I wish I were an artist, so I could draw the spiral cage up stairs through which I enmeshed myself in my dream last night. It was by the base of large, stone or marble plaza in front of a mysterious building of godlike dimensions. A man on horseback came up. I told him, because I had seen another equestrian do it, that it was possible to get up the massive, myriad, deceptive stairs on horseback. Gingerly, he and his pearly mount began the ascent. I, on the other hand, had no horse. I opted for the beige metal spiral staircase. The more circuits round the spiral I navigated, the tighter the enclosing ironwork became. Claustrophobia flirted with me, but I deferred it with deep breaths and concentration. Eventually, however, I could see that I could go no further. The baroque metallic structure had pressed in and entangled on all sides. I let go my grip, and fell rapidly. The protrusions of iron caught at me and released me, with a faint ratcheting noise, as if I were a bearing falling through a corrugated shaft. I felt relief.