The dream I dreamed.

There was a snake hanging from a tree. It was the largest snake I have ever seen, incredibly long and looped over the branches. It was white, glistening white, almost iridescent. I was watching from a window and could see a girl next to the tree, gazing at the snake. She wanted to bring it inside the house and charm it.

I was inside, with my friends, and we were all afraid. We ran to shut and lock the door of the room, but there was still a gap near the floor. I started grabbing some of my largest, heaviest books--including my theology reference books--and handing them to my friends to stack against the bottom of the door.

But they didn't stack them well. There were still gaps under the door, and the snake was already in the house. I furiously tried to rearrange the books, but I wasn't fast enough. The snake came under the door and reared up before me with its white hood flared. In one fast motion, it struck forward and bit my hand.

I woke up--into another dream. I looked at my hand, at the side of my right pinky finger, and there were two small punctures, like a tiny snake bite. I felt afraid.

I ran into my parents room. I woke up my mother. I recognized her as my mother, but she was different. She was young, and thin, with long brown hair. On the front of her shoulder was a very colorful tattoo. I showed her the bite, which was starting to blister, and told her about my snake dream. She reassured me.

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What does it mean?

The snake was beautiful, almost mesmerizing, but I was afraid of it. It was too large, uncontrollable, unpredictable. I saw it as dangerous. It had a will of its own, it was free, and it was powerful. I wanted to keep my distance.

And I tried to defend myself with BOOKS. Tried literally to hide behind books. I tried to stay safe, in a single room, with my friends. But I could not avoid the snake. Books did not make a very good wall, and it came through the gaps. As soon as it was before me, it bit quickly, before I could even think or react. At that point in my dream, I seemed to be dying. But instead of dying, I woke up. With a bite on my hand.

And my mother? Young, and with a tattoo? Was she my mother or myself? A part of myself that is more mature, less afraid, braver and bolder. Able to be herself and express herself, even in a way as bold as a tattoo. Young, but grown up, and able to stay calm. Able to reassure my panicked self. In her presence, the bite was smaller and not fatal.

Curiouser and curiouser....