Last night I had a dream, an odd dream. As soon as the dream ended I woke up and thought to myself, "Perhaps I should write this down." But, I was tired and decided that if the dream was of any importance I would remember it in the morning. And I did. Here is the dream.
Scene 1: I find myself in a large room, a basketball court, a gym. As I later discovered it was a church's gym. Next to me stands a small boy and in front of me is a crowd of teenagers, or perhaps they were kids. I'm not sure. The one thing I am sure of is they were angry and they were violent. They wanted to kill the kid that was standing next to me. I pleaded with them that this was wrong, that they should just leave the kid alone. I stepped in front of the kid but it was no good. There were too many of them. They pushed me out of the way and attacked the kid. Throwing him to the ground they kicked him in his side, beating him mercilessly until he was dead.
Scene 2: It's the next day and I find myself in the same church. This time I'm in a smaller room, most likely a Sunday School room that comes off of a longer hallway. My sister Faith is there and I'm telling her what I saw and asking if I should tell someone. She is apparently more logical than I am and says yes. We walk down the hall and into the church entrance way. I can see people in the auditorium and I'm not sure if church was just starting on ending. I find my father and tell him what I saw. He suggest I tell one of the pastors but since they are not available I tell the person handing out the flyers, she is related to the pastors and that somehow makes her in charge. I pull her aside and tell her what had happened. "I think it happened here, here at the church, I think. " I tell her. I'm visibly upset and a bit disoriented.
Scene 3: I'm in a white van, my father is driving. We are in a caravan of 3 white vans. The other two are in front of us, the one in the very front being different than the others. As we pull up to a small house I look out the window and see 12 white donkeys standing in two rows, staggered inward. They look ghostly. It scares me and I turn my head but when I look back they are gone. I don't remember counting the donkeys but for some reason when I wake up I think that there were 12. The next thing I know we are in the house and something happens. I see something. Maybe a ghost. I'm not sure. I can't remember anything after this point. I can't remember what happens inside the house.
So, what does it mean? Why did I have this dream? Why 12 white donkeys? Why was that kid beaten to death at church? What happened in the house? Any ideas?
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Existence - Predestined or Not
Would I exist had my parents never met? Biologically I am a combination of both of their genes but are we related spiritually? Do my soul and spirit share their spiritual DNA? Would my spirit exist in another body had they never found each other? Was I destined to exist one way or another or was this the only way?
I think about these things when I hear people who had premarital sex and in turn have a child say things like, "But it if had not been for them I never would have had my baby." Perhaps they wouldn't have had that baby but would that person have existed anyways, somewhere, somehow. Perhaps not. Maybe it doesn't matter. I don't know. What do you think?
I think about these things when I hear people who had premarital sex and in turn have a child say things like, "But it if had not been for them I never would have had my baby." Perhaps they wouldn't have had that baby but would that person have existed anyways, somewhere, somehow. Perhaps not. Maybe it doesn't matter. I don't know. What do you think?
Friday, July 17, 2009
Not just a Survivor
Two. That's the number of times I've sent audition videos in to Survivor. I used to be a huge fan. In the course of over 10 years I rarely missed a show. I wanted so badly to be on that show. And after every season a good number of the props would go up for auction on eBay (another one of my favorite things.) Unfortunately for me, the prices that the props brought were always outrageous. Today, however, I finally bought some. A guy on craigslist sold me props that he had previously paid over $1,700 for for $100. That's what you call depreciation.
Can you believe that God baited me with Survivor props? He did and that's how I met Bob, at least that's what we are going to call him in this blog. Bob was 50 years old, overweight, a slow talker with glassy eyes and Bob wanted to talk, so we talked. Some people have no one to talk to. I have the feeling that a lot of people have given up on Bob. Most people probably consider him to be a lost cause. Bob was selling all of his stuff because he was being foreclosed on and had no where to go. He hadn't paid his mortgage in months and the IRS was after him for back taxes. He had spent all of the money that he had and all of the money that he didn't have. Cash advances, credit cards, bank accounts, all exhausted. $250,000 spent on crack. He told me that he wasn't smoking crack anymore but was now addicted to prescription drugs. He had taken so many for so long they didn't do much for him anymore. In fact, he had taken some a few hours ago. On top of his drug problems he had mental issues, suffered from depression, and had physical problems. I could hear the hopelessness in every word. He said that when he ran out of money he would probably end up overdosing and that would be the end of him. He would have no money and he would have no home so what was the point?
Bob needed someone to listen. He also needed someone to encourage him and at that moment in time, that person was me. I told him that there is hope and that no matter how bad he thinks his life is, no matter how little he ends up having, there were people in the world who are much worse off than him. I told him about the kids that I had met in India, homeless and like him, drug addicted. I told him about the happy families that lived in houses smaller than his garage. He told me that he didn't think he would live until he was 30 and now that he was 50 but he was certain that he couldn't possibly live much longer. I told him he was wrong the first time and perhaps he would be saying the same thing at 75.
"You can make it," I said.
"You think," he replied.
"Absolutely."
Say a prayer for Bob (even though that's not his real name God will know who your talking about.) I invited him to church and you never know. He could come. In God's eyes there's no such thing as a lost cause.
Can you believe that God baited me with Survivor props? He did and that's how I met Bob, at least that's what we are going to call him in this blog. Bob was 50 years old, overweight, a slow talker with glassy eyes and Bob wanted to talk, so we talked. Some people have no one to talk to. I have the feeling that a lot of people have given up on Bob. Most people probably consider him to be a lost cause. Bob was selling all of his stuff because he was being foreclosed on and had no where to go. He hadn't paid his mortgage in months and the IRS was after him for back taxes. He had spent all of the money that he had and all of the money that he didn't have. Cash advances, credit cards, bank accounts, all exhausted. $250,000 spent on crack. He told me that he wasn't smoking crack anymore but was now addicted to prescription drugs. He had taken so many for so long they didn't do much for him anymore. In fact, he had taken some a few hours ago. On top of his drug problems he had mental issues, suffered from depression, and had physical problems. I could hear the hopelessness in every word. He said that when he ran out of money he would probably end up overdosing and that would be the end of him. He would have no money and he would have no home so what was the point?
Bob needed someone to listen. He also needed someone to encourage him and at that moment in time, that person was me. I told him that there is hope and that no matter how bad he thinks his life is, no matter how little he ends up having, there were people in the world who are much worse off than him. I told him about the kids that I had met in India, homeless and like him, drug addicted. I told him about the happy families that lived in houses smaller than his garage. He told me that he didn't think he would live until he was 30 and now that he was 50 but he was certain that he couldn't possibly live much longer. I told him he was wrong the first time and perhaps he would be saying the same thing at 75.
"You can make it," I said.
"You think," he replied.
"Absolutely."
Say a prayer for Bob (even though that's not his real name God will know who your talking about.) I invited him to church and you never know. He could come. In God's eyes there's no such thing as a lost cause.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Your so old that...
I just want to apologize for this post in advance. I went to a concert and fireworks at the park tonight and spent a lot of time thinking of old jokes. I really do love old people.
They announced from the stage that Green Township was celebrating their 200th anniversary this year. I'm pretty sure that some of the folks in the audience were founding members. I couldn't help but to wonder how all of these people were going to stay up late enough to watch fireworks. Somewhere there's a nursing home with a full staff being paid time and a half to take care of no one. Seriously though, there were a lot of single chicks there. Strangely they all had the same nickname, Great Grandma. If you like short term relationships than this was the perfect place to pick up chicks. Pretty much any relationship is a short term when your that old. Some of them were pretty lively though. I saw a few dancing or as I heard one man quip, "Getting his moneys worth from his new hips." They had a pharmacist working the beer booth . The last think you want at a concert is for half of your audience to go into cardiac arrest from a bad reaction between their medication and alcohol. If I was more of an entrepreneur I would have rented two booths. The first one would have sold old fashioned salt water taffy, the second one, denture cream. There was a cover band playing oldies for a lot of the time. Or as the guy behind me called it, "the devils music." I tend to agree.