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We were somewhat flummoxed because everything was so pleasant. It was basically a gigantic dinner party for one or two hundred perfectly nice people (or a cocktail party where everybody just happened to be sitting down). We just couldn't figure it out. I suggested that maybe we were in the section for murderers and their victims and they have to spend eternity together. "But I'm pretty sure I didn't murder you and you didn't murder me," I said to my dad, and maybe to my brother, as he may have faded out by that point, as people will do in dreams.
Then I saw a girl whom I'd known in high school who in real life died in a horse riding accident shortly after we graduated (or were graduated if you prefer). In the dream, she showed her wrists to demonstrate that she had slit them. As in a dream you know everything(even if the everything in question has little relation to real life), I instantly knew that she had committed suicide due to the pain from an automobile accident. Her best friend was nearby. In real life, she had had her best friend die in the already mentioned horseriding accident and her young husband die in a boating accident shortly afterwards. (Also in real life, I ran into her some years later and she was holding up-- well, a lot better than I would have been.) In the dream, her presence led me to rule out that this was the Hell for suicides, as even asleep I knew that woman would never do it.
I never did get any explanation. I don't believe in religion or Hell, but in my sleep apparently I think it's a hell of a good party. This is probably what comes of reading too much about the sad end of Ernest Hemingway, his dad, his siblings and his granddaughter. That and the gluten-free beer.:)
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