Perhaps the sex workshop or recent events have stirred something in my unconscious. After spending so much time discussing sexuality, relationships with women, and how the boundaries of single life change when you choose celibate life, I'm really not surprised that I had a really weird and intense dream about everything. Luckily when I woke up, I grabbed a pad and pen and started writing out what I remembered, knowing full well that someone out there might get a kick out o the irony!

The setting for this dream was a large cocktail party with lots of people milling about. I could tell from my interaction that these were people that either new me or the Capuchins, and it felt like a friary or a function that we (as an order) had put on. I don't recall any specific place, just that it felt like something we would do.

At one point in the evening, I see an "ex-interest" of mine, sitting on a couch and sipping a drink. Our eyes meet, but rather than acknowledging her, I slightly nod and continue to be social to everyone at the party. Her placement in this dream and at a Capuchin function is slightly absurd; her sense of spirituality in real life is both relativistic and completely devoid of any apparent dogma - not a match for a "good Catholic boy" like me .

But before you think you understand this dream, it gets better.

As the party continues, I begin talking to a woman that I recognize from my ministry work. Unfortunately I cannot remember her face. She doesn't stick out as any one female, rather many of the women I work with could fill the role in my dream - perhaps that's part of what she represents. I kept trying to put my finger on one person, but nothing seems to make sense.

Either way, we talk and it's apparent that we are connecting. I have feelings of excitement; I feel alive. It wasn't a feeling of: " I am sooo going to get laid tonight!" rather it was more: "I am so into this chick, and I can tell she's into me!" It was the feeling I get when I feel I've met someone I can seriously bond with, the kind of feeling that goes beyond "puppy love" but is deeper and more meaningful than lust.

Nothing became of the conversation, because the next incident I remember is going back to the kitchen after the party was over. Jon Cel, our Provincial Minister, was in the kitchen washing dishes after the party. Wearing a t-shirt and blue jeans, his usual attire, he looks up from the dishes and says: "Hey Vito. How was the party?"

In a sort-of "father to son" kind of moment, we talk with him working and me leaning against the doorway.

"Well I have good news and bad news. The good news is I had a really good time tonight. The bad news is that I think I'm falling in love." While I didn't feel anything bad about what had happened, the presence of my Provincial brought my vocation and presence to the forefront.

Jon laughs, as if remembering something of his past, and says: "Welcome to Capuchin life."

As I thought about this part of my dream, I tried to understand the meaning of celibate life even further, and really explore what I was giving up and what I was accepting. Perhaps poverty isn't just about money and things. Maybe poverty includes the ability to recognize when something great is happening between you and another human being, and being able to enjoy that connection but limiting yourself to the boundaries of your vows. It's the poverty of working with a woman that I connect to emotionally, physically, mentally, and spiritually, but understanding that our relationship can only go so far in spite of what she or I may feel.

While this seemed to be an interesting revelation, the dream continued to another part.

Jon replies: "Well, I do have some other bad news. It looks like Amanda (named changed for obvious reasons) has been spreading some vicious stories about the Order. I'm not sure what her issue is, but she's obviously not happy with us."

This was a real twist in my thinking. Why would someone say bad things about us, we who spend so much time working with the poor, the homeless, and those other outcasts of society? Almost immediately I caught up with her in the parking lot and starting firing questions at her.

"Do you know what we do?"
"Do you even understand the charism that we try to live here?"
"Do you realize that we're not doing this for fame or profit?"

It was as if each question I asked was answered with an air of skepticism and even a hint of jealousy from her mouth.

"Well what do you guys do with all the money you get?"
"How do I know you all are trying to live celibacy? Why would anyone do that?"
"Who are you trying to impress by doing all this?"

It was if each question out of her mouth was a doubt, concern, or criticism I've heard so many times already. Many of those thoughts are not arguable; all they do is inflame emotions. I had no response except anger.

In my frustration I walked away from her and got into my car (no clue who's car it really was) and got ready to drive away. As I started the vehicle, I saw two men approach the vehicle (early 20's, white guys - in any violent dream, I'm always fighting white guys.), one of them had a pipe in his hand.

Rather than try to drive away, I grabbed a bottle from inside the car and opened up the door. It seemed to surprise the men, and it halted their approach to the car. I held the bottle by the neck, and tried to will myself to smash the bottle into the side of this man's head. Each time I tried, the bottle would stop at the man's cheek, as if my arm would not allow me to commit such a violent act. Through will and anger, I managed to get the strength in my arm to shatter the bottle against the man's head, and he dropped to the ground.

This is where I woke up.

There are a lot of aspects to this dream, and it's kept me thinking all day. Perhaps my subconscious is dealing with celibacy in a new way. Perhaps my presence here has begun to turn me into a new man, one with new values and a better relationship with women. Perhaps my changes, while good in my view, are seen by others as different, incomprehensible, and therefore worthy of suspicion.

Most of all, whenever I have dreams of fighting, it's often hard for me to actually hit or do damage to another person. I don't know if that's my self-esteem, my sense of humanity and non-violence, or my desire to control rage before it gets out of hand. Either way, this is not the first dream where I've been able to finally hit and wound another person in my dreams. Since coming to Milwaukee, a part of me has woken up that I have kept hidden. Some of these things are good, and some of them are bad. And in dealing with people and talking to my spiritual director, I'm trying to get to the root of some of these issues.

For now, I'm not having any secret liaisons with co-workers, nor am I violently beating on people. It's just interesting to look at dreams, remembering not only what happened, but how it made me feel.

After being ill for the past few days, I decided on the best course of action: buying a bottle of NyQuil and preparing to sleep for over 12 hours. It's an interesting way to cure yourself, and I actually feel better this morning than when I went to bed at 4PM yesterday afternoon. So I know the remedy still works.

This course of action has one huge side-effect...the really really weird dreams. When you're sick, you can start thinking about really bazaar things, (what if more than three Vito's, that is to say me in three different substances that are exactly alike, existed within this plane of existence?) Add my memories, my schooling, and some of my weird experiences and things get pretty crazy.

Here's a few outside factors to keep in mind:

1. My room is directly above the chapel, so when they start the Opening Hymn, I can hear it.
2. We live in the bad part of town, so every once in a while, a car with a lot of bass will come bumping by.
3. I have an odd sense of humor.

The first dream I remember was me at an outdoor revival. I had the feeling that this was actually a weekend retreat, but the feel of the place, the look of the large tent, mixed with the preconceived notions I had were telling me this was more of a Baptist Revival. As I walk into the tent, there's an announcement made: "And now, reading for the last time, Sean Connery!"

And as Sean Connery began to read, I started thinking: "This guy cannot proclaim." And maybe in a cross-memory, I imagined myself standing before the entire department at my college and reading my dissertation as I would read the letter to Titus.

After the reading came the Psalm, and everyone started dancing. Not Liturgical Dancing or anything interpretive, rather "we're on the Ellen show" type of dancing. I remember being confused because the Psalm was something slow, like "Shepherd Me, Oh God" or something.

After that, there was some confusion about who would read next. I volunteered (as I often do) but someone else did. My memory gets fuzzy after that, but I remember debating with Stephen Colbert (via satellite to his TV show) and being angry that every statement I made turned into a joke for him.

Later, after having woken up and coughed out 13 lbs. of phlegm, I remember dreaming about this little convenience store in the middle of a bad neighborhood. It was well lit up, with plenty of bullet-proof glass surrounding the joint. Inside, it was one of those tight stores where the aisles are really close and all you can see are candy, those really gross sandwiches, and the cigarette rack above the checkout person's head.

It was late at night, and while I feel more comfortable in these areas than most, I definitely was not comfortable here. I remember ducking behind a waist-high brick wall as I watched a car with a guy holding an M4-A1 rifle sticking out the side of the passenger window. As I walked to the store, I see a guy approach me out of the corner of my eye. I've never been robbed in real life, so I never know what the experience is gonna be like, and in the dream I was a little shaken.

Upon approaching me, he sees my face, my shirt (I happened to be wearing the Capuchin Soup Kitchen shirt) and my keys (I often wear a lanyard around my neck with all my keys when working at St. Ben's, as a symbol of being a Porter) and started talking and joking with me. Immediately my demeanor changed, and while I had no idea how this guy knew me or what he was even talking about, I could converse with him and joke...no longer feeling scared.

At some point, a really really loud car drove by, with the bass pounding. In my dream, I saw a '79 Monte Carlo SS (black) with huge 24" rims (which I think looks disgusting) roll by. After the car left my dream, I remember walking into the convenience store and seeing one of my old bosses doing the numbers as she was getting ready to close down. She looked rather stressed about working there, but she's always found happiness in paperwork and numbers, so she seemed somewhat at ease.

After a while, the owner comes in, who I recognize as Bruce Willis. He takes me outside and on top of the roof of the convenience store, and reaches for a light switch (one of those dial ones, not just a regular switch). As he slowly brings the lights on, these really bright spot lights that he has pointing onto the roof of his store (which makes no sense) he starts shouting "Wake up! Wake up, little ones!" in a patronizing tone. I hear groans and curses coming from people who were sleeping on top of his roof in little corners.

He ushers them past us and tells them not to sleep up here anymore. I was kinda mad, so I told him: "You know, you've kinda fallen off since that movie with Matthew Perry." I don't remember what happened next...I woke up.

The last dream stayed on topic (if that's actually possible) from when I woke up at 1AM until I woke up again at 8:30AM.

I dreamed I was working for Kramer Intl. again, a company where I would go to different college campuses to do music videos, have laser tag shows, virtual reality rides....stuff like that. I was riding with someone as we were going out to do this show. The guy I was riding with was someone who'd worked for me at Kramer, and was really really kind of weird. Like one time he told me he was training to kill someone. Yeah, that kind of weird.

Anyway, he and I were in the truck headed to somewhere in Wherever We Were Headed to do a laser tag show. When we arrived, we had these really nice rooms at this resort. This entire neighborhood was extremely nice. And I'm not talking Farmington Hills nice or Whitefish Bay nice, I'm talking REALLY nice. Overlooking our resort is this massive mansion on top of this great hill, which if i had to guess, was a 1/4 mile slope from where we were.

These people who came down from the mansion were happy beyond reason to see us. I'd think something like Laser Tag would be beneath these sort of people, yet they were extremely happy to see us. It was the two parents with their daughter and friend. Apparently their daughter's class was in the running for being the national champs in Laser Tag this year, and us coming would give them the opportunity to clinch their spot as the top of their division.

In reality, the Laser Tag game was just an inflated arena big enough to fit in a gymnasium. Inside the arena was some music, some black lights, and a fog machine to make everything look cool. The guns each had sensors to track how many people you killed. It was kind of cheesy, wasn't really structured, and it was something for the kids to do.


When we set up this time, it was like watching a first-person-shooter video game. Part of my dream was a flashback to when I played Counter-Strike, as these girls (their daughter was part of an all-girls Laser Tag Team) did flips, crazy jumps and shots...I think I even remember a slow-motion shot by one of them like in Max Payne.

After the win and celebration, we were invited to the mansion to celebrate with everyone. On the one hand, it was cool to celebrate, but it was then that I started to "notice" things.

Perhaps of my love of movies and conspiracies, I uncovered a plot by one of the girls who'd "enslaved" the daughter of the rich family so that she would have them killed, sell the house to my partner for absolutely nothing, then by continuing to "enslave" the minds of others, she could become this huge super villain and take over the world.

There was a car chase scene down one of the freeways, there was a tender moment where I tried to convince the daughter not to go against her parents. I saved the day, vanquished the evil conspirators...and after driving back by myself I realized I only got paid $45 for going there and I'd left my laptop somewhere at that resort.

So remember, if you have a bad cold, you have 24 hours where you can just sleep, and you're in need of a new blog topic, don't forget about the healing power of NyQuil. =)

It's about 3:30AM Sunday morning right now. The only reason I'm here in front of the computer and not asleep is because I woke from a very realistic and powerful dream. Wanting to savor and share the experience, I got out of bed, made a ham/pepperoni & cheese sandwich, fired up the notebook, and decided to write it all down.

Mmmm, I do love pepperoni.

For the first time in my life, I had a dream that I was up at the alter. It wasn't a flashback to when I was an alter-server, however it occurred in the same church where I attended years ago. The lights were out, the pews were filled, and from the back I started walking and talking. I realized I was walking towards the alter and giving an homily.

I remember talking about how this was my home parish and how this is where my faith formation really began. This is where my first priest (the first one that I really connected with) talked about living your faith outside of the church, as well as helping others in the community. I explained how this place was where God first saw fit to call me towards a religious life.

Most dreams about public speaking are essential nightmares. I've heard people talk about a dream where they found themselves at a podium as the keynote speaker for some topic they know nothing about. In school, I've heard of the dream where you're called to give a speech/book report. Neither of those sound like a fun experience.

Yet in my dream, I was calm and spoke with ease. The ideas flowed from my mouth(subconscious) without a gap. I remembered how my priest used to speak with candor during his homilies, and I carried on as he did. I was completely amazed by it.

As I continued to walk forward, I saw a person sitting in a pew wearing a mitre. Instantly I knew what that meant: somebody important was here! As I passed the pew, I saw a man who resembled Bishop Walter Hurley (bishop of the Grand Rapids Diocese) sitting with his shoulders slumped and his hand on his crosier. He looked either humbled or discontent, I couldn't tell. I was trying to pay attention to what I was talking about, after realizing that someone higher up was watching me. I'll get back to this part later.

(Most Rev. Hurley with newly 7 newly ordained Dominican priests.)

By the time I made it to the pulpit, I was talking about including prayer in our daily lives. I remember saying how prayer was "...more than just 10 Hail Mary's and an Our Father." I was talking about how prayer is actually taking time to sit and communicate with God or just be in His presence. I remember talking about how we could better enrich our lives and those around us if we spent more time in prayer each day. (Note: I have nothing against praying the Rosary, however repetitive prayers are hard for me to connect to God. I prefer the more spontaneous.)

I looked at the crowd of people sitting in the pews, and realized that it was a congregation I'd never seen before. There were no older parishioners or well-dressed church goers. The were all the same, but the most visual faces I remember were those in the front row: minorities that looked like bums or drug addicts. These people looked like they belonged out on the street, not inside a church. Yet as I looked, I realized they were all enraptured with what I was talking about. There was no one looking down at their missal or checking their watch. I could see I was connecting with them; they looked like they might applaud when I was finished.

That is when the dream falls apart and I wake up. I remember one of the parishioners asking me to "hold up a sec" while she ran to the bathroom, and then the dream fades as I wake up. In those waking moments, I remember a sense of sadness that it was only just a dream.

The dream holds thousands of interpretations: I am comfortable with the idea of talking spirituality with other people, it reflects my desire to help those less fortunate, or that St. James (the church in my dreams) is actually where I first felt called towards the priesthood; something I need to the last chapter of my autobiography.

As for the bishop, perhaps that was my subconscious longing for the diocesan priesthood saying: "Hey, don't forget about me!" Everything started with the idea of a parish priest, yet my journey has taken me on several detours from that original premise. While I feel I'm on the right path now, maybe that cowered guy dressed in full garb is my guilt at not staying in the diocese, or my subconscious reminding me of the email I got from the diocesan vocations director, telling me of the next Gifted and Called meeting he's having.

It's all very interesting and confusing. I think I'll turn off the notebook and try to get back to bed.

One last thing: I remember walking halfway down the isle, seeing the bishop, then turning back to hit the lightswitch. The church was illuminated and I continued with the homily. Perhaps that has something to do with it as well.

This morning, I woke up angry at a figment of my imagination.

As I slept, my sub-conscious turned towards the Carthusians, daily mass, and some idiot that had no clue what he was doing. In all honesty, it could have been the Dominicans (as I've attended their daily mass), however last night I'd spent some time reading about the Grand Chartreuse, and it's only on rare occasions that I've seen a Dominican actually wear the habit with the hood up.

I found myself at the rear of a small chapel, while the indistinguishable religious community stood before me, wearing pointy hoods like the Dink Dinks from the movie Spaceballs. As service continued, I noticed a glutton - some overweight, unshaven, unclean brother with stains all over his habit. He stuck out like a sore thumb, sitting unhooded as the rest of the community stood poised and solemn. No one seemed to notice how malapropos his presence was, despite his unkempt appearance.

One of the celebrants bent down to whisper something into the glutton's ear, and the brother stood. "Good," I thought. "Tell that slacker to clean up his act." Yet as he stood, I realized they hadn't scolded him...they'd involved him in part of the service!

Chanting began, and I realized that the service was at an end. They'd elected this slob to be the cross-bearer; he walked in front of the alter (without genuflecting!), pulled the processional cross out of it's base, and lead the community out of the chapel. I was ethereally speechless.

As they entered the vestibule, I saw that the ill-chosen cross-bearer was carrying the cross too high: it was going to hit the top of the archway! I quickly warned one of the brothers who calmly told the cross-bearer to lower the cross, narrowly avoiding a Catholic faux pas.

After entering the vestibule, the disheveled brother continued to walk, while the rest of the procession had stopped. Again, another brother had to get his attention as a bishop was standing to the side, bestowing a blessing unto the community. I felt confused that someone who couldn't understand the basics of Catholic etiquette was leading the procession. What does that say about the Order? About this community? I was dumb-founded!

I can't recall the rest of the dream, but I woke up rather annoyed. Here I was, doing my best to be a "good Catholic" when someone that fouled up was already accepted, vowed, and possibly ordained into a religious order.

There's a number of interpretations that I could make: it was me that was the cross-bearer, I have a deep connection to community life, I need to get off the Internet sooner before I go to bed. But I think the personal revelation that stands out most to me:

...you get the idea.

P.S. May the Schwartz be with you.