I went to Mass last night via YouTube, for Easter Vigil.
It was a comforting time well spent, and a long time since I heard those words echoing through a cathedral into these ears.
I sat still. I listened. I remembered.
I thought about this world.
I thought about specific people in this world.
I said thank you after each prayer, and meant it with all of my heart.
Then, I went to sleep.
And whilst asleep, I dreamt I was on one of those enormous Alaskan cruise liner ships … attending an Opera …escorted by my former work mentor KU.
KU was dressed in a dashing classic black tuxedo, perfectly tailored. And I was in a long flowing vintage-blue gown, a colour right out of a faery tale yet styled with a 1920s flare.
We ascended many a staircase, slowly. We casually swaying through many a hallway, weaving around the other patrons.
Each step, each turn … was decorated with the same theatre-velvet-red. It draped the walls. It ran along the carpets. It was on every chair and capped every rail.
Once seated, an actual performance began in my dream. I know not what the opera was, but it was Italian and the stage was filled with scenery and actors – all singing and moving …
With the energy of a Bruegel Family Reunion:
But looking more like a production of Don Giovanni:
It was beautiful and special to watch, and I felt equally so about myself.
Also, as non-box seats go in a dream sequence, we had a fantastic view of the entire stage.
The opera lasted only so long before the scene switched over to a warm night’s walk through a quiet London neighbourhood lit by lamps. And perhaps right after a light rain? Though, truth be told, the rain better suits a walk in Paris in April than it does England.
Still in my dress, I strolled down a hushed residential street in Mayfair, a street I know so well.
It was all very Freddy Eynsford Hill (My Fair Lady) if you must know.
Then I woke in a sea of pillows, at a sensible time, on a Sunday morning.
Just as content, as I was when I went to bed.
How’s that for nice?
A lovely 24 hours.