So I had a dream last night that I was having an extremely humble poor-man’s wedding—kinda just how I’ve always envisioned and wanted, I guess. I was dressed in a pretty white sweater with jeans but when his mother saw me, with complete disdain she said, “Yeah. You better change.”
Going down a long concrete hallway I found my wardrobe outside against a wall. Almost like a stripper or coat check rack would be placed. I began looking through all the white things I owned. There was a lovely vintage lace dress. It was all white with pale pink roses. Two men who were a bit older and possibly a part of the commune or community of people I lived with helped me figure what, out of my selection, would look best.
They pulled out a long white see-through slip and told me that with my body, I “would look sexy in this”. (That was as close to the father-like advice and attention I was going to get on my wedding day. None of my family were present.) I took the two men’s advice and pulled down a cream cardigan to wear over it.
While in a bathroom stall changing, they talked me into going for a swim before the ceremony. It seemed like a great idea. To cool down, wash off and enjoy the power of water surrounding me.
We found ourselves in an amazing and beautiful body of contained fresh water. Somehow we were not in the ocean, or a river, or even a dam. It felt much like we were in the tropics. There weren’t any fish, but colorful types of algae at the bottom—glowing like the heavens below.
I was scared that my husband-to-be would be sad and worried about me. I recalled the conversation we had sitting on his bed earlier that day. His eyes were welled up with tears and his face, as happy as a child’s. We were questioning whether or not we should, you know… I brought it up but I knew that I was just calling bluff. I knew I just really wanted him to say, “NO! I want to marry you!”
But there, swimming in that eerie and ethereal body of water, I knew that I was going to be late and that I was going to lose him forever.