I find it odd that so many people (myself included) dream of houses.

My place is above shops in a very old part of town. From the street you would recognize it by the large granite blocks that look like they were cut by hand. There is a brightly coloured door recessed in the wall of granite blocks and you climb a dark, narrow, steep flight of stairs. When you enter the suite, it opens into rooms so vast that you could never discover them all. Each room is filled with light and treasures from every land. The light is so bright and white that its hard to see anything, except in silhouette. There are plants hanging from the ceiling and growing in pots in every corner. All of the mirrors are bevelled. I see my face and wake up.

As I awaken and realize that I have dreamed the dream again. It feels like home but I am puzzled because I don't know where it is.

I am always left with a melancholy feeling and then I remember that my home is inside me.

Carol C. - A metaphor for the womb is home/house - from whence we all came.