I had the house dream last night.
I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. I dream of finding a hidden door in a house that leads to all kinds of interesting things. No two dreams are the same.
When I was a child I usually dreamed of my grandmother’s house. I’d be playing hide-and-seek with my sister and stumble across a cabinet I’d never noticed before. I’d open it and find a secret passage to a dusty, unused part of the house that contained all kinds of treasure.
The dream made sense at the time. My grandmother’s house was huge. So huge that it was too much for her to handle when she got older, so she partitioned a small apartment for herself and sold the rest of the house to a family.
I assumed the dreams were my brain’s way of exploring the part of the house that was unavailable to me.
As an adult I dream of my own house. No dust, just cool hidden spaces. Very big, very elaborate spaces. In one dream I even found an entire circus, complete with cotton candy, elephants, and a Ferris Wheel.
The epiphany hit when I realized the dreams had meaning. They were telling me to work harder, to dig deeper, to explore those hidden recesses of imagination I needed to tap into to make my writing better.
I need to really think through last night’s dream. I haven’t had the house dream in years.
What is it my brain is trying to tell me? What am I missing? What do I need to find?
Update: There was a part of last night’s dream that was disturbing. It had to do not with my current house, but one I owned in the past. I described it to my daughter in detail.
She believes the dream is telling me to look forward, not back.
I like that. I’m going with it.