The House of Dreams

The House of Dreams

The house of dreams is a place we seek that also seeks us.

Once you step inside, you won’t want to leave—but know there is no returning.

Fear is the main reason most people won’t arrive there. They don’t believe that they can.

You will know when it’s time to enter; you’ll feel a pressure in your bones, a flexing in your fascia, the tipping sensation in your guts. Because that’s what it takes to step inside the house of dreams: a fortitude of will.

In the house where you used to live, the mirror on the wall held an image; you’ll stop looking at her and cease all chatter pertaining to what you are, are not, and could never be. Because in the house of dreams, you become who you are. All that you already were and always will be. You are no longer the person looking in that mirror and peering into an absence or a deficit. The ‘you’ in the house of dreams is fully present and resplendent and shining in her glory of oneness and selfhood. The ‘you’ in the house of dreams is not a reflection of anyone else—any other man’s greatness—the triumph is completely her own.

In the house of dreams, there is a threshold, and once the line is crossed, where you are standing now—among your fiercest dreams—the sensory experience is a hurricane of magnificence, a glittering room of spring blossoms. An invisible door shuts behind you into a white mist. The room you came from ceases to exist. Your trepidation is no longer fear-based, it’s…anticipation.

 For most people—for you—reaching the house of dreams takes time. Decades. Even, millennia. Lifetimes. You continue to knock at the door until you land your knuckles right, and now you have. You will. The house of dreams is the destination sought by the brave.

What is the house of dreams? Where are you now? It’s as much a feeling as it is a place, or a fourth state of matter…When you try to grasp an image in your mind’s eye, you picture the lip of the doorframe, decorated white and silver, the smoky mist ahead and at your back, and the anticipation of having…arrived. You are here. Where you are meant to be. The place you were headed but didn’t truly know it. Until now.

Now that you are here in the house of dreams, welcome. (One would never feel unwelcome, in the house of dreams.)

The house of dreams is where dreams are born and get lived out. To be invited in means you have worked hard. You have likely suffered, lost, grieved, sacrificed. Those knuckles may be bloodied. Your place in the house of dreams is earned.

 The house of dreams belongs to you and you alone. It’s your house of dreams. And it was your work that got you here. No mirrors hang in the house of dreams. No pictures, either. Only your smiling face right now. Here. Present.

 Only you—living out your dreams.

Your friends—your true friends—will be there, right beside you, patting your shoulder and prodding you forward on your way to the entrance. They make it safer to go inside. They give you their wisdom like fairy godmothers bestowing gifts, but you take only what you need and leave the rest. Every decision in the house of dreams is yours.

Now, you have arrived. But I don’t have to tell you that because you already know. You feel the pulse under your skin like the fever of desire. The sweet brow beads of sweat gathered, now dry, bone dry. Whisked away with every doubt. Every denial of self.

The house of dreams is where she steps into her full power.

Take off your shoes. Stay a while. Curl up on the lilac sparkly rug that has suddenly appeared. Let your breathing slow, steady.

If you find yourself, standing on the threshold, deciding whether or not to go in, take a deep breath and please, believe in yourself. Once you decide to take that step—once you step through that door—there’s no turning back. You will be standing in the room in the house of your dreams filled with wonder. And that wonder—is you.