I closed my eyes for five hot seconds and opened them in a beautiful cathedral. Sunlight sparkled in the various stained glass windows and illumined the hovering haze of incense and candle smoke. Statues looked down upon us mortals from every possible nook in silent contemplation and reflection. Old wooden pews, darkened by use and care, creaked gently under me.
It was peaceful to sit here.
A priest and a woman garbed all in black came to greet me. They only spoke Spanish, and my understanding couldn’t keep up with their dialect. I apologized and stammered out that I was only visiting. I had only seen pictures and wanted to see the interior of a cathedral for myself.
In broken English, he asked if I was Catholic. I said I wasn’t. He pointed to the rosary I was surprised to find I was holding and made a questioning noise.
”Aprendando que la Madre Maria.” (I am learning about the Mother Mary.)
”¡La Virgen! La Madre de Díos.” (The Virgin! The Mother of God.) He crossed himself as he spoke and looked at me questioningly again when I did not follow his gesture.
”Tengo más que aprender.” (I have much to learn.)
His accusative face relaxed into the mirth of the knowing. He chuckled as he nodded in agreement. He patted me on the shoulder and told me Mary herself will teach me. He and his associate left to my right. I sat back down watching them and didn’t notice I still wasn’t alone.
”You didn’t have the priest bless your rosary?”
I turned to my left and noted a shadowy figure that was literally shadow sitting behind me. I could see through him to the pew.
”I’m not Catholic. Isn’t that the wrong kind of subterfuge? Besides, technically I shouldn’t even be in here because of the mess between me and the Lord of this House. Wouldn’t having it blessed make it his thing and not Mary’s? Not to mention I still don’t have a physical rosary.”
”If you keep finding excuses to distract you, you never will.”
”Yea. I know. I just keep looking for the hook in the bait. The whole thing about Catholicism is the Christian god, after all. And any blessing the priest would put on it is for that end. Which I’m sure you know is not my end. Fuck. It’s hard to be in here.”
”Why?”
”It’s beautiful, but what was the cost of that beauty? Where did the gold in the Old World cathedrals come from? What was the labor that raised this place? Holy water cleanses the altars, but there is blood in the mortar between the stones. I hear the bone dust kneaded into the plaster. And the cognitive dissonance is giving me a headache.” I stretched my legs as I leaned back, draping my arms over the length of the wood. ”I remember the unrestrained hostility of the angels. I remember…” No, this is not the place for that memory. ”I remember a lot of shit.”
The shadowy man was examining the wood rosary as it hung from my fingers. ”And here you are, not bursting into flame nor melting into mad gibberish. How merciful.”
I gave him stink-eye at the last word but did not take the bait. ”I also want to be responsible with how the rosary is sourced.”
”Spoken like a good pagan. Excuse me, neo-pagan. Right? Want to get the right terms. They change so fast.”
I pulled the rosary away from him. It may be just a phantom right now, but I will not be mocked for it. ”Neither, asshole. Dream or no, what is your business being a pain in the ass?”
”Just here to remind you a thing. That faith does not require perfect tools. Faith only requires faith.” He leaned back in the pew behind me, his features hidden by the smokey haze in the church.
”What is your business with me?”
”Merely to help you obtain the symbol of your faith.”
“And talk in riddles apparently. I’m not Catholic, will never become Catholic, and have a very heretical interest in Mary. Symbol of my faith, you say. Faith in what!”
”Mary. Before you jump over the pew, let me remind you that you are supposed to be on good behavior in here, and that your belief in [the Christian god] has never been disputed. But Mary, and what she represents to you, is a challenge. The rosary may have a crucifix hanging off the end, but this is nothing about who hangs there and everything about Mary.”
”Yea… Well… I have shit to sort out. I’ll get the rosary. But I need a damn good reason why I should have it blessed when I’m apostate.”
”Because you are loved.”
I jumped to my feet and quickly turned around with every intention of knocking the hell out of my heckler. I was alone. His visible form had been made from a concentration of incense and candle smoke. Once he released it, it dispersed quickly.
I thought of all the entities I knew that could pull this off in a cathedral and had more suspects than a rosary has beads. I knew the only way to settle this was to educate myself further on Marianism and the rosary itself. I stuffed the phantom rosary into a coat pocket and left the cathedral. Crossing the threshold exited me from the dream.
Five minutes had passed according to the clock. Tea is ready.