Waiting to be

Occasionally I dream about a future home of mine, with a newfound secret passageway to large open rooms with great light, since they’re closest to the sky, and a view to the sea. Studios made out of an abandoned church on a promontory, say, or ateliers in a barn loft overlooking a beach. Often the new rooms are upstairs past a dark and scary place, which is why I had never gone through before. My dream dictionary says that dreaming about a house with all its rooms means I’m dreaming about myself and my many compartments. Dreaming about a newly discovered room, it says, means I’m discovering new parts of myself, ready for whatever the room expresses: in this case joy, relief, openness to change, fresh arts. Waiting to be is still being. One future home is my home now. I just haven’t dreamed it yet.
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