Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree of Truth.
It’s odd how houses show up in my meditations and dreams. I’ve been in other people’s “houses” — metaphysical structures that represented how they present themselves to the outside world and what goes on deep inside.
I’ve been in my ex’s mansion, in The Treat’s busy home office with the cottage on the water in back, in the house I grew up in—maybe that’s my metaphysical house? In general, these are houses that don’t really exist except to represent the inner dimensions of the person who visits me in my dreams and meditations.
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I can’t recall any other metaphysical houses in particular except for a house belonging to a former friend of mine…one that creeped me out with its haunted spiraling staircases and the dank, open-windowed, hidden basement rooms where she hides her darkest secrets. I’ve been in that one once, with her dragging me inside. Definitely a nightmare.
But sometimes the houses aren’t the metaphysical sort. They’re like real structures, physical structures, even though I haven’t been there yet.
There’s one house in particular that shows up in many of my dreams. I’ve been to celebrations there where I was an honored guest, and the local community knew me and I knew them, and I was there with my girls and with my new…husband? Partner. We’ll keep it at that. The girls were older and independent. They usually are in these kinds of dreams.
But that’s the house from side and back. I’ve seen it from the front, at night, as my family drove up and walked inside. I was driving, the girls were with me, my partner beside me. I may have been pregnant in that dream. Either that or the sense of new beginnings. (I’m more inclined to think it was new beginnings, given the unlikelihood of my bearing any more children.)
And I’ve seen it in the late afternoon, early evening. Lots of glass windows overlooking patios and gardens, and a lake or…water that comes right up to the grass of the lawn. Flowers blooming. Candlelight on the patio. The girls in the house somewhere. My partner sitting with me on the patio as we watch the sunset and talk lovingly about projects we’re working on together and share a genuine sense of companionship and home.
I like this house I keep seeing. I hope it’s real.
Because for everyone in this house and around it, there’s a wonderful sense of coming home.
A Southern witch returns home. Secrets won’t stay buried. A chance to confront and heal—or face the consequences.
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