The Endless Dream

[trystinn]

For over twenty years I've had a similar re-occurring dream - I'm in a home (always different) and I'm wandering it, exploring it to find a room to claim as my own. The homes are all different styles, in differing stages of condition and often in different countries. Once it was a large RV. But the basics never change.

*sigh*

Comments

[paigemom.livejournal.com]

I had a similar dream for years. I was in a house -- the details changed, but it was always Victorian and cluttered and not mine. In fact, I wasn't supposed to be there, for some reason. And I was always looking for a certain piece of jewelry.

I was always afraid that while I was dreaming I was actually haunting some poor sod in a cluttered Victorian house.

Never did find the piece of jewelry :(

[dbmyrrha.livejournal.com]

In Jungian/symbolic language, the house represents the self/soul. The state of the house, the details, represent the inner self/soul.

I wrote a poem about it.

My House/My Soul

They say dreaming of houses is
Dreaming the soul
In all the corners lie the
Secrets of the psyche.

My houses have high ceilings
Bright colors
Lots of light and velvet
Curtains.

Sometimes there are many people
Sometimes only a few
Sometimes just me

Behind the doors are hidden rooms. Once
A secret bathroom
Another time, just a curtain (velvet)
With treasures piled behind.

Once a baby in a basin
On top of the refrigerator.

I’m pretty sure she was mine.

Last night my mother-in-law
(the first one, lovely and late)
Was knitting a thick chenille sweater
Sitting on a bed made up as a couch

This house was warm and cozy
Cathedral ceilings midnight blue
She was so alive, so vital, so true
I wanted to be like her
I think she was me.

Years ago, a blue-skinned man
Sat on my counter top
Placed his penis on a chopping block like
Some sort of rare delicacy.

Once, in the haunted house, the men-in-black
Crucified my father
In the living room.
I couldn’t get out too soon. My mother cried and cried.

Then there was the shack (the women’s group)
The lady with the axe
Who, as we ran, hacked, hacked, hacked.

So many houses, my psyche defined.
Each one a different face,
a different town, a different place, and

each one so lovely, so perfect, so fine.