I just woke up, heart pounding and feeling a lot of emotions. It’s 2am. I have to get this out, otherwise I’m going to stew over it and not get back to sleep.
I’ll set the stage. I’m in a humongous house with all of my family. My mother, sisters, nieces and nephews are all there. My husband is there. I don’t know this house.
We’re all waiting on the birth of a child. I get the impression that it is my older sister that is scheduled to give birth (something that is impossible in real life). I feel envious. I haven’t had children yet. While we are waiting for things to happen, my husband and I consult a Rabbi for spiritual development. We are not Jewish. The Rabbi asked us to choose a small symbol of our faith to always keep with us. My husband was easy- had his private moment with the Rabbi and was done. Then it was my turn.
I began speaking with the Rabbi. For some reason, we began talking about my faith traditions. To which I began shirking it off, and begin singing “Tradition!” from Fiddler on the Roof. I apologize to the Rabbi- I wasn’t sure if that was offensive to his faith. He smiles kindly. I try to figure out how best to redirect the conversation.
My sister and her family are a southern Methodist family. They have multiple Christian religious symbols hanging up. The Rabbi suggested I choose one of these, and my sister agrees. They are small enough to fit in your pocket. I find them all distasteful and tacky. I reject all traditional and new age Christian symbols.
The Rabbi begins to talk to me, genuinely asking what my beliefs were. I do not have a straight answer for him.
I charge around the house, and the things I come back with are a set of random pajamas that are way to big for me. I give up on the subject. The Rabbi does not enter the dream again.
I put on the pajamas. The legs of the pajamas are soft and flowy. I find out that my sister and her husband are on the way to the hospital. We are to wait a while until we go join them.
I start drinking alcohol in the kitchen over the stove with my nephew. We are mixing the strangest cocktails. I remember seeing saké and other clear liquors. We are clearly getting drunk.
I begin rounding up cell phones in the house. I get the impression that my brother in law communicated that he forgot his phone and would like someone to bring it to him.
I find several phones, including my brother in laws. I notice my phone is missing. I ask my mother, who is in the kitchen, if she has seen my phone… she hesitates. The look on her face is pained. She hands me my phone. It is bent and badly damaged. I try to fix it but I’m not able. I’m angry. I swear at the situation. My mother tells me that my oldest sister didn’t mean to damage it, that it was an accident. I surmise that the phone fell out of the pocket of my ill fitting pajama pants.
We are ready to go. We’re walking to our cars. I’m fuming. I have an outburst and am angry that I won’t have a phone. I say as much. My oldest sister overheard me and begins to apologize. I suddenly remember that I don’t have cell phone insurance. I’d just bought the phone and am still making payments for at least another year and a half. I immediately feel anxiety. I squat on the ground, head in hands. I am a long way from home and will have to drive home by myself, a 10 hour drive.
My sister offers me her phone to take. I feel guilt- I cannot take her phone! She makes a lot less money than I do, and it was an accident.
I wake up, heart pounding in my chest.
Tell me, reader. What the hell does it all mean?!
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