A dream I had in Paris
by jenmercury
2009.06.22
I was in my hotel bed sleeping; dreaming. In this dream, for some inexplicable reason, I needed to delete something to free up the memory in my brain (I choose to associate this with Sherlock Holmes’ idea of how the mind works, instead of relating this with computer science…).
All around me were hundreds of replicas of my brothers, Vincent and Steven, at different stages of their lives running round me. Then I had this brilliant idea of leaving one copy of each, and delete the rest. The first I deleted was Vincent when he was around six — the age when he was possessed by the devil. I chased him down, snatched his card, pressed it, and he vanished. Okay, now my next victim.
I found Steven in his primary school uniform standing next to me. He was seven years old and unlike now, he was very skinny and easy to get a smile out of. I look down at him and asked him for his card. Without a second thought he just handed it to me, looking up with his head tilted and smiled; just like in a picture of him next to a mean looking teacher during a school picnic. He looked at me so trustingly, utterly oblivious of what I was planning to do… and I found I couldn’t make myself press the card. I gave it back to him, and at the same time knew I didn’t have the heart to delete any more replicas.
At this point I woke up, and found that I was crying in my sleep.
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It was our last day in Paris and I was a bit subdue that morning. We were going to the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur (a catholic church in Montmartre), and the rest of the day free to wander wherever we want.
It was small and not as majestic compared to the others we’ve seen throughout our Europe trip (I remembered Janette saying half jokingly that she was picking which one to have her future wedding at). It was a very long walk up to the church and after having a brief tour inside, we decided to sit and rest at the back rows of pew. Facing us was a huge mosaic art of Jesus with open arms.
I didn’t know what I was actually thinking for the whole morning, except for the vivid imagery of my dream. Janette was just mentioning how this church didn’t make her feel like praying, unlike the other grand ones we’ve visited, when I said I was going to go pray and asked her to wait for me awhile. I went right to the middle of the church, far from Janette but still away from the more devoted prayers at the first twenty rows, knelt down, not exactly sure where to place my elbows but finally got into a comfortable position, and began talking to God.
I always saw myself as a Christian but never outwardly presented myself as such (which should be explored in another blog post in the future). I asked God to take care of my brothers and the rest of my family (“I’m on it! But keep asking once in awhile in case I forget.”). I told Him about the dream, wondering why I had it (“Cos you miss them, you idiot girl” God, ladies and gentleman); I asked why I always had this void in me and the hidden coldness of all things around me; I asking why at the very bottom of my heart, I felt pain which I never truly realize I had until I’ve put my life on hold (“There there now…”). For the second time that day I wept silently, secretly but as always, felt absolutely nothing. I looked up at the mosaic Jesus and wondered how many turned to him out of loneliness instead of remorse.
I took a deep breath and gave out a small sigh. Double checking that my tears were dry, I stood up and walked back to Janette, saying “let’s go” with a small smile. I decided to send my brothers another postcard, just to let them know what a weird dream I had last night and hoped everything was going on well for them.
