I don't usually remember my dreams, and I'd never actually post them if I did, and yet here I go...

For some reason my dreams always involve rescuing someone from something, or performing heroic deeds, call it my sub-conscious 'Walter Mitty' but last night's was far different, which is why I'm making note of it.

There are two parts to this one; both related somehow, beyond my ability to understand, and yet very different.

I was basically minding my own business, driving around on a cooler looking golf-cart, call it a 'sports-cart'. And I was driving it everywhere, even into what looked like a post office, but was a more official place. At one point I abandoned the cart because the people inside told me I shouldn't be driving it inside the building so I drove it back outside, parked it, and walked back in to explore.

The next thing I knew there was a bunch of people in there, many of them dressed in period clothing-- I'm wanting to say 'Roman' but that wasn't quite it, it was more a mix of Roman and Victorian.

There were people there who knew me, though I cannot now remember if I knew them. Just outside this building was a small pond surrounded by a boardwalk on the building side, and stone and grass on the outward side. Some of these people were admiring the water, but I looked and couldn't see any life, no fish at all, until I saw an eye beneath the water turn its gaze toward me. It was then that I discerned the shape of a snapping turtle, a BIG snapping turtle and I pointed it out to the aforementioned period-dressed folk, who then smiled and thanked me. I can only assume that the reason no fish were in the pond was because the turtle had eaten them all.

I then reentered the building and saw a group of people to my left sitting and chatting. I approached and saw that there was one seat available on a small sofa beside an attractive young woman, and completely contrary to what my waking-self would do, I sat down next to her and put my arm around her.

She didn't pull away and none of the others, among whom were a few who knew me, raised an eyebrow or acted as though what I had done was the least bit remarkable or inappropriate. It was then that my waking-self realized what I had done and my dream-self [oddly subject to my waking-self's sensibilities] apologized and tried to pull my arm away from around her shoulders [my arm wasn't merely over the back of the sofa but over her shoulders and my hand upon her opposite shoulder and upper arm... affectionately] but she quickly moved her hand [her right hand-I was sitting on her left] and grasped my retreating hand and pulled it back to where it was, affectionately draped across her shoulders.

Then she said something odd [to my waking-self. I get the impression that my waking-self was along for the ride on this dream which is perhaps why this dream was markedly different from the ones I usually remember]:

"You can meet with Mr. ______ [(?)...began with a 'W'] on Wednesday at _______ [(?) a public place... restaurant? office? Neither my dream-self, nor my waking-self recognized the name]. He's my pastor at Cloverdale Baptist Church. We can't see each other unless he approves. Do you go to church anywhere?"

I don't remember responding to her question, but my waking-self was thinking 'Praise God, I do!' And yet I was also troubled by what she said [whether troubled in my dreaming-self or waking-self I cannot now say. Perhaps both], but I can't say why [I didn't immediately respond], perhaps it was because I had just met her, even though she had yet to give me her name.

I still don't know her name.

I do remember being troubled by the fact that I had to meet someone who wasn't her father [of that I am sure] to win approval to date her. And why her pastor? Why HIS approval?

[Interesting note on Cloverdale Baptist Church. It's less than two miles from where I live, and less than one mile from the flowershop where I work mornings. About six weeks ago the boss-lady, her chief designer, and myself spent an entire afternoon at Cloverdale Baptist Church dressing it for a wedding. Our floral designer will not make arrangments at the shop then cart them to the church because there is too much risk associated with transporting them. So everything; flowers, containers, filler, everything you can possibly imagine a designer needs to create arrangements... glue-guns even!... was carted to the church and carried to the sanctuary where he put everything together. It took about 4 hours... About two hours longer than I thought it should take!]

I was also troubled by feelings of doubt despite the voice that kept saying, 'this IS what you've been praying for...'

Call me old fashioned but I'd like to get to know someone before I contemplate marriage, and that is exactly the impression I received from her in her telling me what would make our seeing each other possible... 'Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers' [2Cor 6:14], and was the context of my dream-self's recollection of my walking-self's adventure at Cloverdale Baptist Church. This woman was talking potential marriage. Hmmmm.


The dream moves on from there...


In the same building was a Roman style bath, though not as spacious as the baths of ancient Rome. I was in a smaller room-- a changing room I believe --with a group of men in toga's armed with short-swords. There was tension in the room, even in me. Someone was breaking through the outer wall and these men with swords were waiting for the stone and tile to tumble in and when it did they began attacking the men trying to climb through the hole.

I had no sword. I was in a corner where I could look through the doorway and see the far wall of the other room. That wall was being broken through as well, but because of the din of fighting in the room where I and the sword-wielding toga men were, they didn't hear the sound of crumbling stone and tile in the other room.

Seeing what was about to happen I ran from the room I was in, into the room where the new attack was emerging, and into a rest room of sorts with stalls. There were other people in this room. Seven men. All were attempting to hide somewhere. I managed to find a stall to hide in, which was small enough that I could lift my feet up, pressing my back to one side and using my feet and legs against the other to keep my body suspended above the floor.

There came a great noise of fighting from the outer room and soon the rest room's door swung open and the seven hiding men were herded out.

Lastly, a man who looked remarkably like Brad Pitt opened the door where I was hiding and asked, 'How do we chose so that we will overcome the others?'

I stood up and said, 'We choose first.'



And that's where my memory fails me. Was I leader to this second party of attackers that included, of all people, Brad Pitt? I don't know. Yet if I was, why would I have attempted to hide myself unless I couldn't have been sure who would win the battle in the other room? As to why I responded to Brad Pitt the way I did, I can only assume I said 'We choose first' because when choosing from seven, he who chooses first ends up with 4 while he who chooses second is left with only 3.

Bizarre, I know. Was it just a dream? My own 'Dream no. 9'?