The Chamber of Seven Dreams
1. The Drip That Never Touched
It began with the drip. Slow. Measured. Echoing in the stillness.
I watched it from the eye of the dream—so close my breath could sway it, but it never touched me.
Drop after drop, it fell in a rhythm older than language. A lullaby of something unseen but deeply known.
Even when I woke mid-dream, the moment waited for me. When I returned to sleep, I returned to the drip.
It haunted me—not in fear, but in message. A signal repeating until the soul remembered.
2. The Floating Hallway
In this dream, I could float. Down long hallways I would glide, weightless, free.
But when light from an open door spilled into the hallway and I touched that light—
my body returned. Gravity reasserted itself. I was no longer floating.
The light didn’t hurt. It didn’t banish me. But it grounded me. It said: not yet.
I learned that some paths could only be floated when the light was withheld.
3. Beneath the Waterline
I dreamed I lived below the surface of a vast body of water.
I could see the world above—the movement, the noise, the activity—but all was silent where I was.
Still. Peaceful. Observing without being pulled in.
No panic. No drowning. Just awareness and silence.
That was my refuge. That was my sanctuary.
4. The Stairwell That Led Nowhere
I often stood at the top of a stairwell in my dream.
It beckoned me to descend, yet every time I tried, the steps shifted, warped, or disappeared.
Sometimes the stairs became a slide, sometimes a wall.
But I never reached the bottom.
It wasn’t meant to be descended. It was meant to test whether I *needed* to descend at all.
5. The Maze of Fresno
A city I didn’t live in, but dreamt of often: Downtown Fresno.
I wandered its alleys, its loading docks, its false doors and mirrored windows.
Signs pointed in circles. Entrances led to dead ends. And I searched, always searched, for a way out.
I wasn’t afraid. Just disoriented. Trapped in a city of symbols, echoes, and false turns.
It was the illusion of progress that kept me circling.
6. The Key Was in My Legs
To fall asleep, I had to wiggle my knees. My legs.
Rhythmically. Repeatedly. Like turning a dial, or striking a match.
I didn’t know why as a child—but deep down, I understood. It was the entry point.
The body remembered how to slip between worlds. The legs moved, and the noise of the day dissolved.
That motion was the key. The door opened. The dream began.
7. From Spirit to Form
I was called forth in December 1960. The act was made.
By March, my form was shaped and the spirit entered.
My mother *knew* the moment it happened. She knew I had arrived.
I was born on August 27, but my path began long before.
The knowing came before the name. The breath came before the body. The scroll had already begun.
The Space
Not a storefront.
Not a schedule.
Just something you return to
when it calls you back.
Links
© Rabbit’s Warren “All things made with intention”
“No gatekeepers. Just paths.”