FRIDAY THOUGHTS: DREAMING

I dreamed I'd been invited to sing at a church. To say that the facility was ridiculously humongous would be an understatement. 

I'm not sure what the occasion was, but there were throngs of people all over the place. The invited guests had been herded into a large room to wait until their scheduled sound checks. 

I milled around greeting people for a while, then heard someone yell, "Vanessa, they're ready for you!" 

A lady told me she would be leading me to the sanctuary. She kept looking back and smiling to see if I was keeping up with her.

 

The sanctuary looked more like a bazaar. It also looked as if 20 different people had been given the opportunity to design a portion of the interior. There was no order; no continuity in the room. In some places there were neatly placed pews in neat rows. In another there were plush seats arranged in a semi-circular configuration. In another there were single folding chairs randomly placed. The windows on one side didn't match the windows on the other. Some were stained glass, some were plain, some were curtained, and others were high, and let in very little light. 

The only common thing in the place were the bright theater-style lights that bounced off of everything and shot beams in every direction.

The choir stand's rows ascended to the ceiling and stretched wall to wall. Thousands of people, dressed in formal attire, filled the stand's seats, and although they were all sitting quietly with their hands folded, loud chatter filled the room. 

I walked behind the lady who led me into the sanctuary, and she deposited me at the foot of the carpet-covered platform, the height of which was well over my head. 

A man carrying a clipboard and wearing headphones greeted me. He seemed to be directing the event. 

I waited as one guest after another checked sound for their performances. 

When I thought it would be my turn, a group of impeccably dressed and groomed people were selected from the enormous choir. They walked like models from their places, and positioned themselves at the microphones. Their faces were emotionless. They seemed to be staring off into space. They made gestures with their arms, and their lips were moving. They were making no sound, but everyone was clapping wildly for them. 

I strained to hear them, and was a little frustrated that I couldn't experience what everyone else seemed to be hearing. I'd been standing in heels and wanted to sit down, so I slowly walked around to the side of the platform.

There were round tables set up where the choir had eaten meals, but no one had finished their meals or cleaned up behind themselves. There were half-eaten hamburgers, plates of french fries, chicken and spaghetti, spilled ketchup, and dropped napkins. 

I looked around, but there was nowhere to sit. The chairs that hadn't been dirtied with spilled drink, or condiments, were covered with coats and purses. 

I didn't want to stray too far, so I gave up looking for a seat. Then I heard several people asking harshly, "Where is she? Where did she go? Can somebody find her?" 

There was a group of seasoned ladies sitting together in a corner, and one of them seemed annoyed by the urgency of the search for me. She pointed at me and said, "Here she is! She's right here! She's been here all the time!"

I walked back in the direction I thought was the way I came, and ended up on an incline that was paved with green, grass-like carpet. I was feeling anxious as it took me high above the choir to a platform that became softer and bouncier with every step. By the time I got to the spot I was told to stand, the floor was like a trampoline. There was nothing onto which I could hold. Behind me was a painted mural. The platform looked stable and straight, but standing on it was nearly impossible. I thought if I took off my heels I could keep my balance, but every move I made had me worrying if I would go tumbling forward into the choir. I finally got my shoes off, but told the man with the clipboard, "I can't stay here. Can't I come down to where the choir is?" 

Someone yelled that I could, so I walked down to the next level. The path to the microphone was wooden and suspended in air, and I felt like I was 'walking the plank'. 

There were hundreds of microphones of different types all around me. I asked the man with the clipboard which one I should use, and he said, "Try the pink one." When I picked it up, its color changed to a dull beige. I could hear clapping and people encouraging me to sing. Then, the sound engineer angrily said, "I have this track but there's only one song on it. This is all you gave me! It only has one song! Are you gonna sing this? Are you gonna sing "O Happy Day"?" 

I couldn't understand why he was complaining, and told him to just play whatever he had. When the track he chose began, I soon realized it wasn't a performance track at all. It was a CD with the lead vocals on it. I sang anyway, just to get through it. 

When the song ended, I put the mike back, and turned to leave. 

As I headed in the direction I'd come, I was suddenly surrounded by blue and gold trimmed, ornate frosted glass doors and windows. Even the ceiling was made of the exquisite glass. I looked for handles or knobs and couldn't find any. I could feel I was about to cry. 

A lady appeared at the other side of the door. I asked her, "How do you get out of here?" 

The opening of the glass door didn't go all the way to the floor. It opened, but you had to climb up and out of it to get to the other side. She showed me how to open the door which led to a hallway. Behind the hallway wall was a portion the choir. As I was trying to keep up with the lady, I heard a man say, "Why is she here? Why are they promoting her? They could have gotten a lot of other people to sing. Why her? We could have just sung ourselves!" 

I followed the voice, and confronted the man. I was surprised that he was an elderly gentleman. He was startled to see me, and immediately began backpedaling. I asked him why he was saying such things. I told him he didn't even know me. I was screaming at him, "What did I do to you?" He began apologizing profusely. 

I backed away from him, and realized I'd lost my guide. I saw exit doors and headed toward them. Someone told me there was a driver outside waiting to take me home. As soon as I got into the car, the driver began telling me that the source of all of the problems in the world was gospel music that had been influenced by secular music. Her voice was so calm and she really believed what she was saying. She wasn't watching the road as she drove. She was looking at me, as if the car was driving itself. 

I began screaming at her. I screamed at her all the way to the large house she parked in front of. I was rattled, but I thanked her for the ride and got out. 

My daughter opened the door for me. I realized I'd been driven to a house that she was renovating. When I got inside, I commented how beautiful and peaceful the rooms were. My daughter told me that the last things she needed to replace was the flooring in the kitchen, and the room she decided she would convert into her bedroom. "It's an ideal space" she said as she pointed in the direction of the upper floors. "I can still see where the pews were"...

She took me to the room and all along the walls were silhouettes in the original paint color, where the sides of the pews met the walls. On the floor were indentations where the pews had been bolted to the floor....Then I woke up... unusually remembered and recanted it all...and realized I had an actual headache.

The headache was so bad it, sent me directly to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I felt as if I must have tossed and turned all night and hadn't rested at all. I googled to see if dreams had the capacity to induce a headache and found that they do. 

I recalled what I had eaten last night. Hmmm. 

The smoked, hot sausages had been delicious. 

Maybe I'd had one too many. 

I wondered what were the last words and images I experienced before I drifted off to sleep. I'd laughed at Jerry Seinfeld, Miranda Sings, and Jimmy Fallon in episodes of "Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee". 

I'd had a nice conversation with my daughter about her day. I'd read that Andrae Crouch passed away. That saddened me, and reminded me of my childhood church and my time in the young adult choir. I listened to "Take Me Back" on youtube, just because. 

The person in my dream was a me that started out content, cooperative and happy, but became frustrated, impatient, confrontational, and direct, and perhaps with ample reason to be so. It was a me that was also slimmer...lol

There are three random things I'd like to have from my dream: The full sweep black silk skirt, the waist that wore it, and the Louboutin pumps I had to take off...lol...Other things have me thinking more soberly:
1. Who, or what do I need to confront?
2. What foundation, of what thing in my life, is shaky?
3. What mystery person has my back, but I don't know it?
4. What do I need to embrace, revisit, or join, and from what or whom should I separate myself?
5. Who do I think is in my corner, but isn't?
6. Have I been getting enough sleep?
7. Should I prepare more intently to sleep? Change my sleeping environment?

The good news is that the headache subsided, I made oatmeal on purpose, as if I like it, and ate it.

I walked on the treadmill as I laughed at Gracie Allen, and have no plans that would require me to tackle the bitter cold outside today. 

If my dream has done anything, it has motivated me to some action, and changes.