Dream of: 19 January 1979 "Frauenkirche"


what is left but the

voice of god crying in the

 wilderness of life

Traveling on a passenger train, I could see Munich in the distance. It looked like a picture post card that Bernhardt (a German friend whom I met in 1978 while we were both in prison in Tabriz, Iran) had shown me. At first I had thought that I was in New York City. I had searched the skyline with my eyes for the twin towers, but when I saw the two tall towers of the Frauenkirche instead - that magnificent church in Munich - I knew I was in Munich. As I gazed at the church, I noticed how the sidewalk by the church was wide at one point and how at another point the church was built out almost to the curb so there was hardly room for one person on the sidewalk.

After arriving at a little building which seemed like a restaurant, I continued gazing at the windows of the Frauenkirche for a long time. The large colorful windows embodied figures. Although the top of the windows had been broken out and could be seen through, I was nevertheless quite surprised by how beautiful it all appeared. The door of the church was open, but I couldn't see in. A fellow standing next to me asked me if I had ever been inside. At first I didn't understand what he meant and I answered "Yes," but when I understood he was talking about the church, I responded, "No."

I wanted to go over to the church, but I thought that I was in East Germany, and that East and West Germany were separated by a border through the middle of Munich so I couldn't go across. The window through which I was looking, however, wasn't locked, so I pushed it open. It only opened about five centimeters and wouldn't go any farther, but now anyway I felt the cool breeze in my face.

I continued gazing at the church, the top part of which was built from wood and painted white, but dirty and in need of new paint. I saw oval-shaped clocks on two sides of one church-tower, and I was quite surprised to see the clocks functioning. Their faces were dark blue and their hands were red. Covered with glass, the clocks said that it was twenty before ten.

When I decided I wanted to leave, I was surprised to find I could simply walk out of the building. I found myself standing in front of the train station, wanting to cross over to the church. I was carrying about ten books under my arm, at least three of which were written in Spanish. One was titled Yo Estoy Bien, Tu Estas Bien. One book had something to do with history and another was a Persian dictionary.

As I stood in front of the train station, a young fellow began to speak with me. I wanted to speak in German, but since he spoke English, I likewise spoke English. I didn't care for him and I wanted to leave him. He began talking about how he liked to talk with foreigners and he said something about an "international front."

Suddenly a girl with platinum-colored hair stood up from a bench where she had been sitting. She called to another young fellow from whom she wanted to obtain some hash. Several other people crowded around the fellow with the hash and wanted to buy some. I immediately decided I would also like to buy some hash, even though I knew I had said I wasn't going to smoke anymore. Now, however, the desire was strong. I saw the silver-colored hash and when the fellow said it cost 99 cents, I said, "Good, then two marks."

He said, "No, 99 pfennig. One mark."

I said good, and I gave him a mark. I reflected, then decided to buy still another piece. This time I bought a gold-colored piece. Both pieces were like little rolls. I said that I didn't intend to smoke it, but that I was going to eat it.

When I started walking away down the street, one fellow wanted to go with me, but I said good-bye to him and I walked on alone carrying my books. I noticed neon lights all around and I saw pictures of half-naked women in the windows. I wanted a woman badly. I also wanted to go to a bar.

Abruptly Bernhardt was standing beside me, and I recalled that he lived in Munich. He said it was a good night for romance. I said no, I only wanted sex. I asked him if I could leave my things in his house and he said sure.

Dream Commentary December 17, 2014

A church is simply a building just as the Dream Journal is simply a website. Both are places where "spiritual" activity takes place. Both have congregations of members.

Whereas a church seems focused on some vague spiritual entity called God, it seems to me that the Dream Journal is focused on an equally vague spiritual entity called the Soul. The two concepts are not mutually exclusive, but in my mind at least, have much in common - which may to some degree account for my analysis - albeit faulty - that the church will eventually become a common metaphor - or a symbol, if you will - for the Dream Journal in my dreams.

Pluck destiny from predestination!

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