I'm in a large common room of a coop house. Deanneanddeandeandeanne walks in dressed in their Carol costume. She's accompanied a twelve foot tall man. "My name is Carol today, and this is my new husband," says Deanneanddeandeandeanne. I feel momentary disappointment that this means she will not be marrying me. Carol radiates happiness and contentment, and I find I'm not nearly as tongue-tied as I normally feel around her beauty when dressed as Carol. The tall man sees me with compassion and understanding and my disappointment fades as I feel our togetherness, Carol next to me and the man across the big oak coop dinner table.

"My name is No Man Go Home," says the tall man.

I hear Morgan's voice in my head saying, "That's no proper name, a person can't have a sentence as a name."

"It's perfectly fine for me to have a name like this," says No Man Go Home, "in Hawaii people have names like _."

I can't recall the Hawaiian name from the dream, but I do recall I wanted to chime in with some of the multi-syllabic names of my coworkers from India, but I kept my mouth shut because I was afraid I couldn't get the names quite right, and didn't want to give any offense or expose my stupidity.

"It's very important you remember my name, but happily it is also very easy, the first part is just like 'no mango'," says No Man Go Home.

I awake from the dream, repeating "no mango, no mango, no mango" to myself, and follow the thread back into my fading sleep memory. In the waking world, I remember much of the dream, including that the name had some word after the "No Man Go" part but for the life of me I can't retrieve what the word was. I do recall Carol's contentment. I do recall the calm and gratitude I felt as No Man Go Home saw me completely and with depth of compassion. I spend the next couple days contemplating how I feel so much anger when I think I'm not being seen, and I imagine what would life be like if I kept No Man Go Home at my side all day long. Nearing the end of a deeply satisfying hike with My Love and My Friends, I suddenly hear the "Home" after the "no mango" part. "No Man Go Home," I say to My Love, and she says, "oh that's wonderful, you can say it so many ways."

I feel fear as I think of of the way of saying it in the way that means "No Man Can Go Home".

I feel mixed happiness as I say it with a comma, "No Man, Go Home", and I recognize the tall man is Bagni in costume, and he is telling me to stop my futile seeking for the One Who Can See Me, because he is here, in my Home in my heart of hearts.

If I can only keep giant tall Bagni beside me as I walk, and feel the completeness with which he sees me, and feel the compassion of his gaze, perhaps then I will be able to feel and appreciate the incomplete ways I'm seen by My Love and My Friends, and be filled with gratitude along side my anger and longing.