MASTER OF THE HOUSE OF DUSK
Dreamed 1994/10/10 by Chris Wayan
I'm standing in front of a gray house set in a windy pass: the House of Dusk.
Legend says the pass is haunted by a flying ghostly thing, part squid, part radar-dish, with three wires or legs converging at its focus, becoming one strand/tail. It swoops around the pass when it's windy and foggy.
The House of Dusk is near my parents' home, but it's another world. I see auras, and this house has one. Muscular, yang, smoky and dark, where my family's is inward, convoluted, hidden, yin. This house is opaque--too strong for me to penetrate.
The door opens. The Master of the House challenges me. A big man with a black beard, his aura shouting intelligence. I fear him vaguely, because his technomagic has such force--greater than mine. And he plays rough--plays for keeps.
He sets me a riddle. "What haunts this pass? You get one guess." He asks anyone who seeks to enter his house. If I guess wrong, the rumors say I'll still enter the House... just never come out again.
I say, "It's like a kite or windsock... YOU are flying it!" He laughs ruefully, and I know I've won. "True enough." He says. "Though I'm teaching my son to fly it, these days."
I may have won the riddle, but I don't really understand. Clearly it's an antenna, held up by wind-power. But an antenna for what frequencies? Short radio waves I guess, since the dish isn't solid, just a wire mesh. What messages are they picking up? It's clearly a source of his technomagical powers. I may find out, now that I get to enter the House of Dusk. I cross the threshold... reluctantly.
I should be enthusiastic. It's a triumph, a privilege hard-earned... but I don't really want to enter this House. Such a gloomy place, such a tough, grim guy! Oh, I'll go in, and learn what I must to go on... but I can't savor this particular shamanic victory.
Not every House, no matter what its Power, feels like home.
NOTES ON WAKING UP
But the dream warns me there's another reason I've avoided this step into my power. Not guilt or fear, exactly--I just don't like the tough side of me. And taste, too, may have to be set aside, a while.
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