What a marvelous zone to find myself in. I’ve finished writing two new songs in the last week, and I have another one done from the couple of weeks before, and I’m four lines away from another. I feel like I’ve opened the door to a room that’s just been waiting for me to come in and sit down. I write slowly most of the time, so this is the equivalent of a major flood, and I don’t think it’s done with me yet.
One of my most recurring dreams has been about rooms like this one. It’s about a house that I live in, but it’s never a place I’ve ever lived. And even though the house never looks the same, it’s always the same place to me in the dream. The beginning is always the same. I’m just walking around, feeling a bit cramped and wanting more space, when I start finding doors that I’ve never noticed before. Sometimes they are hidden behind furniture, sometimes they are in plain sight. But they don’t just lead to rooms—they lead to halls and halls of doors and doors leading to rooms and rooms. Most of them are already furnished, which is one of the weirdest things about the dream to me, especially after I wake up and think about it.
The end of the dream is always the same, too. I always come to a room without a door at the end of a hall. It’s dark, and the entrance is half-filled with stacks of chairs. It’s not that I can’t enter the room, but I never do. There’s never any fear attached to the decision, it’s just not ready for me yet. So I count myself lucky for some newly found extra square-footage, and I wake up.
As far as I can figure, it’s all just subconscious projections and filing systems. The furnished rooms are problems solved, and the dark room is some combination of problems that I’m working on and problems that I don’t even know about yet. But I don’t really like to think about it like that. To me, it’s a rather romantic and elegant way for my mind to show me what’s up there. I’ve had a waking tendency to over-analyze things (“tendency” is perhaps a gross understatement). But it’s been waning more and more, and I think I owe my subconscience a debt for that one.
So tonight, or the next night, I should get to visit the new wing I’ve built onto my mental mansion. I hope the new rooms have bookshelves, coffee, a comfortable chair, and nice views of the garden. I have the contractor’s business card somewhere, in case I need to complain.