I approach the enormous school building. The pillars in front seem to reach the sky, the gray stone walls extend a city block at least. I’m here for a reason. I’m burning. There was a spark and now I feel it growing within. Walking is ecstatic meditation over hot coals. Everyone is settled in already, I’m starting mid-semester. In the basement I get my ID and schedule. Everyone lives on this floor, but not me. I’ve been told to go upstairs for my first lesson. The room is completely dark and the professor tells me to focus on a fire outside of myself. Can you find it? Where are you? What are you thinking of? And I see her face directly in front of me, lit by my orange glow. I tell her, “I knew I was on fire but I didn’t know it was because of you.” Her curls fall over her face as we lay down and stare into each other. She has something to show me. We are now both effortlessly transitioning into men with each level/scene. We take a short cut to her mother’s room. The building is a spaceship. Behind doors are hydraulic systems. At first when we get to the room of corrugated copper cylinders I think that’s what we are moving past but s/he tells me that they are for storing bodies. In case someone gets ill and we cannot cure them, we can freeze time in the cylinder and ship them elsewhere in hopes of finding a cure. But there are so many! We go up another set of stairs. His mother is a tiny stern woman. She is wearing an apron and scolds him for visiting. Her body is hunched and her gray hair is in a bun. There is evil within her. “this is what I wanted to show you,” he says to me. He takes off the skirt he is wearing which has a tropical scene on it including a brown woman with fruit on her head. He lays the wrap skirt in a pool of water and a copy is printed in front of our eyes. But the woman on this new skirt is not the same. The woman is a version of his mother, her face morphed into Baba Yaga. And instead of fruit on her head, blood red quinoa spills over her face.