Revised: Desiderare Domus

For the past year and a half, "Desiderare Domus" (Latin for "Desired Home) has been the working title for my novel in progress. (Read preface and excerpts in blog.)
Recently, however, I've been rethinking the whole concept of the story. Originally, the tale was told my a personified form of "Desire", and DesDom was a place in our hearts we created to satisfy our unreachable dreams.
Then, in a closer look, I realized this whole idea of the concrete DesDom, was really just a more material form of a dream, so I spun with that.
Now, instead of desire, the tale is told by the equivalent of the sand man, or the creator of dreams. (Haven't really decided this yet...)
And instead of desire, the story is about dreams, and healing through them. So instead of Desiderare Domus, we have somehting along the lines of Somnium, or, insanity. Basically, insomnia.
So, I've revised the preface to fit these changes, and I'd like to know what you all think. Should I stick with desires, or head more towards dreams?



Note: Not many changes were made, except I've recreated the voice to fit the persona of dreams instead of ruthless desires, and changed the "desire" message to "dream."




Preface
Our Narrator and Our Desires

I take a waning breath before beginning the tale I’ve been telling for eternity.
I exhale.
I dig into you, and find that you are waiting.
Always waiting. Always expecting.
Never calm. Never still.
But you’re only human, and I cannot blame you.
I speak to you for not the first time, for you’ve all spoken to me at some point in your lives. In fact, you speak to me every day, whether you hear yourself or not.
I hear you.
I ask a question, but waver that you may take your time with the answer. I’ve discovered that humans tend to rush in the matter of time, again, whether they see it or not.
Maybe because they haven't learned yet that time is of the essence, or because, after all, time has never truly been on their side.
Time is on my side. It always will be.
I am forever.
My question, my ever-significant request, is that you never forget the story I am preparing to tell you. This story is long, this story is troubling, and it speaks to each and every one of you.
You just might not hear it.
And if you do, it’s because I’m whispering it into your ears.
It’s because I want you to hear it.
I need you to cherish it.
And I am allowed to need things. Just like you. My job is to help you find your path in this spinning world, to force your eyes to see straight when you grow dizzy. To show you life, in things called dreams.
I have dreams, too, though.
I fulfill yours, sometimes...
It amazes me, how this favor is a one way train. How I give, and I give....and yes, listeners, I love every second of it. I love to dream, and every night, I dream with you. We dream together, of a place far away, yet so close, where everything is perfect, at last.
It's hard to find that place,though, so you need to close your eyes, and watch me, so closely, and together we'll find the moral of this story called life.

So for a moment, I’m going to take your hand.
Don’t be alarmed, I’ve done that before.
You're all just too distracted to feel it.

For a split second, I will reach into your soul.
I've done that, too, countless times. I live there, you see.
And there, I’m going to give to you a story.
My story.
Their story…
Your story.

Listen to it, hold it, and remember it. If there is anyone, anything besides God himself in this universe that is ever close to your heart anymore than you are, it’s me. I know perfectly well that there is so very much you want from me, so much you desire and are doubting exists.
It does exist. It all does.
And I want nothing more than to give it to you.
You see, I give my gifts to all who seek them.
I give to you, and I ask nothing in return.
I fulfill every dream you’ve ever hatched, and receive nary a reward.
But this time....this time will be different. I'm gonna ask something of you, my listeners, this time.
It's my turn.
I ask one thing: Just listen to me.
Yes, listen. Open your hearts and listen to my story. After all, you’re the star. You see, you’re going to find yourself within this tale. You’re going to see a part of your heart, your soul, waiting for you.
When you see that piece, you will have a choice:
Either pick it up, or leave it behind.
Simple.
Excruciating.
Because if you’re one of the ones who plan to leave it behind, you won’t ever have the chance to pick it up again.
Because you don’t recognize it.
Because you don’t even know yourself.

But that’s why I’m here, so I can’t complain. If it weren’t for you broken souls who have lost yourselves in the middle of the road, what would I be? Where would I be? What would become of me?
Of dreams?

I have questions, too.
You’re not the only ones.

So close your eyes now, my listeners, and envision yourself away from here. Picture a place built of whatever you wish, whatever you desire in the hidden deeps of your soul. This can’t be too difficult; we’ve all been here countless times before.
In our dreams.
You have designed this place, for none other than yourself. With my assistance, of course. Without me, your dreams would be unreachable.
Life, child, is not yours to choose.
But it is yours to fix, and yours to redeem.
And you’re the only one who can do that.
Here, in this place you’ve been dreaming of, you are free to do precisely that. You are free to fill the blank canvas of your past, present, and future with anything you could ever dream of.
And the sky stands back, not daring to be your limit.

You will walk these streets, and you will meet other souls who are here with you, though they’re not seeing exactly what you’re seeing. They’re seeing they’re own haven.
And alongside them, you’re going to see me. Though unlike on earth, I’m not solid.
I am translucent and wasting.
But I do not mourn. That’s what I’ve been waiting for.
When I’m gone, I’ll know that I’ve completed my task correctly. I’ll know your desires have been entirely fulfilled.
I've lived so long, understand. Longer than you could ever imagine. I've been solid, heavy and burdened, forevermore. My only dream, you see, is to waste away, just a little.
When I’m gone, I’ll know that I’ve completed my task correctly. I’ll know your desires have been entirely fulfilled.

This is a dream, listeners.
It is home, hope, fantasy, impossibilities.
It's everything we can't find in reality, but that's ours in sleep.
It's shelter, and it's your salvation.
You are always welcome here, remember.
And this land is for anyone who’s ever had a dream.
A wish.
A prayer.

So open your eyes, and be welcome.
Go build your home.
Go dream a little dream.

I’ll be right here, forever.

And I’ll be waiting.

I’ll be waning.

Like a Runaway Train: Desiderare Domus

An excerpt of my novel in the authing, Desiderare Domus. This is an unfinished, unedited version of what will one day be the novel's climax.


~ ~ ~



The doors open, the luster of the grimy walls dancing amidst travelers and runaways, like the very light, the very hope at the end of the tunnel they so await.
There is a man, holding the hand of his lover, gazing far ahead, down the tracks, impatient.
There is a mother, careening her neck in every which way, searching for her roaming child.
There are students.
Teachers.
Artists.
Faimiles.
Photographers.
Lawyers.
Everyone wishing for an escape stands idly, the call of their refuge growing louder and louder as the time clicks on.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Amongst them, we find her.
Yes, there she is, coming through the station doors.
Her face is stained in unforgiving streaks of pink, and the blue of her eyes seem to be swimming so fast. So fast, i'm afraid, that sooner or later they may leak, and drown the girls sweet face in a swift flood of guilt, dismay, and salty tears.
Oh, I have a feeling she'd despise that. She was never one to gift her emotions to the rest of us.
Her long tangle of hair falls over her cheeks, in her eyes.
Her lip quivers, but she tells herself to steady it.
She says, in her mocking mind, "No, December. I won't let you cry. Not here. Not now."
Oh, the follies we believe in when we're young. The impractical way we assume we're actually in control of the emotions, the disgrace inside of ourselves. To be young again...
She scans the scene around her.
She cocks her head, much as she did when she was a child listening to the meaningless clicking of the clock on the wall.
Only this time, December Rose Juliet sought the passing of time in another noise: The shouts of the approaching train.
It's almost here, December.
Purchase your ticket, before it's too late.

She stumbles to the counter, her legs shaking violently beneath her as she breathlessly collpases infront of the ticketmaster.
He is old, rotund. His thinning hair is a perfect circle around the center of his scalp, and his glasses hang limpy from their perch on his crooked nose. He smiles. I smile. Does she see me?
"What'll it be, miss? The last train'll be pullin' in any second now. You're rather late, sweetheart."
"Please." She gasps. "Please."
She blows her violent black hair from her eyes, straightening her back.
"I need a---"
"One way ticket back to your heart?"
She pauses, gaining her breath.
Is she looking for me?
December, Sweety. Can you see me?
I'm so close.
Just...just grab my hand, and---
"I...listen, I just need to get out of here. You don't under----"
But as she speaks, the last train of the wasting night pulls into the terminal, smoke screaming slumsily from its mouth.
She turns back to the ticketmaster, pleading with her eyes.
"I...I just..."
"Get on the train, December." he says plainly. His eyes twinkle. His lips twitch into the faintest arch.
There we go, Sweety. You've finally found me.
Now come on.
Let's runaway.

She runs, leaping through throngs of travelers and ponderers, with eyes for nothing more than the vinyl seat she's been longing for her entire life.
I grab her hand, at the last second, and I hope. I hope she can feel it, and we run.
We run down the isles, we run down the hallways of December's little heart.
We pass innumerable seats, filled with faceless people she's been passing for as long as she can remember.
We pass a window, to our left. And even now, in the middle of the summer, snow falls outside the curtains.
December tilts her head, confused, but keeps running.
It's just snow, December. Just a snowflake. Is that alright?
We pass whole compartments filled with glassy eyed children, holding their stomachs in hunger and lust.
Do you know them, December?
Oh yes, that's right.
You're on of them.
We pass a man, weaving a basket of hemp and straw. He smiles wanly as we pass, but December closes her eyes as he approaches. Too many memories, too many nightmares.
We pass a little girl with blonde hair, staring at her comrade as he runs around the playground, playing army. and she begs him not to joke about such gravities. But he's just a kid, and he doesn't understand. He never will.
December stumbles, but i pull her right along.
Deep breaths, sweetheart, deep breaths...
We pass a young man in a red apron, tossing flour onto a circle of dough and spices. He's laughing, because he's finally happy here, making pizzas for those with no time for themselves. He's got all the time in the world.
We pass a police officer, crumpling and uncrumpling a peice of red construction paper in his hands, a lost and yearning look on his stern face.
December stares.
too many memories, too many nightmares.
And December Rose Juliet tries to hard to turn back now.
Too many memories, Too many nightmares.
But I pull her back, because at the end of this train, there's something I think she'll want to see.
We pass a little girl, with tangled black hair, and a tearstained face. she stares at the ceiling, her fists clench, praying to God for answers. For help.
December starts to fall, too lose her footing. We've run so far....
And finally...
We come to the end of the train, and there it is.
There lies, all December has ever had.
A stolen necklace, with a snowflake charm, gleaming from the floor where it lays in a blanket of dust at her feet.
There it is, December.
There's that stupid necklace that ruined your stupid life.
The one your mother stole for you, and was taken to jail for in return.
There's the necklace that tore you away from the only life you've ever known.
The necklace that forced you into lonliness, desperation.
It's the necklace you hates so much, but deep down inside, loved so much, too. Because it was the only thing you had to remind you of your mother, and your home. the only thing that kept your heart on the right track, even when the train was crashing...crashing...
It's the only thing you had when you were taken away from your home, and plunged into Desiderare Domus, a place where, for once, you finally felt happy.
And its the same necklace you had when even Domus thrust you away.
It's the necklace you were given the last time you ever saw your mother.
It is the necklace you threw out the window of a moving train three years ago, when you were angry at the clouds, and their race.

But listen here, December Rose Juliet.
This necklace is everything.
This necklace, is the very reason your story lives on.
without this, without this piece of stolen gold, your mother would still be with you.
your life will have gone forward, as planned.
you'd be happy...but you'd be hopeless.

The race only lasts so long, baby girl.
Sooner or later, the clouds will get tired, the sky will grow still, and your feet, they'll still be running.
You won't tire, Sweetheart, because of this necklace.
This stupid necklace.
If you have it in your hand, you'll keep running. Because, even if you don't realize it, you're hoping to find something at the end of the road.
Adn with this necklace in your hand....I think you'll find it.

Take it, December.
Put it on...
Very good.
Now turn around.
Look around you.
You've won the race.

I hope you found what you were looking for.

Desiderare Domus: Preface

Part One
Preface
Our Narrator and Our Desires

I take a waning breath before beginning the tale I’ve been telling for eternity.
I exhale.
I dig into you, and find that you are waiting.
Always waiting. Always expecting.
Never calm. Never still.
But you’re only human, and I cannot blame you.
I speak to you for not the first time, for you’ve all spoken to me at some point in your lives. In fact, you speak to me every day, whether you hear yourself or not.
I hear you.
I ask a question, but ask that you take your time with the answer. I’ve discovered that humans tend to rush in the matter of time, again, whether they see it or not. Maybe because they know they don’t have much time left, or because time has never been on their side.
Time is on my side. It always will be.
I am forever.
My question, my ever-significant request, is that you never forget the story I am preparing to tell you. This story is long, this story is troubling, and it speaks to each and every one of you.
You just might not hear it.
And if you do, it’s because I’m whispering it into your ears.
It’s because I want you to hear it.
I need you to cherish it.
And I am allowed to need things. Just like you. I’m the one who created need, after all. I’m the one who created want.
The one who sings of yearning.
And sometimes, I fulfill it as well.

And that might very well be the moral of this story.

So for a moment, I’m going to take your hand.
Don’t be alarmed, I’ve done that before.
You’ve just never felt it.

For a split second, I will reach into your soul.
And there, I’m going to give to you a story.
My story.
Their story…
Your story.

Listen to it, hold it, and remember it. If there is anyone, anything besides God himself in this universe that is aware of your desires anymore than you are, it’s me. I know perfectly well that there is so very much you want from me, so much you desire and are doubting exists.
It does exist. It all does.
And I want nothing more than to give it to you.
But I’m not sure you deserve it yet. You see, I only give to people who have earned what they want. But lately, I’m not sure that’s entirely fair.
I give to you, and I ask nothing in return.
I fulfill every dream you’ve ever hatched, and receive nary a reward.
But now I plan to change that. It’s my turn. My turn to ask something from you.
I deserve that.

So open your hearts and listen to my story. After all, you’re the star. You see, you’re going to find yourself within this tale. You’re going to see a part of your heart, your soul, waiting for you.
When you see that piece, you will have a choice:
Either pick it up, or leave it behind.
Simple.
Excruciating.
Because if you’re one of the ones who plan to leave it behind, you won’t ever have the chance to pick it up again.
Because you don’t recognize it.
Because you don’t even know yourself.

But that’s why I’m here, so I can’t complain. If it weren’t for you broken souls who have lost yourselves in the middle of the road, what would I be? Where would I be? What would become of me?
Of desires?

I have questions, too.
You’re not the only ones.

So close your eyes now, my listeners, and envision yourself away from here. Picture a place built of whatever you wish, whatever you desire. This can’t be too difficult; we’ve all been here countless times before.
In our dreams.
You have designed this place, for none other than yourself. With my assistance, of course. Without me, you wouldn’t even want this place.
Life, child, is not yours to choose.
But it is yours to fix, and yours to redeem.
And you’re the only one who can do that.
Here, in this place you’ve been dreaming of, you are free to do precisely that. You are free to fill the blank canvas of your past, present, and future with anything you could ever dream of.
And the sky stands back, not daring to be your limit.

You will walk these streets, and you will meet other souls who are here with you, though they’re not seeing exactly what you’re seeing. They’re seeing they’re own haven.
And alongside them, you’re going to see me. Though unlike on earth, I’m not solid.
I am translucent and wasting.
But I do not mourn. That’s what I’ve been waiting for.
When I’m gone, I’ll know that I’ve completed my task correctly. I’ll know your desires have been entirely fulfilled.

We call this place Desiderare Domus; desired home.
Yes, home.
You are always welcome here, remember.
And this land is for anyone who’s ever had a dream.
A wish.
A prayer.

So open your eyes, and be welcome.
Go build your home.
Go be enlightened.

I’ll be here.

And I’ll be waiting.

I’ll be waning.