I have this fantasy where the house is turned upside down and then filled with water. I imagine walking on the ceiling and how everything would look, where the water would be deep and where shallow, where you would have to step over door frames. Everything would be so different upside down. And the water, I suppose that’s just a way of picturing the outside in. There is something magical and scarily exhilarating about the outside in.
What is water but the big blue wash of the unconscious? My tsunami dreams, I know what they are, a helpless waiting to be engulfed by feelings too big to control. A house full of still, clear water is a different thing. A way of moving through the familiar in an unfamiliar way. The unheimlich that is disorientation in the world of the familiar. The repetition of familiar spaces made strange by the arrival of a new element that transforms everything.
Something is growing in a barren space. When plants grow into the house I think of the impermanence of civilisation. How long would we be gone before the wild things took back our spaces? When plants grow in an institution it seems that something barren has been made to bloom. But do all the people need to go first? Don’t institutions need to stay barren? Barren is so much easier to keep clean.
Going underground. I dreamed I was following a dove, down through deep earth-smelling tunnels. I was standing, but floating and the dove was floating before me, taking me further than I wanted to go into the underground. A guide through an earth maze, into a place where the weight of the soil wanted to crush away my breath. But you have to follow your guide.