A dream worth having: Lea Ann and I are painting a picture together. We're on our knees, Jackson Pollock style, at the bottom of a Huge Canvas, with infinite buckets of paint, not that the infinite buckets are visible–we only have one bucket at a time– but that whatever color each one of us is thinking about at the time becomes manifest, one bucket of paint at a time. Lea Ann's clearly the leader; she dips her brush into the paint can, which contains the color she's thinking about at the moment she's thinking about it, and makes strong confident strokes over the surface of the canvas. Green, blue, purple, red, a yellow that's the color of a new kind of light I've never seen before, spool up from her brush, each brushstroke sweeping upwards from the very bottom of the canvas. It's like she's making a bunch of paths for me to follow. The paths of color pool up in places to create other colors unlike any colors ever created. These new colors become streams and rivers that flow upwards towards the top of the canvas, having their own energy, mating with the colors Lea Ann and I have brushed onto the canvas, so that the canvas never ends, the canvas expands to accommodate both the paint we've applied to it AND the paint that's started its own life from the paint we first applied. It's the most remarkable thing I've ever seen, thrilling and serene, a spectacle wherein the creator is led completely by the creation.