Without a doubt, last night's dream was influenced by me watching something yesterday, "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding". I very seldom - and I emphasize "VERY SELDOM" - watch such shows. Yesterday was an exception, and I was suddenly exposed to a world of Irish gypsies and Travellers, their increadible lifestyle and, more importantly, monsterous weddings!
I am about to officiate a wedding in an old stone church; or maybe it was a castle. The room was filled with people all wearing glittery evening wear, there were colourful tapestries on the walls, and there was a huge fireplace. I was standing in front of it, and was grateful that the fire was not lit, because I would have been roasted alive. I am dressed in traditional ecclesiastical robes and watch as the bride, wearing a beautiful simple white gown, is escorted down the aisle by her father. Their approach is slow and stately, and her face is hidden by a filmy veil. Her husband to be is standing by my left side, nervous, elated, teary-eyed, as he too watches her.
The father and daughter arrive, and the groom goes to lift her veil - and an argument ensues with the father, because he feels it's his job to do so. The words escalate, and I fear that it will come to blows, when the bride, at the end of her rope with this kind of juvenile display, quickly raises the veil herself. This stops the men cold, more from shock that she, a mere woman, would take such a bold initiative herself. She is very young, and pretty in a way that shows she's still growing into her being, with large dark hair and black eyes that are flashing with defience and anger.I smile at her encouragingly as she composes herself and takes her mate's hand. We proceed with the wedding.
Now, it is some time later, and I am still in this castle and have joined a different group of people. I see that they are all dressed in very rough-woven robes and tunics, with scarves wrapped around their heads. Some of them are holding small clay pots. There is a feeling of reverence as the ceremony unfolds. I stay quietly in the background, just observing, as everyone starts chanting a very simple melody, over and over. Someone, an older woman, puts her hand at the base of my spine and with a gentle smile propels me forward. I find myself chanting the melody as well as I join my voice with everyone else.
No one speaks to me, no one explains what is going on, but I feel at home here. I attend this more than once, and at one such ceremony, I begin to improvise on the melody, weaving a counterpoint in and out of those simple notes. After the ceremony is finished, that older woman comes to me and gently tells me that I shouldn't be so quick to change tradition. That melody, sung in exactly the same way, is important. She explains that it's meant to emulate the call of the shepherds as they spoke to each other over the long cold nights on the hills.
Besides, she goes on, my voice isn't all that good. I laugh, and promise not to improvise any more.
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