I’m having more wild dreams. They are instructive about what is important, to me and to God. I think they come from Him. They are an intersection between my subconscious and the inclinations of the spirit.
Thus, I am fairly obsessed with my dreams, and hope they are useful or intriguing to you, lest this blog become an online version of that book Eat, Pray, Love which was hugely popular a few years back, but which I just didn’t like. I read it because it had a cool cover and an interesting title, and because it was on the Costco book table.
But I couldn’t get into it, mostly because much of the book is Elizabeth Gilbert detailing her real-life yoga meditation experiences with a guru in India.
While I have no doubt that meditating in India is a transformative thing to do, it just didn’t translate for me as a reader. I was bored when she was meditating. It was not unlike the feeling one has when one is sober while everyone else is drunk. I couldn’t immerse in her immersive yoga experience.
So, if my dream analysis gets a little too Eat, Pray, Love for you, maybe you can give me a sign. We could identify a safe word, which is code for “your dreams are great and all, but stop now.”
Perhaps “mango?” Mangoes grow in India, right? Elizabeth Gilbert probably ate plenty of fresh mango between her yoga sessions. Mango, people. If it shows up in the comments, I’ll take it to heart.
With that, I dreamt that Wes Anderson, who makes some of the funniest movies that exist, came to my house to talk to Dutch and me.
He said he would like to buy our house so that he could knock it down and built a movie set here instead. In my dream, our house was literally on a steep mountain, and Wes proposed building a ski hill/luge track for his upcoming film which apparently dealt with downhill skiing and luge racing.
I immediately thought of all the times I’ve said, “I wish I could start over in a new house, a place without ruffled, urine-soaked bathroom baseboards or holey walls or destroyed flooring.”
In my dream, I smiled at Wes, who was wearing a red parka and ski pants with a resort tag dangling from the zipper, and who was smiling back at me. “This is great!” I said to myself. “Wes can have his movie set, and I can have a house that doesn’t smell bad. Huzzah!”
But then a sinking feeling pulled at my belly.
I thought about my children’s friends, especially the ones who feel that our home is their second home. I thought about the lovely park just a block down the hill. I thought about my quiet neighborhood and the fact that we can step outside at night and still see the stars in the night sky. I thought about my backyard and the trees that are big now, since Dutch planted them eleven years ago when we moved here. I considered the people in my neighborhood, who know my kids and my kids’ quirks, and who like us because of these things, and not in spite of them. I thought of my kindred friends on this street, and on the surrounding streets.
The state of one’s baseboards isn’t an accurate representation of one’s happiness.
I woke up knowing that I was going to tell Wes Anderson no. This home we have established in a quiet, out of the way place is a protected space, a greenhouse with the right conditions to raise our family. It’s working well for us.
We are happy here, and you can’t put a price on that.
P.S. Remember, mango. Or not. Because I do so love the dream writing. xoxo