I do love you, he says. We are holding each other tight. His touch is Peace. I am held, and safe and utterly at home.
He kisses me. But... you're gay. And married! I say
What does that have to do with Love? He smiles.
And I know, as the scene shifts and moves around us - as is the way in dreams - that I am being held, not in the arms of the man, but in the arms of Love itself. And Love is holding us both, and everyone else in this space. All these people who are bustling around with pots of tea and plates of biscuits.
Somehow I know this in the dream, that this is symbolism and I file it away for when I am awake. For when I can apply the kind of mental processing that I will do, not because it is needed, but because I am human.
A red haired woman scowls at me from the corner.
Look at you! She says, you think you have such a special relationship with Him? Who do you think you are? Why do you get to take up all of his time? What about the rest of us?
And although that in my meta dreaming state, I know that She is Me, I feel the familiar sense of being judged for being the me that is Me. The Me that is loved by Love itself. I am frightened of her. She knows I don't belong.
A church. The bustling tea makers disappear and the space moves and expands. There are seats and seats and seats and people in hats, and choirs. I see my Beloved put on his jacket and leave. I start to move after Him, but I am grabbed by the wrist. The red haired one, and several others are leading me to a gallery high up above the nave. I worry that I have forgotten I should be up there with the choirs. Robed, and singing the Gloria?
In Excelsis Deo!
But this is not the Gloria... They are singing songs I don't know. I try and join in but a man in front - who is in charge because he is wearing a special hat - turns round and hisses, NO, YOU DON'T SING! JUST LISTEN!
I want to leave. They are singing songs I don't understand.
I want to leave and as I move to leave, they close in on me. They want me to stay. But there is no Love in this place. Only songs I don't understand, and scowling people who don't want me to sing.
And I want more that anything to sing!
Et in Terra Pax.