in a dream, there were two of me. one is the recognizable version, the philosopher and dreamer, the one i know best. the other seemed exactly that: other; the symbol of the vision, the master of silence and intensity, the christ.

both are hunted by the tyrannosaur, a constant monster-figure of my childhood. its footsteps thunder throughout every location, the sound of death approaching.

one of us fears it more than the other; in fact, the other is completely without fear. he flies over the head of the monster without a thought. the philosopher cowers and hides. he reasons the best strategies for facing it, but must still resign to a life of reaction and retreat. he must fear, for the structure of his world requires the object of his fear. the sound of footsteps is significant of his reasonable worry.

the other does not cower, he does not flee. the tyrannosaur is hardly any more significant than the trees. the only thing that keeps him from flying, from soaring away into the unknown, is his compassion for the dreamer.