30 May, 2009

"I used to live here"

I had a dream the other night.

It was nighttime in the house where I was living. It was my "home", my children were sleeping there, and my wife was lying on the bed next to me, but it wasn't the inside of a house I've ever lived in or even seen.

I was lying next to my wife; near our bed was a sliding glass door that led out to a patio that was a couple of feet below ground level, and surrounded by a cement wall surrounded it. The inside looked a little like some of the styles I remember from my youth: wall paneling, bedsheets of the gaudy 70s styles and colors, etc.

While we lay there talking, some dry autumn leaves rustled suspiciously outside. My wife sat up in alarm and asked me what it was. I shrugged. Probably some animal. I didn't tell her that it sounded to me like footsteps, but I hoped they'd go away.

On another occasion, during the day, I was in the study, and again I heard the same sound. I bolted outside and saw a man with dark hair, in a white button-up shirt, black slacks, and black shoes. No tie, though. He smiled and waved; outraged, I walked up to him and demanded why he was skulking around my house.

He looked a little embarrassed. Sorry; this used to be my house, and I like to look at it. he said. Would it be okay if I came inside and had a look around?

This is when I woke up. It was daylight, and as I dressed I realized that the man in my dream was God, and the home was my heart.

Dunno what to think about that.

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