~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 7

Dream House



Every so often I find myself walking around in a new house. At first, there are rooms and furnishings that seem familiar. But, the longer I roam about, the more the house expands. I leave one room, only to find another, more extravagant and bizarre.
          As I walk around the house, I stumble upon rooms I had no idea were in the very house that I owned. Sometimes I find additional bedrooms and hallways. Sometimes I find lavishly decorated living rooms. Sometimes I find myself in a very well equipped kitchen with all the modern conveniences.
          As I look around, I see that there are more spaces left unexplored. Perhaps the kitchen opens up into a café or cafeteria. People are sitting around tables sampling the food and wine. I keep quiet, but walk around with the knowledge that this is all mine and that they have no idea that I am the owner.
          Sometimes I head down a passage-way into another part of the house. It might be another family room. But, more often, I come across restaurants and shops. Sometimes I find that my house is connected to a shopping mall or plaza of sorts. People are milling around. As I pass the various concession stands, owners say hello to me.
          I head back into the main part of the house through a secret door in the middle of the mall.
          Sometimes I find myself outdoors looking at the house, which by now has grown to city-block dimensions. Sometimes I stroll through gardens and fields that stretch to the horizon: looking out over the expanse of acreage festooned with interesting buildings and "attractions". Sometimes I find myself in one of the barns on the property filled with horses and tack. Other times I pass through darkened rooms, eloquent, and well appointed, as I re-enter the house.
          When I first move into the new house, I am somewhat hesitant that I gave up my previous, comfortable home for this new house: which at first doesn’t seem to be as well built or as nice as my previous home. Sometimes, I find gaps in the walls, or patios undercovered: letting outdoor air pass into the house unobstructed, wondering how I would repair the gaps and pay for all that heating.
          But, for the most part, I find myself settling into a house bigger, grander, and more outrageous in scope than any other that I could imagine myself living in.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I seem to keep coming back to one room, over and over, like it's beckoning me or perhaps it's because I know somehow that's the room where my heart is. This room is always different in shape and adornment, but I know it's the same because of the feeling I get when being there. It's a room furnished in a bohemian manner, sometimes it's centred around a huge palm tree and filled with all kinds of rugs, and cabinets, and tables, and sofas, and armchairs, and paintings, and candelabras, and flowers, and so many other things, all of which are beautifully and graciously designed, not necessarily compatible with each other but because they all hold this specific beauty of their own, they match one another perfectly.
          And together, together they build up this gentle embracing feeling that makes the room so special, like it lifts your spirit whenever you're there. Sometimes the room has bloodstains on its wooden floor. I like that, or, rather, I love that, because I recognize the scattered blood, I love each and every one of those blood-drops like a friend, because they're part of an agony once felt, and by means of facing and re-living that deep felt pain all over again, only this time with loving care and gentleness as the guiding light, my soul unburdened itself; the bloodstains are reminders of this new love, and thus signs of healing.
          Then again, sometimes I don't even pay attention to the things and furniture in the room – I just sense them somewhere at the outskirts of my vision, I know they're there and they make the room absolutely wonderful but my attention is elsewhere directed – towards the people who're in the room. Because sometimes the room has two or three visitors, sometimes it's crowded with people having a party or something. This room has space for everyone and I
love having them there, even if I also, from time to time, want to be there all by myself or share it only with my closest friend.
          When it's just me, or us, there, we use to look at all the different things building up this room. It feels so good to recognize their presence; they're there and they're a vital part of what makes this room filled with such an extraordinary and joyful peace, a feeling I've never experienced when awake. When I'm in that room I become –  I am –  a person I love being, regardless if I'm on my own, with my friend or if several people are there visiting. If I could be that person for real, if I could see the world and treat myself and everyone else like I do when I'm in that room, I would like to live forever.


Author: C.W.

Takemehome Book Cover, Foreword and Table of Content Chapter 6
Chapter 8

T h e  I s l a n d  o f  M a n s t a r i a
Site  Navigator: