Nocturnal Looniness

I had such a weird dream last night. In a way, it was a good thing, because it meant that I at least managed to get to sleep long enough to achieve 'deep weird dream status.' The last few nights have been peppered with little more than random, fidgety snoozes, where I have dozed and fretted about things like falling behind with work at school, and the latest threat of snow especially as I haven't been able to get any shopping in this week, and what if I don't get the hearing back in my right ear, and what if I develop an allergy to the antibiotics...

SHUT UP, DENISE!

So this dream. Explain it if you can...

I was in a churchyard. It was summer and I had gone to the church looking for some information. It was a tiny church, on top of a hill. Inside, the church was busy with people carrying boxes hither and thither. I stopped one of them and asked if I could have a look at some church records. The person (I think it was a man) said, 'Follow me,' and he went through a door, still carrying his box, and down some huge grey stone steps. I remember thinking it was unusual to find such big steps in such a tiny church. Deceptive.

Anyway, I followed this man down the steps and under the church. And as we reached the bottom of the steps the stairway opened out into a MASSIVE underground churchyard, full of graves and tombs and more people sifting through boxes.

This underground churchyard was in broad daylight. The sun was shining brightly, the trees were full of lush green leaves, the flowers were blooming, their petals dancing with butterflies and bees. There was a sense of happiness and warmth and purpose as all the people went about their sifting and sorting activities.

I said to the man how busy everyone looked and how surprising it was to find such a huge, sunny and open space under the ground of a tiny church on top of a hill.

He said that there was a lot to do, more than anyone could ever realise. and that the job would get done, slowly but surely. 'Just keep chipping away,' he said.

And then he tipped the box he'd been carrying onto the grass. Out fell a collection of random objects - dust, bones, letters, books, a vase, a wooden box, a ripped bag, a candlestick and other little bits and pieces. Some were dusty and broken, some were clean and complete. And he sat on the grass and began to sift through them. The pile of good stuff grew bigger than the pile of broken stuff. When he'd finished, he used a little dustpan and brush to sweep up the broken stuff, dropped it back in his box and then tucked it away under the hill on which the church stood. I could see through the hill; I could see piles and piles of boxes,either full and waiting to be sorted or with just a handful of rubbish remaining in them where they had already been dealt with.

And that was it.

Now, if I was being glib, I'd say it was the domestic goddess fairy telling me I need to do some housework.

Or maybe I'm experiencing the symptoms of a mind raddled with painkillers and antibiotics and frets about falling behind at work.

Or is there a deeper message trying to wrangle its way past my head cold and into my psyche? Some revelation, some key to the philosophical meaning to my life?

I know what Andy would say.

'There, there, dear. It'll all be better soon!'