The longer I live, the more I dream of those who’ve passed away but still populate my sleeping hours. I was talking about this with someone not long ago and they asked if it made me sad, to dream about dead people, and I said, “Just the opposite. It’s like having them alive again, if only for a few hours.”
Not long ago, I dreamed about my grandparent’s home in Vincennes. In the dream, I had been placed in charge of cleaning their house before they sold it, and I found underneath their home a vast room, larger than a city block, filled with valuables—beautiful antique furniture, paintings, and Persian rugs. Treasures so beautiful, one could only gasp at their loveliness. And it went on and on and on. I would no sooner pull aside one object, than another object, even more beautiful, would appear beneath it.
I would have forgotten that dream were it not for its vivid quality and my lurking suspicion it had something to teach me. The idea that our dreams sometimes reveal profound truths is not original to me. In the Bible, God often taught people, in their sleeping hours, lessons they were unable to grasp in their waking hours.
The dream seemed so real, that when I awoke, I was astounded the room existed only in my imagination. If the ground below my grandparent’s old home is ever excavated and such treasures are uncovered, I would not be the least bit surprised.
I have dreamed several times of hidden or extra rooms in our home. When my wife, Joan, and I were first married we lived in a farmhouse whose dilapidated upstairs was barred by a locked door. I would dream those upstairs rooms had been beautifully restored and were available for our use and enjoyment. At the time, I attributed those dreams to our desire for more space, and I dismissed them, even though I had them regularly.
So I had this dream not long ago, and when I woke up, I not only remembered the dream, I understood it. Let’s imagine, metaphorically, that we all have rooms in our homes we don’t know about. They represent the unexplored areas of our lives, doors we’ve not yet opened, rooms we’ve not yet used. They are those dimensions of our lives we’ve not yet developed. Most often they are spiritual dimensions. All the other rooms in our lives have been lived in—the relationship room, the vocation room, the financial room, the family room, the education room, the play room, the emotional room, rooms most of us inhabit with some degree of familiarity and expertise.
But then there are rooms we’ve not explored as deeply. We didn’t realize they were there, then one day something happened and a passageway opened and we found ourselves in a room we didn’t know we had. This is what might happen when we become spiritually aware and alive. C.S. Lewis once wrote, “You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.”
The day we become spiritually alive is the day we realize we are not bodies with a soul, we are souls with a body. We enter a dimension, a room of our lives we didn’t realize was there. It is the room where the Holy resides, and it is in each of us. It is what we Quakers would call “that of God within us.” Metaphorically, it is a room with treasures so achingly beautiful, one can only gasp at their loveliness. The beauty goes on and on and on. We no sooner pull aside one treasure, than another treasure, even more stunning and priceless, appears beneath it.
We first enter that room for a variety of reasons, motivated by different circumstances. The death of my closest friend at the age of twenty first brought the room of the Holy to my attention and when I entered it, I found the treasures of peace and comfort. I have a friend who entered the room of the Holy when her first child was born and, in that room, she found the treasures of awe and joy.
Another friend found the room of the Holy when he was fourteen and his father had a massive stroke and became paralyzed. The family’s Episcopal priest came to the boy and said, “Let’s sit together with your father.” And the boy entered the room of the Holy and there found calm and quiet. I know another man who, when he was a child, lie on his back in a field underneath an oak tree. As he studied the oak tree, he entered the room of the Holy and found there the gift of creation and wonder.
I know a woman whose mother and father carried her into the Holy room as an infant, every Sunday morning, and though it took her awhile to realize what kind of room it was, she eventually became aware of its beauty. I know a man whose wife left him, and he entered the room of the Holy broken and devastated and in that room found the treasure of healing. A friend was watching Bill Moyer’s interview with Joseph Campbell on PBS and entered the room of the Holy that very evening, in front of her television set, and in that room found mystery and meaning.
I know an alcoholic who attended his first AA meeting drunk. He staggered into the room of the Holy. He didn’t realize at first where he was, but he returned the next evening and the evening after that, and eventually found in that room the treasures of acceptance and sobriety.
A woman told me she found the Holy room when she was five years-old, hiding in her bedroom while her parents fought, and discovered the gift of tranquility. One lady I know found the room of the Holy when she was nine and a stray dog, filthy and hungry, came to her doorstep and her father said, “Yes, honey, you can keep it.” One man told me he found the Holy room the day he turned 17 and told his parents he was gay. He entered the Holy room and found loving acceptance.
Some people sense the room of the Holy, but are reluctant to enter, so remain unaware of its treasures. They stand near the door, but don’t cross the threshold. Sadly, they are often the same people who claim to know the room of the Holy the best, who peer around the corner, catch a partial glimpse of it, then take it upon themselves to tell us who is in the room and who is not.
This room is in all people, but there is not a Jewish room, a Muslim room, a Buddhist room, a Hindu room, or a Christian room. It is simply the room of the Holy and it has many doors.
There have been persons throughout history so gifted at showing others the Holy room, their names are remembered long after their time among us—Confucius, Jesus, Mohammed, the Buddha, Michelangelo, John Wesley, Harriet Tubman, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr. Some are still alive—the Dalai Lama. Some aren’t famous at all and might live next door to you, or possibly rang up your groceries yesterday, or fixed your car.
What they have in common is their realization that we don’t have souls, we are souls and can live every day in a lovely and holy room within us we never knew existed.