Empty Rooms…?

I have several reoccurring dreams. I’ve blogged about this before.

I also have a series of dreams that differ, but seem to follow the same theme.

What does that theme represents? I’ve spent the entire weekend trying to figure this out. Usually I forget my dreams and move on, but after reading a post on Out of My Mind, I decided I needed to look further into it, and listen to my subconscious.

I’m glad I did.

Every few weeks I dream about rooms in a house. Usually my house, but not always.

On Friday night I dreamed about an empty –no, not empty– unused room in my house, a master bedroom with a full size bathroom. It was fully furnished, but clearly hadn’t been used in at least forty years. I say forty because of the decor. It was something out of the sixties or early seventies. Gold, with white and beige accents. Paisley linens and wallpaper. It had a huge king size bed, and a curved, low back couch. In reality, I have never seen this room before, but in my dream our entire family knew this room existed, but we never entered it.

The mystery room was situated in the center of my house and had no windows, but was still very bright inside. It wasn’t easy to access, which was our excuse for not using the room. It had no real doors. To enter, you had to walk through my bedroom, then through my bathroom, then through my shower to access a vault type door. This door was solid, stiff, and hard to open.

The difference of this dream from the others was, once I entered the room I felt comfort and warmth. It was similar to the feeling I had stepping into my grandmother’s bedroom as a kid. She always had a beautiful pink bedspread on her bed, and lace curtains over her windows. The walls were covered in large, black and white photos of our family. I always felt a sense of belonging when I gazed at those pictures. Generations of people just like me, and just like my grandmother. I don’t want to get to deep here, but I want you to understand. I hardly ever had a sense of belonging as a kid because we moved around so much. Feeling that while in my Gram’s bedroom, it was a powerful thing. This should give you some understanding of how this mystery room felt in my dream.

Anyway, back to the difference between this dream and some of my past dreams. Usually when I dream of rooms, they’re dark, dingy, scary, and unfinished. It’s usually a tunnel made up of one room, than another. You have to walk through one dark room to get to the next dark room, then on to the next. They seemed never ending. It’s seriously frightening. I never know what I will find in these rooms, and I usually wake up with a racing heart and a clammy sick feeling.

What does this all mean?

Could it be, this new dream is about finally embracing the unknown? Unlocking a door to that untapped part of my mind that I keep closed and protected? Hopefully allowing me to write from my heart more often, without being afraid of what might come out of it.

I’ve asked this before, do we need to break down walls to be better writers? The fear of exposing ourselves unabashed, and exposing our souls to the world, it’s frightening. We’ve all blogged about the fear. Darksculptures wrote a beautiful post about it just last week. Maybe she prompted this dream. Maybe this means I’ve overcome some of that anxiety she wrote about.

I don’t know, but this is the first time I’ve ever made any assumptions about my dreams. I’m not sure whether I should be happy about it, or fearful. The subconscious is a powerful thing.

17 thoughts on “Empty Rooms…?

  1. Thank you for the link, Dayner.

    I often write about dreams on my blog. Some of our dreams are just our subconscious sorting through the stimulus of the day, but you can usually tell the ones that are meaningful.

    As an archetype, the house is your soul, so I think you’ve done a good job interpreting your dream … and you are the only one who can do that.

    You know, I’ve never felt that I censor myself in writing fiction, but you and Darksculptures have me thinking maybe I should re-evaluate that.

    1. The strangest part of these dreams is the feeling of déjà vu I get as I’m having them. It drives me crazy.

      I don’t purposely hold back my emotions when I’m writing, but I often suppress them in day to day life. As a general rule, I would rather hide from or ignore a bad memory than face it, and I believe that may hold me back some. If I don’t let myself live those emotions then it makes it hard for me to write about them. Does this make sense?

      1. Definitely makes sense, Dayner. I think that’s the true meaning behind “write what you know.” It’s awfully hard to convey emotions convincingly in your writing, if you haven’t felt them.

        I don’t think I’ve had the deja vu feeling, but when I find these rooms in my dreams, I’m usually cleaning and open a door to find a room filled with “treasures” and sometimes I feel like I knew this room was here but just forgot.

  2. This is such a cool dream! My mom went through almost this exact thing! It turned out to be a pretty exciting time for her because in the end she learned that she was getting acquainted with some sides of herself that she never knew were there and also some that she had long forgotten about. I hope it turns out to be an exciting journey for you, too!

    1. I hope it turns into an exciting journey too. 🙂
      I’ve had dreams about rooms for as long as I can remember. I always thought they might have something to do with a past life, I never thought they could relate to the future.

  3. I really enjoyed this journey through your dream world and especially your interpretation. Could it be you have already embraced this change and your dream is the subconcious confirmation that opens the door to this deeper level of writing.

    You are a talented writer. There is no denying that. Your world is filled with limitless possibilities. Cease them. Reach beyond your comfort zones into these new spaces. You’ll soon find that what was once unfamiliar and new, becomes as comfortable as your grandma’s pink bedspread and lace curtains.

  4. “You are a talented writer. There is no denying that.”
    Oh, come on–sure there’s denying it. I deny it everyday. 😉
    Thanks, but you may be exaggerating a little (lot).

    Jeeze, I miss that pink bedspread and those lace curtains. They’re still around, only now they live in an old trunk in my living room. I have the photos too, maybe I’ll share them one day. I have a photo of my great-grandfather on a horse, in full Indian warrior gear and make-up. When I learn to watermark my photo’s I’ll post them. They’re fabulous!

  5. Very interesting. I sometimes have dreams about rooms, houses. In the dreams, they are very clearly places I’m familiar with — but they are not rooms I’ve ever been in in my waking reality. I’ve never been able to figure them out.

    Every couple of months I’ll have what I call ‘garbage dreams’ where every piece of subconscious trivia from my recent past shows up together in a bizarre dance.

    But mostly my dreams are things like picking bunches of broccoli at the grocery store and are extraordinarily mundane. Though broccoli is not necessarily mundane.

    1. I hardly ever dream, but when I do it’s always bazaar. I’m never picking bunches of broccoli, LOL, that would be weird. I can imagine spending weeks trying to figure out what that means.

  6. Did you ever think about making throw pillows with the bedspread? Or taking part of a lace curtain and stretching it over a piece of dark fabric or paper and then framing it? It might be a way to keep them alive and out in the open more. You can do it with judicious folding I would think so you wouldn’t have to cut anything up.

    Just a thought. I’ve seen people do things like this and have them be very cool.

    (I’ve also seen things like this that have been outrageously tacky, which would probably be my approach.)

    1. Ha ha ha–The bedspread has throw pillows. Actually, I like to keep them in her trunk. When I open the trunk I can smell her. 🙂 It’s cool. I’m having some of the photos framed for my house. Some are as old as 1910. For most people that’s no big deal, but my mom lost every photo we ever had from our childhood with all the moving around. My grandma had some of us, as well as her parents and siblings.

      1. The smell thing is funny. My women’s group does a share thing about our mothers every so often and someone brought an old bottle of Emeraude cologne that had been her mother’s.

        I don’t know if they even make that anymore, but I guess it was hot in the 50’s and 60’s because we passed it around the group and everyone smiled as they remembered their own mothers smelling like that.

      2. My mom wore this horrid stuff called White Shoulders. It was so loud. The kind of perfume that comes through the doorway before the person.

        I love Hypnotic Poison by Dior but have had a hard time finding it. Now I just wear Poison. I’ll have to ask my son if he thinks it is horrid. I’d hate to be remembered for stinking. LOL

      3. I remember White Shoulders! I think I mom used to wear that too.
        My Grandma always used the Maja soap–and spray, and powder, and make up, and probably everything else they make. When she died she had an entire cabinet full of this soap. She had at least a year + supply. Everything she had smells like this soap.
        I like the pink Intimately Beckham. My kids don’t hate it but I’m not sure they like it either. 🙂

  7. Oh, that’s so creepy. I hate recurring dreams. Why can’t we have happy, skipping through fields of wildflowers with puppies and kittens and bunnies kinds of recurring dreams???

    I don’t know about the dream, but I do think there’s something to be said for exposing yourself in your writing. The good stuff always feels like the writers put some secret parts of themselves in the books. Bleeding on the page and all that. Sure, you can make a nice living writing without doing it, but would you ever be satisfied with what it? There’s no right answer to that question . . just an honest answer is the right one.

    1. Yes, puppies and kittens would be a nice change. 🙂 These dreams, even the good ones are pretty creepy.
      I like the imagine of bleeding on the page–I think.

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