I was in the kitchen of my childhood home. Well… not exactly. It was a strange mixture between that house —where my father still lives— and my current apartment. As often happens in dreams, both places coexisted without contradiction.
A construction worker who was working somewhere else in the building came in. He wasn’t working in my home, yet he entered naturally. I offered him something to eat. I prepared a vegetable stew and found some delicious sausages from the day before in the oven. I served them together with the vegetables. He was very pleased, as if it were exactly what he had been hoping for.
Then the worker looked at the walls and said:
—You’ve removed the textured walls. Very good… but look at this too.
We walked toward a room that opened onto something like an outdoor space. There were still a few cobwebs on the walls. He pointed at them and told me that, considering how well everything was turning out, those should be cleaned as well.
Small rodents appeared along the walls, but they looked gentle and harmless. I looked at them together with the cobwebs and thought that we were already in the process of cleaning those walls too.
Then the builder opened a door in the house that I had never crossed —in reality the door does not exist, but in the dream I knew it had always been there—. I looked at it and wondered why I had never felt curious enough to go through it.
Inside we discovered something unexpected: people were already cleaning and restoring the space patiently. We walked past them and approached a staircase leading upward to an upper floor I also did not know existed.
I felt deep surprise. Curiosity. A quiet excitement. It was my house, yet I had never been there before.
I thought perhaps my father had finally decided to hire someone to clean that part of the house that had always been ignored.
As we continued walking, a growing sense of joy filled me. The house was enormous. Much larger than I had ever imagined. In one room, they were restoring an ancient machine that occupied the entire space. It seemed to be made of stone, almost ancestral. I did not know what it was, yet I sensed its importance and immeasurable value.
We continued down a corridor until we reached an immense, luminous space with large glass walls. It was so vast that I could see hundreds of meters ahead. It resembled a convention center. People were walking around. I thought it would be a perfect place for retreats or gatherings, and I began filming everything to send it to my wife.
We kept walking and came across a mosque, with people entering and leaving to pray. The temple was located within those vast facilities.
Suddenly, a woman reproached me for filming. Although the dream was unfolding in Spanish, I answered in English:
—This is my house.
She nodded and continued walking peacefully.
We walked on across a salmon-colored carpet that covered the immense space until we reached a large semicircular hall entirely made of glass. In front of us appeared what seemed to be the sea.
I was surprised, because I knew the sea was far from home. I told the worker accompanying me that it could not be the sea, since my house was many kilometers from the coast. Then we realized it was not the sea but an immense river, so wide it had its own beach.
Someone jumped into the water and the current carried them for a few meters before calming. The water then became transparent, revealing the riverbed filled with enormous fish in two colors: blue and black. Beautiful.
The river flowed literally alongside the walls of the house.
The house was immense.
And it was my house.
Then I woke up.
This dream was so clear that I woke up with an immediate need to write it down. Not to understand it, but simply not to lose it.
Dreams do not always explain. Sometimes they simply reveal.
During the day we live within a fairly defined identity: we know who we are, where we are, what we do. But dreams open us to other aspects —less known, less clear, less articulated. Perhaps equally real. Perhaps even more so.
Dreams allow us to move through inner spaces without our usual defenses, without the narrative we construct about ourselves. And almost always, they do so through symbols.
The kitchen is the place where food is prepared. An essential symbol.
In this dream it was the starting point: the kitchen and the meal. That which nourishes, sustains, and comforts. There, a worker appeared. A builder.
The food is shared. Offered with the intention to nourish and received with simple gratitude. Feeding the one who works is a recognition of something fundamental: every transformation requires care, time, and patience.
Nothing begins from theory. Everything begins from sustenance.
The first figure who appears is not a spiritual guide, an authority, or an elevated symbolic presence. It is someone who works with his hands. Someone who repairs, cleans, and improves what already exists. A pawn.
For many, pawns seem insignificant. But for chess masters, they are indispensable. Without grand gestures or recognition, they move slowly and sustain the entire structure of the game.
It is precisely this absence of solemnity that gives the builder a special value. He is ordinary. A worker. An anonymous member of society. Someone like any of us.
Later in the dream, other silent workers appear, cleaning and restoring without being noticed. They seek no recognition. They expect no applause. They simply do their work.
Perhaps many inner processes unfold in this way: sustained by discreet forces operating beyond conscious awareness.
Doors, caves, closed rooms, or hidden places frequently appear in dreams. They point toward spaces that have always existed but have not yet been inhabited.
Crossing an unknown door means entering aspects of oneself that were previously inaccessible —not because they were forbidden, but because the moment had not yet arrived.
The door reveals something simple and profound: personal maturation unfolds quietly until one day what once seemed unreachable becomes natural.
Crossing it is the true gesture.
Inside appears another significant symbol: the staircase.
Stairs may descend or ascend. When descending, we often encounter what has been denied, forgotten, or postponed. When ascending, consciousness expands, widening what we are able to contain.
The dream does not force anything. It simply shows that more levels exist.
Acts of renovation and cleaning carry clear symbolic meaning.
The old is not destroyed; it is restored. The past is not rejected; it is cleaned.
The textured walls represent layers accumulated over years —elements that prevent us from seeing the real surface beneath. Removing them reveals what was always there.
Cobwebs do not indicate guilty neglect, but areas left outside awareness. They destroy nothing; they merely dim the light.
Even the rodents —traditionally symbols of decay or abandonment— appear here without threat. Gentle, almost familiar. They signal a natural process, free from violence or drama.
Not everything forgotten is dark. Sometimes it simply waits to be seen.
Dreams often present objects whose function remains unknown: machines, totems, ancient artifacts. They require no explanation.
The stone machine being carefully restored seems to belong to another time. Something ancient, essential, profound. Its purpose is unknown, yet its importance is immediately felt.
It does not represent something new. Rather, something that has always existed and is slowly beginning to function again.
In dreams we often speak, yet rarely do we feel the true weight of our words. When that happens, something becomes ordered within.
A woman questions an action. The response arises clearly:
This is my house.
The language changes. It is neither the language of childhood nor of emotional memory. It is a language learned later in life, free from earlier conditioning.
It is not the child who responds. Nor the adolescent. Nor memory itself. A more settled presence speaks —a voice that does not need to impose itself because it simply recognizes.
There is no confrontation. Only calm affirmation.
The woman’s acceptance transforms the moment into an initiatory gesture: not a conquest, but a recognition of one’s place.
Water is one of the most universal symbols in dreams. It may be calm or threatening, deep or superficial, emotional or vital.
Here, the water flows. It is not stagnant.
The river represents movement, continuity, lived time. First it carries away; then it becomes calm. Only then do the fish appear, visible beneath the clear surface —deep life revealed when movement finds stillness.
The water connects the interior of the house with the outer landscape. It does not separate worlds; it unites them.
Temples frequently appear in dreams as symbols of the sacred.
Here, three elements stand out: the temple is inside the house, it is alive with people, and it does not belong to the my religious tradition.
The sacred does not appear outside or separate, but integrated. Living. Wider than any single form.
There is no conflict between paths. Only recognition of a dimension that transcends labels.
The house often represents the inner world of the dreamer.
Here it begins as a hybrid between the childhood home —the origin— and the present home —the life being lived now. The dream starts at the beginning of the story, yet continues it.
The house is being renewed. The textured walls disappear. The cobwebs will be removed. People work quietly restoring forgotten spaces.
From the beginning, the symbol is clear: renewal.
Yet the house continues to expand. First by crossing the unopened door. Then by discovering new levels. Finally by becoming a space capable of holding temples, gatherings, and long distances to walk.
It is not about becoming greater than one believes oneself to be. Perhaps it is about accepting the vastness that was always present.
Large glass walls allow light to enter and remove any sense of descending into darkness. The house opens toward the world. The intimate and the collective are no longer separate.
There is no conflict. No drama. Only recognition. A quiet joy.
The final hall, beside the great river, does not feel like an ending but an opening. The house does not end at its walls. It continues wherever the water keeps flowing.
And the water keeps flowing.
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