Just Put It On My Tabula Rasa

I awoke from a deep sleep last Wednesday afternoon. I found myself in the mental aftermath of an extraordinary dream. I now relay the details best I can, for future benefit.

I dreamt that I awoke one Sunday morning with the strongest urge to board a mechanical bird. I would make my way back to a place of experiences, friends, and family.

The journey was for the surprise of my amazing grandparents. I met them
with much joy and adulation. I traveled with them to a home of nostalgia. I sat
on the old sofa and recalled events of the weeks past for their earnest delight.

I just the know that the old sofa was a like a levitation device for my soul and spirit as I sat there staring out the old window at the dusk of a GVegas sun. “ Only God could weave this dream”, I thought to myself. I arose and met my family for some home-cooked food that only my grandmother could prepare, dream or reality.

Beyond dinner came a session of Higher Learning with my grandfather. The Bible was all to real in my dream. Imagine that. We traveled a road in Romans 14. A short trip to
a profoundly meaningful destination. Verse 7 became a worthwhile exit.

FOR NONE OF US LIVETH TO HIMSELF, AND NO MAN DIETH TO HIMSELF.

I then said my farewell for the night and decided to travel the tar road outside.
I found myself venturing beyond the gates of a familiar instution. Peculiar young men and women going their way just as I had done once. I made contact with an old comrade, Benjamin Kammer. Plans were made for a speedy gonazales. He informed me of an artistic display in Sarges’ building.

En route to the show, I encountered the benevolent Robin Buiter. I had to interrogate her cover-up of some family pictures of a day at the suspicious lake in Kiwi Land, of which supposedly was a mission trip sans family, as she vehemently claimed. I was asked about myself,, so I answered with a bunch of useless babble, for which I was sorry. I only wanted to hope and pray her well.

I transcended halls and stairs where a Justin and Apollo once ran amuck with clay muck in their hands.

I beheld a fine collection of works by Lily Wikoff and Jessica Barkman. I recalled two young women that I could equate to being fun, hard-working, and amazing.
I encountered Jessica Barkman. I had forgotten that sweet North Carolina accent. I was asked about myself, so I answered with a bunch of useless babble, for which I was sorry. I only wanted to hope and pray them well.

I soon found myself exiting my bedroom of old. My beloved grandparents were preparing breakfast. I stood frozen in place, the scene of crippled old man teaming with his stroke-victim wife in a labor of love…

Six months earlier I had witnessed the same old wheelchair man holding the hand of his wife, telling her he loved her, as she lay in a hospital bed mentally hovering in the wasteland of a post-stroke purgatory…

I wondered if could handle that brutal combination of old age, handicap and struggle. I prayed that God would give me strength if and when my time comes as He had given them.

I accomplished some small tasks for them around the house. One of which was the manicure of the flower bed around the mailbox. I believed it to be a menial task, but my grandmothers’ joy said otherwise.

My young cousin Nick appeared. He had discovered skateboarding. I could only encourage him to stick with it, don’t quit. It would only enrich his life.

A loud clock had struck noon and I went to meet Kammer. Good Mexican food is still good even in dreams. We were then on our way to see those Portland guys.

Those Portland Guys. I was privileged to be in the presence of such a collective. I got to witness the process that is Portland Studios. So much mad genius, I could not comprehend. I was asked about myself, so I answered with a bunch of useless babble, for which I was sorry. I only wanted to hope and pray them well.

Dusk had drawn near, so I found myself trying to meet my aunt for dinner. A single mother struggling. I could only hope and pray her well.

Suddenly, I was back on the old sofa again, face to face with my Uncle Phil. We
laughed about the old times and talked of the new ones to come. Funny thing
was that I definitely remember one statement he made to me.

“You know you’ll wake up sometime tomorrow at home and think this was all a dream.” , he said to me. Funny, huh?

That evening I closed my eyes as we stood for prayer. “We” included my uncle and his family, my grandparents, and aunt. I opened my eyes to the hustle and bustle of one my favorite zoos, O’Hare International. I hastily found my seat. I shut my eyes again only to open them while lying in my bed in the corner of a small room in the corner of a small niche in Jackson Hole.

I sat up with my head abuzz of people and places familiar. It was Wednesday afternoon. My mobile phone told me to answer it. My grandmother called to say thanks again for the work in the flower garden by the mailbox…

Posted by Tim at October 1, 2005 01:29 AM