Last night, I dreamed a horrible thing. I dreamed I was standing at “beggar’s corner”, among the diseased and broken. As I stooped to offer help, they began to fall away. The stink of death washed in thick and visible. I stood and looked out over the bodies and all of Scotland covered in cloud. I watched wave after wave of the dark cloud waft in from the South. Then, I saw farther out, past the south, past all the lands of the world, Saint Luke standing on a hill, saying:
“Who will heed the call? Who will heal the people?”
I stood there watching him repeat his plea, ’till finally his gaze met mine…
… and I awoke.
Stunned and troubled by the dream, I lay in the hay pile that serves as my bed. As dawn approached, I decided to dress and meet the day, hoping to clear my head. I ate a portion of my last loaf of bread and decided to take inventory of my meager possessions. I counted £86 pounds and two bags of corn. Respectable.
I left my shack heading for the mines. I knew I’d need more money to keep up the farm land I intended to buy and mining pays well enough. As I passed through Ayr, my thoughts returned again to the dream. What did it mean? Did it mean anything? Perhaps it was another product of my injury. Am I going mad?
“Coome back fir an’ther days labor n’the Laurd’s Saurvice, ‘ave yee?”
It was the church friar I’d worked for yesterday. I was about to ask him why he was at the mines until I noticed I was standing outside the church door. Deep in thought, I’d walked back to town, and into the church courtyard.
“Yes”, I answered as I stepped inside.
Yesterday, as a left the church, I remember thinking two things:
- there can’t be a speck of dust left in that tiny church
- I will never work there again
I was wrong on both counts. It seems that there’s an unbelievably large cellar under the church that was probably last washed by Noah’s flood. My entire day consisted of moving barrels, excavating corpses of unknown animals, killing vermin, removing their corpses as well, and sorting through several crates of used linens. The Lord’s work, indeed. In fact, establishing mastery of the cellar and its contents was apparently so important, I wasn’t even called to help with the church’s lunch service.
Near the end of the day, as I brought up the last of the “clean” linens, the friar informed me that it was time to take alms to the needy. I’d been dreading this moment. Sensing my hesitation, the friar inquired if I had something to discuss. I proceeded to recount my dream and finished by asking if he believed it to be important. After some thought, he replied that he was no expert on dreams. He also revealed that he was aware of my head injury and the peculiarity it’s caused. He finished by saying that although he wasn’t certain about my dream, he was certain that all things happen for a reason; be they head injuries, strange dreams, or dirty cellars.
He said I needn’t accompany him to deliver alms. He suggested I remain and take some time to contemplate life. Then he prayed for me, gave me the £5 wage, and left.
I wrote before that I’m not much for spiritual things, so I can’t say I actually did much more than sit there while the time passed. I didn’t pray. I didn’t chant or meditate. I just sat there. After a while, I got up and went home.
