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Building Dreams

By Remy Benoit

  Did you make your list yesterday?

  What dreams appeared there?

  We each find peace in different places. I find it on the water, that magical, mystical place between heaven and earth. I find it planting flowers and herbs.

  And I am a house person, preferably old, funky, lots of "hidden rooms," nooks and crannies. Perhaps that is in part due to my childhood love of MacDonald's, The Princess and the Goblins which has come back into my life.
  Our dreams tell us much if we choose to listen; if we choose to honor them.

  This is the intro to a little book I work with from time to time. It is the kind of book that must be written as it is lived, as it is experienced. It concerns a dream I had many times about the perfect home that only I knew about. In the last few years I have moved to finding and filling that perfect home. I am old enough to know that there is little around that is perfection yet I also know that if we give our dreams our hearts and our labors, letting go of the result, the Universe is there to bless our dreams. This home has moved from its hidden chambers into the light of day. I know it is already there waiting for Miz' Remy to tumble into.

  Take your dream write it down and make it so. Writing it down helps to bring it home to you.

Can you crack your heart open enough to support your dream and the dreams of others? Can you imagine how that would change the world?

Blessings on your dream.

Dancing in the Attic:
a journey to peace


    each night down deeper and deeper, through the secret passageway into her house; her secret house, warm and sweet, glowing with comfort; only accessible through the secret passageway in the back of the closet...
all the colors of all the furnishings rich, earthy, soft and vibrant all at the same; all the pillows on the chairs, sofa, and floor plumped and inviting...warming coverlets spread
about, waiting to hold someone...

the lamps softly illuminating; the tiny undercountered lights soft showing the way in rooms unlit from overhead...
the dining table set with precious china, gleaming silver sparkling in the candlelight, dancing the petals of the peace roses centered on the table...
it is peace, it is all peace, this secret home of hers...

the bedroom, high canopied bed with its draperies gently rustling is the warm breeze coming in the open window; fresh flowers on the dresser, next to the simple cream porcelain lavavo, reflecting in the clean, clear mirror; her triptych mirrored dressing table
ornate with crystal and rose perfume bottles, her cultured pearls lying soft in a tumble; her clothes hanging fresh and ordered in the closet; her hats, her gloves, her shoes all resting clean and quiet ready for whatever each day brings; the small bookcase housing her own words and those of others whose words are held dear...

all is order, all is soft, gentle, no straight lines, gentle curves like the swell of the earth itself...

the bathroom soft in rose light, wisteria vines creeping about the windows sweetening the air about the claw footed tub; candle light sparkling its water and bubbles...

the kitchen, pots hanging free, dangling from the ceiling amidst herbs drying; herbs growing in terra-cotta pots on the patio that opens from this cook's kitchen onto the kitchen garden, onto the knot garden of lush herbs to be viewed and scented from the
bedroom window  and balcony above..,.
the butcher block counters warm browns and free to hold the next dough's kneading; the double oven ready for breads, pies, cakes, and main courses...
the coffee gurgling fresh into the pot, the Chinese herb cabinet full and smelling tantalizing with gifts of the far corners of the earth brought together to season her foods...

her writing room, high ceilinged, high reaching, low reaching windows with filmy curtains echoing in the slight movement Enya's voice...the desk clear but for the manuscript lying waiting with its pen horizontal across it waiting for her fingers...the long
work table with its primary sources lying open where she stopped slipping into other minds last time she was here to work; the file drawers, closed now, but inside ordered, easily accessible notes when she wanted them...
dust free, sparkling, all quiet, all peace...

her world, just her world, accessible only to her through the secret passageway in the back of the closet of her mind...
other houses she knew, always yielding rooms not previously seen or known;
stairways leading to places, to rooms, unexplored...

a stairway leading the attic of her dreams...
the attic a solarium, warm, humid, tropical, lush where she dances;
where she dances with the agility she had as a young woman; where her leaps cross the room defy the air, defy gravity with the grace and ease of Baryshnikov...opening her, always opening her to something new...

the music, the four seasons, pictures at an exhibition, the rites of spring, bolero; echoing, playing, playing her, moving her to new hers with each note, with each movement of a part of her newly discovered and still her, so much her to be brought out to the music, to life, to giving, to loving; and all the while her dancing, leaping,pirouetting, reaching, into, further into her...

the secret house, ah, parts of herself that need excavation, parts of herself after half a century of living, just being born...
the dancing in the attic, the soul reaching for growth, for life, for meaning, for purpose...

her journey no different than anyone else's who chooses to do the excavating;

her journey no different than anyone else's who chooses to leap into the unknown with no net underneath, but faith...

her journey no different than anyones, but all uniquely hers, just like theirs uniquely theirs...

like each journey it is begun with one step on the ground; one step into heart's desire; one step into soul; all bringing it all one step closer to peace...

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This item is part of WelcomeHomeSoldier.com: historian, author, editor, and educator Remy Benoit's ongoing weblog for Veterans, writers, students, and others who believe in learning from and making history; including thousands of articles and posts and the free writing seminar, Using History for Healing and Writing.


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