Outrageous people are traveling by train to a party. There is a woman with a grand headpiece of gold tassels that sway as she walks, and the hips of a beautiful young woman wearing a crimson and indigo turban rock with the undulations of the train. A sexy monk with embroidered robes of crisp white linen and silk lace carries sacred manuscripts with pages made of thin sheets of gold.
Because the train has changed course unexpectedly, and there is a meeting. In attendance are kids with whimsical kites, an African artifacts dealer, and an old lady with an old, and elaborately carved, ivory cigarette holder. They decide to allow the train to do what it will, without interference. This doesn’t seem wise to me.
Although fruitless, I am trying to control the train as it careens and lifts completely off the track and twists wildly and recklessly up and down hillsides. I am holding onto the railing for dear life. It surprises me that there are no collisions on this dangerous ride.
I decide to relax, let go, and trust since no one else seems concerned. What will be, will be. The train lands suddenly, and with all of its whistles blaring, at the front door of a lavish party hosted by Cirque de Soleil and Nina Simone.