I remembered two dreams I had long ago that might point me toward my true desire.
In one dream, I lived in an intentional community of artists. Maybe we were all writers? There was a lot of dark wood, green plants, picnic tables, places to hang out in the common areas. Different levels–it was a strange house, with at least one mezzanine. Vibrant, creative people coming and going. Conversation, love. It was like art school.
In another dream, I was visiting this place. It was like a cafe for writing letters. You could go there and stay as long as you wanted. There was free paper there, sitting out for anyone, and I was so happy, writing letters to friends in a cozy space.
Also I am thinking more about living off the grid, bartering, gift economy. Different ways to have more resources. I made a brainstormed list that starts with “employment–regular job” and ends with “find treasure.”
