You can tell I'm dreaming of escaping to somewhere boldly colored and hidden away. It has to be dramatic, almost too much to take in, to infuse my senses with everything that I imagine I am missing during the endless hours in this glass and steel skyscraper with perfectly beige walls where I spend my days. I'm not complaining really. It's a living. I just need a spell in a magical place. Somewhere with a splendidly painted door and jewel toned chandeliers and a courtyard garden with bright cushions and scented candles under a poetic canopy of trees.
Trusting desire, starting to learn
Walking through fire without a burn
Clinging a shoulder a leap begins
Stinging and older, asleep on pins
—From "I Should Tell You," Rent
I remember now I dreamed of fire the other night. My childhood home was burning, and some of the rooms looked like my childhood school had folded itself into my home, and I was frantic to wake my husband and get him outside where it was safe, and my children, who I somehow knew were already outside, safe from the flames. None of us burned, but the roof of the house was engulfed in tall orange tongues as we stood there watching, the four of us watching at dusk, I seemed to be looking down on us from above the flames, and more people were running to us, and then I woke up. I asked my husband what it might mean. He said, It means you were asleep. I spent the morning looking up the dream interpretation of burning houses, and everything said that if you don't get burned, then it means you are in the midst of a major transformation and that might well be.