That dream of the room. The room that becomes a house and the house becomes filled with rooms. The rooms unknown that hold many surprises and other pathways, doors, and tunnels. The attic filled with jewels. The dungeon below that you dare not enter yet moves with you, no matter the places you leave. Always there, always below. Except when it is above. Some rooms breathe and you can hear the in-and-out pranayama of the thing itself. Or is it the whole house? The house which has now become a mansion. It possesses you, that dream. It moves with you in madness and complete possession. It fills you with the transcendence of a miracle that gives you the life beyond. It takes you flying beside yourself, past yourself, this dream that is beyond words where you are baptized by the Light that has come alive, has re-imagined itself there. And you know the truth of the words “In my Father’s House there are many mansions.” And it is not that Father you know, but the Father that is Self, the self contained beyond itself and transmuted into the Universe.

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