I’ve never really had recurring dreams. Until there was this one. I don’t even know how many times I’ve seen this particular scene. I don’t keep a dream diary (although I should – some of this stuff is good!). Sometimes, those scenes I dreamt up at night creep up on me during the day. And I would just suddenly remember a new image. Like a snapshot – another piece to the puzzle.
I have a very interesting co-working. She sits one cubicle over and I hear her talk to herself every day. I think it even started on the first day (we started together a couple of months ago). In the beginning, I still responded. There would be odd sentences here and there. English is not her first language (neither is it mine, but we both manage), so I initially ascribed her story-telling bits to her culture. After six months, she still does it. It has become like a silent trickle of water flowing down a stream. It’s there in the background and sort of comforting now. The other day, she surprised me. The flow of water was trickling, and suddenly, she exclaimed “you know, there is always a reason why we are here”. I perked up my ears. I didn’t react consciously, I just listened up.
She continued on to say that she is grateful to even have a job. To be able to work in something that she knows; that she is an expert it. She says, she knows that she has to feed her family. “I just want to be of service and help others”. That truly impressed me since I’m of a similar nature. I’m happy when things are at peace, when you can help and contribute. However, the question as to “why are we here” still hasn’t been answered because we work jobs where we don’t truly help anyone… initially. In the long run, yes, but there must be more to it.
I see the house from afar. It has a somber tone to it. The roof is pointy and it has climbers and creepers in a dark shade of green growing on its walls. Its reflection stands untouched in the pond in front of it. I stand beneath the willow tree. I like willow trees. They have something calming, silent, yet strong, as they flow in the wind. I know it’s my house. Something about its confident creepiness attracts me.
Another night, I’m inside. It looks much brighter. The floors are marble tiles. The matte ones, not the shiny kind. There’s a staircase in the entrance area. One door on the top floor leads to the bedroom, decorated with a bed in a quilt, overlooking the pond. I like quilts. I could make something of this. I just need to explore it more, get to know my place.
Many times, you don’t know what the purpose of something is. Of a situation, meeting a person, working a certain job, or going a certain route on your way home. And that’s a good thing. It makes you curious. Or at least it should. You have the chance to explore, get to know your surroundings, perhaps change directions, or validate your presence.
When my colleague mentioned out of nowhere that there is a reason why we are here, I took it to heart. I can’t wait to have this reoccurring dream, explore my house, its silent obscurity and light, and have it accept me. That would be nice.