Out on the tarmac

[Dreamweaver]

Just beyond me there is a circle of five or six Native American men. One is in a loin cloth and leather stockings. He has a headdress with about five large feathers in it. They take each other's hands, form a closed circle and begin to pray. "These are very holy men," I say. They are at the base of a moving staircase, the type used at airports before there were jetways from the gates at the airport. The passenger ramp moves out to the Tarmac beyond. Three or four men are on it behind me. They are all walking up. I can feel the presence of something. I say aloud, "we cannot board if we can't see it." Immediately an egg-like thing appears. I am right at the top looking at the surface. It is like an eggshell but it gives when I poke it. It seems alive. Stephen Hawking is on the staircase behind me. He is a young, healthy man.