As a witch and psychology graduate, my dreams are very important to me, and I have a notepad by my bed to write down my dreams for analysis once I'm fully awake, but some dreams are powerful enough to stay with you not only once you wake, but they are carried with you throughout the day.
Last night I had such a dream.
The dream was a fairly simple one; my husband and I tending to a back garden. The significant aspect was this was my idea of an idyllic garden, a sacred space where our chickens scratched around making contented clucking sounds, while the bees from our hive busied themselves among the scented roses that grew over the archway onto the lawn, and our cat and dog kept cool in the shade of the apple trees.
It was only when I woke that I realised I'd been in that garden many times before; the basic structure was my gran and grandad's garden when I was very young. Later my aunt and uncle moved in instead. OK, some things were different - while my aunt and uncle did keep chickens they never kept bees, but the basic layout was the same. I even knew I had a store of my own honey and jams in the walk-in larder in the kitchen.
Looking back at that house, I think it forms a better idea of my forever home than any house I've ever lived in. It was nothing particularly special, a post-war council house like so many others, but it had such a check list of things I want in a home.
Actually, the first house I ever bought was a similar style. It too was an ex council house, three bedrooms and a fair sized garden. It was smaller than Gran's house; the kitchen was a small galley kitchen with just a couple of cupboards, but it did have a small larder (not big enough to walk in to, but it was properly built and ventilated to keep the food fresh) and a series of outhouses. It never quite felt like my home though, not truly mine. I think a lot of that was down to the relationship I was in at the time, which started going into decline within a week of us moving in, though the circumstances were out of my control and do not need to be discussed here. That house of mine saw the eventual meltdown of my relationship, and the total destruction of the life I thought I'd be living. Those walls witnessed me hit rock bottom, emotionally and spiritually, but then they saw me scrape myself up off the floor. I found my way to The Craft at that time; it gave me strength to know that that would not be the defining moment of my life, and that I was destined to live a better life now that I had felt such pain.
I sold that house, started again with my family down in Devon, and found love - proper, equal, respectful love - with someone who I knew would let me grow roses around the door and would help me harvest the apples for making crumbles and jellies.
We've not yet reached a point in our lives where the garden I walked in last night is ready to become a reality, but I look forward to when it does; and as we face the adventure of moving to a new country, I know my roses are waiting for me. For us.
Blessed be )0(