Hanover Dec 25, 2006

I had another dream about Hanover Cove the other night. Though I have dreamed about this place countless times in the past year, this particular dream was by far the most vivid and memorable.

Hanover cove exists in the waking world at the intersection of Chapman Ave. and Hanover. Chapman Ave. is, of course, the street that I grew up on as well as the focal point of all precious childhood memories and dreams. Hanover Cove is bordered to the north by about 30 acres of dark, undeveloped woods, and to the west by Bill Morris Parkway. When I was a young child, Bill Morris did not exist… instead, the cove was surrounded on three sides by seemingly endless acres of tangled trees and swamps. The relationship between the "dream cove" and "reality cove" is somewhat inverse and counter-intuitive. The once beautiful view has been scarred by sound barriers, traffic sounds, and trash over the years, yet becomes increasingly more exotic and resilient to development in my dreams. Each time I dream of it, some new element is introduced, be it a jagged, rapid river cutting through the west side in place of Bill Morris, mountains, or cliffs.

The other night, I dreamed I walked Gypsy over to Hanover, and there was a trail leading down the west end of the cove, deep into the woods. I followed it fearlessly as it twisted and snaked deeper into the unknown, until I finally stumbled upon one of the most beautiful houses I had ever seen. It was at least three stories, made of cobblestone and other natural materials, and the only access to it was the one narrow trail. I went inside, and was greeted by some faceless stranger who told me I could buy the house for almost nothing if I liked it. I walked up winding stairways and open balconies and ledges, and the house proved even more remarkable on the inside. It wasn't until I made it to the very top room of the house that I discovered the catch… An open coffin, complete with a partially decayed corpse, sat in full view. The nameless guy met me upstairs, and informed me that the house was mine, as long as I could tolerate the presence of the body. We closed the deal on the spot, and I sat in a chair next to the corpse, staring out a huge double-pane window into the beautiful, unknown wilderness that now belonged to me.

Though the dream should have freaked me out, it was actually very bittersweet…sad, yet beautiful. I woke feeling more alive than I had in months. What did it mean? I think, since I became pregnant, I have been trying to form a connection to my proverbial "inner child", and I believe Hanover Cove has proven the medium for the interaction. I know it sounds crazy, disconnected, whatever… But I seem to learn something about myself every time I have a dream about that place. I think this dream, on some arcane level, drew attention to what I have grown to hate most about myself – my decision to sacrifice sanity and happiness for the sake of perceived success and acceptance. In a sense, I feel like a part of me has died over the past few years, and I have severed the connection to the most viable part of my being in exchange for something material. I have been looking for excuses to go visit my mom's house lately, just to get closer to Hanover Cove. Every time I visit the place, I feel something deep and pointed move inside of me, and I am overcome with a feeling of vitality and purpose.

I took Gyspy for a walk through the remaining portion of the woods the other weekend, and absorbed the smells, sights, and sounds so reminiscent of a time in my life that was completely unclouded by adult concerns. Once I made it to the middle of the woods, I stood completely and utterly still for countless minutes, with one hand rested against my abdomen and the dog loping in slow, lazy circles around me. It was then that I closed my eyes and remembered how it felt just to be….