The Old Church (Night of Tuesday, August 4, 2015)

Events of The Day:

Home alone. Aubrey was in school and Angelique at university to work for her org. Went out to buy a pair of small lamps for the passage to the laundry room, an extension cord, and two, porcelain Chinese vases for the studio lounge. Did some work alone, mainly cleaning out my studio taboret and cleaning and locating a utensil caddy inside the kitchen. The cleaning entailed much work, and I was exhausted but satisfied afterward.

Dinner with Angelique. Aubrey came late because she had volleyball varsity training. We are still on leftovers from Aubrey's birthday party and the food just won't go away.


The Dream:

I am with H., who was one of the guests at Aubrey's party last Saturday. We enter an old church in some far-flung province. H. dreads entering the church and meeting the Vietnamese woman who serves as a staff member there; she describes the woman as haughty and arrogant.

H. and I go up the wide steps to the church door, where the Vietnamese woman is standing. I greet her cordially but she does not respond. I think that H. is right about her after all.

Inside the church, H. and I get separated. I presume that she is walking around taking photos. I meet the woman once again at the right, side altar of the church. I am surprised when she gives me instructions, "Give the cues," and what she means is ensuring that the lectors rise on time to do their thing.

The woman gives me a sheaf of leaflets containing schedules, prayers, and devotional material. I am astonished that one of the sheets features O., a goddess, and I cannot wait to show it to H. She will certainly be amazed at how O. has been syncretized as a Catholic saint. I cannot, however, find H., and decide to meet her after Mass.

I walk toward the front pews and see that a group of matrons is gathered there. I am certain that they are the designated lectors. I approach a woman in a lavender dress and ask her whether they know exactly when to do the readings. She assures me that they do. I suddenly feel that much discrimination is practiced in church, because roles assisting the priest are often assigned to the rich and seldom to the poor.

The candles on the altar have not yet been lit. Everyone looks at me as though it were my duty to do so. I step up with my black, disposable lighter and have difficulty lighting the candles. I see that two altar boys are trying to do the same thing. One of them has lit the candles nearest me. I go to the far side of the altar and pick up the boy by his surplice because he cannot reach the candle. I note that among the candles there are extremely slim tapers, like joss sticks, and these are what the altar boy manages to light.

I go back to my seat at a side pew facing the congregation but find that someone has taken it during all the fuss over the candles. I feel sorry that I have also lost the sheaf of leaflets.

A few minutes later the taper-like candles burst out like fireworks. They seem to be party sparklers after all, and I must bridge this with Aubrey's two cakes with birthday candles. The priest is awed. I go back to the altar and ask that new candles be installed, which they are. The altar boys light the candles again before I notice that they are also slim tapers. I comment that the tapers might burst out like fireworks again. The priest becomes wary and waits for proper candles to be installed.


My Interpretation:

This dream is a message from my psyche about traditional faith, the kind I was born into, that my family practiced while I was growing up, and that I was rigorously taught in school.

I am all of the characters in the dream. I am H., whose main interest in going inside the old church is not to attend Mass but to take photos. The leaflet featuring the Catholic goddess-saint O. shows me that all religions, in effect, are one, albeit expressed in different, apparently conflicting, ways.

The Vietnamese woman is an aspect of my superego, a strict authority figure who gives me instructions and a sheaf of leaflets, urging me to take proactive participation in the Mass.

I am the matrons, because I have always perceived traditional religion as a practice of elderly women.

I am the altar boys. They can be bridged either to my two sons or two of my granddaughters. They have difficulty lighting the candles, the candles of my faith, yet, when they are lit, they burst out into spectacular fireworks.

The candles must be lit again and again.

I am also the priest, who cannot wait to commence the celebration of the Mass but must wait for proper candles in order to do so.

Reinforcement of faith is spectacular, as long as one finds the right candles to light.