The Dream Gate Dream
A couple of weeks ago, I had a dream about a high ancient-looking stone wall. The wall was covered with vines and there was a recessed rustic plank gate or doorway. The overall effect was medieval and charming.
It might have been dusk or overcast in the dream but I could see everything clearly. Just above the doorway, I saw a symbol that looked like a triquetra. I even exclaimed (in the dream) "that's a triquetra," except I actually said "trifecta," as in horse racing, because things get garbled for me in dreams. Either way, I was excited because I love all things Celtic, so I woke up in the middle of the night and recorded the dream (and drew the symbol) in my dream journal.
Earlier that month, I’d been told that ancient dreamers were always on the lookout for gateways in their dreams. Since my impression in the dream was that I was seeing a wall, not a building, I felt that what looked like a door to modern eyes was technically a gate.
So I made myself go back to sleep and back into the dream. I found the door again easily and everything was the same—except that instead of the symbol above the door, there was a long narrow sign with lettering.
Annoyingly, I find it hard to read in dreams and I couldn’t read the sign. I woke up again and wrote down the second dream and went back to sleep, but I didn't go back to the door, that night, or go through it.
When I woke up the next morning I was thinking how nice it was that I dreamt about the triquetra which I remembered as representing the Trinity and the Welsh triads and other pleasant things. Then I looked at my dream journal and saw that the symbol I had drawn had three interlocking triangles instead of three loops.
I was pretty sure I remembered the triangle symbol from a passing interest Germanic mythology. I thought it was probably Scandinavian and when I googled it, there it was.
It was not a triquetra. It was a valknot.
No one is absolutely sure what the valknot symbolizes. Due to its presence on Old Norse funerary items, however, it has been associated with the dead. My thoughts on the dream in light of this particular symbol were that this door is closed and maybe it should stay closed. Or maybe not.
One Gate, Two Perspectives?
And so I say to you, you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it. —Matthew 18:18
Then Holy Week came and I noticed another gate / doorway in the Icon of the Resurrection which is traditionally displayed in Eastern Christian churches at Easter.
The Icon of the Resurrection shows Jesus standing on the broken down gates of the netherworld as He pulls Adam and Eve from their tombs to freedom. You can also see King David, Moses, John the Baptist, and others. On the left below Jesus' and the fallen gates, you can see broken locks and the devil, bound.
In other words, the Icon of the Ressurection shows Jesus going into the realm of the dead to release the captives.
And I couldn't help wondering if the Icon of the Resurrection gate and the dream gate were the same gates or different.
What Does This All Mean?
When it comes to dreams, the question is always the same. What does it mean?
And the truth is, I'm not sure. I'd had a tough week. Historically, several close family members have died in April, including my mother (April 15). Then there is the Passion, which is less brutal than it is hopeful but still pretty darned brutal overall.
This year a family member was hospitalized on Holy Saturday with a serious illness and stayed in the hospital through Easter and into this week. Various small and not so small things went wrong. Some people were kind and others were not. Those who were not, as it turned out, were Catholic.
So I don't actually know if I'm ready to unpack this particular dream. But I have considered some of the questions it brought up for me.
Should I go through that particular dream doorway?
Given the connection with the valknot and the icon and the fact that the gate was closed, I think not, or at least not yet.
Am I divining by dreams?
Probably.
To me, when the Bible talks about divining, the warning is specific to that time (not to listen to non-Jewish diviners in that particular era). This does NOT mean that warning can't extend to other times and places. But it has always been my sense that it predictive divination that causes problems.
I do pay attention to my dreams, however, and what I do with them is a form of divination.
Should I keep working with my dreams?
I think so.
Dreams can be tricky. Like many other life experiences, they can take us in the right direction or in the wrong one. But I believe they're given to us for a reason and that—as the Valkknot and the Icon of the Resurrection clearly shows—there is more than one perspective.
See the Other Dreams in This Series:
- The Dream Wall (Dream 2)
- The Dream Vault (Dream 3)
I liked all of the churches I had visited and it occurred to me I could visit them all off and on until I decided which one was the best fit for me.
And then my oldest son told me about a church that two of his friends attended. It was called Parker Hill. Checking out the website, I realized that it was a Bible based (read evangelical) operation.
The website was great and the vimeo videos were engaging and well-produced. There was even an app. I downloaded it that afternoon.While I was used to thinking of Bible based churches as conservative, Parker Hill had very progressive vibe.
The space was modern but pleasant. There were comfortable chairs and multiple screens and a live band that played contemporary (and very good) Christian rock.
I had never thought of John 3:16 as a parallel to human giving. Now for the first time, I did.
No decision made. No committment was offered. It was, I knew, just a beginning. But I couldn't help thinking that it was a good one.
This church is older than my last two stops with an almost colonial feel. This week, the sun was finally appropriately shining and all of the stained glass windows were brimming with color.
In summary, the 2nd Presbyterian Church of Pittston boasts a beautiful space and a warm and welcoming congregation. To me, this kind of welcome embodies the true spirit of Christianity which is at its heart a religion open and accessible to everyone.
I think that the 2nd Presbyterian Church would be a good choice for anyone looking for a heart centered Christian community. Members meet regularly for breakfasts and dinners and the church is active in outreach and ministry.
About the Presbyterian Church: Presbyterians trace their history to the Protestant Reformation in the 16th century. The Presbyterian heritage, and much of its theology, began with the Swiss/French theologian and lawyer John Calvin (1509–64), whose writings solidified much of the Reformed thinking that came before him. The Presbyterian church I attended has a website which is currently in progress so I can't give a lot of background on this particular congregation.
I tried to conjure up my old feelings about the mass. I tried to reconnect with the magic and the spiritual power that was once as real to me as the paintings and the statues and the glass. I remembered how it felt but I just couldn't recapture it.
It was a little like seeing someone you used to be in love with and feeling the closeness and the distance in a single breath. Sometimes that distance can be closed - depending, I think, on just how bad the breakup was.
My breakup with Catholcism was a tough one. And sitting there in church I remembered it. I remembered leaving St. Mary's of Czestochowa after midnight mass some 15 years ago knowing I would never go back. I remember how alone I felt and how let down.Things are different how but just how different remains to be seen. I do believe that I'll go back to St. John's and, when I do, I promise I'll keep an open mind. The church does after all, have a lot to recommend it.
In addition to the beautiful space and seemingly approachable pastor, St. John's has an active ministry which offers a free health clinic, food pantry, kid's clothing closet, toy and book corner and pediatric clinic.
Like St. Stephen's St. John's operates under the true spirit of Christian charity. I admire this very much.
But someone will say, “You have faith, and I have works.” Show me your faith without your works, and I will show you my faith by my works. James 2:18About St. John's the Evangelist: St John's roots can be traced to the 1840s when Catholic priests began to visit homes in the Wyoming Valley to establish a community of the faithful. The parish of Saint John the Evangelist came into being through the hard work of Father John P. O’Shaughnessy. As the first priest of Saint John the Evangelist parish, he purchased a plot of land on William Street and began the process of fundraising for and ordering the construction of the parish’s first church in 1854. That same year during the construction of a physical center of worship, Bishop John Neuman of Philadelphia formally established Saint John the Evangelist Parish, providing the Catholic Church’s blessing that the church would be an official spiritual home for Catholics in Pittston.
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| St. John overlooking the Church parking lot |
So I decided a "Church Tour" was in order. My plan was to visit at least four local churches and possibly more. While I didn't consider it imperative that the church tour end in a commitment to any given church I certainly felt open to that possibility.
The church tour began last month but I decided that December would be a nice time to post on it.
, 
) and that made me curious about their religion.According to St. Stephen's website, on December 25, 1896 cinders caught in a chimney after the Christmas Eve service ignited a fire that destroyed the previous church building. Only the new bell tower on Franklin Street and the foundation were spared.
Reverend Jones, the Rector at the time, vowed that the church would be rebuilt, without diverting any money from outreach or missionary ministries.
On Christmas Eve 1897, one year after the fire, the church I visited was opened for its very first service. In the same spirit, St. Stephen's outreach programs remain impressive. The Church offers a clothes closet, dental clinic, medical clinic and food pantry for local residents. And believe me when I say that many people here are in desperate need of those kind of services.
The mission at St. Stephen's is "To Know Christ and Make Him Known in Word and Deed" and I think they are doing a wonderful job in fulfilling that mandate!
And, of course, the service was beautiful. In many ways it was similar to a Catholic mass, with which I am more familiar. It included a Eucharist of both wafer and wine and incense and a scripture based homily. The congregation at St. Stephen's was friendly and I thought that the priest seemed very approachable. I enjoyed his clear and down to earth sermon and wished I'd had more time to visit.
St. Stephen's offers multiple services including a Wednesday healing service. The church hosts the King’s College Summer Choir Training Course, sponsored by The Royal School of Church Music in America and offers a total of nine public choral services a week. The music on the Sunday I attended was lovely.
In summary, St. Stephen's is a great church for anyone who loves beauty and music and the spirit of Christian service and giving. I enjoyed the morning I spent there very much. I am very sure I will visit again!
About My Grandmother
My paternal grandmother was a widow before I was born. And while I didn't realize it when I was a child, I don't think she had a lot of extra money. I guess that's why instead of visiting often or even calling on the phone she sent me things. Like letters and clippings and eventually a binder.
The binder came with only a couple pages but then she started sending me more pages to fill it. And so several times a year I'd receive a package of 2 or 3 or 4 photo album pages filled with brightly colored pictures.
Those pictures weren't anything special by ordinary standards. Most were simply cut from magazines and carefully arranged under the plastic film that covered each page in the album. But somehow those pages impressed me so much that I still remember the pictures. A pile of leaves raked up by group of kids. A little dog in a bright red coat. A school bus in the rain.
My grandmother came to visit us once or twice a year and when she did she slept in the spare room next to mine. And I remember how one Christmas Eve we sat together on the bed in that room while she told me the story of the nativity. I will never forget the chills that ran up and down my spine when she told me the story of nativity.
And I have long thought that the presence that was there with us in the room that night was angelic in nature.
My Grandmother's Gift
The next day, on Christmas, my grandmother gave me a little white Bible. I don't remember getting it and I suspect it didn't impress me as much as the other presents I received. But I did read it - off and on, all through my childhood.
I would like to say that I kept reading that Bible or that it was one of my prized possessions but that would not be accurate. What is accurate is that my life veered off the rails and I returned to the Bible my grandmother had infrequently. and that it spent most of the years between now and then in a succession of dresser drawers and boxes.
And yet, somehow, out of the things that mattered more and all things that have come and gone, that little Bible is one of the few things I've hung on to.
In 2012 I moved into a new (old) house. I was still deeply involved in New Age spirituality. But when I was unpacking I decided to put the Bible my grandmother gave me into my china cabinet alongside my tarot cards and crystals.
And, in 2017, when I began to make my way back to the Faith those things went the way of other mistakes, great and small, and the little white Bible stayed.
And there were in the same country shepherds watching, and keeping the night watches over their flock. And behold an angel of the Lord stood by them, and the brightness of God shone round about them; and they feared with a great fear. And the angel said to them: Fear not; for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy... - St. Luke 2:8-10
Why I Left
I prayed a lot that week and on Saturday, the 22nd of May, 2017, I prayed more.
The next day I went to the flea market as I did most Sundays. I had forgotten to stop at the ATM on the way and had only eight dollars with me, which was much less than I usually brought. But I didn't really care. It was raining - a slow steady kind of rain that promised to continue all day - and I didn't expect there would be many vendors or much of anything to buy.
When we pulled into the parking lot I saw that I was right about the vendors. The large open area that was usually full of tables and tents was practically empty. The few sellers who had set up were spread out and the gravel lot was full of puddles. But we decided to put on our slickers and see what we could find.
One of the first things I spotted was a chalkware Blessed Mother. For some reason I couldn't really explain, I'd been wanting one of those big old Mary statues for some time. Over the course of the last two summers I'd kept an eye out. But all those I'd seen were chipped or expensive or both.
The one in front of me that day was almost two feet tall and had no significant damage. So I was surprised when the woman on the other side of the table said it was mine for five dollars. It wasn't really my style but I liked the blue of Mary's cloak and the graceful curve of her neck. I bought it without any negotiation at all.
A little further on, I saw a cold cast bronze St. Brigid's cross that had been made in Ireland. I asked the vendor the price and he said a quarter. And then, when I couldn't find any change, he refused my dollar and insisted I take the cross for free. I was happy that I was able to tell the a bit about St. Brigid and what she had done so long ago in Ireland. And I started to get a good feeling about the day.
The next thing I saw was a bright silver crucifix shining through the rain, When I got close I could see that it had a glass holy water font and a place on either side of the cross for candles. I thought that the seller would probably want at least ten dollars for such a nice item, but she didn't. She wanted three. So I got the crucifix too.
On the long damp ride home, I realized that I had bought three Christian items on an unlikely day and for a surprisingly good price. But what struck me most was that I had bought all three of them for the exact to the penny amount of money that I had with me.
So I considered it sign. And decided that I should give Christianity another shot.
I started with a church tour of several local churches. Afterwards I picked an evangelical church that was not a good fit and then a Pentecostal church I liked better. I didn't spend any real time thinking about the Catholic church I had visited in the early days of the church tour or the fact that each of the items I bought that day at the fleas market were Catholic in origin.
Until, almost three years later, just after my return from Israel.
It began with car problems. Getting to the new Protestant church I had joined was impossible. Finally, after several weeks, it occurred to me that there were two churches within a short walk of my house and that one was actually just a block and a half away.
So I walked down the street and went to Mass for the first time in what seemed like forever. And the next week I went back and I just kept on going.
As the weeks passed, I thought about the spiritual journey I'd made and the enormous circle that has brought me back to a place that is, and always was, just around the corner.
The items I bought that day at the flea market are gone and I know that there is some kind of lesson in that. And while I'm still not sure just what that is, I think that it might be that God doesn't want me to be the kind of Catholic I used to be. Or the kind of person I used to be.
I think that maybe he wants me to be something new.
Why I Returned to the Blog (2024 Update)
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| My rainy day flea market Mary |
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| Another flea market Mary that I have kind of sadly given away |
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| St. John's (our town's "Irish" church) complete with spires |
Among my books, I have an orthodox Jewish prayer book. Toward the end of the bedtime prayer, the text asks God to protect and guard our souls through His holy watchers, the angels, who walk through the night. It goes on to call "Michael to my right side, Gabriel to my left, Uriel before me, and Raphael to my back."
Of these four, it is Gabriel who appears most often in the Hebrew bible and biblical commentary. He
is first mentioned by name in the Book of Daniel. After Daniel experiences a vision, Gabriel comes to him and tells him what it means (8:16). A year later, Gabriel appears again telling Daniel that He has "been at war, and going to fight those who remain" (9:27). No further details of this war are given and Gabriel's name is not mentioned again in the Hebrew bible. But he is referenced repeatedly in the rabbinical literature as a warrior and a holy protector.
In the Book of Enoch, Gabriel is an avenging angel, sent to provoke sinners to war. In the Talmud, God sends him to smite the Assyrians, and Gabriel answers God by saying that him sword "has been sharpened since the six days of Creation." Which is to say that he was born to fight.
Consistent with this declaration, most traditional Jewish sources describe Gabriel as the emissary of God's power. And the Hebrew name Gavriel, or Gavar El, means "God's might." He is represented by the element of fire in some Talmudic references and in others by water. In all instances, he is among the strongest of the seven archangels and a force to be reckoned with.
This weekend's flea market angel was different. His wings were battered and his garments were faded but his face was beautiful and strong and really, surprisingly, just as I imagined it. I count his unexpected appearance a message and a reminder: Angels are emissaries and we are never really alone.
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| Love the soft colors in this image. |
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| The Annunciation by Leonardo Da Vinci |
And I heard a man’s voice between the banks of the U′lai, and it called, “Gabriel, make this man understand the vision.” So he came near where I stood; and when he came, I was frightened and fell upon my face. But he said to me, “Understand, O son of man, that the vision is for the time of the end.” - Daniel 8:16-17 RSV-CE
Nowhere, however, is St. Gabriel's role as a messenger more important than when he addresses the Blessed mother in Luke 1:26-38:
In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee named Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with you!” But she was greatly troubled at the saying, and considered in her mind what sort of greeting this might be. And the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus.He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High; and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there will be no end.”...And Mary said, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” And the angel departed from her.-Luke 1:26-33, 38 - Revised Standard Version - Catholic Edition
The Dream
A contractor I apparently knew had told me about a volunteer opportunity. He said that there was a woman living in a house that was in bad condition and that he, and some others, had been trying to help her. So I went to see what I could do.
The house was unpleasant. Not deplorable necessarily but ugly. I was in the kitchen and the young woman I was supposed to help was complaining. There were numerous problems with the property. I remember that there was a 1980s style drop ceiling and some of the tiles were coming down. Everything seemed flimsy and cheap.
I didn't enjoy talking to the woman. She was loud and obviously immature. She was younger than me. I didn't have a strong sense of her age but she acted like an adolescent or even a pre-adolescent. I tried to be charitable but I found her very irritating. It seemed that she was renting and she was very unhappy with her landlady who was neglecting the property.
A little while later, I was at a dinner being held in the woman's honor. We were seated at a long table under an old aluminum carport next to the house. I was at the far end of the table. I had reconnected with an old friend. In real life, our friendship ended years ago but I've regretted that. In the dream, I was happy to reconnect with her and eager to catch up. She looked young and successful, just as I remembered her.
Annoyingly, the guest of honor kept demanding my attention from her end of the table. She had written several different documents and was insisting I read them aloud. Someone brought them to me. It was a hodgepodge of old newspaper clippings and pictures and handwritten papers.
I did not want to be bothered with the woman or her requests and kept saying that I didn't want to read what she had written. I was angry with her for interrupting and insisting I read. I felt that she was demanding attention she didn't deserve even though the dinner was being held in her honor.
My Take
When I woke up, I was still a little annoyed. But then it occurred to me that the immature, attention seeking woman might be that part of myself who I don't want to acknowledge - here in this blog or anywhere. My feelings toward her are so negative that blogging about the dream is unpleasant.
But there is something about all of this that is demanding my attention.
I don't think it was any coincidence that I felt so much negativity toward the woman in the dream. Other people apparently realized she needed help but, to me, she didn't deserve it. I wanted to be left alone with my successful friend instead.
Looking at the Symbolism
- The charitable contractor > charitable carpenter > Divine influence?
- Young woman > my inner self, my authentic self
- House the young woman lived in > her self, her reality, my inner reality
- Cheap, run down and flimsy state of the house > disregard for self, ignoring self, neglect
- Woman mentioned as being part owner of house > my executive functioning self
- My successful friend > what I aspire to but feel I can never be > feeling inferior, different
- The dinner in honor of the young woman > the idea that others may care
- My very irritated attitude toward the young woman > disliking and disregarding who I really am
- Wanting the young woman to leave me alone > dismissing my true self
- The material she wanted me to read > her story > my history
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