Dominion

Dominion 1-4

Seattle, Washington
Monday, May 14, 2014
7:15 AM

Christopher Torrance woke in a sweat from a restless night. The details of his dream were etched like crystal in his mind.

It started in a quiet wood. The light filtered softly through leaves and green pine needles. Birds chirped happily, and somewhere nearby a squirrel was scolding a competitor. A stream gurgled happily on its way through the wood.

Then the dream shifted abruptly to a native village. The people seemed peaceful, and moved about the village in their skins, intent on a variety of chores. It was summer and the weather was glorious.

His eyes were drawn to one teepee near the center of the camp. Outside its door, facing him, focused and intent, stood a native man of middling years. But where his face was wrinkled and worn, his eyes seemed ageless. The man beckoned to Chris, who felt compelled to approach him. As they stood face to face, Chris was drawn to his eyes. They seemed to be portals, filled with star-strewn space. And as Chris watched, the heavens began to whirl and spin, and Chris passed through the portal and was lost to the universe beyond.

Reality returned when Lisa called up the stairs. As usual on a Monday morning, he had overslept his alarm, and he raced down the stairs feeling irritated. His wife, Lisa, had already seen their six year old son out the door to the waiting bus, and now sat down at the table to a
bowl of mixed fruit and yogurt. She welcomed Chris and noted sardonically the predictable Monday routine.

“Late as usual,” she said. “I have a meeting with my department head at 9 so I need to get to the office just a bit early. But I can still drop you if you can be ready in fifteen minutes.” Lisa was a research botanist at the University nearby, with a specialty in plant pathology. At the same school, Chris was a Professor of Astronomy, and in his spare time, hassled the Physics department by hanging out with his brother-in-law who taught physics.

Bustling about the kitchen, remembering with irritation the horrendous bill for the new slate counter-tops, Chris mumbled distractedly while scattering granola half in his bowl, and half across the counter.

“I still have the feeling of floating in space. But those eyes..!”

“What’s that dear? Do you have time with the big mirror this week?”

“Oh – yes – but no, this isn’t that – or maybe it is. It was a dream. The village again. It’s the third time, but this time the shaman signalled me to come to him.”

“Oh! It’s a fascinating dream,” said Lisa. “I wish you would let me tell Chuck about it.” Chuck was in the office across the hall from Lisa at UW. A psychologist and analyst of some renown, he had written a best-selling book about dreams and now had an entire course dedicated to dreams and mythology.

“Mm,” mumbled Chris. “I don’t trust him. Feels unrooted to me.”

This got a laugh from Lisa, who always had her gloves in the dirt, while her husband was notorious for living with his head in the clouds. He was the stereotypical dreamer – plenty of imagination but clueless in the real world. He and his brother-in-law were a pair: music, mathematics, and abstract problems suited them best. Of the two, Chris was the most imaginative, with an artistic flair that frequently surprised his wife.

“Say, you know – I am just remembering – don’t you have a great grandmother who was part Cree?” asked Lisa. Chris family history was Canadian, and in Ontario in the early 1900’s one of his Scottish forebears was a trapper and trader, and his wife was full-blooded Cree.

“That’s right. I had forgotten,“ he trailed off, lost in thought.

“See? I really think you should sit down with Chuck,” she said. “He’s not as dangerous as he looks.” And with that she rose from the table and began fumbling with the laptop bag on the chair beside her.