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Canal Reves-Bizarres

I had founded an order of lay sisters. (NB: "lay sisters" are those women you meet who you mistakenly call "nuns". A true nun, according to canon law, is cloistered.) We wore light brown habits and big veils of natural cotton. We arrived by boat to a church that backed up to the bay at Veracruz. The church had a red-tiled wall that looked like one from a Toronto subway station beneath the church and we moored our boats to it. The wall said "Hollywood" and I told the sisters that this was the generic name they gave to all such docks, and that when we founded our convent I'd have the name changed. I said we'd name our convent and the dock to the name of the church. I called up to someone and asked what the name of the church was. "Santo Sepulchurio," I was told. My nuns gave me a dirty look. "Hey, that's where we are, that's the name we're going to go with," I said.

I got out of the boat and up to the street. It was typically Mexican. The confessionals, though were outside the walls of the church. As I walked up, Garma Zabi (!) came out of the confessional and I knew he'd confessed the sins that were on my mind, so I went past and into the church. I knelt down and a man dressed as a mime (!) came in and sat down on a stool facing me. I was scared of this lunatic, but he proceeded to tell me that my doubts were all right. I wish I could consciously remember the rest, because I was comforted by his words.

Then I went downstairs. My convent was one hallway under the church with the hallway being open at one end over the bay. You could take a ladder to the level of the water and get into a boat that way. The sisters' rooms were on one side of the hallway. I was talking about the rigours of our lives and that during one spiritual retreat, sisters actually committed suicide. As I did, I heard the voice of my old Women in the Chrisitan Tradition prof talking about how I (as an historical figure) could be very cruel or very kind to my nuns as well as the soldiers around me. As if on cue, a group of soldiers in 19th century uniforms passed by, pushing one in a wheelchair, who I spoke to and advised.

I went upstairs to the legal library, very pleased because canon law is on Lexis/Nexis, which it is. It was full of messy stacks. Someone dropped a book and we had to leave before getting caught.

I went further upstairs to the church itself. A wounded soldier came to me to write a letter attesting to his injuries. I wrote it out and gave it to him saying, "Don't lose this, it's gold," which is something I say IRL about documents such as my DD214. He thanked me and left. It would be honoured because I specifically had signed it. No one argued with Madre.

Then people started filing in for Mass including my parents. I started feeling uncomfortable because I knew everyone was looking to me as a perfect example of Catholicism when in fact my nuns and I were nontheistic. I was thinking that as a nontheistic nun my responsibility was still to bring the Divine to people, and this might be the only way people might understand. Then I woke up.

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( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
caprine
Mar. 4th, 2011 08:43 pm (UTC)
What a lovely dream!
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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