A Sacred Unravelling: The Houses in My Dream

I rarely remember my dreams. But this one came through with such clarity that I knew it carried a message.

It arrived a few days after a classical tantrik yoga retreat—one of the most profound experiences of my life—where we explored the inner fire of awakening through the lens of ancient Tantrik teachings. (NOT modern Neo- tantric sex stuff!)

In the integration that followed, a dream surfaced that mirrored, in vivid and symbolic detail, everything I’ve been sitting with about the mind, conditioning, and authenticity.

In the dream, I was running—not in panic, but with purpose—trying to get somewhere. But my route kept pulling me through other people’s houses.

Not one house was my own.

Each space was cluttered, chaotic, full of obstacles.

Furniture loomed. Debris scattered. And when I encountered the owners, they were hostile, defensive, unsettled by my presence.

Until the very last house, where someone tried to help me on my way.

What struck me most is that in previous dreams or visualisations, when I’ve found myself in a house, it’s always been a space that represented my own mind. These unfamiliar houses felt like something else entirely: the minds of others. The inherited beliefs of society. The cluttered architecture of conditioning.

We spoke on the retreat about how so much of what we think, believe, and internalise isn’t truly ours. It’s shaped by family, education, media, religion, capitalism, and cultural norms. We inherit rooms we didn’t build, with furniture we never chose.

And we move through them daily without realising it.

This dream gave form to something I’ve been feeling for a long time: how easily we get caught in the mental rooms of others. How hard it can be to find the door back to ourselves when we’ve spent years navigating someone else’s map.

The homes in this dream were not just other people’s—they were the mental architectures of a society that is, in many ways, unwell. Aggressive. Guarded. Burdened by things it cannot let go of.

And yet, even there—in the final house—there was a moment of grace. Someone saw me. Someone offered a way out.

It reminded me that not everything we inherit is harmful. There are helpers. Allies. Ideas and teachings that can point us back to ourselves.

But we must still do the walking. The sorting. The sacred clearing.

I’ve been on a journey of shedding for some time—materially, emotionally, spiritually. And this dream felt like a call to keep going. To remember that the most direct path to where I’m going isn’t through the corridors of other people’s minds. It’s through my own.

The truest home is the one I build from within.