I dream that my friends and I wander a three-dimensional maze. We're fierce as caged animals, hungry to escape, but we have to watch out--it's all right angles, nothing rounded--and those crisp, sharp edges can cut.

I was slow to realize what this maze was. I'd built it myself: it was the maze of my radical pacifist vegetarian feminist anarchist conscience!

My cubist conscience.

I bike through the maze. Know my goal, just not the best route to it. Head southwest and up...

I can reshape the maze lucidly, to some extent--hard work to visualize the changes clearly enough, but when I do, the maze obeys. I will the halls to widen, the sharp corners to soften. The latter fails, but the maze does get a little easier. I find I can even open sealed doors just by willing them to. Telekinesis!

At last, I TK a pair of doors open and find a huge altar-room. Cluttered, but more open than any space yet. I “altar” it more, remove screens, unify it.

We're still not free. But with hard work I can alter my cubist conscience.

A harsher cage than anything archists ever built.

NOTES IN THE MORNING

Sharp maze/house:

1. I just read a review of Woody Allen's new film Interiors. Grim middle-class repression in a white white house. Like this sharp maze.
2. I also reread The Dream Game; Ann Faraday comments that many dream houses stand for parents' values. My dream promptly ran with that idea! My family values: noble in theory (my parents were idealistic leftists), but in practice... a hard-edged labyrinth of guilt.

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