In my dreams, my family owns a house. The house stands upon the top of a grassy hill like a great wooden ship cresting a wave. The sea is the dreary and complex city pressing up against the hill on all sides, held at bay by a great tall white wall.
This is the home that no one else wanted. When we found it, it had been the ancient squat of a mad hoarder, with piles of garbage up to our necks in every room.
But we loved it. We bought it and began to clean it. As we cleaned, we discovered that beneath the garbage was a vast and dazzling collection of fantastic items from across the entire world. Each room on the second and third floors of this house is dedicated to a different collection.
The home in my dreams is full of wonders. Everything is made of polished gleaming wood. The bay windows in the dining room take the space of an entire wall and somehow always look out onto an endless misty moor. There is always something to repair in this home, and there is always another nook to discover. Usually, these nooks are small sunny spots filled with pillows and books.
The basement of the house is frightening and fascinating. It is the only place in the home that defies order, no matter how hard my lucid dreaming self tries to repair and clear it. The basement is always dimly lit with a maze of ancient clothes from across time hanging on racks. The clothes are beautiful and delicate, and yet they fit poorly and always smell bad. The clothes are the happiest staying where they are.
The basement floor is wet. Beyond the clothes, there is a mountain of rusted and tangled sports equipment, like a hedge of thorns.
If you can make it past the broken sports equipment, you come to a place where you see that the home's foundation is cracked. Above the cracked foundation, there is a large hole rotten through the wooden wall. This hole refuses to be repaired, no matter how I try, and it fills me with unease. I must face the fact that one day my dreams will crumble, and the house will collapse. And maybe we were fools to have bought this home at all.
The hole weeps like an open wound, and it reminds me of the heel of Achilles. Wild dogs, spiders, and raccoons come into the basement through the hole and make nests in the ancient clothes.
I flee back up to the dining room and try not to think of the hole.
There is a secret elevator in the house. It took some time to find it, and it doesn't always work. But if you can get over the fear of cramped spaces and the possibility that the elevator might get stuck and trap you forever between the house's walls, you can take the elevator to the very secret top floor.
When you step out of the elevator, you see that half of the top floor opens to a wild alpine rooftop garden. The other half of the secret top floor is cool, white, and metallic. There is a futuristic command interface inside of an egg-shaped room. This room looks like the bridge of a battleship with a large screen and a wide control panel. This is where the greatest secret lies. My wonderful house on the hill doesn't just look like a ship; it IS a ship, controlled by science and magic and a benevolent AI personality.
All you have to do is say the word, and the city around you grows liquid. The house turns into a mighty ship and sails through the world's landscapes as if they were water. You can go anywhere, have any adventure and sometimes even lift up off the earth and sail through the sunrise.
I return to this magical home many nights while I sleep, and the dream builds and shifts. There is a trapdoor leading to a secret underground world. There is a train that circles the base and never lets you leave. There is a room where you can learn magic as long as you never tell anyone else where it is. And gargles. There are gargoyles on the chimney tops...
But I have spent too long in bed. There are chores to be done and people to greet.
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep..."
Sweet dreams.
:)
