In the situation I am conceiving this morning, as I observe the crab boat moving slowly through the still water of Harris Creek, the people have experienced a sudden collective understanding that the system cannot save them, that the species is as vulnerable as the members who compose it. There is, as it were, a sudden shift from solidarity to vulnerability. I imagine the people awakening one morning, each in his or her own time, to the realization that the ties that bind them to each other, are untying themselves. Each member of the tribe would experience a slippage of identity, a loss of that firm grip on the complex of relationships which constitute the tribal body.

Every night we slide down that slippery slope toward the dream world, toward the unconscious body. Freud refers to this slide as regressive, a return to the intrauterine situation, before the tribe is perceived. The dream is a pre-historical production. The complex of nuclear social relationships is all in the collective head of the people. Progress is regress; there is nowhere else to go. The unconsicious is; consciousness comes and goes.