I have been laying, listening to white noise for well over an hour. Don’t give up. Don’t give up. I get solid 2 hours—use them. I imagine myself walking. There is a square tunnel opening, very loft. I keep focusing on the sensation of walking. Suddenly, it’s getting clearer. I look down—grass beneath my feet. Stay calm, keep walking and focusing on the sensation. Clear your mind. Focus, relax, open… I am walking through an open field in a large, ancient campus of some kind. With me are a few young students who are idly chatting, enjoying the walk. I look down. I am wearing street clothes, a flannel button-up and some jeans. I look in the window of a low, rectangular building we are passing and see my reflection. I have thick rectangular glasses and long shaggy hair—I am about 17 or 18 in the reflection. I walk to the next window pane and focus on what my true reflection looks like. I assume I am my own age, round glasses, wearing a Beautiful Middle Eastern shirt, buttoned up to the collar with long loose sleeves. It is blue and golden in a deeply rich fractal pattern, sparkling in the sunlight. I look at my sleeves—my tattoos of power are hidden. I wave my hand over the sleeve of my right arm, and in the sweeping motion towards the grass, the sleeve is severed at the elbow, flowing like silk to the ground. I do the same to the left sleeve. I look at my left hand—my wedding ring is missing. I wave my right hand over it and an amazing golden ring is on my finger, inset with a bright, lightly tinted emerald jewel. It is glowing faintly. I start walking from the group toward a hilly region filled with gardens, temples of ancient yellow and brown stone, many perched on the rolling hills, and open fields of flowers and crops. I feel a building energy coming from the vista ahead of me. I raise my arms, my tattoos of power vibrating. The ring glows brightly. I see my first test explode along an ornate stone wall a half mile away—a torrent of water, a flood, jets over the wall and comes cascading down into the field, filling the valley and rushing towards me. The wall of water is nearing—10 feet high, white and blue with foaming crashing waves as it rushes toward me. I hold my arms straight in front, palms forward, fingers to the grass. “Oh mighty river!” I bellow, and release the energy building in my arms. The ring shoots a beam of bright green light straight into the wall of water and, turning my fingers inward, I slowly pull my hands apart. The water stops, 10 strides from where I stand, and starts to part. It is a deep cerulean blue, sparkling in the sunlight. Two bubbling walls of water stand motionless but for the ripples and waves caused by a light passing wind. I start walking through the path I have made, looking into the walls of water as if separated by glass. The fields of flowers wave back and forth gently in the underwater environment. I reach the end of the water and step over the small stone wall—on the other side the ground is dry, just pristine gardens of ornate flowers and stone temples. Before me is a man in a white silk kimono. His face is hidden by a white silk, and an ornate white and blue scarf is tied around his head. He bows to me, and then widens his stance, raising his right hand into the air behind his head, and lifts his left hand toward me, palm upwards to the blue sky. My second test. I wave my hand over my chest and the buttons of my shirt come undone. I relax my arms behind me and allow the silk shirt to fall in smokey folds softly to the ground. I widen my stance, left foot and left hand forward, mirroring my opponent. I allow the backs of our hands to touch, then we begin. He strikes first in a flurry of punches followed by a spinning roundhouse kick. I parry each punch, relaxed and focused, but receive the kick on my right side. I step to the left—my turn. I lunge forward, mixing punches with grappling techniques from Jiu Jitsu. I land many blows. He stumbles backward, his back to the stone wall and the still motionless wall of water. He pulls out from his sleeve a small black dart, tipped with a barely perceptible needle. He turns his palm upward and the dart shoots from his hand as if shot from a gun. With ease I catch the dart, and with a wave of my other hand I make it vanish, smiling. I see another dart clatter to the ground at our feet—did I fail to vanish it? No—he is now holding a handful of darts, and fires them off in smooth succession. I easily parry each from the air. The man steps back and bows. He is defeated. I bow in turn and, raising my palms upward, float into the air. From about 50 feet up I can see I am in an incredible city of yellow and brown stone, filled with sand and gardens and palm trees. I fly higher—looking down, I see the two rectangular walls of water still standing. (I wave a hand and they collapse, flooding the plain.) I turn in the air and look behind me—a massive temple perched on a grassy cliff, with stair-stepped stone steps carved directly into the hillside leading up to it. I see an ornate wooden and stone home or cabana to its left, perched under a massive willow tree overlooking a sparkling blue ocean. I fly to the cabana and walk in. There are 4 or 5 sleeping men in matching red and blue outfits, sleeping on the furniture. Around them are a few empty teacups and saucers. The light is dim, there are silk clothes hanging in the windows that are billowing in the ocean breeze. I gently wake a handsome man sleeping on the sofa—he has dark eyebrows and a strong growth of beard. With my touch he opens his blue eyes and looks at me, surprised. I realize—I am very hungry! “Are you the cooks?” I ask. He smiles and nods. “I’d like you to make some food—a feast please,” I say. “With some beer and coffee as well.” He nods, standing up. He hesitates—“Sir, we don’t have enough in the kitchen!” I smile. “You will find that you have everything you need.” He nods again, assured, and claps his hands. Everyone wakes up and stands to attention. “I will be back soon!” I call, and step out onto the balcony. It is a stone patio under the willow tree, its low green branches softly caressing the mossy stone. I step up onto the low wall—it is overlooking a steep cliff that leads to a choppy ocean, waves crashing with blue and white foam against the crags. There are some wooden fishing boats moored in the bay. I jump off the wall and glide low over the waves, arcing upward to the sky. I fly higher—I can see the whole city now, a massive coastal city surrounded by desert. It has high stone walls with intermittent parapets. I fly higher— Suddenly my vision blurs. I’m losing the dream. I let myself fall—I’m going to land in the desert outside the city walls. I land in the sand and immediately drop to my knees, grabbing the sand and rubbing it between my fingers. I can’t see at all, but I can still feel the sand. Slowly, slowly my hands come back into view. I stay on the ground, examining the leaves and petals of desert plants. The detail is exquisite. I have retained full lucidity. I turn back to the city—it’s about a half mile away. I lift off and glide like a low bird over the dunes toward the walls. I pass two travelers in robes on their way to the city—Austin and Erika. Erika remarks on my passing and Austin laughs. Before the walls, I lift upward and land on the stone gate. I look down—there is an ornate, porcelain-painted skull of a bull perched on top of the gate. Beyond it is a boy, sitting with his legs dangling over the edge toward the city. I smile to him. “Think I can jump that second gate?” I ask—I point into the courtyard, where travelers are being processed before entering the second layer of walls into the city. The boy shakes his head. I jump down and land, but as I land I start to lose the dream. I focus, but it’s quick now. I try to feel the sand at my feet—but it’s gone. I wake up.