house on a cliff

yesterday i had a dream i was in a strange house by the sea. i knew at once it wasn't my house and that it must have been a dream - but i was intrigued by my surroundings. i wanted to explore the house. it was spacious, laid out like a villa and lavishly furnished with dainty drawers and desks, ornaments and flowers resting perfectly in small shapely vases like they are in fancy hotel foyers. I wandered, examining the phantom details - knowing I was really lying in bed but enthralled by the experience, the illusion of being elsewhere. it was either early morning or late evening - the light was dim, soft and indirect - it came from elsewhere, an ambient luminosity highlighted the shapes and silhouettes of objects while revealing one or two details, keeping the rest shrouded in shadow.¹ the tatami floor mats made no sound as i ghosted my way slowly through the rooms. i made my way through the study which opened into the bedroom, a wide space with huge windows facing toward the sea. on the floor was a futon and my mother lay there asleep. i leaned over to check on her but didn't wake her. i wanted to explore the house more first.

it was pleasant, but at the same time felt strange. it was welcoming the way a luxurious hotel or resort house is. it didn't have the warmth of being actively inhabited, but offered you its amenities, it had been prepared for guests - considerations made and measures taken. a clean and neat - less than enthusiastic but nevertheless appealing smile. not a warm welcome but a cordial invitation. the house itself was large, made up of many spacious interconnecting rooms, filled with things like chairs and bland yet tasteful - carefully selected decorations, neatly arranged for display - like the pictures they hang up in hotel corridors - everything to suggest the appearance of ordinary life - but so silent and devoid of any evidence of human activity - it was simply impossible to believe that anyone had ever lived there. it was like being in a massive still life exhibit in an art museum. yes, that's what it felt like -- a museum. or one of those furniture exhibits in ikea, only instead of a living room or kitchen it was the whole house, with nothing to break the illusion. the uncanny attention to detail. the meticulous upkeep. everything in its 'proper' place. no picture frame askew, no coffee table magazine out of place. it felt contrived, unnatural. it was less of a place and more like a full scale diorama. some kind of super-realistic doll-house which i found myself walking through. a very attractive, tidy and elaborate pose.

later i find myself outside, wandering the compound surrounding the bungalow / villa. it stands on its own about a hundred meters away to the left on a cliff overlooking the sea. the sun is just about setting and a soft glow bounces off its walls. there are no other houses in sight. where i'm standing, there is a narrow aisle of rock like stairs carved into the side of the cliff leading down about 20 meters to where the rocks meet the sea. it's a steepish incline, but the rocks are steady enough to gain a secure footing. i plant myself at the top of the stairway and look out toward the horizon. the sea stretches far into the distance and merges with a great blanket of cloud that spread out in all directions to cover the expanse above. suddenly i feel wet. i look down and my feet are wet, and a trickle of water runs down the aisle. i look up behind me to see water streaming from a hill, coming from a source i can't see. at first i think - 'this makes no sense... water doesn't just come from nowhere - if anything, it would be coming from the sea... ' and then i start to be slightly alarmed. should i move? i think. my first instinct is to get back into the house. but then i try to calm myself down. i'll just wait for it to die down. the house is right there, and the sea way below me. there's no chance i'll be swept off... right? by now the flow has gotten stronger and the water has covered the ground about an inch deep and is sweeping pebbles and debris off in the direction of the shore. before i have time to rethink my decision, a wave sweeps in over the ridge and rushes toward me violently, spilling off down the cliff and behind me. now i am concerned that if i let go of my perch i will swept off by the next wave. the water is rising rapidly, so i crouch down and grab hold of the nearest, most secure looking rocky outcrop. the water keeps coming in, in boisterous waves six or seven seconds apart, showing no signs of slowing or stopping. soon everything around me is covered with water. it is up to my waist, but my feet are still planted on the ground. i try to reassure myself - relax, even though it looks bad you're still on land. as long as you don't let go. just don't let go of the rock and you'll be fine. no matter what. don't let go. i watch each wave as it comes, amazed and panicked by how high they are getting. i glance at the house to see if i should just try to swim across against the current. the water is now flowing fast like a flood, threatening to tear me from my perch. i hold on even tighter. don't let go. just don't let go. waist deep in water, clinging desperately to the rock, i glance back at the house again - but it seems to have moved, just an inch. i watch with horror and see the house slowly receding into the distance. it is growing further away. I realise that my rocky perch has been dislodged and is being swept out to sea. In desperation and panic I abandon the rock and jump straight into the water, in the direction of the house, now even more distant and moving away with the gradual inexorable velocity of a missed train just departing. I paddle desperately against the tide, but the current is too strong and sweeps me further and further away. With the water all around me, up to my neck, jostling me violently, I lose sight of the house. I lose sight of all landmarks. I am moving frantically against the current. Everywhere I look I see nothing but the sea and the gray featureless sky above me. With nothing to hold onto and no direction to head towards, a fatal resignation sweeps into me like a flood. I realise I am paddling aimlessly, with absolutely no hope of getting home. I stop struggling and allow my body to drift into oblivion.

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^{1. i was amazed by the dream-house. the existence of objects i was simultaneously creating and discovering. the rooms were fabricated, but without my knowledge. i was fascinated by every detail, and subjecting it to scrutiny, and at the same time afraid to wake up. usually, you can ruin the magic for yourself if you try to see the trick behind it. for instance, if you are watching the movie and start looking for the plot points -- hints of contrived dialogue, you can often see the machinations - the technique behind it, ropes and pulleys and levers peeking through the seams, movements of the invisible hand - directions being whispered off-stage. but none of that happened. there was nothing in the mise en scene to suggest that it was not in fact reality. i was impressed at my mind's talent for counterfeit -- that the illusion was so complete, despite already knowing it was just that. ↩}