I dreamed of arriving late for church, just as Communion was being served. I knelt at the altar rail to receive the sacrament, but the priest passed me by. I felt frustrated; Communion was what I had come for.
Communion denied. What does it mean?
I’d been housebound for three days, denied communion with other living souls by the ice on my little lake road. I had everything I needed at home, except human companionship.
Maybe it isn’t about isolation, but rather, about my undisciplined spiritual quest. My meditation is sporadic, church attendance even more so. Maybe it isn’t the church, or the priest, or the spirit that’s passing me by, but me who’s neglecting them. In the dream, I made a half-hearted attempt at religion: I wasn’t on time.
The winter of the spirit? Among Nordic runes, there’s one called “Isa.” Ralph Blum’s The Book of Runes defines it as “standstill, that which impedes, ice.” He lists it next-to-next-to-last, just before those symbolizing wholeness and the unknowable. “[T]his is the fallow period that precedes a birth . . . . Trust your own process, and watch for signs of spring.”
I still don’t understand the dream. Maybe I’ll meditate on it.