My dad's driving my old VW bus. He parks us in a gravel lot by a big rambling house, indeed a manor built in an arc, cupping sunken gardens. The Three Sisters loom on the western horizon, two miles high. It feels lush for the lava plateau of eastern Oregon, but that's clearly where we are.

The projectors are mostly behind, so they silhouette the steel arm supporting the screen, making the images almost impossible to see. But my father seems to see nothing else! Just the movie, not the technology behind it. He's excited and embarrassed, nearly elbowing me: sharing the male experience of dirty pictures with his son!

But I can't see the pictures--blocked by the machinery! Well, I deduce there's a painting of a woman but it's so dim and fragmented I can't see her whole, let alone find her sexy as my dad does. There's a mirror on the wall. It gives a clearer view of the robot arm and its support beans. I can even see the image of the woman a little clearer in the mirror, as it's the clearer back side.

Then I notice it's a one-way mirror, and dimly, in the room beyond, I can see a middle-aged woman, slightly stout but still athletic... manipulating the robot arm. I know right away she's a psychologist and this is a test. She resembles the picture's image a little; I suspect it's her, in color, dancing an Earthmother or fertility-dance.

I leave my father entranced by the movie and slip out of the little theater and hunt for the real woman behind the screen. She's easy to find... once I look. She smiles and leads me downstairs. She shows me the machinery. As I descend the steps of her house, she slowly enlarges to ten feet tall! The Goddess, all right. She carries me on her shoulders. I'm a bit embarrassed and feel wrong to be getting a free ride, so I asked to be let down. Holding her hand is as much support as I can take!

In her sunken garden we sit and talk. I lean on her. It feels good to lean on the Goddess.

She shows me a picture on the ground: a graph of my future if I enter therapy and change my life from what I find (a slowly ascending line); and if I don't face my deep issues (a sharp drop and then a low plain). She calmly listens to me chatter about the chart, nervously and charmingly. She appreciates the wit without being fooled; she knows why I chatter.

She becomes younger and thinner and prettier as we talk. I can't easily here with the noise from the parking lot leaking into the garden. I hear a VW bus drive off--my parents? "They can't handle this, especially my dad."

"He seemed old-fashioned!" says the goddess "Funny, you're not that old, I didn't expect it. How old is he?"

Uneasily I think back "Uh... 61? 62?" I suspect I'm wrong, off by several years. I really don't know my father! We talk about my family for a while, but I still have trouble hearing her.

A disciple comes with a message--although she gets up and says " I must leave" I know very well I can stay in this house, in any capacity, as long as I want. I'm welcome in the house of the Goddess. I have a home at last.

Will I be shy, or take her up on it?

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