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Night of the 14th

... there was a dream.

And in the dream, I was in that city again, of differing streets and houses, where there is a Cathedral sunk beneath the earth, and above that to the left there is a subway, or a mezzanine museum, something like that, though this often seems silvery grey rather than the pink gold of the Cathedral under the earth. The last few times I have been here, the Cathedral has always been in another part of the city to the right of me. I get the directions wrong all the time. Maybe I was in another city. This looked like Granada though the streets seemed different, and my mother and I were on some bus/tram. The bus took us to the top of a mountain where there was a great gate, and several figures sat on stone thrones staring out over the mountains. The bus approached this great ledge from behind, and I thought I knew where we were: the Seat of the Moor in the mountains I think. In real life it is nothing like my description. We did not try to go through the gates to see the figures. Instead, we went down into town to watch artists at work.

This dream has a particular significance that I can relate to real life right now, and I should try not to forget it.

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