Alien in Contact-- "You're an interesting species. An interesting mix. You're capable of such beautiful dreams, and such horrible nightmares. You feel so lost, so cut off, so alone, only you're not. See, in all our searching, the only thing we've found that makes the emptiness bearable, is each other."

I dream of a woman riding a horse through the malpais country. She and horse are galloping through an arroyo that cuts through the lava flow. Her long black hair, pitch as the volcanic rock, is flying behind her, furious as the horse's mane and tail.

Funny, I've only seen El Malpais National Monument through the windows of a fast traveling automobile. And it's always scared me. A little. That vast expanse of toothy rock. I've read about it in books, too, but that's not the same. I think that's where the image comes from. It's a part of me.

But, apparently, just like the horse archetype, it's a part of everyone--

From The Complete Dictionary of Symbols (I would highly recommend if you are interested in this sort of thing.)--

Volcanoes are symbols of destructive anger or creative force. Prometheus stole fire from the divine smith Hephaistos, whose forge was beneath a volcano. The volcanoe is also linked with passion.

The horse symbol is the least limited, ranging from light to darkness, sky to earth, life to death. Although predominantly linked with elemental or instinctual powers, horses can symbolize the speed of thought.

I am nearly overtaken by the lightning speed of my life this week. A tedious job in a bureaucracy, where the very best of the Archons roam at will. Never-ending rounds of the same old errands. Driving the same highway corridor every morning and every evening. Without fail. Trying to get it all done in what never seems to be enough time. A slave to calendars and schedules, and being all you can be, frying it up in pan, an army of one. And then falling into bed each night exhausted. Occasionally to find that I can't sleep.

But when I do.

I remember.

The other country. The one which in my waking life is more often than not forgotten. And maybe that's the way it has to be. Because you ride the malpais country at your own peril, for our god is a consuming fire, and all that. Besides, you could get lost, they like to tell you, but you go back again and again. Once you've traveled, you know this materia where you find yourself is not home. No. Not by a longshot. Suddenly you're a pilgrim. A sojourner from a distant homeland. A place without fences or borders. A bold, wild country, this sweet heresy, more than anything Lewis and Clark ever imagined.

My citizenship there is what sustains me, when I can call it to mind.