I thought first I'd write about a dream I had a few nights ago. This is not the sort of material that thrills my vast readership, I know, but since I so rarely remember anything I dream, I thought I'd commit it to writing in some fashion, if only as a cursory mention. It'll be painless, I promise.

My dream was a morbid one. It was straight out of a horror film, or perhaps a Steven King novel, a mix of death, religious symbols and pagentry. It recalls my youth, my fascination with death and salvation, hell and damnation. I feared god as a kid, convinced of my inherent depravity before god, and my ultimate damnation in hell. I watched films in church depicting the damned suffering unspeakable horrors in hell, and I believed I would be among them. I prayed for salvation, but I had no faith that I would be saved. The pastor of my church, I believed, was a great, fearless man who knew the truths of life and death. If any of us were going to heaven, certainly he was. I was so caught up in it all, as of course I would be, considering how suceptible I was to such claims to knowledge about weighty subjects, and to tactics of fear, however well-intended they were. It was, of course, a First Baptist Church. All the stereotypes about fire and brimstone Baptist preaching were true in this case. It wasn't a good atmosphere for a child, especially me, and it's one of my family heritages which I have no hesitation in renouncing.

Anyway, the dream occurred in the church I attended as a child. I've had versions of this same dream before, incidently. I walked about the church as if invisible, just beholding the scenes but not being acknowledged by anyone. It seemed to be a funeral, perhaps of a child, perhaps of someone in my family. I couldn't be sure. I watched from the balcony of the church as the choir stood silent. The organ played quietly as people shuffled below silently. There was a large congregation, but it was disorganized. A exceedingly ornate, small casket was laid out to the front right of the church, and some people were milling around it, but it was not the center of attention. It wasn't clear what exactly was going on. I walked up and down the balcony aisles, and then out to the second floor area. The open room upstairs was sprinkled with dead children and babies in caskets. It was a mass funeral for children. I walked through this area and began peering into the rooms off of the upstairs. They were full of people--priests, nuns and other officials of the Catholic Church. Does anything or anyone beat the Catholic Church for ceremony, the imprimatur of holy access and religiosity? The priets and nuns were subdued, but they were busy writing rules, laws for I don't know what. It was solemn and serious business. I walked on and saw many similar rooms filled with religious officials engaged in other work. The lay public seemed to come and go, mostly to view and mourn the dead babies. That was the dream in short. As I said, I've had similar dreams before. They always involve my old church, a funeral, scores and scores of dead children, and a solemn scene of subdued confusion. What can it mean?

I promise next time to write something more interesting.