I need to get some clothes on. I head up a staircase to my bedroom. I open the door. Nine middle-aged women from a liberal Methodist church I had been attending are sitting around the room, some on my bed and others on chairs. I tell them I have paid for the room, I need to get dressed and they cannot meet there.
They seem disappointed but understand and file out of the room. I suggest that maybe they can come back when I’ve finished dressing. They don’t respond.
I open a dresser but there are no clothes inside. I look under the bed. Nothing. As I peer up, I first see the shoes then the black evening dress of a young woman. As I look at her, I realize it is my mother when she was young. She has been out dancing. I stand up. She wants me to come over and hug her, but I know I cannot do that unless I drop the towel first. I step toward her and let go of the cloth.
Now I am flying through the sky, looking down at a small valley in a pine forest. Rising from the clearing are the gray spires of a church or cathedral. As I draw closer, I see that the spires are like the points of a crown. The church has no roof; the floor is open to the sky.
I have never been truly in love. When you are in love, your soul is naked to the person you love. The women in my life are the women in the bedroom in the dream. I barely know them because I did not bare my soul to them. No matter who I was with, I was always alone. The last person to see my naked soul was my mother. When you are a child, you show everything in your heart. When you open your heart, your soul is a cathedral open to heaven.
About six years later, I saw in a Fairfield, California art gallery a composite picture created by photographer Scott Mutter. It depicts an eagle soaring above an open cathedral in a wooded mountain area. Naturally, I bought it and it now hangs in my bedroom.