The house is enormous, dark, and it is in my dreams.
I have not only dreamed of this imposing dwelling once but many times. Each time it is the same.
I some how know the house like a friend. I know the quiet rooms, walls covered in their ancient papers, floors of rooms covered in lush carpets, halls illuminated dimly with antique sconces and gas flames. Wood floors in hallways, polished and clean. Staircases, embellished with wooden banisters travel from floor to floor.
Each night I dream of this house I find myself wandering through the halls, from room to room, and up the endless stairs. Musty odors fill my nostrils as I tread down the dim halls. My foot steps echo through out as I make my way through the house.
I travel the same path each time I am in the house. The same halls, rooms and stairs. Each smell and sound the same. I am happy and calm as I travel the path set before me.
Finally I find the large central staircase that winds, tightly up to a single room. Slowly I climb the smooth stairs. The worn handrail smooth under my shaking hand. I realize that I am now anxious as I take step after step. Windows open to an out of focus world beyond the smoky glass. I reach the threshold of the room and find that I am not able to pass through. No obvious barrier exists but I am held out. I can see what is inside the room. All the items are familiar to me. I remember sitting in the small room and peering out the clear windows on the world outside. I remember learning things in this room and finding things too. Now the room is dark and still, dust covers the small table and chair. Cobwebs, almost as if embodying the cliche, hang from the corners and over the windows. The once clear glass, now clouded with age.
I am confused and sadden. Why am I not able to return to a room that I looked forward to being in? Night after night I return to the room and find it closed to me still, each night the room grew darker and darker.
I haven’t dreamed of traveling through the house in some time but I have the house appearing in my mind’s eye from time to time, first in vague detail and now in full detail. I used to sit and wonder during my waking hours if I will be walking through the rooms, halls and staircases or if I will be taking a different journey.
I know now that the room at the top of the house will never be open to me again. I know that the room was a place for me to learn about myself and for me to be found. I stared my path in that room and I will forever remember it even if I am not able to return to it. The house remains open to me and me open to the house; but that part will forever remain a closed part in...
A dark house…dreaming.