and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

In my head, I was somewhere in northern canada marching across what appeared to be a pretty barren tundra. Not completely frozen or snow covered, but certainly suffering from a pretty bad case of perma-frost. Tufts of brown grass held on here and there and, despite the strong wind, it wasn't particularly cold. I had some sort of animal skins thrown over me as a sort of shawl and under that just jeans and a white long sleeve t-shirt. I was wearing mocassins. As I trudged along I had to lean a bit into the wind, holding the animal skins tightly around me to keep them from whipping around in my face.

The destination was Greenland. I don't exactly know why but I knew for certain that there was more opportunity there. I knew if I could just get to the coast and find a boat, borrow an eskimo's kayak, I could make it. Never mind that it was hundreds of miles across the open waters of the North Atlantic. Never mind that I wasn't a good seamn, didn't have supplies, and didn't actually know where in Greenland I was heading. I just knew I had to get there. This, at least, was set.

I kept walking, stumbling forward through the strong gusts of crisp air, but nothing really changed. I was staring at a dark blue horizon, the sun setting behind me in the west, but there was nothing out there. No water, no trees, no towns.. nothing. Then, suddenly, there was a great and blinding light to the north. As it glarred into existence in an instance, I snapped my head towards it's direction, startled. It pierced through my skull like hot metal through butter. I reeled back, caught myself, and realized I was up against a wall of some sort. I was facing this wall, which had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and I had my arms up high over my head, my hands pressed firmly against the smooth surface. I was, I realized, trying to climb the wall. As my eyes slowly stopped throbbing in their sockets and I became accustomed to the light I started to see all sorts of new things around me. A bedside table. A book. A radio alarmclock. I looked down and saw that I was crouched on a small wooden dresser. In the center of the blinding light stood a figure, tall - maybe six feet or more - and broad. I saw only it's outline, nothing more. My mouth opened but nothing came out. I froze, waiting.. One second. Two. And then it spoke.

"Go back to bed, Michael," my father always was a no-nonsense sort of guy.

I nodded. Numb, stupid, still half way between dream and awake, but aware. I began to climb down off the dresser but then I stopped and looked up. My right hand was still firmly planted on the wall, high, over my head. Underneath it was a National Geographic Explorer world map - old enough to have U.S.S.R. plastered across Eurasia. Directly above my hand, where my finger tips were still unconciously inching, stretching, reaching for, lay Greenland.