The house in my dreams is not my house. It is cleaner, airy, large rooms... the house in my dreams is my house...it is being demolished, remodeled, painted. Color is being added, things are being taken away, furniture is being moved.
The house in my dreams is not my house. We are bringing in our furniture, just enough to fill the bedrooms, and look behind the walls through the little door...the huge space behind the walls...I go and look and find a flood. It is raining and the roof is bad, and walking through, the space gets smaller and smaller until under a roof slant a boy sleeps near my daughter's room's secret door.
The people in my literal house are part of my dream houses. The rooms are the nature of our relationships. I always think of my marriage when I have dreams of houses....how could I not, when I sleep next to this man every night? How are our dreams intertwined? How are our dreams less than waking?
I cannot ever deny the power of partnership, yet I struggle with what it means, and how to practice it. The constant building and tearing down of our "rooms" is a process I am fully engaged in, or unconsciously participating in. He informs who I am, and gives shape to who I am as a mother. Who he is, who he is not, it is a powerful influence, every day. Our dance on many days is less lock-step and more lock-horns. Yet I have gratefully learned much from this man, and we struggle together, and we stay together and learn love, practice humility, embrace selflessness. Mother-parts of me that I am proud of would not have come to fruition if not for him.
The house in my dreams is not my house. It is kinder, lighter, happier. The house in my dreams is my house. It is creative, vibrant, real.