Middle of a Dream

Image result for Images Oreos‘Couple of Oreos, in the night after a disruptive dream, but I could not quite remember the details, the Oreos were amazing.  A son, undisputedly handsome with a good, noble, heart … intelligent, awareness of his world sharper than a sword, gifted in a way that he did not ask for, bringing him intermittent sorrow, coexisting with joy, a sense of humor, robust imagination, warrior spirit.  I had my share of wounds, lost at times in a world that moves much faster than I can grasp, my own creativity I cannot get to, I look for trails but they are unfairly elusive.  I found myself grieving for a man who was and is a legend, who loved well, lived well, laughed well, my friend and my dad.  But none of the dream was a dream.  Reality has a great deal of mystery, at times.

I was walking with a woman, swirled in beauty with blonde hair and with unfathomable wisdom, a saint of a mother with the spunk to tell me when I was wrong, who married me in spite of me and my wounds and groaner jokes.  Two younger ones looked up to me with love and respect, and I was confused by that: a daughter with eyes that can see into the depths of the journey, the hearts and souls of others; my son who creates so many things, his laughs radiate outward and inward toward others.  I stood in Scotland at the castle Dunnotar, and at the Loch Ness hoping for a glimpse of Nessie, the Loch Ness “monster”.  I walked along the ice road between McMurdo Station and Willy Field (camp) in Antarctica.  I sat in the Christchurch Cathedral, putting together some pieces, there at the Christchurch Square.  But the dream was not a dream.  They are sparkling realities and memories I keep close.

Keep the Pieces Coming

I’m fortunate in so many ways  …  Countless ways.  Even the wounds are a gift.  For I I learn from all of this.  Every week or every other, I meet with a wise woman, walking with me for a short season.  I bring a few pieces for the puzzle; I reach down, I reach out, to find pieces that might fit.  Sometimes a piece will fit.   I might want a piece to fit, but it doesn’t.  I just keep the pieces coming.  I call this process “Puzzle-ing”.

 

Land of Story and Journey

In a short interchange with a friend, many years ago, I spoke a sentence out of my spontaneity, which is not uncommon:

“Here we are, my friend, in the midst of reality.”

“(Pause) I was there, once, but I was just passing through.”

We do pass through the Land of Story and Journey.  Both, story and journey, are to be respected … in the telling, and in the hearing.  We do not stay, long, in the Land of Story and Journey.  A paradox is found in that our stories are not finished, and always ongoing.  Our journeys started long ago.  Journey’s end is down the road; we definitely are not there, yet, though we may be close.  There is a gift, when we hear about the journeys of others; when we hear the stories of others; depending on what the story is, depending on what the journey is about.  Great things happen in the Land of Story and Journey.  And tragedies happen there, as well.  Courage comes with the telling of our stories; courage comes with us on our journeys.  I am a thankful man, to be able to pass through the Land of Story and Journey with other story tellers and other sojourners.