The Mansion Dreams

by Peter Lucia

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Close friends of mine have heard me speak of a marvelous series of dreams I had in the early 1990s while living in a barely furnished apartment in Sherman Oaks, CA. (The dreams were definitely of the East Coast, however; there is no California connection at all, unless the extreme vapidness of my sun-bleak apartment caused the dreams in compensation.)

These nocturnal excursions provided me with a stunningly appealing metaphor - a mansion or place of mansions - that I have drawn from on numerous occasions. It has become (and I hope it will continue to be) the central image of all my most important work. Now the most remarkable thing about these dreams was how they felt. I will explain further...

Dream Number 1:

A great many-windowed mansion is in the background on a long, grassy esplanade. In the foreground, to the right, is a tree. One long branch stretches across the scene. A man is on the branch, resting on his side, hand on cheek, his back to me. He leisurely observes the mansion. In the center foreground, almost below the branch, is a small shelf of books. (Note: The branch looks a little precarious. Could it have something to do with "going out on a limb?")

A vastly peaceful sense infused this picture. My dreams have always felt pretty ordinary - neither really good or really bad. This is one of the reasons why my mansion dreams so affected me. They felt extraordinarily great. But Dream #1 is only a mild one. Read the next.

Dream Number 2:

This was the absolute best. I was in the rear foyer of a great mansion. Everything - the walls, the staircase to the left, the huge doors - was mahogany or cherry wood. The doors were open. The outside scene was of several low, nicely mowed hills in the morning light. On the top of each little hill or mound a mansion rested. In the distance, not very far away, the ocean gleamed. There was an old man in the foyer with me. He was some kind of guide or welcoming person. He pointed to the scene outside as if introducing it to me or commenting on it. Here is a "computer sketch" I did that is based pretty closely on the appearance of the dream.

Now the best thing about this dream was how it felt. In fact, the feeling was so important that the dream otherwise would not have been much worth telling about. This place, this world - whatever it was supposed to be - was a world without end, without time in the usual sense - vast and light and exquisitely sweet with free-souled Eternity, a World in which Life was a giant endless Day. I still felt it when I awoke.

I so wish I could have another dream like this. Alas, none of this intensity have been forthcoming.

Dream Number 3:

This is not exactly a mansion dream, but it contained that feeling of sweet timelessness. It is based on this postcard of the long-gone Plaza Hotel in my hometown, Asbury Park, NJ.:

Asbury dreams are always special. In this dream, I was downstairs on the Ocean Avenue side of First Avenue Pavilion. I was near an open door. My view was identical to the postcard above except that the Plaza Hotel was not there. But immediately the Plaza descended slowly into place like stage scenery lowered by an invisible crane. I think that I got stuck behind a stairwell or something and then woke up.

I have experienced several other dreams (usually dream-pieces) that can be called Mansion Dreams. Any dream that is infused with that golden "age-of-endless-time" feeling can be put into this category. Usually, the location is Asbury Park or a place of mansions by the sea.

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