A Simple Path: Journey of a Hedgewitch

My House; A Willow Winterborne Mystery…series…

Part One: The Dreams

As anyone, who knows me at all, will tell you, I have been having House Dreams since I was about 14 years old.
Over the years they have varied, and at times I have wondered if it was the a single house I had been dreaming about, at all.
What tied every single dream together was the sense, the spirit if you will, of the house.

It is always very large; looming, even. Very imposing, and almost grand in its way.
It is always very, very old, and sadly in very rough shape.
The level of degradation varies from dream to dream, but it is always sort of ‘falling down’.

In the dreams I am always there to take over the place. It is mine, and it is up to me to restore it. That is always my sole purpose in every dream. I sometimes have an entire dream about moving old boxes around, and uncovering sheet-covered furniture.

The house is often, though not always, haunted. It is always a Scooby-Doo episode of discovery of something creepy and/or unexpectedly delightful around every corner.
Many times I find hidden rooms, family heirlooms, and sometimes other things.

I have come to expect the dreams as part of my regular psychic recycling project that my dreams seem to represent.
Rarely, a dream will be a visit, or message from someone, but mostly, my dreams are just dreams.

Though I search, always, for the house, in every place I live or even visit, I have never found a house that has the spirit I dream of.
I had even begun to think, after over 25 years of fruitless searching, the dreams were a powerful euphamism for something else; a metaphor.

Part Two: The Catharsis

May started out really badly for me.
By the end of the second week, my things were packed and I was on my way out the door and into the absolute void of space. My husband and I had reached an impasse and the only solution appeared to be my departure, for the good of all.

While I have always had a certain…flair, shall we say, for manifesting brand new lives out of the ashes of the old, I was in no way prepared to make a proper move of it.
Still, I managed to secure a room in a friend’s Mom’s house, all to myself, and rent free for as long as I needed it, arrange for a ride for me and my stuff, and got 80% packed in under 48 hours.
A new record.

I was emotionally, physically and spiritually exhausted. I hadn’t eaten in at least 2 days (maybe 3, I forget), nor had I had coffee (an absolute must for my maintenance) in 3, for sure. Sleep was pretty much something I had begun to fantasize about.

I had managed to cling to my mantra bethemountain and had continued breathing deeply, acknowledging my feelings and then releasing them. I just flat didn’t have time to go to pieces.

At literally the Eleventh Hour, a miracle occurred which allowed negotiations with a view to the continuation of my marriage. It was not my desire to separate, but I was willing to make the best of whatever happened.
The details of this reconciliation, while significant, are not relevant to the Mystery, so I will leave it at that.

However it is relevant to say, my husband was still at work, at this point, and wouldn’t be able to return for a couple of hours.
So, I decided that if I were to be in any shape to negotiate a future plan, I was going to have to pull myself together.
I needed coffee, food and a shower and some definite routine maintenance.

I got dressed, and realized there was neither coffee or food in the house, so I decided to walk to a little coffee shop about 8 blocks away. I figured the fresh air and a bit of exercise would do me good. It was a perfect day for a walk.

Part Three: The Revelation

As I left the house, I noticed there were rose petals under my feet.
The sunshine was brilliant and warm on my skin, and I soaked in the glorious sensation of it.
My mind was a complete blur, and I was definitely operating on auto-pilot, but my sense of gratitude and living in the moment were alive and well.

As I walked along Oak Street, taking in every detail of the scents of the flowers blooming at the edges of manicured lawns, I noticed, again, everywhere I walked, there were flowers strewn at my feet. I felt like the gods had paved the sidewalk with flowers just for me to tread upon.
It felt so magical to me, on that strange, soft-focus day.

I walked on, and came upon a finished-blooming clump of Siberian iris. I took the time to feel a moment of sadness that I had missed their show, but was glad they had done it. Then I noticed the bracken ferns which encroached all around the iris bunches.

Their pale, verdant green color drew me like a moth to a flame. I grew up in the old forests of the northwest, then was transplanted to the high desert for 4 years, where there is no green, only every shade of brown and blue imaginable.
Having moved to Northern California only 5 months before, I was still always reeling with the constant joy of seeing fresh green life all around me, again.
The ferns, which I had not seen outside the forests, took me entirely by surprise.

I stood staring at them for the longest time, thinking “what are you doing here?!”. My surprise lasted an extremely long time, though I have no idea how long I remained, with my mouth agape, taking in the ferns.
Then I got the distinct feeling someone was watching me. Looking right at me in a beckoning me to notice sort of way.
I looked to my right, and directly in front of me was a huge, old house.

I sucked in breath so fast I almost passed out.
I felt in an instant that this house had been waiting for me. Wanting me to notice her.
I felt a complete, though inexplicable, knowing that this was the house I had been searching for all these years of dreaming about it.

It is so tall, I just kept looking up, craning my neck to see the top story. The windows were big, empty eyes, staring out at me, lonely and sad.
There was a very creepy sense of the place, as well, which reminded me of an Amityville Horror sort of vibe.
Yet, as repelled as I was at the spooky-factor, I was compelled to know all there was to know about the house. To straighten the crooked lattice. To restore her to her former glory.

Again, I have no idea how long I stood there, staring at the house. But I felt entirely changed upon having looked into her face.

Then, as my awareness of the outside world began to again swim into focus, I looked further to my right, and noticed a for sale sign stabbed into the corner of the lot.

Only then did it consciously occur to me to be grateful that there weren’t any homeowners inside calling the police because of the weirdo, all agog,  on the lawn.
But I had known, subconsciously, that there was no one inside. Well, no flesh-and-blood human inhabitants, anyway.

Part Four: The House

From that moment on, I have been claiming that house. It began that very sunny mid-May morning, when visions of a witch’s bed and breakfast and balefire came to my mind’s eye. I could see indoor Circling in the attic room (though I hadn’t actually seen the attic with my green eyes, yet), hearing the chants, breathing the incense smoke as power is gathered.

I saw the herb gardens, and the crescent cakes I had baked in this very kitchen, served for witches from all over the world.

I saw the fire on the hearth and basked in the candle glow of a thousand magical candles.

I just knew this was my place.

Since that day, I have begun to explore the grounds and the house. Just as in my dreams, there are rooms I can’t identify. The attic is exactly as it always is in my dreams, and will serve her role as magical lair again once more.

I have begun to unravel the mystery of the house’s history and have determined its previous 3 owners.

The asking price is astronomical, and is nowhere near within my mortal reach. But this is a trivial matter to me.
My faith is utterly unwavering; I belong to this house and she belongs to me.

All that stands between me and my house is a simple name change on a tiny scrap of paper down at city hall.

What makes this a mystery is more about how she will come to be in my possession, than about finding her after all these years of having only dreams to go on.
As with all mysteries, one must read on to ferret out the clues to the solution.
I don’t have the end of the story for you yet. But I will, and I know this as surely as I know I am writing to you now.
I have worked some midsummer magic to aid the process of manifesting this dream, and am confident that it is meant to be.
So, I leave you here, and promise I will record the rest of the story as it unfolds.
Dare to dream your biggest dream!