My mother was always big on house dreams. I mean, it was Mom, so she was pretty much big on any vivid dream with interesting symbols and creative interpretations, but house dreams held a special place in her heart.
“House dreams are always about your self,” she would tell me. “You might think it’s about a literal house — a move, or a transition — but pay close attention. The house always represents you.”
Last night, I had a house dream. We were living in our current house on the Ridge, except that it wasn’t our current house — or rather, it was everything this house actually is, but then it was also so very much more, in that way that only makes sense in dream logic. There were dozens of rooms, hidden staircases and alcoves, and everything was decorated in stone and gargoyle and strange statues, like a small castle.
There was more space than we knew what to do with. I’d walk into a room and forget it even existed.
In the dream, I was showing the house to my team at work. I guess I had invited them over and was giving them a tour. My new boss, and my boss’s boss, were both equal parts impressed and incredulous at so much beautiful space and so much wasted potential. They immediately started giving me ideas of things I could do to make money from the space — rent out rooms, hold classes in the house, do creative workshops or retreats. All of it sounded amazing, and I found myself looking at all those ornate and empty rooms with fresh eyes and wistful excitement.
Yes, Mom — I know what you would say about this one. I guess it’s time to open these doors and air out these rooms.