A Crowded Sunday (Part Three) - Dream Time
The Second Sunday of Pentecost is over a week old and my "real" life has been so crowded with activity that processing it adequately with a journal entry was impossible. So, my subconscious has stepped in to do it for me. Last night I dreamed I was at St. Michael's, dressed in an acolyte surplice. And, so were a lot of other people, a lot more than just acolytes. It was almost as though it was a required garb for whatever one called what was going on. A Mass? A choral arrangement?
Hard to tell. Not everyone seemed to be from St. Michael's. We were at the very beginning of a service of some sort which required opening prayer. We were all laity and the visitors were saying the prayer in one version while the rest of the congregation was saying it in another. The two versions clashed and there erupted a fierce, rather ad hoc, discussion as to which group was saying it "correctly".
The cacophony lasted much longer than it would have in real life; in fact, the reality is that no Episcopalian service would have been upended in such a way over the mere wording of virtually the same prayer. Nevertheless, I grew impatient and started to shush people as loudly as I could. But, no sooner did the congregation quiet down than the divergent praying recommenced and people were at odds once again.
When shushing them seemed to do no good, I simply left the service, removing the surplice as I walked down the big avenue outside. Lynette followed me all the way down the street.
The streetscape differed from reality in only minor details. It seemed a bit more run-down; I felt a bit more anxiety walking to the subway at a normal pace than usual and I'm afraid Lynette wasn't able to quite keep up. In these situations, I usually assume magical powers of some sort; I float on air, I fly. Something supernatural happens to help propel me along the way. Poor Lynette was left in her own dreamscape, apparently afflicted by a case of "heavy-leg" (you know, in a dream where you can't seem to walk normally?)
My subconscious decided to skip the next item on that Sunday's agenda, or at least combined it with something else on the list. The subway train resembled one that runs along Sixth Avenue between Brooklyn and Manhattan. I'm not sure why my brain chose that particular train except that perhaps they look brighter and shinier than the red line and, thus, more reassuring under the circumstances.
In any event, the train took me directly to Brooklyn where I became involved in an RC event of some sort. My brain may have combined it with an ACTUP reunion which had occurred, in reality, right after church. There were elements of both. Both organizations are notable for the number of middle-aged men who consider themselves radicals. And, the venue kept flipping between being in someone's home and being in a children's classroom.
And, much like the St. Michael's portion of the dream, I wasn't sure I wanted to stay at this meeting. There was a lot of milling around. I remember shuttling between two different rooms. People seemed to be gathered in one room in a desultory fashion, making small talk. The other room was closer to the entrance; it may have been a kitchen. People seemed to arrive by that room and find themselves funneled toward the other.
The next time I step into the main meeting room, I can sense that the tension has risen considerably. I have become the object of everyone's attention and am being treated with suspicion. I remember being quizzed. Not sure about what.
The dream ends.
Hard to tell. Not everyone seemed to be from St. Michael's. We were at the very beginning of a service of some sort which required opening prayer. We were all laity and the visitors were saying the prayer in one version while the rest of the congregation was saying it in another. The two versions clashed and there erupted a fierce, rather ad hoc, discussion as to which group was saying it "correctly".
The cacophony lasted much longer than it would have in real life; in fact, the reality is that no Episcopalian service would have been upended in such a way over the mere wording of virtually the same prayer. Nevertheless, I grew impatient and started to shush people as loudly as I could. But, no sooner did the congregation quiet down than the divergent praying recommenced and people were at odds once again.
When shushing them seemed to do no good, I simply left the service, removing the surplice as I walked down the big avenue outside. Lynette followed me all the way down the street.
The streetscape differed from reality in only minor details. It seemed a bit more run-down; I felt a bit more anxiety walking to the subway at a normal pace than usual and I'm afraid Lynette wasn't able to quite keep up. In these situations, I usually assume magical powers of some sort; I float on air, I fly. Something supernatural happens to help propel me along the way. Poor Lynette was left in her own dreamscape, apparently afflicted by a case of "heavy-leg" (you know, in a dream where you can't seem to walk normally?)
My subconscious decided to skip the next item on that Sunday's agenda, or at least combined it with something else on the list. The subway train resembled one that runs along Sixth Avenue between Brooklyn and Manhattan. I'm not sure why my brain chose that particular train except that perhaps they look brighter and shinier than the red line and, thus, more reassuring under the circumstances.
In any event, the train took me directly to Brooklyn where I became involved in an RC event of some sort. My brain may have combined it with an ACTUP reunion which had occurred, in reality, right after church. There were elements of both. Both organizations are notable for the number of middle-aged men who consider themselves radicals. And, the venue kept flipping between being in someone's home and being in a children's classroom.
And, much like the St. Michael's portion of the dream, I wasn't sure I wanted to stay at this meeting. There was a lot of milling around. I remember shuttling between two different rooms. People seemed to be gathered in one room in a desultory fashion, making small talk. The other room was closer to the entrance; it may have been a kitchen. People seemed to arrive by that room and find themselves funneled toward the other.
The next time I step into the main meeting room, I can sense that the tension has risen considerably. I have become the object of everyone's attention and am being treated with suspicion. I remember being quizzed. Not sure about what.
The dream ends.