Hidden Room Dreams

I’ve always had a cherished relationship with my dreams. I’ve never passed dreams off as the meaningless result of something I ate before I went to bed, or some remnant of a movie watched recently. My dreams to me are pathways into my own soul. To discount their messages would be to close the door on something critical to my evolution.

I have a favorite type of dream, a theme I’ve had since I was very small. The hidden room dream. Maybe you’ve had them too. The premise is, after living in the same house forever, I suddenly find a secret room. Maybe It’s a door I’ve never known was there, hidden behind the piano. Or a strange light peers through the bookshelf I’ve chosen to dust behind. In one hidden room dream I find a creaky door in the basement that leads to a dark hallway. Or in another, a gaping hole leading straight into the secret soul of the house.

Stepping inside, trepidatious, heart pounding, I find a room the size of a football field or much bigger, with a Turkish carpet adorning the endless floor. Or maybe in the backyard I find a rock cave opening with an underground spring, trickling and dancing down the walls, with grass under my feet and animals I’ve never seen before.

In another of my hidden room dreams I found a canvas my long-deceased mother had painted. I’d never seen it before. The painting was of an adobe home, with lavishly dressed Mayans kneeling in front of it, sun rays cascading down upon them from above and behind the house. The painting itself was so bright, I could not fully look upon it. It hurt my eyes. Like gazing at the sun itself, the rays burst forth from the dream itself, blinding me. I put the painting to my chest, protecting my eyes from the strain, and kneeled in gratitude.

Hidden room dreams are metaphysical gifts.

I never knew their meaning, never worked very hard to find out, until recently. I just accepted them with gratitude, drinking them in, waking up feeling alive and purely grateful for life itself. But a couple of years ago while I was getting my Master’s degree in psychology, their meaning found me. Ordering a book online, Amazon suggested I buy another similar book called The Red Book by Carl Jung. Carl Jung being one of my favorite transpersonal psychologists, I read the description of the book.

Within it, I found this:

“A not uncommon dream is of stumbling upon a previously unknown addition or wing of one’s dwelling, which is found to be many, many times the size of the existing structure, and to contain objects and treasures of previously unimaginable value, interest and numinousity. One is filled with awe and wonder at the new found wealth and possibilities. The response is that God is neither dead nor to be found in outer religious, national or political containers, but is to be discovered and struggled with in the living of each individual life.”

Jung said God was right there inside of us.

To me the dreams ask me to check in with my own soul. Reconnect. With the pace of daily life, the list of daily obligations, I sometimes forget about this hidden room inside of us, larger than anything we can imagine. Within it lies hidden treasure: our power, our purpose, our passion– waiting to be discovered and claimed.

Have you had a hidden room dream?

I’d love to hear about it, if you have!

Much Love,

Kristy Sweetland