Tag Archives: dream

Dreaming of a Snake

It was so odd. We were living in a different house — we’d just moved in.

The bedroom must have been partially open air. All I can see is the bed and the wall behind it. I don’t think there was a ceiling.

Near the top of the wall was a clump of brambles like you see when someone is cutting down foliage but can’t reach that high to get the rest (says the shorty, who understands these things.)

Then I noticed that within the brambles was part of a tan-colored snake with darker brown mottled markings. It had been cut off a few inches below the head, mouth wide open showing fangs, headed straight up the wall.

Then I see just above the snake, a tiny skinny green frog was sitting on a stem of the bramble, and the frog was dead still. Literally. Somehow it just automatically died when the bramble and the snake were cut.

I was climbing up to observe the snake more closely. I could see a bit into its open mouth, where there was an identical tiny skinny green frog suspended lifeless in a jump for its life out of the snake’s mouth.

Climbing higher, I could see down into the snake’s throat. There was a fat brown toad wedged in there, his head facing up.

Throughout the dream I’m trying to put all the pieces together as I find them, adapting and evolving the story as it unfolds in retrospect.

Snake killed as it tries to escape bedroom of previous owner.

Snake wasn’t escaping but was trying to get frog on stem when it was killed.

Snake had already almost captured another frog when it was killed, frog on stem was just coincidence. Or dessert.

Both frogs were coincidence, as snake was either digesting or choking to death on toad, who might have been trying to eat jumping frog? Who was trying to make it to his date with sitting frog?

I never did come to any solid conclusion, and so these vivid puzzle pieces hang tantalizingly in my inner vision, teasing me, assuring me that there is something there, if only I were clever enough to understand.

 

Life is But a Dream

The most creative "work in progress" house ever - Northampton County, NC (photo by Lilly Crowheart)

How do you judge your house?  By its outward appearance?  By the furniture you can afford?  By the atmosphere contained within?  By its level of cleanliness and organization?

Can a home be a tool, purposefully used to support a life consciously lived?

Some ideas I have for a new life in a new house:

  • Our home is a place we belong, a safe place to rest and reflect, a homebase for anything we want to pursue and anywhere we want to explore
  • The house is a solid frame through which we look at The Big Picture; when something seems troubling or wrong in our lives, we can take a moment to ground ourselves in its solid foundation and see the context to understand the true magnitude of the worrying detail
  • Owning a home is the freedom and the ability to make the space in our home serve our needs – to build, decorate and adapt to create the atmosphere and amenities that support the life we envision

    Chaos is Creativity - a source of joy

  • Perfection is a naive and absurd pursuit – the real joy and value is in creating, adapting and enjoying a work in progress

March 30, 2011 is like a day of birth, a moment beyond which our lives will be transformed.  Buying our new home is an event that no one can ever take away; it is the fulfillment of a dream.  We can live that dream to the best of our abilities every day thereafter.

Journey to Home Ownership

One thing I’ll be sharing with the tribe here is my family’s journey from renters to homeowners, a transition which should take place in the next couple of months.  Our story is a little bit unique because we are partnering through Habitat for Humanity, which has always been a program that I’ve heard about but never knew the nitty-gritty of, nor have I ever known anyone who’s actually gone through it.  Now you can say that you do!

To fill you in a bit on our back story, here’s an introductory essay I wrote when we were first accepted into the Habitat Homebuyer program back in September of last year:

The Dream of a Home

In the last two years of her life my Grandma suffered a lung embolism and a broken hip, wrist and foot.  My parents repeated, as they had for years, their offer for her to move into their spacious home, which they’d bought in that size specifically for such an eventuality.  My Grandma politely but adamantly refused.  They then offered to help her move into a retirement community of her choice.  She again declined.  As absurd as it seemed for a frail, ailing 90 year-old to intend on living alone, and as worried as I was for her, I did understand; she lived in the house she and my Grandpa had bought over 50 years ago, where she’d raised her son, entertained her bridge group, spoiled her grandkids and comforted her dying husband.  In addition, she lived a few blocks from her church, her friends, her hairdresser and all her favorite shops, her “village” as she always referred to it, and she wasn’t leaving it for anything.  And she never did.

My Grandma’s attachment to home and community lives on in my own heart, though it has yet to be fulfilled.  I’ve lived my adult life below the poverty line, moving from town to town in search of a stable situation, unable to sink the roots that ache to make a lasting connection.  It seemed the world had changed since my Grandma’s day and that home ownership was an impossibility in the economy of my day. I never allowed myself to dream that I, too, could have my own home in my own “village” until I met my husband six years ago.

He is unlike anyone else I’ve ever met in that he talks big, and then he lives it.  I’ve heard lots of people dream and then I’ve watched them languish in their ambitionless lives as their dreams withered.  When I met Richard he planned to get a Master’s degree in journalism from the University of Oregon, but he hadn’t even been accepted to the program yet.  Within two years he had graduated with achievements under his belt which proved he was not only going to do what he said, he was going to completely rock it.

So when he talked of his own dream of owning a home, I let a little hope in.  Then began the systematic dashing of those hopes against the rocks of numbers on paper — Richard and I owed too much money and he was being paid too little in the career for which he’d earned his Master’s.  Apparently the future of our little family having a home in which to nurture five wonderful children to happy, healthy, productive adulthood was not a risk any financial institution would consider taking.

And then he told me about the possibility of home ownership through Habitat for Humanity.  Not only was there a renewed glimmer of hope that we could work towards owning our own home, but there was also a community already established in which I might earn a place to be useful, where my children, my husband and I would finally belong.  I was suddenly grateful that we’d been denied entrance into an impersonal, money-oriented bank loan arrangement so that we could have the chance to participate in something much more meaningful and people-oriented.  To think that our mortgage payments will help to perpetuate such an amazing program makes home ownership an even greater blessing.

When I told my Mom the news that we’d been accepted into the Habitat program, I mentioned how sad it made me that I couldn’t call Grandma and tell her my good news the way I did with everything else before she passed away this last Christmas.  My mother paused, then said, “You know she knows.”  Even though I can no longer hear the joy in her voice or her words of pride in receiving the news, I do know that my Grandma knows and shares in this happy opportunity for her granddaughter and great-grandchildren to live her same dream of home and community.