Every shape. Every size. Every color. Sometimes only one room, sometimes dozens. They can move themselves, fall apart, or prove to be a maze of confusion. A house can be a danger or a comfort, it still stands in the center of everything.
I am not lying when I say every single dream I have experienced, as far back as my memory can reach (which is pretty far), centers around this central object.
I never thought much about it until I reached college.
Then two dreams triggered a connection of how meaningful the symbol of a house is to me.
So let me explain...
Dream One:
It is my twenty first birthday. There is a huge crowd of people. We are in a house in the middle of a massive field of tall, rolling grass. Well, at least that is what I can see from the windows. It is one of those old, antique homes, with white chipped siding, scuffed wood flooring and a musty smell of use.
There is children running hysterically, in every direction, screaming and shouting. Aunts, uncles, grandparents and my immediate family are gathered in the living room. Friends from college and even from high school are mingled throughout the crowd. My mother is coming from the kitchen holding a white cake covered a dozen brightly lit candles, the crowd parts like zipper to let her through.
Then I someone hands me a present. It is a baby white rabbit. It begins to grow in my hands. No one seems bothered. I set it on the floor feel my heart race as the children coax the fluffy animal to hop up the stairs.
I am not enjoying this party. I should be. I want to be. But something is wrong, something I can't see. Something I can't put my finger on. What is the rabbit about? What is it about this house?
There are no other emotions, no other thoughts, except this irritating premonition.
Everything cascades across my mind like a collage of emotions, only they are images and sounds. It is not pleasant, but confusing. I can feel myself losing control.
I want to back away from the crowd. I want distance myself. The house is closing in, but I blow out the candles. Everyone is singing the birthday song. Then I see the stairwell.
It is a narrow set of stairs, ascending to the second floor. A railing of columns lines the side facing the living room. The kind of railings little children love peeking their noses through and sometimes even their heads.
My younger cousins are racing up the wooden steps in a frenzy after the frightened rabbit. My anxiety is growing rapidly and the crowd is pressing in closer. I take several steps backwards towards the stairs. Maybe I can retreat to the second floor to regain my crumbling composure...and perhaps save the white bunny?
My hand touches the railing and I gasp in shock. The wooden column disintegrates into dust under my fingers, mushrooming towards the floor. I glance around. People are nearly touching me in proximity but they don't seem to notice the first railing has vanished.
I decide to keep going up the stairs and place my foot on the first step. Maybe I just imagined that.
I am losing my mind.
My hand moves up the railing. Both the step and the railing my hand touches disappear in a cloud of dust and shattered splinters.
I panic and charged up the stairs. I can't grab hold of anything. The stairwell is falling out from under my feet.
Then it gets worse.
The house begins shaking. The windows are shattering, the walls are caving in.
The kids are still playing tag with the rabbit and the my crowd of birthday guests keep talking. No one can see the disaster happening directly around them.
The rabbit comes racing down the vanishing stairs and I turn running after it. Why? I don't know, but it seems to give me hope. Maybe it can lead me from this chaos. I shove my way through the crowd, ducking from the falling debris.
We weave through the kitchen and out onto porch. The rabbit has significantly grown. It is massive and fat.
The sun is shining, the wind is brushing the grass. I catch my breath and run into the front yard as the rabbit pauses, scratching its ear.
The house is standing still and silent.
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