Dream: SRO at Church

Dream 20030223, 7:15 AM:

There was more before the part of this dream that I remember. I know that some of it involved woods, being out in a forest.

When my memory picks up, I’m going to a big church; I have called Chris and told him that I’d meet him here. The church reminds me of a cathedral, but also of a theater; the seats are on a strong rake upward to the back, and the front area looks like a proscenium stage. There are lots of people here; I am filing up a very long aisle, wondering if it will be OK for me to save Chris a seat. I finally find a seat way up at the back of the room. I have to leave the room for something – I don’t remember why, maybe to try calling Chris again. When I get back, all the seats are full, and I end up standing with a rather large crowd of people who are lining the back of the room. The minister is preaching vigorously, and says something about Wiccans. I tell the guy who is standing next to me that I’m going to leave, and he replies with some sanctimonious remark, and I slip out the back door.

Then, I’m in some sort of little sitting room; there are like four or five people here, including a minister. We’re talking about something, but I don’t remember the subject; it seems like it’s some sort of group counseling session, although I don’t recognize or remember the other people in the room. We talk for a while, and then I’m outside.

I look up, and the sky is dark; I think this is because it was dim in the church. I realize that it shouldn’t be dark this early in the day, and this prompts a realization that I must be dreaming. The world seems to flicker for just a moment, as if I were waking up, but then the dream resumes and I don’t get lucid.

I have somehow met up with Chris. I scold him for not showing up at the church. We are walking down streets in a downtown area; it seems like a different city, like New York. As we’re waiting at a crosswalk for the light to change, I see a bunch of odd people on the opposite side of the street also waiting to cross; there is one group that is dressed all in black with white gloves, another group of young people dressed in white T-shirts with some blue logo on the fronts. There are probably eight or ten in each group. The light changes and we start walking, and I realize that we’re going to have to walk right through the middle of the group of people dressed in black; they are posing and walking funny, like caricatures of ninjas. I mentally “magic” a little clump of three of them sideways, so that they’re out of our way, and we walk through.

We walk into a mall-like place; it reminds me of one of the spontaneous little Mexican markets, dark with little shops on each side, with little doors to the front. We walk in, and someone ticks me off; it’s this big fat woman. I blink at her, and yank my thumb, and somehow transport her across the street to a big mud puddle. She doesn’t pass through the space between, just appears in mid-air and falls into the water on her side with a splash. We walk on. I look up, and Chris is gone; I peek into a shop we just passed, and he has ducked inside and is talking to the proprietor about Canadian whiskey, although he’s using the name Hiram Walker, which is Scotch. The shopkeeper is saying that it should have the initials HW on the bottom of the bottle. Someone won’t get out of my way, and I do the same transport-to-mud-puddle move as before. I hear a policeman talking about how there’s somebody who’s been dropping people into the mud; I realize that they’re hunting for me because it’s illegal to do this to people. He is talking into his radio, and saying that they’re looking for a man in a green shirt with a Lesbian hat. I have on some kind of leather ball cap; I reach up and sort of adjust it with my hand, and turn it into a cotton ball cap with “Jack Daniels” on it. Then I take my shirt in my hands like I was adjusting the buttons, and turn it from a green button-down to a red one. No-one notices at all. I think to myself, “I could sit at the dining table right in front of people, and change the color of my shirt, and these idiots wouldn’t notice.” *end*

0 replies

Leave a Reply

Want to join the discussion?
Feel free to contribute!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Security Code:

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.