While I had been staying at the House in Patriot, Ohio (the home of my maternal parents when I was a child), I went to a nearby fair which was supposed to last for six days. The first day I found a job working in one of the game booths, where I worked for two days. On the third day I began working at a different game booth and was making $10 a day. My old high-school friend, Steve Buckner, was also working there.

On the morning of the fourth day, while on my way to work, I became concerned about whether I was going to be paid for the work I had done the first two days in the first game booth, especially since I had quit that job early. I didn't trust the fair people. I was also a bit diffident about returning to the man in the first booth and asking for my money, even though I knew he owed me.

I took my time as I walked toward the fair. I was supposed to be there at 10 a.m., but when I looked at the two hands and numbers on my watch, I saw that it was already almost 11:30. Obviously I was going to be late.

The ground was covered with snow.

Along the way to the fair, I came upon a church, behind which stood a parsonage. I circled around behind the parsonage, and since I was late for reaching the fair, I decided to take a quick short-cut through the yard of the parsonage. I discovered, however, that the short-cut was blocked by a fence.

I stepped up on the porch of the parsonage. I knew who lived inside. I looked through the window and beheld a well-furnished and clean interior, but I didn't see any people in there.

I slipped across the porch to the other side close to where the fence was connected to the house. Concluding that I could climb over the fence from the porch, I placed my foot on one of the wooden posts of the fence. As I tried to climb over, I slipped and my foot broke the fragile fence (only made of plastic) in two. Now inside the yard, I, aghast, stepped back and surveyed the damage. I immediately concluded that paying to have the fence repaired - with the meager amount of money which I possessed - would be the honorable thing to do. After examining the extent of the damage, I saw how the fence was nailed to poles and I estimated the amount of work which would be necessary to repair it.

I looked again through the window into the house and again I saw no one inside. In a flash, I decided to slip away and just let the fence hang. Inside the yard, I dashed to the other side, only to discover that I was trapped on the other side by another gate fastened shut by a complicated set of wires. Working quickly, I deciphered the wires, dexterously unfastened the proper one, opened the gate and fled.

Fearing that someone might see me, I pulled the lined hood of my blue jacket over my head. I dashed across a driveway toward the church and reached the front of the church. When I saw a woman walking toward me, I stepped inside the church so she wouldn't see me. From inside the church door, I gazed outside and watched the graceful, well-kept, blonde woman walk past the church and head toward the parsonage. I was unsure whether she lived there.

When I heard a toilet flush inside the church, I realized that someone else was also in the church and that that person might catch me there. In desperation I flung open the church doors and ran wildly down the road in the direction of the fair.

Dream Commentary of December 14, 2014

The Dream Journal - like a church - might be considered a place of refuge.

This dream contains a moral sin. I broke something which belonged to someone else, then fled without taking responsibility for my action. I fled to the church for refuge - but found none.

Here is where I perceive a certain difference between the church and the Dream Journal. Churches for me are empty buildings in which are propounded doctrines in which I do not believe. However, I do believe in what I see happening on the Dream Journal, even though I'm not quite sure yet how to express what I see. I perceive the Dream Journal not so much as a place where I can seek refuge from my sins, but where I can accept responsibility for my sins. I suppose for the believers of church doctrine, accepting responsibility is also a goal. Dreams, however, not religious doctrine, are my scripture, and publishing dreams is my way of honorably accepting responsibility for my history of sin.