ICE CREAM KISS
Dreamed 1993/11/27 by Chris Wayan
I'm Lt. Joe Leaphorn, Navaho detective.
I'm visiting San Francisco on business. But in the course of the investigation, I must stay as a guest in the Victorian house where a witch-coven meets. Compost Coven, they call it.
Yeah, I'm the guest of witches. Good thing Chee's not here!
It's a strange place, as strange as the name. "You name yourselves after garbage?" I ask. "Not exactly" says a witch. "We do recycle, but compost literally means 'putting things together.' To see what ferments. That's what we do."
True. They hold a party, and wildly different people have gathered in the house and yard... mostly out in the back yard now. I stare down from the window, disoriented by the sheer variety of colors and sizes and shapes and clothes. And sexes. They're like dream-people, who don't quite make sense--I can't read them.
A little overwhelmed, I wander into the kitchen--and get a shock. Three women--the hostess and a friend of hers and a small teenage girl--are spooning ice cream into each other's mouths, and french kissing, sliding half-melted ice cream from tongue to tongue, melding flavors.
Despite myself, I'm turned on. I want to join them! But they ignore me. I'm a stranger, a man, a Navaho. I shouldn't anyway--I have food allergies, and that ice cream'd probably make me sick.
But it tears at me--they look so sensual...
NOTES IN THE MORNING
The basic dilemma of environmental illness (EI) is "I want that, but can't tolerate it." A lot of us, including me, twist this into "I must not really want it" or desperately assert "I truly want this, so it won't hurt me." Both are false. I wasted years in therapy looking for "resistance" that wasn't there. We EI victims often bargain with our illness--"Just a little ice cream/sex/love now and I'll be careful all week," denying the cumulative, unpredictable nature of stress. Tonight, for example, I ate avocadoes and tried a new vegetable juice. Avocado's on my suspect list; the juice is unknown. I woke up ill. From which one? If I'd tried just one new food, I'd have another clue toward healing myself--been a cautious, methodical detective like Joe Leaphorn.
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