Ignoring the Signs of the Times

Most of the time, the dreams we have as we sleep are jumbles of nonsense, occasionally entertaining nonsense, but nonetheless...nonsense.  Sometimes, though, albeit rarely, they actually have meaning. Recently I had one of those dreams, and as the meaning is quite obvious, well, let's just say that God is still speaking in parables.

Oncoming Storm

It was Holy Saturday and I was going to my Mom's friend's house to eat dinner with my Mom, my brother and some friends of hers. I had some obligations, though, and needed to go home, even though 8 pm rolled around and we still hadn't eaten. I told Mom that I had to go and wouldn't be able to come back for Easter. She was upset with me but walked me out to the car, said she'd drive, and as we were trying to get out of the garage, the Farmer (the dad and owner of the home and farm we were on) came and told us a tornado was coming. He explained that it had been announced on the radio, and that  getting out on those county roads was the worst possible thing to do. He was right, and at his invitation, we parked the car and got out. For my part, I got out of the car with a bit of resentment, almost poo-pooing the idea that it was going to be THAT BAD. I wanted to get home.


Curious, and hoping the Farmer was wrong, I looked towards the East through the garage window, and to my shock, I saw about 4 tornadoes whirling towards us across the Minnesota farmland, and two more forming: a total of 6. Six Tornadoes! On our very doorstep!  The wind was already picking up; the storm was IMMANENT.


We ran across the driveway in whipping wind, up the walkway and dodged inside, thinking that the farmer's young and adult children were coming, too, as they were also still outside. Once through the door, I  headed down the multi-tiered stairway. When I came into the first part of the basement, I found children playing there as though nothing was happening. Thinking that their parents probably didn't want to scare them, I said nothing about the storm, but asked one of the older kids where everyone else was. He pointed down a hallway. "Probably in there somewhere."  The boy shrugged and went on playing.  


We were still above ground as the farmhouse was built into a hill, so in order to be safe, everyone would have to go into an interior room that butted up against or perhaps was constructed into the hill itself. From where we were, I could look across the driveway to see the farmer's young adult children sitting on cement garden benches, laughing and joking.  I banged against the window, pointing at the looming tornadoes behind them. They just laughed and held on as they were being sucked around by the wind.


I was shocked to see a child out there, too:  a toddler!  He was climbing out of a shed window, clearly seeking shelter somewhere else and yet not understanding the danger he was in. Before my eyes, the wind ripped him from the window frame he tried so desperately to grasp.. I yelled and pointed, knowing the young men and women could see me through the window. One of the young  women laughed and picked the boy up when he fell to the ground, unable to get up on his own.  I kept waving to them, pointing to the door for safety, gesturing to them to look behind at what was nearly upon us.  I was watching the wind pick up, pulling leaves from the trees, pulling at telephone wires, nearly ripping them from their perches. Yet they just continued to joke and laugh as though they were on a roller coaster.


I thought they were insane. I was sure I was about to witness their destruction, and became more and more frantic.


I knew it was futile; they didn't seem to care, not even about the child in their presence. I knew that even if I climbed the stairs and tried to yell from the door, they wouldn't hear me. As it was, they were refusing to "see" me, even standing in the light of the bay window as it got darker and darker outside and the oppressive storm bore down on us all. 


I knew that I was standing in a very dangerous place, expecting that at any moment a branch could be ripped from a tree and thrown through the huge window, maybe killing us all. Still, though, I couldn't give up;  I wanted to stay as long as I could in hopes that they would finally come in and not be killed. I also knew that it was going to be my responsibility to herd the kids there inside with me back into other rooms of the house and away from this dangerous area.


I didn't know where the other adults were, or the Farmer, but I figured they were working, maybe even doing the same thing I was at other windows. Maybe battening down the hatches. As far as I knew, they were safe...and maybe they didn't know about the ones who weren't. If so, it was up to me to help get them inside and there wasn't much time left for them....

Thankfully, I woke up without witnessing the disaster, but I was shaking, and the meaning of the dream was very, very clear.

For those who don't think in terms of allegory, look at the characters, and the numerous children of all ages present in the dream.  God the Father was the Farmer who invited us into the House to shelter us from the storm. All the people there...His children. And as we were there on his property, He considered US his children as well.  [Theological point:  adopted sons and daughters].

I went in to take shelter, found more children, turned and saw others outside who would not come in. They ignored the invitation, they ignored the warning and thought the weather was a joke, something to take pleasure in with no eye to the consequences. [Theological note:  the weather was the signs of the times].

No matter what I did, they laughed and ignored what I was trying to tell them, and I knew the Farmer had spoken to them as well as we were all coming in. [Theological note: the Farmer was a good shepherd who had come out to bring in His sheep]

I actually suspected, in the dream, that the Farmer was still going about his property, rounding everyone up who would heed his advice and take shelter in his house. [Theological note:  House of Israel, which now = the Church.]

Another point, consider what I and probably others were doing in the dream:  trying to get people to come in and out of the storm that was obviously going to decimate them. They weren't people I knew, but I recognized them as "family".  I wasn't shouting and insulting them, but simply pointing out what was going on, out of concern for their safety, trying to get them to SEE and wanting them to come IN to be safe and LIVE! And yet...they didn't.  [Theological point:  the Church is Missionary, seeks the lost, and it is the responsibility of all the faithful to carry out this mission of SALVATION].

Even there, I knew that I also had a responsibility to the Farmer's children who were in the room with me. Because I was there, it meant they were entrusted to my care and I had to protect them as well.  In fact, they were my primary concern and I knew I'd have to leave the others to their demise in order to ensure the safety of those who were in the House to be certain they would not be sucked out by the tornadoes.

Maybe others will see other things in this. I've kept the "interpretation" at a minimum, and I should mention that I have left out some details that are more specific to the people in my life who were in the dream.  What I recounted here is the "public info". Take it for what it's worth. I publish it here as I do believe God speaks to us in dreams, using them to tell the parables that can only reach us if we're open to them.

Someone else may read it as gibberish, and if so, I take no offense at that. All I will say is that I had a dream, this one meant something, and I find it's meaning very obvious. Too obvious to ignore.

My friends, we can all read the signs of the times. We can see what's coming at us, and we know it is our baptismal obligation to live out the Mission of the Church within our states in life. What is that Mission?  To bring in the lost, to aid those who are among us, to build the Kingdom of God. To be salt of the earth. To be leaven.

1 Corinthians 9:16-17

16 If I preach the gospel, this is no reason for me to boast, for an obligation has been imposed on me, and woe to me if I do not preach it!

17 If I do so willingly, I have a recompense, but if unwillingly, then I have been entrusted with a stewardship.

A Few of My Favorite Things

You dog owners....

You know how it is when you are awakened out of a dead sleep by the excruciating sound of your dog preparing to vomit? So you leap out of bed, realize it's dark and so you fumble for your glasses before turning on the light? Yeah. And then you realize you have your rosary in your hand and you have to let go of it now. And so you fumble for a spot to put it because you haven't yet figured out how to turn on a lamp or hit a switch. And your dog is already ahead of you on the stairs, but waiting, so you yell, "NO! Don't puke there!" And you find the light at the stairway and race her down, then at the bottom of the stairs you hit the light again, turning it off, and you realize you're back to not being able to see. So you turn it back on before proceeding, all the while thinking that these stupid delays are going to mean you'll be doing yucky cleanup.

And then you rush through the livingroom; the dog is already at the door, still heaving, and you know time is short (because you just stepped in some spit with your bare feet), and so you skip the leash, skip the shoes, and just take the dog out and stand out on the sidewalk of your townhome in the bitter cold, wearing only lounge pants, a t-shirt, and in bare feet. And thank God that there are no other dogs out or bunnies (which in the past have served to immediately make her forget about her sour tummy). Once you're satisfied that she is good "for now", you step back in, fumble for the leash, and find the only closest thing to put on your feet...some slipper socks, and you can't even pull them all the way on because the second you step out the door the dog stops her heaving because she sees a neighbor and is about to take off to say hello.

So you yell NO! really loudly and lounge for her collar. (Hoping to God that the neighbor doesn't look over and see you in your bare feet and minimal clothing with your hair standing on end.) And the dog seems to have forgotten she was getting sick, so you bring her in. And immediately she begins heaving again, since she had never completed her business and suddenly remembers what she had gotten you up to do. So you step back outside JUST IN TIME for her to leave her mess there and not on your feet.

And also, you're cold.

Ah, the joys of dog ownership...

Benedictines on the Brain

It doesn't help that the deep sleep had to do with a really intense dream. In between Sr. Mary's Investiture this week and reading "In This House of Brede" in which a clothing ceremony and simple vows were noted just before I went to sleep, I of course dreamed about it.

In the dream, I ended up at a Benedictine convent, completely amazed because up until that moment I thought I was Dominican. But they showed me to my room (not "cell"..it was a dream, you recall), and we were preparing for an Investiture...three of us. Apparently we had been there for awhile. We were next to a school, and I'd parked my old borrowed car in front of it. And after my hair was chopped off and I was clothed in the habit and veil, we all decided to go out for dinner. So I looked out for the car, and it was gone.

Then someone gave me one of the programs, and there was a note scribbled on it from an old roommate, with whom I haven't spoken in years (ever since I explained I couldn't be her proxy on a living will because of her Terri-Schaivo-death-like preferences.) The note was short and to the point...she couldn't understand why I was choosing this way of life and basically thought I was an irresponsible idiot. I can't remember the wording.

Knowing the source, I set out to write her a letter and explain the reasons women choose and are chosen for these Vocations.

But we had to find the car first. We didn't. As it turned out, the note-writing "friend" had come and collected the car herself and just hadn't bothered to tell me.

And so it was that, when I woke up so suddenly having to immediately take action, I thought I was wearing a habit.

As it turned out, it was just a blanket that was attached to me.

Sure wish it had stayed attached while I stood barefoot and clothed only in my t-shirt in the cold.

So how's YOUR morning going?
*

Industrial Ruins

I had the weirdest dream last night...and this morning.

Trying to save money, I didn't have my AC on to try to keep the humidity out, so as such, my fan was blowing in the window, I was damp and uncomfortable all night, and that condition always leads to fretful sleep, and when sleep does finally occurr, vivid dreams.

Last night was a night of my own personal mini-series. It may actually lead to a short story, but first I have to figure out the subplot.

In the beginning, I was a with a group of friends reminiscent of my college buddies, a mixture of men and women. And they definitely had distinct personalities, unlike most canned dreams that just rehash things.

We were going to take an evening tour of the ruins of some type of factory, perhaps a steel mill. As we approached the darkened, forboding structure, I remember thinking, or maybe commenting, that the setting along the river would make a great horror story, perhaps along the lines of "Rose Red" by Stephen King.

As the light lessened, we spent time wandering the hallways and workfloors of the sheet-metal structure, having to avoid dangerous obstacles; of the type one finds in such urban decay; broken glass, bits of torn metal with deeply rusted edges, unstable floors, and obstacles in places that are absolutely against fire code.

But then again, this place, being a "ruin" of course defies all codes.

I'm not sure how it happened, exactly, but when we tried to leave, the gates had been locked and we had no way out. We were trapped in the ruins of this mill, and we were unprepared. We couldn't call for help; no one knew where we were, no one had a cell phone, and we had this idea that if we were caught there after hours, we'd be punished.

So we waited, watched, and explored, always trying to find a way out.

We were in luck; the next day, an elementary school came through on a tour. We didn't want to alarm anyone by our presence so we tried to stay out of the way in hopes we could follow them out. But it was not to be; we hid for too long, and once again found ourselves locked among the ruins.

We were getting desperate. What to do?

Throughout this dream, I continued to wake up, toss and turn, try to get comfortable, drink some water, and when I finally fell asleep again, I returned again to this weary dream world we could not seem to escape.

There was a room we'd commandeered as our base. Tempers were flaring; we were all uncomfortable, needed a shower, needed to get out of this hulk of metal that had ensnared us, and we were getting desperate. I remember looking around the small dark room with the light cast by my flashlight. There HAD to be an escape. We were against an outer wall...was there a vent?

I followed the ductwork and some other mysterious sheet-metal structure up the wall and saw what appeared to be a door. I talked one of the guys into reluctantly prying it, and indeed, it was a window to the outside world. The moon shone in the night-time sky...and the opening, if we could get to it, would help us all out onto the roof.

We didn't know where to go from there, so the most agile of us climbed the wall to scout it out. Indeed, this was an exit so one by one, we climbed through the rectangular opening.

In the meantime, there was a stove or a boiler of some sort in the room that was overreacting, so that added a sense of urgency. We had to get out of that room IMMEDIATELY!

I remember climbing the wall, crawling through the opening, the noise of the stove reaching a pitch I would not have though possible...and then I woke up to the relatively cool humidity of my bedroom, realizing that the fan in the window sounded suspiciously like the stove in my dream, but was inherently less threatening.

I drank some water, then went back to sleep.

And re-entered the dream. I thought we were out! That was the end! Why were we still there?

I was getting REALLY TIRED of this dream.

We ascertained that our situation was serious, and I tried to broach the topic; how did we get here? Hadn't we escaped? I tried to get everyone to climb out through the same "window". One of the guys snapped at me, "It's not a way out."

He didn't seem to remember his enthusiasm before I'd woken up. He'd been the one to break through, the first through, the first to tell us we could be free. What had happened?

I sensed a weird thing happening; the ruins were sucking people in. My friends no longer really seemed as though they wanted to escape. It was the Stockholm Syndrome; but instead of captors, it was the ruins that were creating the identity of the captor.

We had to get out!

The next morning, there was another school coming through. This time, one of my cohorts and I decided we had to approach an authority figure and ask for help; we could not seem to get out on our own. I had to stop to tie my shoe as my friend first approached a middle-aged teacher. She was completely rejected, and ran away from the teacher, shocked.

I knew it was up to me; for some reason, our male counterparts would not approach the humanity that had wandered into our territory. So I walked up to the teacher, pretending that it was "normal" to look as I did, to smell as I likely did, and explain as rationally as possible that we were captives of the ruins they now explored.

I introduced myself and offered my hand, smiling. She looked at me warily and began to walk away with her children. I did not address the children, none of whome seemed to really notice the oddity of someone such as myself emerging from the twisted metal and dingy shadows of the mummified factory.

As she walked away, I pleaded with her to help us, to send someone, to call the police...anything. She ignored us.

Somehow I gathered up my friends...those who could be found, and we followed the school out towards the main gate.

En route, in one of the metal corridors we found a door that had not been previously opened. It was shaped like a submarine door, and the interior was in complete darkness. I stepped inside, past the metal rivets, over the high threshold, and saw "FBI" on the sleeves of the men who stood guard. I withdrew, then realized it was too late, anyway as they glanced my way. My friends held back. I wanted to, but at this ponit, as the inquisitive one, I had no choice but to press forward.

I tentatively moved inward, and saw a couple more guys sitting in front of a laptop computer on a metal desk, reviewing some sort of incomprehensible data. They looked sligtly alarmed at my presence. I raised my hands to show I was unarmed, and began to tell our story. I repeated, "We aren't terrorists!"

They took great interest in what we had to say, and I knew, finally, we were saved. They weren't there to investigate US...they were there for another purpose.

Finally I woke up to the humid morning air and bright heat of the morning sun, tired of the constant feeling of "damp" in the house. The same rotting dampness in my dream, now enhanced as the last vestiges of the dream fell away...yet leaving the cool damp as the fan continued to blow in the window.