Brevity and Dreams

This is the time of year when I have few thoughts to spare outside my immediate job, my brain exhausted and useless on the weekends, even those weekends I don’t end up going in, as I did yesterday. Activity will be minimal through to October. Unless this “Every two weeks a mass shooting” thing continues, in which case I’ll try to devote a few hours to pointing out my growing problems with this pattern.


In the meantime, I’ve promised myself to try to get back in the habit of writing down my dreams, especially those that stick in my brain for any reason. This is not due to any pretense of “prophetic” or “Psychic” dreaming, so much as the understanding that dreams are the way the subconscious tells the conscious various things, sometimes relating to upcoming events, more often relating to the very personal present or the past. When a dream is especially clear, it warrants a note or two for the sake of remembrance. So, my dream last night .. .

I was in smallish church, perhaps a glorified chapel, kneeling behind a pew full of nuns, their habits and veils a navy blue, except for the novice who was in light blue with a white veil. Several more rows of nuns in different habits ranged ahead, while the pews to my right were filled with cassock-ed priests and robed monks. There were many families with children also at the Mass, all gathered around the base of the altar– it was some sort of community Mass of Thanksgiving, I think specifically for the religious God had called from the community. From the decorations in the church, I think it was late Advent, and I think it was evening, the stained glass windows dark, but the interior filled with light.


We had gotten to the part of the Mass generally referred two as the “Prayers of the Faithful”– after the three readings, the psalm and homily, after the Creed was recited, when the community brought forth petitions to be prayed by everyone. In my dream, after the lector-led prayers, there was a few minutes given for people in the congregation to pipe up with their own intentions– a practice I have experienced in some smaller communities and gatherings, but in not the normal practice with a Sunday congregation. One man, over to my right, dressed in a long sleeved white button-down with a dark red sweater vest and grey slacks, mentioned an intention, over which we prayed. Then, at the front of the church, to my right, at the front of what would have been the south transept, near the base of the altar and the children, a man in a puffy white parka began to speak an intention of his own.

“That Allah will witness this, and bless what comes after. . .” it was calmly spoken, as he pulled out what looked, from my distance, to be a .45 and, in one smooth motion, carelessly aimed it at a little, brown haired boy and shot him in the head. The entire right side of the church seemed to surge as the men rushed forward, one of the first tackle him crying “Don’t beat him, just restrain him for interrogation!” But I think I saw some kicking anyway.


I was kneeling in shock at witnessing the so-casual murder of a child, the wailing of his mother cutting through the eerie silence even as the men subdued the man with the gun. The nuns in front of me were also in similar shock, the novice’s pale robe somehow stained with specks of blood even at our distance.


The obvious take needs not be addressed. But I will be thinking about the not-so-obvious signals in this dream. When I have dreams this clear and coherent, everything is the way it is for a reason, with several layers to be dissected. And it usually takes a few years to work them all out. Two I have had that have taken me a few decades to discover all the layers to. . . so no rush. Just a reminder to myself and readers that, especially with dreams, one must “Look underneath the underneath . . .”

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About zmalfoy

Z. Malfoy is a practicing Catholic-with-an-"interesting"-past. She earned her Bachelor's Degree in Music Education (Spec. Voice) from Loyola University New Orleans, and has since taken a few business courses to expand her knowledge base. In her free time, she studies belly-dance, alchemy, theology, and various skills related to self-sufficiency. She also enjoys reading science fiction, refreshing her French, and watching anime. She recently started with learning Krav Maga and Russian.

5 thoughts on “Brevity and Dreams

  1. There aren’t that many orders of “blue nuns.” Do you know already if they were an order of Franciscans or Trinitarians? Were their veils white and reach far down their backs? Or blue, like their habits?


    • The veils were blue like their habits, reaching to the small of their backs, except for the novice– her veil was white, with a pale blue robe. They looked a lot like the “updated” habits some of the Visitation nuns at my high school wore, except I’ve never seen a novice in that color combination (White veil, yes, but not the pale blue robe).


  2. I don’t want to sidetrack your thread, but I have a quick science-fiction-related dream story that you might appreciate. When I was a young child, I used to watch the original 3 seasons of Star Trek at my grandparent’s house on Broadway in Indianapolis. Years later, in high school, I got into the habit of watching the old reruns after school, and after a few years of this, I got to where I’d seen all the episodes a few times each. All but one. I had a strange longing to see this certain episode that I had not seen since the show aired. All I could remember of it was a distinct scene where one of the male characters, maybe Kirk or Spock, descended a staircase to meet a beautiful, but bald woman (weird, I know), until they met and disappeared somehow in a communion shower of brilliant white sparks. Later on, when I found a concordance of the series and was able to confirm that I had, in fact, seen all the episodes, it confounded me and made be so confused about where this strange and compelling memory came from which could not really have happened. Fast forward to 1982 or so when I got around to seeing the first Star Trek, the Motion Picture movie. I saw it alone in Dayton because I had just started a job there. Toward the end of the film, of course, there it was. The scene. Persis Kambatta was the bald chick, and Stephen Collins was Decker, the male crew member who merges with Ilia in a shower of light in the V’ger scene. To this day, I wonder what weird sense of humor God has, that he would give me a detailed vision of something 10 years in the future, and it would just be a stupid scene from one of the worst movies ever! He couldn’t give me some Lotto numbers? Oy! ๐Ÿ™‚


Moderation has been eased. For now. Don't be dunderheads.

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