Evening Free Time

[falcongrrl]

It happened again, this time during my meditation period.

In light of some of the subconscious imaginings I have been having, I decided to meditate upon one of my favorite quotes from C.S. Lewis's The Weight of Glory.

"You and I have need of the strongest spell that can be found to wake us from the evil enchantment of worldliness."

However, for some reason, the longer I meditated, the more C.S. Lewis merged into Lewis Carroll, and I began imagining the spell as a magic potion in a bottle, a bottle labelled with the words, "Drink Me."

And I did loosen the stopper, removing it, and I placed the bottle to my lips and drank.

Immediately I felt myself shrinking until I noticed that I was standing next to a large rabbit hole.

I realized that this is how it begins: one wishes to become a part of the world, one indulges in sin, and once that decision has been made one cannot escape from wickedness. I began to make my way down the hole until the narrow passage finally widened into a little room with a large rectangular table set very elaborately. I took my place at the head of the table, because, you see, it was a sort of tea party held in my honor.

They were serving three types of tea there. The black tea was mixed with a little orange, and perhaps something a bit akin to cardamom. The green tea had a nice minty flavor, and the herbal blend, perhaps some licorice. I had samples of all three.

I could tell from the heavy weight resting upon my head, the tightness encircling my neck, and the green jacket bunching around my arms, exactly which role I was supposed to play.

Musical entertainment was provided, and I found it quite lovely. One beautiful woman trilled Mozart in a light coloratura soprano, while another accompanied her on the flute. A burly man wearing a large cowboy hat gazed upon the flutist with open adoration.

A fox and weasel approached the table. They were both human-sized, clothed and carrying several books between them. They were followed by what looked to be a very wet mother and baby otter. The mother was wearing a chef's hat and apron over a blue striped shirt. The baby otter was wearing swim trunks.

"Please be seated," said a robot in a friendly voice that belied the icepick sticking out of the middle of its forehead. Occasionally blue sparks would burst forth from it unexpectedly. Luckily, the four animals managed to avoid having their fur singed as they made their way over to where the rest of us were seated.

A young woman, covered in blood, sat at the table and smiled the smile of either the mystic or the damned. I could not begin to ascertain which she was. Next to her were a couple of transparent beings who looked less bloody than she but more shocked. I would say that they looked as if they had both just seen a ghost, except that they so obviously were phantoms that there had to be some other explanation. I tried to listen to their conversation, but all I could make out were the words, "damned pagans" and "science fiction," delivered in a highly agitated manner by one of them while the other nodded sympathetically.

A woman with clown-like makeup kept looking at her watch and muttering, "Where is that rodent? Better kythe me already, you..." before finally motioning to the server and saying, "Where are those damn brownies? I ordered them at least an hour ago." Next to her, a nondescript man kept repeating the same phrase. "End? No, the journey doesn't end here."

Then, I opened my eyes and I was sitting in the middle of the chapel for the night vespers. I have no idea how I managed to arrive there.

Unlike the man, I do not fear that the journey will not end. My fear is that the dream is false. That, in actuality, the rabbit hole is closing in around me; and I will inhale dirt until I suffocate myself.

I will definitely see the Abbess tonight, and if God be willing, show her these journal entries. I pray that Our Lord will guide her wisely and that I may find some measure of solace - for it is only now becoming obvious to me that I am experiencing a grave, perhaps incurable, form of mental illness.