There's a room in my dreams. I've been going there for years. Not every night, though I can sometimes redirect myself there once I realize I'm dreaming. I've decorated and furnished the place to my liking and it's a welcome stop on any night's journey. I keep a few records there, a ton of books, some artwork. There's a comfortable couch but I can't sit for long or I forget what I'm doing and find myself in another dream. You know those dreams where you hold onto something so tightly, believing it will actually work this time, that a bit of dream treasure will defy the laws of reality when you wake up and open your hand? I keep a few of those things in the room. Nothing amazing, just for sentimental value.
I was 13 the first time I dreamed of the room. We lived near a lake at the time and I dreamed one night that it had dried up, revealing a small house that had been submerged for who knows how long. I walked across the dried mud, opened the door, and found myself in a single room which felt like every room I'd ever called my own. I've never seen the room from the outside since then. The only exit from the room is a door that can lead me pretty much wherever I want to dream of next, if I concentrate hard enough. I've been to Ancient Egypt, Cuba, and the moon.
There's something else about the room that makes me a little nervous every time I dream of it. Many years ago there was a cricket in the room; I couldn't find it but I heard its chirping for several minutes before I left. I'd forgotten this until several days later when a real cricket found its way into my apartment and kept me awake half the night. Another time, I opened a letter in the room (no idea how it got there) and learned that a relative had had a heart attack. Within a couple of weeks, this actually happened. I started keeping a journal a few years ago, which is how I figured out that these dreams always precede the real event by exactly nine days.
Last night, for the first time in over 20 years, there was a new door in the room. I had just turned to face it when the dream ended.
If the door is still there the next time I dream of the room, I'm going to open it.
I was 13 the first time I dreamed of the room. We lived near a lake at the time and I dreamed one night that it had dried up, revealing a small house that had been submerged for who knows how long. I walked across the dried mud, opened the door, and found myself in a single room which felt like every room I'd ever called my own. I've never seen the room from the outside since then. The only exit from the room is a door that can lead me pretty much wherever I want to dream of next, if I concentrate hard enough. I've been to Ancient Egypt, Cuba, and the moon.
There's something else about the room that makes me a little nervous every time I dream of it. Many years ago there was a cricket in the room; I couldn't find it but I heard its chirping for several minutes before I left. I'd forgotten this until several days later when a real cricket found its way into my apartment and kept me awake half the night. Another time, I opened a letter in the room (no idea how it got there) and learned that a relative had had a heart attack. Within a couple of weeks, this actually happened. I started keeping a journal a few years ago, which is how I figured out that these dreams always precede the real event by exactly nine days.
Last night, for the first time in over 20 years, there was a new door in the room. I had just turned to face it when the dream ended.
If the door is still there the next time I dream of the room, I'm going to open it.
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