... Dusty-rose, indigo and salmon feathers shine. Plumage of my teacher-bird. Teacher's back again.

I do cycle from heron to cave-bear-Bigfoot to heron, from social to call-of-the-wild to social. After too many days around (shiver) humans, I go wild for silence and space. My dreams are cyclic too--a week or two of great recall and clear advice, then a week of dreamnesia. Maybe the lost dreams (I still dream, I feel them, but they evade me) are Bigfoot dreams--they want time off, unwatched! Or deeper than want: need. What if the dreamworker's ideal of perfect recall, perfect interpretation (and for lucid dreamers, perfect control) is like banishing solitude, or sleep... or night?

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