🔑 Inner House Metaphor in a Dream of Last Night
Last night I found myself inside a long wooden house – a place built from memory, time, and the echoes of a life once full. Three floors connected by creaking wooden stairs, walls that had held generations, and a warmth that once came from the presence of family. In the beginning, the house was alive. Every room carried voices, movement, belonging.
But time moved quickly, as dreams often do. In the next moment I was already a grown man, and the house had become empty.
I ran up and down the stairs, practicing martial arts, holding onto a determination that felt like the last ember of something I didn’t want to lose. But even that energy slowly faded. Eventually I stopped turning on the lights. I lived in the darkness – not out of fear, but out of exhaustion. The house became a shell, and so did I.
Then something shifted.
One morning, without knowing why, I woke up on the third floor. I stood up, walked down all the stairs, and stepped outside. The world was still half‑asleep, the air cool, the sky just beginning to open. I walked toward a small market down the street, and as the first rays of sunlight touched the ground, I saw them.
A sage – or a guru – walking toward me with two students. Their presence was calm, steady, unmistakable.
We met in the middle of the marketplace, surrounded by people who seemed unaware of the moment unfolding. I spoke to him as he continued walking, guiding us back toward the place where my house stood. I don’t remember the words I said along the way – only the last ones.
When we reached the house, he stopped. He turned toward me, silently showing that he was listening.
And something inside me broke open.
I fell to my knees and began to cry. I told him the house was empty. That I had no one. That I didn’t want to keep living in that emptiness. I begged him to take the house – to use it as his dwelling, his temple. To fill it with presence, meaning, and life again.
And when he accepted, everything changed.
I woke up – but instead of sadness, I was overflowing with energy. My heart was beating so hard I could feel my chest move. A wave of joy filled me, so strong it felt like light.
It wasn’t a dream of loss. It was a dream of surrender. A dream of offering the inner house – the place I had abandoned – to wisdom, to guidance, to something greater than myself.
And in that surrender, something awakened.
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