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STEP THIRTEEN

Dreamed 1997/7/8 by Chris Wayan

I live in a big old house in Texas. Another world's leaking through to ours. There's a similar house in the other world. Objects and people bleed through, looking streaky and weird, leaving turbulence--the two worlds don't mix or superimpose, in the usual movie-ghost way. They clash! And this isn't natural: powerful people (both magically and politically powerful) are making this happen, and for a reason--to put pressure on me. So I'll do as they say.

I slowly deduce that there's a mid-world caught like a sandwich between ours and theirs, having nothing to do with all this pressure--but it's the world I was blaming, since my tormentors and guides come through it to me.

My main guide is a mocking trickster-god anyway, not much help. And the other house is sending me smelly diapers, trying to prepare me to take care of two babies--possibly the mythical Warrior Twins that Jung and Campbell documented so well.

Well excuse me, they're not my responsibility! Find someone in your own damn world!

At one point, the other world erupts a whole geyser of scary beings into our neighborhood, starting a panic. Whatever the alien things are, you're dead if they catch you alone.

The house leader in our world yells "Back to the house! Stay together." We're all grateful he's guiding us--I've always felt he was selfish, but he leads us all back, sticking with us. As we reach the door, I'm thinking "I'll have to apologize to him later." Then he slams the door in our faces and locks it, screaming with laughter. He was using us as a shield!

Disgusted, I quit--drop my allegiance to all of them. Sit in a swing in the yard. My so-called guide comes to sit and talk a while in the next swing, but he's just too slippery to give me much useful news. The third swing occasionally arcs between worlds, bringing strange objects or flickers of ghosts. I just let them come or go or just play with the swings--let them do whatever they damn please.

Because I'm tired of feeling responsible for others who act like jerks. Mortals, spirits, gods, I don't care. I've had it with these big spoiled babies--on both sides of the border.

NOTES IN THE MORNING

So much for the twelve-step program. This is my step thirteen.



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