Have you ever woken up, the dream still clinging to you as the alarm insists upon its way? I’ve had a bunch of those dreams lately, and I can’t tell if it’s because I’ve been extraordinarily tired as of late, or if the Universe is playing Blackjack with me. I keep morphing people I knew with people I now see regularly — but the hybrid has the personality of neither person.
Today, I live in a house that hosts the drama of the sun every day. The back of the house is dead east, and the sun comes from above a crest of a hill. The light filters through the trees and hits the art room first, then peeks into the laundry room, and if the blinds are open, blinds me in my bed. Downstairs, on the east side, the library is filled with light and the sun room is next, and then the kitchen. In the afternoon, the room-by-room burst of sunlight is no less joyful. I love looking out of every window in this house–and having moved a piano through eight moves in 16 years, I’m so happy to finally have a home.
Which brings me back to the dream. I had a dream figure, someone I have never seen in waking life, walking through the rooms of the condo I lived in with my first husband–and I was trying to explain how beautiful the view was out of each window. Only that home didn’t have the nature vision I now enjoy. With the exception of the Hackensack River, and the Empire State Building which was perfectly framed through the dining room window, the other windows looked directly into my neighbor’s kitchen windows, and the other kitchen windows had a perfect view of the dumpster and the other condos around the circle drive. In the dream it was so frustrating because I was trying to relate my view from now into what I saw then, to a person I didn’t know.
I’m never sorry to wake up from a dream like that, and to be glad it was just a dream.