I was in my high school setting attempting to do some work. Yet I went to my Jr. College’s bookstore to buy appropriate, bargain cards to send off to people—which were of a pressing nature. I didn’t find what I was looking for exactly. The cards were expensive but I decided to buy them anyway and went back to my high school homeroom, the choir room. In the room, there were enough chairs set up for a choir to sit in but few if anyone was sitting in them. They actually were having some sort of a party because there was cake everywhere but all the cakes were set on the floor and people were eating them off the floor as well. It comes to mind that they were eating cake in like manner of the soldiers of Gideon, who drank with their faces in the river and were sent home. I sat on the floor as well intending to help myself to some cake after I was finished preparing the letters. I set the envelopes on the floor beside me as I worked, yet had to move them later because people were stepping on them and getting them dirty.
Suddenly, I was translated into another place. It was a rustic, historic, trading post building but had the atmosphere of a coffee house. Numerous people were there milling about and meeting with each other but there didn’t seem to be any buying and selling or eating going on. I met with some close friends, Amy and Jill along with other unidentified people. We were conversing about life. We talked about Jill’s new relationship. Yet I was utterly horrified when she announced to all of us with glee that she was pregnant. “We (me and my boyfriend) chose to do it this way,” she announced. I hid my horror but was even more disturbed when the unified response of all but me was a, “Good for you, Jill. We are so happy for you. We support you in your choice.”
I was translated to another scene where I was then talking to Jill and she in much earnest was telling me that I was out of line. Evidently, I had expressed my disapproval of her choices and she was telling me I was out of line in expressing my disapproval. I was confused. And Jill didn’t seem to be making any sense. I was trying to understand where she was coming from but we didn’t seem to be able to break through the cloud of confusion over us. The conversation was too brief to resolve anything. In the end, Jill simply said, “I’ve written a letter detailing my thoughts and I’ll get that to you.” I reluctantly agreed to address it in this manner.
A short time passage took place and I am again at the trading post, still distressed and crying when a close associate of Jill’s entered with a letter for me. I spoke with him for a little while, asking him to represent her and answer my questions. He could see my distress and knew about our confused altercation but was proportionally dispassionate to the situation. He was kind but condescending as he explained in all sincerity, as one would to a child, that Jill had made her choices and that we must accept them. I begged him to mediate for us but he said he didn’t think that was possible because she had made some other choices that were of further consequence to our situation. Very gently and with calm acceptance, he told me that Jill had chosen to commit suicide and that he funeral procession would be by presently. He told me that Jill had explained it all in the letter. He left me as fell to my knees doubled over in wrenching sobs.
Soon, Jill’s casket came by. I went out to follow in the procession weeping as I went. The casket was bourn on an old two-wheel style Mexican wagon/cart. Mexican nuns in their habits bour it away. All were in solemn acceptance including the nuns which seemed the very picture of evil dressed in religion to me. I looked into the faces of the nuns and to my utter dismay I saw the face of our other good friend Amy. My pain and distress turned into despondent grief as I continued following the procession.