Last night I “re-dreamed” a dream that came to me many years ago, the night before my ordination as an Interfaith minister.

In that dream I was invited to a party at the home of a Six Nations (Iroqouis) woman I knew, named Grace. She was the keeper of the drum, one of the last to know the rhythms and songs of her people.  She was of the turtle clan, filling the small apartment in which she lived with her ample body and spirit.

As I walked the dream path to her home, I was surprised to find that it was a mansion – filled with light, music and laughter, with so many people coming and going! She met me at the entrance, smirking at my confusion, and guided me from room to room, each overflowing with food and fountains of drink.

The house was endless, each room leading to another, on into eternity. Suddenly I realized it was not a house into which I had been invited. But her heart.

Grace died many years ago. Last night I walked the dream path through her heart and I hear the music still.