With the disappearance of the nomad hunters of the glacier age, the house became the symbol of the center of existence for the new sedentary. The house is then disposed most of the time according to cosmic orientations, houses as well as cities being built in relation to the stars.
The eldest houses in the world were discovered in Jericho and at Çatal Hüyük in Anatolia. They were built 6500 years B.C, meaning before the appearance of urban civilizations and contemporary to the development of agriculture.
The house then crystallized the beginning of civilizations. It became then the symbol of stability for mankind inside the cosmos. In Buddhism, the house is associated with the body, and one is supposed to destroy the roof in order to evade the material world of illusions.
In psychotherapy, the presence of house in dreams represents the very dreamer: the house can than appear as in construction, new, abandoned…
Now you take the floor: what do you associate with the house? Furthermore, if you were to describe yourself as a house – how would it be?
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My body is the house of my heart & soul.
I do my best to cherish it.
Hopefully it will become even lighter, brighter-
with really big windows – looking into the
pure, wonderful nature outside. Water,
and the very soft wind blowing
God`s breath in me*
Part I
Perhaps you will be in a large city park somewhere, out for a stroll, or in a meadow near your home, and you will look toward the edge of the forest and there notice a sort of opening in the foliage down low. Then, stepping a little closer, you will see how the opening appears to be the entry to some sort of passageway. You have no idea where this path could lead you, but, because you are an adventurer at heart, you cannot resist. You step through the opening and, indeed, suddenly find yourself upon a distinct and easily discernible path leading deep into the heart of the forrest. You are surprised at this, because there was no sign at the entryway either to announce the existence of such a path, or to indicate the destination to which it might lead. You do not know if the trail ahead is long or short, and for a moment you are overcome by the strange sensation of having just left behind all that you have ever known as solid and real.
It is an unusual path, you quickly decide. It is not the sort of trail that was hacked out with a machete and an axe. Nor is it a path made by walking, the sort that evolves naturally as the feet of many passers-through etch a trench in the forest floor. This path is paved, composed of a series of large flat stones. It is an intentional path, purposeful, made by human hands, and yet it is hard to discern where the edges of the path end and the surrounding nature begins. The edges of the stones do not jut up, but smoothly disappear into the grass and leaves. A green frothy moss defines the outline of each. These stones, you realize, could have been here for centuries, and yet you sense quite keenly that you are the first traveler to pass here along this path. How could that be, you wonder, as you walk further along, deeper into the cool blue shadows of this forest. Someone must have fashioned this path – how could I be the first and only one to pass along it?
Then, just as you are pondering this question, you catch a glimpse up ahead of something bright red. Is someone coming toward you? But then, a few steps further on, the mystery is solved: the path opens up and arrives at a sort of gateway. You stop where you stand and stare up at the structure that looms before you. You immediately recognize it for what it is, as you have seen such structures before in your many travels: it is a Japanese Torii, a gateway to the sacred. This, of course, sparks your interest even more, and although you sense that it is already growing late in the day, you step through and continue on your way. A growing sense of anticipation leads you on, and you find this sensation quite delicious. You almost cannot believe that only a short while ago, you were engaged in a rather ordinary and uneventful day.
And just about the time that this thought occurs to you, you round another bend in the path and suddenly come upon a most spectacular view: a steeply arched bridge, again in traditional Japanese style. And this too is also painted red. Beneath it a shallow waterway winds out in both directions, disappearing into the forest. And at this point, you notice something else quite peculiar: the foliage itself is not the same foliage that outlined the path initially. This is not the native foliage of the place where you started out. Here, gnarled pines twist into windswept shapes. Ferns and other delicate plants jut up in clusters and outline both path and waterway. This is not the forest that you thought you knew. This is someplace wholly Other than the place where your little adventure began. And you are beginning to wonder, also, why is it not growing dark. It should be near dusk by now. Instead, the sky overhead seems to be growing lighter, as though it were the moment just before dawn.
You do not let this deter you, however; you have never been one to be frightened away by ethereal abnormalities. If anything, the growing light entices you even more to cross this bridge, steep as it is – to know what lies beyond. And as you reach the peak of the bridge, you pause at the railing and peer down into the clearest water you have ever seen, water that suddenly and surprisingly bursts to life with the golden, glowing carp that inhabit it and which have obviously taken notice of your presence. You stand there with your elbows resting on the rails and you wonder who feeds these fish that are obviously accustomed to being fed from this bridge. Who, besides you, has passed over these wooden planks? Who stands in this very spot…? And just as this thought crossed your mind, you unfold the palms of your hands to discover that they are filled with tiny brown pellets, some form of grain, some of which slip between your open fingers and falls into the water far below. The fish immediately respond to this in a flurry of excitement. They swirl about in a tight cluster and jump over one another to get at the grain. You turn your hands and allow the pellets to fall, all into the water.
Now you are convinced that this is no earthly path, no ordinary afternoon adventure. You descend from the bridge so as to move on along the path. But the moment that your foot touches the ground on the other side, the forest itself disappears into thin air, and you are standing, in a state of complete awe, before a house. You glance back over your shoulder and see that, on the other side of the bridge, the trees are still there. Nothing has changed. But the waterway, you realize now, is not just a river. You have not merely crossed over from one side to another. This is, in fact, an island that you have entered upon. Beyond the house, on both sides and in every direction, is a clear blue lake. The little waterway you just crossed over served only to separate this island from the mainland you left behind. It connects with and pours out, on both ends, into this larger body of water. The house which stands now directly in front of you, a traditional Japanese Sukiya, seems to be inviting you to enter.
To be continued tomorrow….
I AM white shelled EGG.
If I would be house I would be made of thick bricks, adding a layer with every human encounter. Once in a while the roof comes off, but that’s ok, it’s even necessary, like this all the dust gets out and the roof repairs itself anyway.
There is no visible door, but when it opens, you can’t miss it. And you want to enter, there is no way to resist. It’s even difficult to get out.
Inside it is rather dark, a bit dusty even maybe. But it is warm and cosey and safe and full of undetected colours. Once in a while there is a sunray peeking through an opening, not obvious where it comes from, but they are a little bit everywhere.
Lots of ghosts fly around in this house, some of them are evil, but usually there is one strong mind that chases them all back to their hidden corners. Just now and then this mind gets tired and just let them have their game. After a while they get bored and go back to their hide out. They do no real harm. But do not worry, there is also laughter and love.
The house is full of stairs, they all lead elsewhere, every time you take them. They never access the same room or floor.
There are no doors, or at least they are always open.
Is there a garden? Oh sure there is. It is my real house, surrounding me in the real world, filled with cats and plants and light and beautifull things. That one has a lot of windows and a visible door, but you still can’t get in without my permission.
oona , oona ,
a step before the other with the love in your heart. You are unique and each person is loved for what it IS
love
Oona,
when i left my childhood home, it was only when i came back for a brief stay [to help sell the house after renting it out for ten year] that i realised how much the house was a part of who i was: the spiral stairs, the different levels, the attic.
I sometimes felt and feel completely estranged from life now because i am ‘homeless’…
but take good heart that the soul is stronger than bricks and mortar!!! perhaps see your current struggle as ‘renovation’ or ‘extension’… for nothing of yourself is truelly ever lost if we don’t wish it to be so….
we only accumulate and acquire more and more, then can decide to do a jumble sale or else live in a crowded house of belongings.
so, take a simple space and consider how you should like to create that space… for example, i’d straight away think of a candle and a cushion/seat; then a leafy plant. take it day by day or in your own time/own pace.
and as for parents, am i wrong to say that they always hope for good children to be well behaved, etc.. because it’s less worry – but also more boring. Your creativity is obviously what inspires your imagination, and thats something to kindle – as you do…so don’t beat yourself up on too many inner and external struggles… we are all (just) human at the end of the day ;o)
so hope what ive learnt may help in any way. Blessings.
Dear Paul, you much more open than me, I see you have your heart open, and I wrote about me the contrary.Little I feel ashame, but thats the true.You are kind and nice.Wish you a nice day,bye
Paul, you were talking to me?What castle? Anyways,a castle might be conquered and that only with the best tactics…If you mean my first April joke,than…ha ha ha
Today I try hard to fool people, but if I think at the stupid lie I am going to say,I start laughing before the end of the joke,guess I need more practice…ha ha ha
the world’house : it is built day after day in your love
http://sido66.blogspot.com/2009/04/aimer-est-le-seul-guide-qui-doit.html
dear Paul, from Austria :
nicht nur das Tur, aber die Fenstern auch gehoffnet werden must.
Not only the door but also the windows must be opened!
Pas seulement la porte, mais aussi les fenetres doivent etre ouvertes!
Dehar las ventanas abiertas.
ciao
I cant think I ever could be a house.I am too free and independent,I need to move ,not to be confined as it is a house.Maybe a mobile house , a house that does not exist yet,flexible but still with strong walls and spacious ,certainly furnished with good taste, with nice paintings on walls,flowers on vases, big windows to allow the bright sun inside.The door is heavy,opened only for few ,for best friends and for close relatives.Sorry ,I feel that way.But,as in magic,can move fast,and keep shape at same time.So,I need a mixture .
If i were a house I would be mongolian tent, simple and strong on the outside, rich and warm on the inside, looking for a new spot to live with the family a few times a year, following the seasons.
In architecture I love the spanish style, the central patio, garden, with a big tree giving shade, the walkway around it, accessing rooms of different functions, bringing all the people together in the center. It is a lace where you share, reflect, and come to peace…
… and sometimes I would be a little cabaña, out of timber, with just the simple things one needs, with a warm oven, on the top of the mountain, with an endless view, peace, a soft breeze and the smell of pine, and a little river with ice cold water… where people just come by by chance… and the door would then be open!
The physical home since the evolution of man has been the mainstay of existence. If ancient man did not have a physical home modern man would not exist. The “house” can be a physical we hang our hat to say. The physical home is a place one can rest, raise a family, enjoy life, and plan for the future. It is a safe haven from the outside world. One can return home and become anything one wants. Ironically, this is the very reason we leave our maternal homes and venture into the world to build and find our own home.
As we mature and develop adult relationships and raise children we all eventually become a “house”. We house all the precious and not so precious moments of life. If these experiences were not housed, there would be no reference to the past, hence we would never learn from the past individually or as groups. There is a reason why humans and animals found and maintain homes. Homes are we teach the young, care for the elderly, and pass on our experiences and dreams to the future.
Or the house is on a hill, so it’s already overlooking the ocean!
I also love Mediterranean, especially Greek, nostalgic, oh yes…..
I had a dream ever since i was little, that I would live on an island, for a period of time and write a book. And the house has a second floor, with a patio overlooking the ocean from above.
And also, another dream was that I would spend my pregnancy on an island as well!
As a traveler, I see a house as protection, as when I walk and walk and cold and tired, to have somewhere to rest my head, I feel protected. That could be a hotel, hostel…
But one’s own house is of course shelter, protection, And comfort, and taste, a reflection of the person, from the decor and colors and etc. :D
La Casa: Lo primero que se me vino a la mente, fue la casa de mi abuela, inmediatamente recorde la sensacion de calidez y abrigo que siento cuando voy a visitarla, para mi familia la casa de mi abuela es el sitio de reunion de la familia… el lugar donde nos encontramos donde compartimos nuestras alegrias y tristezas, donde sabemos que encontraremos apoyo y amor incondicional.
Ahora que lo pienso bien yo siempre he bucado vivir… en casas que tengan parte de mi… con amplios ventanales donde pueda ver el cielo, la inmensidad de las montañas y el vuelo de los pajaros… si el sol sale muy temprano me lleno de energia y si esta nublado y hace frio me siento mas comoda conmigo misma… a mi madre le aprendi la mania de no usar cortinas, sera por eso que me gustan las casas altasssss.
and by the way I am from Finland, so Spain is far away…
A kind of dark, broken house.
Hi you all, who are reading this!
My house is becoming into change… My family is moving to Spain in the coming autumn, so it is a big change for my life. I will live alone, and this is a first time in my life, I will be so alone.
I’m a little bit worried too. I love to read Paulo’s books, but still I think I’m kind of lost… losing my self, I feel like no one can help me, because all my friends (and my mother!)says always to me that my problems and questions are too complicated and deep that no one can answer to me.(and they also says that I wouldn’t have to think so much, but I know that that is what I have to do! other way I wont never change.)
I’m not the one that I used to be, I don’t want to be the person I am right now… I can’t even look at the mirror now, I feel like all what I do is wrong but I can’t help my self… I think I am too weak. my house is broken including my soul. I would like to be strong that I could face all my problems and be a winner of my self… build a new house… find who I really am…
Paulo, your books have help me a lot, I love the way you write and think. But still I am lost. I am not building the house I like, I think I am just breaking it. It is hard to be different than anyone else.”in the world, but not from the world…”(spiritually) because things that they think “it is okay”, mostly I think “it is wrong”.
I don’t want to be the house I am right now. I want the light back to my house I miss the happiness, I don’t know how I will get it back, and how I am gonna survive alone… maybe I just need to read more your books…
god help us to build the house for our souls that way that we need.
I need it, and I know that I am not alone with this feeling…
I will pray.
I will be a white romanian country house with a large veranda and windows designed with red pelargonien.I will need a large tor like in Transilvanien and Oltenia style which had inspired Constantin Brincúsi to create “The Tor of Kiss”,and inside I will need Family.
Love,
Mirela(the woman in elevator)
Tranquility, a world within the world.
Were I a house, I should be white, with red window and door frames, with a porch full of scarlett roses. Inside – spacious rooms, an old Turkish style dinning room, a Chinese style bedroom and a studio all for ‘myself’ in a perfect classic style with a fireplace and a big red velvet armchair in front of it where another ‘I’ (since I am the house :) ) would read books from a big dark wooden library situated on the right of a wooden desk which is just in front of the window that gives on to the backyard full of lavender flowers.
If I were a house, I’d be a small burrow inside a large, old oak tree. There would be birds and small animals living inside me, and children playing hide and seek. I’d flower in the spring together with my tree, and recieve the wind and the sun and the rain as my guests. And I’d smile all the time.
Klar, lieber Paul v.Ö., für die Liebe ist dort besonders viel Platz!
when i decide where i wish to live – the valley, mountain side/top… then i’ll think about the country…
and then the type of house shall naturally take shape from there on.
i know when i was younger, i thought i would live in a modest house in a field, for which a horse would live and i’d take to ride from my doorstep every day. I think it was a metaphor [for perhaps a previous life] or something.
I love courtyards, outdoor stairs, balconies and roof terraces, verandahs – light and shade -, swinging seats,
fountains and corridors, high ceilings and arches.. wall hangings and drapes, sculptures and paintings, a big family kitchen, a scenic view, the ocean, a green green lawn, a rock pool/plung pool… a secreat garden, a forest… !!!
but in fact, i love all houses and will be happy wherever. I have grown up in desert tents, mud huts, concrete flats, a mansion, a bungalow, spent overnight in a tree house…summers on a houseboat, georgian flats, victorian flats, student blocks.
and i wish i could combine all the good things of these
but most of all i would say i love the sanctity of the inner courtyard area – a peaceful oasis that is timeless and well loved. … because my favourite option – the tent, just isn’t so practical these days sadly ;o)
Hi Carmen,cool!
The olive tree is very important too ;)
someone here talked about fountain,I add it,fountains are beautiful.
++++++++ my house is our house too :
http://wolwt.lesite.free.fr/fr/?p=5 ( in Warriors Of Light Write Too )
I often think about you Peter, Knight of the light … I recently read the story
if you had known that you were not alone, perhaps we could have t’épauler and meet you, and share and laugh together now: I am sorry to have you failed! !
you are dead……, alone in your soul …
And for you, and others I would (for that happens more)
For pierre
Amen
souvent je pense à toi Pierre , chevalier de la lumière …dont j’ai lu l’histoire récemment
si tu avais su que tu n’étais pas seul , sans doute nous aurions pu t’épauler et te rencontrer , et partager et rire ensemble aujourd’hui : je regrette de t’avoir manqué ! !
tu es mort ,seul en ton âme …
Et pour toi , et pour d’autres je témoignerai ( pour que cela n’arrive plus )
http://wolwt.lesite.free.fr/fr/?p=5
I read the answers above and I was pleasantly surprised to notice that Candie described almost the same picture I had in mind. Two minds alike… Nice! :o)
I like various types of houses but I simply love the Greek houses, painted in white and blue (due to the sea), with their round roof and their cleanliness and purity. I also prefer natural elements, wood, cotton, wool, linen in decorations, which can of many colours by the way. I like all the colours in all sorts of shapes. What is also important is the upper part of the house with its attic and a big window from where you can see the sky and even touch the stars during the nights when the sky is full of stars. In the house there is music, joy, love, dance, laughter which makes everyone feel good and welcome.
It doesn’t matter if the house is small or big as long as it is luminous, coloured, clean and makes you feel about it not as a house but as home.
Lots of hugs and all the best in the whole world.
May God bless all of us now and forever!
Still haven’t gotten around to describing myself as a house – think I’m subconsciously avoiding that for some reason. (Mmmm…that in itself is likely quite meaningful on some level.) But, in the interim, here’s a prose poem I wrote several years back:
NESTING BIRD
Monday: a cluster of boxes in one corner of the living room—the last of the unpacking yet to do. Tuesday: same cluster, fewer boxes. Wednesday: same boxes, different corner. Thursday: a shelf . Friday: shelf lined with rows of storage boxes, red white, black. Saturday: boxes labeled: images, words, photos, quotes…. If only life could be so simple, if only we could so neatly classify, store away and organize the excess, the ineffable, the unnamable….
Moving, moving, always moving. I’ve been moving for so long. It used to be fun, an expedition, an adventure. Now I’m ready to settle in. But not a house. Not that! I’m not the house type. I want to live in a skyrise. The view. Air. I can’t survive at ground level. Not in Miami. Not in the jungle. The first thing you learn in the jungle is never, never to sleep on the ground. Spiders, scorpions, snakes. A mold stale dankness of moist poison roots and rotting leaves that seeps into the lungs. That’s why, in the jungle, the hammock; here in the city, the skyrise.
I once had dengue. The fever was high. I dreamt of many things. Some things were not dreams. At night, the stampede of small clawed feet trotting to and fro beneath my death-bed, a hammock swung between two palms. Above me, a whirlpool of feverish stars, swirling and churning, clawing at my eyes; beneath me, the footfalls of the geckos scurrying to devour the shoots in my newly rooted garden. I had been warned not to plant.
In a past life I was of a non-agrarian society. In some parts of the world people live in huts built on stilts, like clusters of birdsnests rising above the desert. In some parts of the world, people carry their houses on their backs. I would only live on the ground if I could live in the desert, in a tent or a yurt. I would only live on the ground if the ground were windswept and at night the rafters groaned and the tentflaps howled. Maybe Patagonia…. Maybe Mongolia….
———
Apparently, I’ve overcome my aversion to ground habitation. I tried the high-rise thing, and found it to be far too windy. Every time I would open a window, much less the patio doors, the wind would rip through my house and try to tear the paintings off the walls. Now I live on the flat earth, where I can step out and feel the grass beneath my bare toes. I find this a bit unnerving, however, as I realize that, just as easily as I can exit and step out into nature, so too can any potential intruders enter in – through a window, through an unlocked door….
I like old wood-frame houses, never modern brick as is so prevalent in the suburbs. I’d rather have a small, simple farm-house any day, in preference to a large and cumbersome mansion monstrosity that, in the end, looks very much like all the other houses on that street. I like things that are real and durable: wood, not linoleum; big claw-footed tubs, not plastic shower enclosures; frost on the window-panes in winter, not double-paned, vacuum-sealed, bullet-proof glass. I like houses that acknowledge my presence and speak to me as I move through them – a lose floorboard that creaks just a little when I put my weight on it, a particular step on the staircase that sighs softly as I pass over it.
Last Saturday I spent the afternoon driving around in the old quarter of a relatively small town nearby, looking at the houses. All wood-frame. Not a brick in sight. And each house seemed to have its own distinct personality, like people. Each appeared to have been built according to an individual and, in some cases, highly unique, even eccentric floor-plan. All had large porches, some of which wrapped all the way around the house, enclosing all four sides. I adore porches. Deep porches, where shadows dwell invitingly in the heat of summer. Porches with ceiling fans that twirl lethargically. With porch-swings and big chairs. Some of the houses had gingerbread trim – Victorian style. Others were just very simple and unassuming, yet even those seemed to exude a certain strong and unmistakable presence. All in all, it was a very pleasant Saturday afternoon…well spent.
if i compare myself to house
i can feel those vvvery strong roots of family, and i thank g-d for giving me this amazing wonderful strength to know how to built this good-loving house with parents- children – (i have 3 girls) married – grand children and for me house is the basic of my life!!!!!!!
Casa: aconchego, segurança, proteção, descanso.
I were a farmhouse in the “Black-Forest-Style”, like the one my family and I often visit for a holiday. Large balkonies with many flowers, garden, stable for cows and chicken, cats, place for a family and visitors as well, a little chapel aside and a big, old lime tree in front of it. All this surrounded by green meadows and forested mountains and a creek nearby.
La casa es para mi las raizes a las que pertenecemos.
Si yo fuera una casa sería una casa gallega, antigua de piedra con una ventana abierta y la luz del interior encendida.
Un beso Paulo.
The love in the light and the reception
and my prayer http://sido66.blogspot.com/2009/03/une-priere-laudace-de-croire.html
Mi Casa es Tu Casa
If I were a house I would have an entrance, and inside the entrance their would be fountain, and a pool with fish, and somewhere for people to clean their feet so they could walk barefoot on the heated floor and rest their feet tired from travelling. The house would have larged arched windows, like the shape of my eyes.
I would have comfy benches for people to sit and fruit in bowls and wine in pitchers for people to drink should they be thirsty. If anyone was hungry they would be given food.
Then there would be another room following on from this, where people could dance and listen to music, above would be many rooms, which would be adorned in satin and silks with huge comfy beds, should anyone be tired and in need of rest. And then another room, where people could sit and share conversation about all subjects that they felt in their heart needed to be discussed.
Below this house would be a cave, with long steps down, and a long tunnel which would lead to darkened chamber, where anyone wishing to be alone would be welcome. But once the lamps were lit, the walls would glow like crystal and it would all become light.
And on the top of the house there would be a star chamber, which would reveal the stars and moon in the midnight sky and the sun at Dawn.
Sinto discordar. A casa ou o lar não é símbolo no contexto citado. Símbolo é uma referência alegórica de algo concreto ou literal, uma maneira vaga e imprecisa de expressar sentimentos como no simbolismo da escola poética do fim do século 19 na França por Mallarmé, Verlaine e, no Brasil, por Cruz e Souza e Alphonsus de Guimaraens, entre outros (caracterizada mais pelo som das palavras que por seus significados e originante da semilicadência em prosa), é algo significativo FIGURATIVAMENTE, significador por aproximação velada ou explícita. Pode ser emblemático e sinalizador, mas não é sinal na acepção vernacular, pode ainda ser convencionado e representar idéias e conceitos, principalmente oníricos. Abreviaturas são símbolos convencionados como os símbolos químicos, por exemplo. Letras e números são símbolos, mas a combinação deles para expressar idéias e conceitos não são símbolos vernacularmente. Podem vir a ser por convenção apenas. A palavra casa ou house não é símbolo e designa algo concreto. Mesmo as referências um tanto vagas com a palavra conforme citado não são simbólicas, são referências literais e, não simbólicas, repito. Dizer que o Universo infinito é a casa de Deus não é uma referência simbólica. Poderia ser talvez para quem é ateu. Um guerreiro da luz não é uma referência simbólica e dependeria do contexto, a não ser que represente algo concreto ou com significado ou existência real herméticos. A simbologia é uma matéria complexa e Freud publicou tratados sobre isso em psicologia a respeito de simbolismo nos sonhos. Os símbolos oníricos representam situações vivenciadas ou idéias conflituosas e evitam causar mais conflitos durante o sono quando a mente está sendo reciclada e preparada para suportar as cargas emocionais do dia seguinte. Se causassem conflitos o indivíduo acordaria e impediria nossa mente de fazer seu trabalho de relaxamento e limpeza psíquica. Não lembramos da maioria dos nossos sonhos por causa desse simbolismo onírico. Se não fosse ele, acordaríamos mais estressados do que quando iniciamos o sono. Quando dizemos que a Via Lactea é a nossa casa, não estamos simbolizando e estamos afirmando apenas que não existem outras civilizações na galáxia, conhecidas ou desconhecidas. Caso existam é uma afirmação falsa. A terra é nossa casa, assim como o nosso país, nossa cidade, nosso bairro, nossa rua, nosso prédio, etc. Nada disso é simbólico. Para representar a humanidade ou nossa civilização o têrmo simbólico “casa” é impróprio e mal empregado. Para representar nosso corpo seria adequado se o contexto quisesse significar a sede de nossa mente ou de nossa alma, mas isso com muita boa vontade ou condescendência! As primeiras casas construídas pelo homo sapiens ou nossos antecessores remontam a uma antiguidade muito maior do que a época indicada, que seria apenas a época da construção das mais antigas ruínas encontradas pela arqueologia. Não significa que foram as primeiras a serem construídas. As ruínas das primeiras moradias não foram encontradas provavelmente ou não deixaram vestígios arqueológicos. A datação dogmática cristã dando ao mundo uma idade inferior a dez mil anos, visa invalidar a teoria do evolucionismo de Darwin, mas só quem é ignorante ou fanático religioso desinformado não reconhece o evolucionismo das espécies e interpretam literalmente certas PASSAGENS BÍBLICAS que deveriam ser interpretadas alegoricamente ou figurativamente ou segundo outros modos interpretativos e/ou seguem a exegese de “autoridades eclesiásticas” ultrapassadas. Infelizmente não há modo suave de dizer isso. Quem quiser saber mais opiniões minha sobre esse assunto, pode consultar minhas baboseiras em: http://frankkafeitos.blogspot.com/
I associate the house as a place where all things are possible, my own reality, my foundation, and my strength. Everyone needs a home. Whether it is a tent or a grand estate with many rooms. I find that I am most focused when I have roots (a place to rest my head that is my own).
how does the phrase go …”in the house of my Father are many mansions”
… belonging,
acceptance,
truth & honesty,
sanctity and purity,
brotherhood & sisterhood,
family & friends,
shelter & support
sustenance & sharing
;o)
Houses in dreams have ment something to me. For years I had recurring dreams about being in a house (the house was different in each dream) and feeling drawn to a particular room in the house. A room I feared and was full of evil yet I was compelled to go to that room. The dreams were awful. I did on several occasions walk into the feared room. Often times it looked normal with furniture etc.. but the feeling was that a very very evil spirt was there to do much harm to me. On one occasion the room turned into a river of blood with dead mutilated animals on it’s banks. It was truly disturbing.
One night I began the dream again. I started up a staircase that paused at a large landing. On that landing was my great grandmother. She said nothing to me but she knew I was scared and similtaneously pulled toward a room on the upper floor. She looked at me and smiled and then gently put her hand on the small of my back, turned me around and we walked back down the stairs together. At the bottom of the stairs she turned to look at me. Smiled again. I knew I never had to go to those rooms ever again. I have not had the dreams since. Or if I have I have always managed to escape the house all together.
Can be seen as an axis mundi,the center of our universe.For every person ,the home is his center of universe.House is a palace ,even if is small,is giving us peace and protection.Was interesting reading a research where they found out that people living in houses with roofs were more creative and intelligent than people living in blocks of flats.?
“Omnia mea mecum porto”Bias.My house is where my heart is.It can be a palace,it can be a tent-I will feel the same.What is the “weather” inside is more important for me.All “lifestuff” or “house” I can pack in rucksack,as being on the march,where you don’t carry useless things around,just “lifesupporting” belongings.By waching snails I learned something important for me.
house=myself
It reflects me as a person, and many times I assimilate it with steadiness, with being constant, unchanged
First at all, thanks to provide me the chance to interact with you through this blog. I have read many books from you, also I follow your blog daily. Thanks for sharing your experiences and knowledge with us.
Regarding the association of the week:”The House”, I will say that a house is our body, with the soul, feelings, memories acting as pieces of furniture to decorate it. Could be a house with lot of lights that illuminates nearby, inviting everybody to come in. In the other hand, could be a dark house that does not attract visitors, surrounded by an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.
Our eyes are the windows, because through them you will see what is inside and our tongue the key that open or close doors. It depend on us to have our house clean,comfortable, peaceful ready and willing to adapt it to the differents climate changes where we are.
Besides this,and the most important fact for me, is that we share this house with GOD, so have it decent and open to their presence is a must.
Cozy and warm.
My car is my house, I think.. jejejeje. Because, I living with my parents already and some many things are not my style in there. But, I have been dreaming with a place with good energy and peace. Right now, my body and my soul are my place. My Job, it’s a full time place, 8:00 a.m. to 17:00 hr, every day, monday to friday and also some saturdays during the month. Then, I have strenght,power, wishes…I need a time off to dream a little more to understand, what I want in life.
Thanks,
The love in the light and the reception
The FIRST thing that comes to my mind when you say he word “house” is this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NZxvP_eAY8E
…but only because I was listening to this song only yesterday afternoon. I love the lyrics – so concrete, so nitty-gritty.
But this is not my ideal house, by any definition. Nor is it the house that I would describe myself to be. Maybe this has, in the past, been the house of my soul. But that was the past. Exorcisms have been performed since then, that have served to rid me of all ghosts. Now I stand empty, ready for new habitation.
I’ll think a bit more on this idea of the house that is me now, and will get back to you later on that.
Until then…
Love
Savita
If I were to describe myself as a house, well, it would be a house full of light, and with a nice garden and a patio, where you can lay down with good friends on a comfortable armchair, with a glass of ice tea (or bier) in your hand and have a peaceful and smiling conversation until the sunset (and even later than that).
Yeah I would think the house is the soul,the self,just like you find in dreams.Otherwise a refuge,a peaceful place.Your place where you can express yourself.
Now,lol,more difficult,if I were a house..
Definitely mediterranean.
White and blue,a bit like the ones you found in Greece.Wood made kitchen,the Provençal thingy which reminds me where I come from.Lavender,orange tree and an olive tree(so beautiful!),the sea not so far..well you all get the picture!I’m nostalgic now!
:D
Because of my influences of believing in my dreams and what are the meanings behind the things we see in dreams, for me, the house represents a human condition. All of it together: mental, physical. Basically the well-being of a person.
If the house is ruined, there are some problems in either our physical or mental health. Either there’s a sickness, or we just are not being true to ourselves and the dreams alarm us.
If the house seems strange to us, something of an unknown, it can mean that maybe we are becoming a different person, maybe we’re growing far away from what we should be and we don’t recognize ourselves anymore. Maybe it means that we are finding a new side of us that we are not familiar yet, or which we might dislike.
If the house is “perfectly” find, it’s not in ruins and it is clean, has light, everything is in place (no floors, objects like doors, windows etc, missing, or broken), then we probably are happy, and content with ourselves, our body and mind are healthy.
On the other hand, if some parts of the house are missing, broken, or the places in the house are not in a “normal” place. Like the attic can be in the cellar, and vice versa, then the outcome applies much to what is said under the ruined house. Although it has a different aspect of it. It gets more specific.
It also depends WHICH kind of houses we are talking about – big, small, huge castles and/or lonesome castles, little summercottages. Apartments or dormatories can’t be called houses, but these represent a humans soul/body also. . . this all can differ the meaning.
Also the material with which the house is made of: either it’s wood, stone/rock, concrete, cardboard even sometimes can be metal.
And actually its believed that if You describe a typical house (not an apartment or such), then: the attic has to do with mind – the attic represents head of the human; it represents the upper part of the body of the human. The other floors represent the middle part of the body. The cellar (or if there is none, then the ground floor) represents the lower part – legs.
~*~*~*~
For me, the house represents us, ourselves – it has all the similar qualities than a human does, take the symbolism in count in here! The state of the house, however well or poor it is, represents the state that our mind/body is in.
~*~*~*~
I have been various types of houses, in the past, but if I was to describe the house that I am right now, then I think it would be something like this:
A small, but a convenient house. A ground floor and the attick. Attick is full of light and is in good condition but the ground floor needs some work done… bit of repairments, maybe. The house is placed near the sea, which means I am in a period of life, when I use a lot of my individuality, my creativity to enlight something in my life. The house is a bit secluded (in a georaphic planning), but there are visitors coming by now and then. So it never feels lonely or totally secluded. Which for me, at this point, is “perfect”. This is what I need, I guess.
Love from Estonia,
Liina L.
Hi Paulo and everyone.
The house.
The house is the individual soul.
In English we say “Home is where the heart is.”
A House is the manifestation of our inner home – our souls.
If I had to describe my “house”, I would say that it is one of very few rooms – one or two, and at the back of it is a small patio garden with a small, simple water fountain in its centre.
The water falls slowly and peacefully into the fountain bowl, and occasionally small birds come to drink from it.
There is a cool, shady tree, a fruit tree, which gives shade to the fountain, and underneath the tree are home-grown vegetables – onions, and peppers and some wonderful herbs.
My kitchen window looks onto this patio-garden, and my living room, come bedroom has patio doors which open onto the small patio where the fountain is.
A small docile and friendly cat – Mimou – lies by the patio doors, asleep in the sun.
I have neighbours behind low walls surrounding my home and garden.
We are a community of souls.
That is my home – my soul.
blessings friends.
karen xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
My favorite house is the Spanish style house. The design, colors…
I don’t see a symbolism in a house but if I had to pick one it would be protection.
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