The Palaces behind the poor hovel

Dream 06/01/2018 – The Day of Epiphany

The Palaces behind the poor hovel

This must be a powerful dream, for a dreamt it, woke up with clarity of it, knowing it. But then inexplicably fell back to sleep for a while, having not written it down immediately. But all the main elements remain with me, some hours later.

I was in a foreign land, certainly in the far south, in part a poor land. I had been looking for somewhere to stay, rent, or to buy a house. I came to the is very modest white fronted house on a minor street or country track. It did not look much, poverty rested here.


Indeed, on knocking the door a man and a woman appeared, smelling faintly of cheap alcohol. They looked poor, a little wary of me, a calculating look in their eyes and in their words. Nevertheless they let me in, when I asked to see the house quickly, just in case . . .. My first impressions, the smell of cheap drink on them, the chaos, untidiness in some of the rooms, children’s bedding, cots. As we walked through the rooms two impressions arose in me. One, there now appeared rather more rooms than you might imagine in such a small house, from the frontage. Two, they were trying, despite all their poverty, to make some sort of at least liveable existence together. Nevertheless from the amount of general chaos, it seemed to me they had not been here long and wondered if in fact I was wasting my time. Thought, maybe I could try, but with a very low offer.

Finally, the garden: big and rising quite steeply up a hill. I proceeded up, to the edge, I guessed, of the property, With all family members, now actually I realised, a fair number of kin, that family. But gaining the very top, by a chain link fence I beheld! And all stopped in me, So transfixed was I by the vision of utter splendours, magnificence and beauty before my eyes!

A large open valley below, with hills nestled in. I knew, absolutely knew, in the moment of standing in that very ordinary dusty garden with my hands and face pressed tightly against the wire fencing, that I had reached my final awe inspiring destination. The temple, like the Taj Mahal, but in light grey stone, so utterly amazing, unexpected, in this humble world, where I now had my feet. But my heart was in and amongst those graceful arches, delicately framed windows, towers, lush surrounding gardens, exquisitely proportioned streets, parks, tree lined walkways. The whole scene bathed in its own unique light, held, all in a gentle swirl of light mists, that parted to reveal yet more opulence, beyond and behind. This, most present, utterly transfixing vision, given so generously to my eyes, reaching far and further, within a homecoming, on the Day of Epiphany.

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