I had a dream...

My daughters were on a street that looked like any other street in San Juan. We were waiting for a tricycle to take us home. Then one stopped before us driven by a nice old man, with a rounded face and cheerful eyes. My girls and I managed to squeeze ourselves into the side car as we began to travel through the streets. We suddenly found ourselves inside a very long tunnel but the trip was smooth and fast. Then I saw a small break in the tunnel which revealed the scene outside. I saw a storm and a lady struggling with her umbrella. I felt we were lucky to be inside that tunnel.

After the tunnel we entered a small village and turned left into a narrow street. The village looked like a squatters’ area with tiny, makeshift houses. At the end of the street I saw a small house made of fragile wood decorated with colorful symbols and filigree art like a Muslim house of worship, all made of thin wood. The house had been torn down by the harsh storm and I felt a bit sad, not for the loss of those who worshipped there…but more for the art that had gone wasted.

We finally reached our destination, our home. It was a tiny, bright white adobe house sitting on top of a hill, away from the dreary scene of the poverty and destruction below. In the next scene I saw myself happily and peacefully sweeping the floor of my austere home as my husband, my Master, sat nearby, writing on his book. My husband actually looked like the nice old tricycle driver --- small and plump, with the kindest, gentlest face wearing a tiny set of spectacles. All the walls inside and outside the tiny adobe house were white. There were no decorations on the wall. The house was almost bare. The room where I was sweeping had an old crude dining table made of sturdy wooden planks where my husband sat as he wrote on his book. The windows were crude but made in perfect squares and from these, we see the blue, clear sky. It was all so quiet and peaceful. Not a sound was heard. My husband and I did not speak a word to each other but felt each other’s peaceful company. I felt quiet love and humble submission inside my heart. I wore a housedress made of thin white cotton that simply covered my nakedness.

Then my daughter Jessica came to ask her Father some money, and they climbed a few steps up to a bedroom. I followed to take a look. Her father opened a bedside drawer and inside was an old worn out purse filled with gold coins.

I turned my back to the sight of the money which did not interest me at all despite of the simple life we led. I also knew that my husband had a secure source of income that came from an endless source. Though my house was bare, I felt I had all I ever wanted from life…. * * *

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  • Sweeping,


    the baba yaga of Russia and the old junglayakama of the vedas, the "jungle doctor"...they sweep, endlessly, the floors of our consciousness

    sometimes of caraway seeds

    as a group incubation once offered for me, the witch'es broom, 

    and never before did i notice the similarity to the parasol of paradise,

    the umbrella of your sweeping dream, so similar, yet, 

    all over the world, women sweep

    the sidewalks and porches and floors

    daily task, make it clean,

    like sailors, swabbing the decks, but the broom...the parasol...Mary Poppins to the greatest Hindu Moment on Elephant Back,

    I want to say: please, please please

    read, people,

    the poem/dream

    about blue sky squares that I just read tonight too. Hers:

    The windows were crude but made in perfect squares and from these, we see the blue, clear sky.
    It was all so quiet and peaceful.

     Perfect not squares but in his case, rectangle he insists must be "objective"...i too feel a certain sadness

    "for the art that had gone wasted."


    ABout the Father and the STeps and the need for some money! I dreamed SO SIMILARLY!!! Just a couple years ago, vivid as lucid can be: 

    I am shopping in the basement and pick up and handle and see pretty small silly things on tables, bare things that would be perfect for some of my friends bodies. Undies.

    I call up "Father?! Do you have some money for these?" 

    He's upstairs at the counter, and i suppose he can't hear me, so I traipse up a set of narrow stairs, to my left and just behind me and the table...it's a little like the barn where i grew up!...BUT these stairs are sooooooo

    deeply polished and rounded and utterly worn into bowls by the passage of happy feet over ever so many generations and years.


    Deep golden mahogany color, shiny and bowl shaped stairs.


    As I climb upwards,


    An ancient old leathery crinkled up Hindi man is descending as I go up.


    I am still calling out something like "Daddy?" and just engrossed with my idea about these gifts...to not collide in our passing I look up: he looks down: we connect utterly and he LAUGHS, laughs, chuckling, chortling, says...


    "Oh no, no. no. I'm not old enough to be YOUR father! ah ha ha ha ah".... 


    We pass, I look at him in utter sense of wonderment, and confusion, and awe, and joy, he on my left...


    At the top, i find my "real" waking father, (who in "waking life" is dead already several years and in so many  lucid dreams of many levels) is indeed at the counter and pays for the trifling things.


    Mmmn, hmm.. (I think" perhaps I spend a lot of precious time on trifling things in my waking life, feeling that i can afford it! Like, teaching for a living and so on!!!? Doing things for friends that i should be doing for myself? sp;ending life blood on things that are worthy of more than i'm putting out there?")


    I had a session with a guy into Objective Dreaming Methods once. I dreamt, the night before we met:

    I'm on a big jet plane trying to take off and it's floating along the Hudson River Valley...I have a window seat on the left and seeing the situation, I sensibly with no panic retrieve my passport and I.D. from my bag, but i know the rest of  my belongings are lost. I go up towards the front. I'm supposed to go to the Eleventh Floor. I see on my left a game room with a few college boys sorta forgot how to play pool on the pool table but they're watching the overhead TV game...I carry on, a bit annoyed, see on my left a lovely little cabin with dusty faded green Victorian chairs and books...carry on and 

    wake up far from my destination, the 11th Floor of the jet plane.


    When I tell my new Objective Guy about this initial dream, he says: I'm unrealistic to think there could BE an eleventh floor to the plane.

    Well, buddy, 

    i think there IS an eleventh Embrane to the universe and

    I do believe

    our dreams could lead us there

    if we let them 

    and don't box them in.

    peace, namaste, light, love,

    way too late on a school night but the sunflowers don't care,




  • I adore this dream.

    Thank you for this poetry.


  • I am struck by the number three in your dream: three scenes, tricycle, three (?) females. Also a narrowness that steadily expands. Also movement from relative darkness, to fragile colors, to sturdy pure white (and that your simple white dress matches the simply white abode. The daughter asks for something of value from her father and receives his gold that is held in an old worn purse. 

    Strength in simplicity, fragility of the colorful and ornate. Having seen your interest in art I am drawn to the image of a white canvas, both your home and your dress. There seems to be no need to "decorate" either one. 

    I'm curious that Jessica asks for the money/gold. Is she needing some extra wisdom at this time?

    There is so much more here.....thanks for sharing.

    • I'm sorry guys for my late response.  I had an article deadline to finish...thank you all very much for the analysis! This dream occurred before my spiritual process began.  It was actually a glimpse of what was to happen to me. Somehow all the analysis validated my feelings and thoughts about my experiences which were reflected in the dream. Yes Dorene, I did have a shift in religion, and Stephanie's  Matthew 13:44 seems to have given meaning to my spiritual experiences and Ed's simplicity theme reflects my current desire to keep my life simple. And yes Alan, I am now content and quietly happy. Thank you all! :)
  • Rachel, your dream struck me similarly with Stephanie's comment ago.Without knowing anything about you, I'm tempted to ask if you are in a period of spiritual inquiry. So much in the dream seems to reference both a deep faith in God and a shifting view of religion. Also like Stephanie, there is much that reminds me of Christianity--the tricycle (trinity), reference to the narrow road, the Father with kind eyes and an endless source of income. Then, there is the Muslim house of worship that has been torn down by a storm . . . any connection to the woman outside the tunnel who is struggling in a storm? My imagination wonders if you have any connection or interest in the Muslim faith and what might be happening to Muslims in the world today? The sadness at the loss of art in the house of worship is in counterpoint to the lack of adornment in your white adobe "home." Lots of things to chew on . . .

    What an exquisite dream! Without knowing anything about you, I would bet money that you are a wise and loving woman.

  • Hi Rachel- I happened upon your post just yesterday. In the bedside draw the old and worn out purse holding gold coin stayed with me along with the lines in your narrative, " we were waiting for a tricycle to take us home" and "we finally reached our destination, our home." The depth value is deeply feminine and this "femininity" is stirring.  Also, the e- motion empowering the notion expressed by the dream ego toward religious images has an effect upon the soul as do our images in art.  That man has a soul and that a treasure is buried in it as is expressed by the dream is also expressed by Jung toward the end of his own life and by christian scripture in Matthew 13:44. The field in the case of the dream is not a noun but operating between the poles of two gerunds, not "home" but both "homecoming" and "homemaking".

    Here are the quotes

    "The Kingdom of Heaven is like a treasure that a man discovered hidden in a field. In his excitement, he hid it again and sold everything he owned to get enough money to buy the field. - New Living Translation ©2007  

    ‘Man has a soul and there is a treasure buried in the field.’ --C.G. Jung.

    Here is a link to the biblical quote from various bible translations.

    When I went to this passage in its various translations I couldn't help but confirm the same dream sense as does your narrative. Namely that this value is not speakable.

    I am also thinking of two tenants.

    First, Nothing is real until it is observed. And two...

    One cannot observe a phenomenon of the soul without disturbing it.

    Here finally is an interesting turning of the awakening of the instinctual side soul from within the depths of the dream

  • Hi Rachel:

    I'm drawn to the image you described: "...a tiny, bright white adobe house sitting on top of a hill, away from the dreary scene of the poverty and destruction below. In the next scene I saw myself happily and peacefully sweeping the floor of my austere home..."  Sometimes a house can represent our own person, and the description of your 'house' is in stark contrast to the 'empoverish' others.  Note the feelings you had as you 'swept your house clean' -- you sound happy & content.  I wonder what might surface for you if you sat with these feelings and the notion of your 'house being put in order'?  Alan

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