The Sacred Room

1. Hide-Out in the Mountains

The beginnings of the dream are hard to remember. I am in a city. The kind of city that slopes. Someone who knows me - windows, tall buildings, bridges, - takes me along and says we have to go this way. I follow. We go rather fast, because he or she, I am inclined to say she, but I don't know, knows very well where to go. We pass through the woods and into the mountains.

I remember this place, but is has been a long time. It is dark, and green. Alive in a way. One or two more people are there, friends. We descend. Below in the valley lies the Mountain Retreat. It looks abandoned and although it feels familiar, the whole setting, it doesn't look that way, and I still need someone to guide me along.

And that is what she does. Almost taking me by the sleeve. She shows me around. When we enter the house looks really desolate and deserted. But big, really big. From the outside you wouldn't guess. But the house does not look well cared for. A  better job could have been done. And the first rooms are simple, cold, no windows and so on so that it feels as if you are still outside. And I think of Kula, for whom this place would be perfect to start an eco-village. There's plenty rooms like this, and quite spacious. All the same grey. And with earthen floors. No furniture, or it has been taken away. Three or four rooms like that, maybe more. They are all in front and on the right, and on the ground level.

Then we go to the back and enter a nicer part of the house.

Can't really remember what happens here, but at some point we go upstairs. Although the house still feels desolate, I also sense a presence. And in effect, this part of the house is still inhabited, only the owners are not home at the moment, which means we have to act quickly and so forth, and see and do all before they get back. But I have a feeling I know them, although I don't.

When we enter the upstairs room - we are four now - we are entering the sanctuary, that is what it feels like, and that is how I identify it in the dream. A lot of things are packed on top of each other. The room is so full you have barely space to move. We enter through the left wall, but on the other side of the same wall is another door, this would be the door we need to go through, although I feel danger, or at least a presence that does not want to be disturbed. And as a matter of fact, the whole room feels like that. Don't touch anything. It's old stuff, artifacts, lots of wooden things, stacked on desks and closets against the walls. All four walls are packed. 

I first go to my left to take a closer look at something. These are clearly all magical items. Charged no doubt. only asleep. And I feel really threatened as if something would happen if I touched something. So, I don't. But maybe I should have.

I look back, to my right. And something catches my eye. It is in the corner, on a table. Somewhat out of reach. A really big book, bound in leather, bigger than most books, really impressive, written by Donald Tyson, with a title like Congo Rwanda. That's the kind of book I want. I take it for a grimoire of some kind. And after seeing that, all the other items are easier to identify. There's sceptres and staffs, stones, rosaries and all that stuff. Down below are drawers, and they are full of things. I remember where some things are. I still don't touch stuff, because it's sacred, and I don't know if I have leave. But the others now see it too, and before I can say anything, he says, it's all magic. And he also touches something. And looks into the drawers. Nothing happens, but it still feels like sacrilege. But I want to touch it.

2. Playing the Pipa

Some house I think, but different dream, maybe.

I enter a room, alone, bizarre shape, on my left nothing, or space, on my right first a narrow hall and after that a large space, we stand somewhere in between. There is a man there, glasses, brown hair, short beard, long sleeves. He is a musician. He holds a pipa. And he hands me one, and I try to fit it into the bent of my arm, much like a violin. I remember the taiji stance, and suppose this is the way to hold such an instrument. But it hurts, because the pipa is beset with spikes. And they press against the flesh of my upper arm, shoulder, arm pit. It is more like an instrument of torture, there is other stuff that points to it, but I forgot. So, I release the posture.

The man then starts to teach me, that is to say, he starts to play. And I can hear the music. And it is really good, and it goes on for quite a while, which is rather special. I like it very much. After a while, of course, it is my turn. First I have to brace the instrument again, which is a pain, but then I am eager to start playing, though I am uncertain.

And then someone else enters, possibly someone of the former group who was looking for me, and here the dream ends. This person, presumably a girl, was to take either me or the man back.

3. Holding Hands

I am outside now. I meet a girl. I know her, but not so well. We have seen each other maybe a handful of times before. We walk together. Cross the cobbled square of a large city. Go straight. I hold her hand. She takes mine in hers. It is nice. But it only lasts a few minutes, so to speak, because then she decides to release it. I am sure because she is uncertain, I suspect because she has a boyfriend. I don't really know who it is, I never see her face. Evening.