Dream of March 29, 2015 – Palm Sunday
Surrounded by other people, I’m sitting at a large round table outdoors, part of a very large gathering. My sister, Lourdes, is sitting on my left. It’s a sunny day, and I’m relatively close to the front of the crowd, all of us facing in the same direction. I can’t be sure, but I think the people in the front rows are standing. To my left is a great building with various entrances and levels, including a shadowy foyer. Parallel with the people in the front rows is what looks and feels like the main entrance—a tall and straight, sky-blue glass or crystal facade. Behind me and to my right sprawls a very large ultra-modern, almost futuristic city.
I’m quite busy, and so listen with only half an ear to the man who occasionally walks out from near the main entrance, and addresses the very cheerful crowd. He is the priest in charge of this particular gathering. The dream comes into sharp focus, and I become semi-lucid, when I hear a woman in the front rows say something to the priest, whose reply does not please her. “You’re not doing that well,” he informs her, “even though you are well taught.” The woman doesn’t like being told that, even though she has reserved a place near the front, she is not doing enough to merit her position.
Abruptly, I see the priest—whose hair is such a bright blonde it borders on white—walking directly toward our table, and when he meets my eyes, I quickly push my chair back and stand up, because he is obviously coming to greet my sister and I. Lourdes is sitting silently to my left, and does not get up. I’m not too surprised the priest has come to meet us, for we are new members of the congregation, but I AM very pleased, and happy, that he noticed us, so much so that I can’t find my voice. Reaching across the table to firmly shake the hand he offers me, I only manage to murmur, “Bless you” not sure what else to say.
The priest smiles at me with intense kindness and appreciation, but he is speaking to the crowd when he draws their attention to my sister and I by calling us, “The guests at the wedding” which I know is a reference to the Gospels. He seems to be saying that although we are newcomers, we pose a challenge to those who have been here for a very long time, and who have become complacent, believing they are due everything with little or no passionate effort. As he walks back toward the entrance, the priest declares, “May the competitors win!” and as I sit down again, people look our way. I smile self-consciously, then get back to work…
It has grown darker. Finished with my work, at least for the moment, I turn in my chair and lean back against a wall as I gaze up at the sky. All my attention is on the mysteriously quiet and thrilling rumble of thunder alerting the world that something is happening—that Someone, the Lord, is coming. I am lucidly aware of my profile as some of the people around me observe my rapt attention on the sky, and soon we are all looking up at it, waiting. I am very conscious of the fact that my face is no more attractive than any other face, and that its appeal lies not in the youth I often project on my dream body, but in its God-given uniqueness, and I know this feeling of being ageless is inseparable from my soul. I absorb all this in mere instants, for all my attention and profound expectation is turned up toward the vast sky, which is mostly obscured by black clouds. My vision is focused on the sky’s zenith, from which the sound of thunder is emanating. The view is miles wide and high, and I am sitting parallel with what feels like an ocean bay around which the city is built.
Heralded by the promising voice of the thunder, a bright white light slowly begins manifesting at the heart of the darkness, like moonlight breaking through clouds, except that it is NOT moonlight. I know what we are all waiting for—we are waiting for our Lord, for the second coming of Christ, and my joyful, awe-struck anticipation is answered by a vision:
Enfolded by the black clouds, as though by a heavenly cloak, I see a Christian cross akin to a diamond broach of infinite worth—a cross brighter, more alive and more beautiful than anything else, a cross made of stars. Yet it is much more accurate to say that the stars composing the cross are all the stars in the universe concentrated into their Source—God, Christ our Lord Who shines as the greatest of all the stars, more brilliant than any supernova, at the summit of the cross.
Then, to the right of the cross, I see rising—on a long horizon of grayish-blue clouds—rectangular spires of varying heights forming a city, a silvery celestial city! I perceive then that the man-made skyscrapers around me are only reflections of this heavenly city. As soon as I notice this, I become aware that a great celebration is in progress. The rumbling of thunder that initially announced the second coming of Christ is being echoed on earth by fireworks being launched into the sky directly over the water around which the city is built. I have a clear view of these luminous displays of rejoicing as they sparkle in the sky between the starry cross and the water. The fireworks are launched three at a time in broad, somewhat ovular circles with sharp tops and bottoms reminiscent of Christmas ornaments. Each is composed of tiny glimmering lights that cannot remotely compare to the unwavering depth and brilliance of the cross of stars, and yet they are lovely. I distinctly remember seeing a delicate green one, and a soft orange one.
Then, much closer to me, I catch sight of a department store gift bag, made of shining silver and filled with blue paper, descending from the sky and coasting toward the shore parallel to a sidewalk fronting a hotel-like building. From the look of it, I somehow know the bag contains a bottle of champagne, or some other wine with which to celebrate this infinitely joyful occasion. But as the bag nears a flight of steps leading up from the water to the street, it seamlessly transforms into the faceless mannequin of a woman, cut off at the hips, holding two shining colorful shopping bags. I’m a little amused as I watch “her” bump against the concrete, her torso light as a balloon drifting from here to there. This seems a gentle, humorous reminder of worldly pleasures and distractions.
I find myself sitting on the opposite side of the table, leaning back in my chair, and looking slightly to my right toward the great building beside me in which lights are shining. I’m lucidly remembering being in this same dream last night. I’m happy I was able to enter this dream again, and I know I need to return a third time, because there is more to come. Eventually, I rise to leave, and am immediately pulled up into the sky across the water. I feel the Lord is about to rouse me so that I will remember what I experienced, and as I say to myself, “I was in this dream last night filling out a form” I wake up.