Theater is like a dream is like a theater is like a . . .

Brain explode.

I attended the theater last night in my sleep. A show that blows the lid off of anything I've seen in real life. Not fair to make comparisons I know, but wow! This was like Fuerza Bruta meets your favorite Shakespearean history, done by some stretch-your-idea-of-what-theater-can-be company like Lookingglass or The Wooster Group, toss in some Neo-style self-aware humor and some really hot European actors, and put the whole thing on steroids.

The audience sat in three white tents watching three variations on the same show. The actors played on torn earth, a swampy mudscape that stretched on forever.

A flood crashed through the white tents . . .

I was chosen from the audience to represent a mythic warrior princess, and two actors helped me walk on stilts across the mudscape through a storm right before the second intermission. One of them was into me. His family objected. As I revised within the dream, it turned out we had an embattled romantic past.

At one point our seats turned into a monorail that carried us over a frozen tundra, a fantastic forest, a cliff face covered in toiling humanity. The characters who lived in this world believed in fantastic creatures like unicorns and trolls, but they preferred not to seek them out, allowing them to appear spontaneously to a lucky few. The audience wept for the magic potential in the landscape.

Take that, Mary Zimmerman. Take that, Robert le Page. . . . If you want to direct my dream, and you have a budget of a bazillion dollars I am totally down.