I came into church late for some reason, it was Palm Sunday, and my turn to read (on this year’s Palm Sunday, last Sunday, I read the hours and the thanksgiving prayer but not the Epistle). I had some trouble determining at what point in the service we were, and suddenly there was an ektenia in French: it was the archbishop! “Yes,” Choirmistress said, “that was completely unexpected.”
I stood in the middle of the church with the Epistle book at some point, still confused, and I thought I’d missed the reading but I hadn’t heard the Gospel so I was still waiting. Then the bishop came out of the altar and proceeded to douse various people with holy water and to wash a disabled woman’s feet (she walked a few steps afterwards, which she can’t do in waking life, but I think in the dream she could anyway).
The altar was very large and open at the back: I saw the small acolytes run on the grass behind it. The church, too, was larger, but it was our church all right, not the dream-church in France where the dream engine made me end up more than once at the end of frustrating travel.
I don’t know if I actually got to read the Epistle; I do remember that it was on its own at the end of the book, not in its normal place in Philippians, and every paragraph indented more than the previous one. Good thing it’s a short reading!
Later I swam in rising water so the slippers I’d left on land were gone. I think I was half-awake at the time because I reasoned that because I had socks, I must also have shoes, somewhere in my pack that Spouse and a friend had taken up the hill with the pushchairs.
From the hill I had a view of a meadow where a young ginger tomcat and an older ginger tomcat were fighting; then a very old ginger tomcat strolled by, and the older of the fighters stopped fighting and went up to him to greet him.