In my dream the glorious fun of Solaris had spread beyond the pagan community. The mainstream got wind of what a huge success our little yearly naked camping trip is, and how awesome the celebrants are.
And so plans were made to turn each of us into an action figure. Drunk on our own egos and the idea of reaching out to the non-pagans of the world we all eagerly signed contracts to the company that was rendering us. We did this without reading all the small print.
We gathered at an enormous factory in the Midwest, a huge, towering, foreboding building under a permanent stormcloud, even though the surrounding golden wheat fields were bathed in bright sunlight. Giddy with the sense of adventure we ignored these warning signs and proceeded in, laughing and chatting away.
Even though the factory stretched for 100 stories or more up, our elevator took us down. In an enormous factory floor, far below ground we all lined up in front of gigantic cardboard cards, mock-ups we guessed of the colorful backings to our action figures. We were told by the shadowy, hooded guide to step up to our cardboard cards and turn around to face out. Still smiling and giggling we each bounded up the short staircase and assumed the classic hands-out, legs apart pose of Universal dolldom.
It was then, facing the back wall for the first time that we saw the a gigiantic dark sign with the name of the company that we had signed up with: CONGEALCO.
At that moment, between the sign and the long line of us a wave of clear plastic erupted and swept towards us. Simultaneously white plastic bands snapped around our arms and legs. Trapped! And the wave of plastic hit us, sealed us and wrapped around the cardboard backings. The Shrinkwrap Machine.
But no ordinary shrinkwrap machine. This one actually shrunk its prey. And we wilted in our plastic bubbles, shimmered and shrank as the hot plastic wrap grew ever tighter around us. And in no time we were 30 dolls lying on the factory floor, ready to swept up and drop-shipped around the world.
But the Spirit of Solaris survived our demises. The community that we created, the bonds we made, the mud we applied, the pancakes we ate, the water balloons we threw, the stories and songs we shared in the teepee, the rituals we enacted around the fire, the power we raised - all of that energy survived.
Survived us, and bound us together as tightly as our clear plastic graves now encased us. And the spirit of Solaris called us. Called us back. Called us together once more.
And we began to move within our corrugated coffins. We twitched, we stretched we moaned, in toy stores, in malls, in mail-order warehouses, in Wyoming, England, Germany - we revived. Tiny fists slammed, tiny plastic legs kicked. And we broke the seals that separated us, bouncing to the ground, each with their accessory included: a tiny drum, sunhat, coffee cup, forge, apron. We would need all these things.
Across the fields, by the sides of highways, deep in holds of cargo ships, we traveled. Grim, restless, intent, with an unerring sense of direction and a dark purpose.
We all were headed back to Gaia's Oasis, back to plan, to recover, to plot.
Congealco would fall.
Rubber heads would roll.
And the Action Figures of Solaris would rise again.
And we would have our revenge.
Back to the land of Dreams.