Tony Grist (poliphilo) wrote,
Tony Grist

Gently Down the Stream

I had a dream the other night where I found myself in a country house with a moat around it. Someone was talking to me. "Do you know what this place is called?" they asked. I knew I knew, but I couldn't quite get hold of it. "The Interpreter's House," I ventured, "something beginning with an 's'".

And then it dawned on me that I'd been coming to the house at intervals for a long, long time, and that this was my real life. The people in the house were teaching me, training me. I felt so happy.

The rest of the dream involved an initiation ceremony. First I had to pretend to cut the throat of a tiger. Then I had to run an obstacle course with my eyes bandaged with red gauze.

I passed all these tests triumphantly.

I woke and there were lights flashing in the bedroom. Only there weren't. I guess it was just something my brain was doing. I was so sure the dream was a break-through that I committed it to memory before I went back to sleep.

But, look at it, there's nothing there.
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