Last night I dreamed I was living in an old house in Boston. In addition to my cat I also had an adorable African bat-eared fox as a pet who curled up in a fluffy ball and purred when I petted him (yes, foxes do purr).
But this pleasant dream took a weird turn. I went into one particular room, a small parlor with a door opening out to a narrow cobblestone street. It had the sort of modern modifications you would expect, a bricked-up fireplace, white paint replacing the once rich colors of times past, and the hardwood floor had been completely redone. But I instantly recognized it as a room I had known in another life in the late 18th Century and it filled me with panic. There were other people in the room, asking if I was alright and of course I was playing off the eerie feelings with the usual “yeah, I’m fine,” etc.
I find it strange to have such a vivid dream about this. First of all I haven’t had a dream related to past lives in quite a while. Second I have serious doubts about the 18th Century Boston life as the narrative I thought my memories represented fell apart with research.
I don’t know. It was strange enough to warrant logging here I suppose.