I’ve held the notion for some time that it's possible to see into the mind of another person by taking a look at the house in which they live. In other words, our homes reveal our state of mind and our current life experience, to a degree. Our homes reflect who we are in more ways than we may realize.
This theory has proven to be fairly accurate. Stuffy, rigid people often abide in stuffy, rigid dwellings among stuffy, rigid furniture and knick-knacks. Liberals often live in homes bearing odd color schemes and filled with too much furniture and plenty of half-burned candles.
Dreamin'
I have been a student of dream interpretation for many years. The topic fascinates me, probably because I dream so vividly, and I'm so curious about what it all means.
A dominant symbol in many of my dreams is a house or some other kind of structure. Dream specialists say that buildings (especially houses) in our dreams represent our lives—our current conditions of existence—our ongoing experiences. In other words, the houses in our dreams reveal how we are doing mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually.
So, for instance, if I dream that I'm roaming through a house that has many rooms, but all the doors are locked shut and the house is dark and gloomy, those symbols probably represent a current state of affairs that lacks joy, light, opportunity, or even escape.
On the other hand, an exquisite house in a dream—one featuring high ceilings, lovely furnishings, colorful rooms, and huge windows offering panoramic views—symbolizes extreme happiness, opportunity, and emotional luxury. Add a tropical swimming pool, Jacuzzi, or some other water feature to the picture, and this dream represents a tremendously satisfying and pleasurable existence.
Perception
Keep in mind that dreams are created based on how our minds perceive our current state of affairs. The movies played for us during sleep reveal what our minds believe or fear regarding our lives and our circumstances—true or false. It's all about perception.
If You Could Read My Mind, Love...
The last house I owned where I lived by myself was for the most part cozy, fairly tidy, full of animals, always a little dusty, and perpetually under construction. There were plenty of windows so that I could see outside. Others could see in, too, and that was okay with me. There wasn't a drop of alcohol or a mind-altering drug in the house anywhere. You wouldn't have found a piano in the house, yet you would have gotten the odd sense that there should have been one there.
The house had a degree of curb appeal, what with the mint-green paint, the pretty white fence, and the colorful flowers. But if you looked closely, you would have noticed weeds and signs of dry-rot. The back yard was really a mess. You would have begun to realize that there was still plenty of work to do around the place.
That picture described my life -- then -- to a tee.
Garbage
Then there was my sister’s home. She doesn't live there anymore because it was torn down and demolished. If you saw inside that place, you would have seen inside her mind. Very unhealthy. Extremely fearful. Mentally ill. She was living in a pile of spiritual, emotional, mental, and physical garbage.
I Am My House, And My House Is Me
I’m not exactly sure which is the reflection of the other… the mind of the house, or the house of the mind. Perhaps it’s like a series of mirrors, all reflecting off each other. Like the House of Mirrors at the circus, the illusions go on and on forever.
Perhaps the only genuine fact may be the person standing squarely in the middle, paying the mortgage.
Karen
by Sara Teasdale
And filled them every one
With tenderness and nobleness,
April and the sun.
The old empty dreams
Where my thoughts would throng
Are far too full of happiness
To even hold a song.
Oh, the empty dreams were dim
And the empty dreams were wide,
They were sweet and shadowy houses
Where my thoughts could hide.
But you took my dreams away
And you made them all come true --
My thoughts have no place now to play,
And nothing now to do.
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