Walking through the open door of the rustic log cabin, I greeted the Amish woman, who stood on the other side of a 3 strand barbed-wire fence supported by tree branches. Her black dress covered her completely, except for her pale face. Dark, wire-rimmed spectacles masked her eyes, and where her mouth should have been were strips of white surgical tape. But still, she spoke.
I knew then that this nightmare could go any way.
"Have you got the boiled eggs?" She asked through her taped mouth.
"Yes," said my subconscious. "They're in the kitchen."
Wordlessly, I turned and walked back into the cabin to retrieve the bowl of peeled boiled eggs. Somehow the dark Amish specter crossed the barbed wire, which had no gate, and followed me as far as the thresh hold, where she stopped.
Turning, I invited her to enter.
"I may not." she said simply, still speaking through the tape.
"Suit yourself," I shrugged, feeling strangely ambivalent.
"What are you doing?" I demanded, suddenly angry. "I thought you 'may not' come in! You scared me, dammit!"
"I'm so sorry," she replied through rosy lips now free of the fearful tape. "I meant no offense."
As she spoke, the dark glasses faded to show the woman's crystal clear blue eyes. Her severe black bonnet and dress lightened to an almost cheerful shade of grey. A stray curl of blond hair dangled from her boxy bonnet. The rosy lips curled into a kind smile.
"Oh!" I said, my sleeping self utterly taken aback. "Well, uh...thank you. I'm happy to have your business."
Awkwardly, and oddly aware of the strangeness of the dream, even while I was in the midst of it, I handed the heavy bowl to the Amish woman.
"Thank you." She responded. "Will you come meet my friends? They're waiting for me in the yard."
"Ok," I replied. "But I can't linger. I still have lots of chores to do."
"Ha!" She laughed, "I know about chores! Don't worry, they just want to say hello. We won't hold you."
I walked through to the flower-filled meadow on the other side, and approached the cluster of Amish women, who varied in age and degree of dress. Some older women were in solid black. Several were in light grey like my egg customer, a couple in brown and one in white. I glanced back nervously to my gate-opener, who drew close, still grasping the bowl of eggs.
"We are just people." She smiled. Shifting the container to her hip, her strong arm encircled my waist. "Don't be afraid. People are just people. Things are only what you believe, until you know better."
Her lilting German accent was the last thing I heard as I surfaced from the dream to a cozy cottage bedroom lit with bright summer sunbeams which landed boldly on the pattern of my antique quilt.
Why do you have these weird dreams? I asked myself. Please, I answered, don't be rhetorical so early in the morning. You know why. The Dreammongers speak to you because you listen.
Growling under my breath, I flopped back onto the pillow, willing to allow myself a few minutes at the start of my busy day to analyze the dream and try to add the result to my bag of Life Tricks. My sister and I both have prophetic and meaningful dreams. Of course, there are always the silly, frivolous ones that are easily passed over in a sea of more important visions. I believe the celestial puppetmaster of dreams targets people like us; many with Celtic blood, some particularly introspective, but all able to distill meanings, unafraid of nightmares or outlandish fancy.
As I age, deciphering dreams becomes easier. The Scary Amish Woman was a sinch. I'd been resisting change and life adjustments. This was also a warning against blowing things out of proportion and fretting too much. A reminder as well that adjustments do take time, but unless I left the door open to accept life's changes, I would never reap the benefits of those developments.
It brings me peace.
Regardless of the fearful or zany nature of these nocturnal messages, when the Dreammongers Knock, I answer.