We are told that events, memories of events, and emotions in our waking life trigger our dreams. If we repeatedly have the same or similar dreams, our subconscious is trying to send us a message. Yes but what message?
My old ancestral home was very large with several attics containing remnants of old family vestiges in seemingly dark and secluded corners. Why was I so afraid as a child to climb the ladders to the attics and look around?
When I did, it was ever so briefly, and the things I saw they had all become pale and covered by dust …yet looked familiar somehow…even as grayish and vague in slivers of light.
It was this unexplained familiarity that caused me to be afraid and back pedal down as soon as I could to run out into my garden to smell the flowers and listen to my beloved trains just over the wall.
When I did look around, as brief as it went, my child's eyes foraged for old toys that surely must have been abandoned/put away in the attics waiting for tomorrows.
Once I found a small box with old coins and took it hiding it somewhere in my room then promptly forgetting where.
Then as an adult and visiting my old uncle who had been away in another city for all his life, I was stunned when he presented me with some of the same old coins as a 'particular' gift he said…but he would never explain the 'particular' only saying that one day I would understand…still waiting for that day.
But where could those old coins I hid in my room be today? I wonder if they were ever found or if the ones given to me by my uncle in my adulthood are in fact the same old coins I whisked away from the attic in jealous possession…very strange. But my uncle would have told me had he been the one to find them. But then how could he...he had been gone from the ancestral home for dozens of years.
I have a few rolling through my fingers at this moment…hard to describe my mysterious feelings they evoke at first touch.
And my room…as well as I knew it…at times it is really impossible for me to define its real size as rooms can change their emotional dimensions…like when you return home from a long absence all at home seems strange and different __ it can look larger or smaller but strange some way.
In my memories, I see a huge room with lots of nooks and crannies. I saw it many times in my dreams and some time I couldn’t enter the room for some reason.
I even tried to figure out its dimensions in my mind, putting the pieces of furniture we had there. It couldn’t be huge, just rather large. But my memory doesn’t want to agree with such a statement. I understand _ I was small myself then.
I think, I remember our old house rather well in my mind. I can see with my inner sight many of the things we had there: a piano, two big sofas, several big round and oblong tables, my big arm-chair-bed. I see old heavy doors with old bronze door-handles. But we had so much more that had been left here by my ancestors and never removed when the house was inherited by my father.
In the other rooms, the furniture was really old and old-fashioned: a huge dark-wooden cupboard and a wardrobe, a table with turned legs and some chairs with curved backs and round seats. A library, paintings, some old ivory handled knives, and the large radio room with the big radio of the old radio days.
The 'off limits' living room that seemed huge with the fancy carpet upon a red waxed floor and the Luis the 14th furniture.
Something like this.
And then my memory helps me to recall the other things about my childhood - I can’t see them in the attic because they are invisible