The House

I saw my love’s house in a dream. He invited all of us over for a party. His home occupied a space of a regular, not-too-big apartment in a bleak building, but inside, through a well-known miracle, it was a huge house with its own outdoor space. They even had their own weathers and times of day. It was dark and wintery outside, but in the huge garden where you got once you entered through the door it was a golden summer afternoon. There were children playing in the distance; my love’s small son was riding a bicycle. His wife, who I did not know at the time, was passing through the rooms, always just at the side of my vision. Inside, the house resembled a living creature, rather than a dull product of the labors of builders. The rooms were of unusual shapes and all at different levels. There was a long room curving like a snail’s shell. When one got to the other side of the house, one found out that it was situated on the shores of its private sea, and there was a very long glass gallery hanging above its tempestuous waters without supports. It was sunrise time over here, and one could walk all the way to the end of the gallery and feel in the middle of elements, for the weather was stormy.

I had another dream. This time, my love’s abode was a large and very old palace. He and his wife were talking softly and laughing in the sun that poured through the windows. I was trying to find my way out, but the palace was huge. There seemed to be no end to its rooms. Sometimes I thought that I found my way outside, but then it turned out that what I took for a garden were trees in planters, and the sky was painted on the ceiling.