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So I slept deeply, as usual.   In the dream that ensued, I had a long series of mini-adventures with my old friend Tom, whom I hadn't seen in quite some time on account of the fact that he died a few years ago.  But here he was, walking the streets of some unnamed city, getting into and out of various minor forms of trouble, and we were just generally hanging out.  Only odd thing (but not so odd for Tom, as he always loved role-play) was that whenever we met some people on this walking-tour, he would introduce himself as "Felix."
On toward evening, after a pleasant day of minor shenanigins (most of which are beyond my memory now - you nkow how that is with dreams), as we were walking down the street I turned to him  and said, "Tom?  I miss you.... I wish you weren't dead!"  And then the following conversation ensued: 

Me:   "When I get home, how am I going to explain to them that I spent the day with Tom?"
He:   "No need for that.  Just tell them you were with Felix."
Me:   "Oh, right.  Then they'll say, 'Who's Felix?'   And I'll tell them, 'Felix is Tom.'  And THAT will clear everything up."

We laugh and proceed on to our next bizarre mini-adventure.

First! WTF?

Just about sums me up.

Your Word is "Peace"

You see life as precious, and you wish everyone was safe, happy, and taken care of. Social justice, human rights, and peace for all nations are all important to you. While you can't stop war, you try to be as calm and compassionate as possible in your everyday life. You promote harmony and cooperation. You're always willing to meet someone a little more than halfway.

I dreamed.....

of being who I am, a country preacher. The lengthy series of events that precede what I am about to relate are lost to me, but suffice to say that several elements of my life merge to make the following scene possible. There is a gathering happening at church, or perhaps on the porch of the parsonage of a church (P.H.) I formerly pastored. A handful of people are there, including a familiar figure to my left, whom I can’t remember seeing but perhaps it’s my wife. Among several others seated are some current members of our congregation, and arriving late, to the pleasure of all, is S.B., a former church member we haven’t seen for nearly a year. The other significant figure present is my grandmother, seated diagonally across from me, and the occasion is my grandfather’s funeral service. As before S. B's arrival I had just finished outlining the way the day’s events are to proceed, S.B. and another person, a trusted member of our group, get up and excuse themselves so that S. B. can be properly oriented to the state of things. Not wanting to go into the rest of the service until these dear friends return, I suggest that we now take a moment for prayer.

As we bow our heads, I am overcome with a wave of grief for my departed grandfather, and weep silently, recognizing how deeply also I resent my grandfather’s passing. Composing myself, and mindful of the presence of my grandmother, myself, and others who will miss him terribly, I begin to pray as follows:

“ Dear Father, author of Life, as we gather to remember one who is now gone from us, but present to You, we recall that in the story that is told of the beginnings of humanity, we humans were not created to be temporary beings. We appreciate that You have come to restore to us that permanence, but for now, some of us are sorrowful, some of us are hurt, some of us are angry. Today we call upon you to be with us so that over time that sorrow is soothed, the wounds are healed, the anger turned, but not in a way which would in any way diminish the intensity with which we remember Charles H. Clark. It’s in the name of Him who gives us life that we pray. Amen."

In voicing that prayer, in which I could feel or see the emotions that I named (and also the resentment I did not name), I struggled to get the words out. My speech was slurred and difficult, but nonetheless clear. As I woke, I came to consciousness realizing I had been in fact talking in my sleep. This particular phenomenon occurs infrequently, but always in connection with occasions where, in my dream, I am either praying or preaching.

By the way: My grandfather, Charles H. Clark, passed away in October 1963, and his was the first funeral I ever attended. My grandmother outlived him, going to her rest in 1985. I find it significant somehow, in terms of my own search for integrity, that these, as well as people who are now and have recently been in my life, gather together as contemporaries in this particular dream-setting, and that my emotions were as fresh and raw as they were so long ago, when I was just 13 years old. Interestingly, within the past month or two I heard by e-mail from the minister who actually preached that funeral service in 1963.

I don’t know just when it happens that it first strikes a person that History is not just a matter of the past, but of the living influences that surround us. For most of us, the present time begins roughly around the year of our birth, or perhaps even around the time of our earliest personal memories. and everything beforehand belongs to History, Thus, for example, on a visceral level it seems to me that the forty years after my high school graduation (1968 to 2008) seems to be much shorter than the forty years preceding it (1928 to 1968). Subjective time is very flexible that way.

Here’s one that struck me even more forcefully, just the other day. A couple of months ago, my mother passed away at age 96. That’s not so unusual, and I find it convenient to think of the 20th century in terms of the life-spans of my parents (Dad was born in 1907 and passed away in 1989). But the 19th century still seems impossibly remote, populated entirely by Historical Figures. Until this thought came to me:

When I was born, in 1950, there could easily have been someone nearby who had by then attained an age as great as my mother did this past year (96). A 96 year old person that year would have been six years old, old enough to have retained memories of events, the year that Abraham Lincoln ran for President. That same year, a much younger contemporary, by comparison, would have had clear memories of the way life was before the Revolution.

Wow.

A dream:

(woke up with this dream two mornings after the death of my dear friend M)

A large gathering, a banquet, was assembling at which I was to be, for some reason, a guest of honor. Many of the people present, including the organizer of the event with whom I had previously spoken, were Oriental: Chinese perhaps. I had been told I was to take my seat at the center of one of the head tables. As I entered the hall, I was half carried by the crowd. S (my wife) was there, and she was also carrying me. In this fashion we swept past the most prominent tables and she set me down at the end of a table toward the back of the room. I told her that I had been told to sit at the center of a table nearer the front, and there ensued a brief altercation that went something like: “Well, how am I supposed to know that? you never told me!!” “I did, just now!.... How was I supposed to know that no one told you?” etc. In any case we made our way toward the front of the room again, and at the head table there were set up chairs and a microphone (apparently I was also to speak?) near which some workers were spray-painting a wall, last-minute touches to make the background white for videographers later in the program.

Before we could take our seats, something else happened. The perspective changed, and I could see and hear a series of vehicles arriving very quickly, up the road and through the woods. They were painted white and read, open on the sides like safari vehicles, and each carried a number of soldiers or police. These jumped out and quickly entered the hall from the sides (it was now more of a tent or pole building, open on at least three sides, and was arranged now more like a church with pews than like a banquet hall)), and people began to shrink away from them as they attacked. They attacked not with guns or other weapons but with something that looked like two-pronged wands, whose function seemed to be to inflict severe pain.

I was now outside the hall and a short distance away, watching from the shadows, when one of these official-looking attackers, an Oriental of indeterminate age or sex, overpowered me (I think I was knocked down by several at once, but this one took charge). I found that if I did not resist but went limp, it seemed as if this attacker did not feel the need to activate the pain-inducing device, but if I moved or looked like I would resist, this was threatened. The attacker appeared to be reporting my status, perhaps over a radio, as I lay helpless. I decided this weapon must be some kind of taser, and asked about that. “Am I going to get tased?”

At some point early in this exchange, my attacker and I had introduced ourselves to one another, I as “Robert” and my attacker also as “Robert.” Now, however, he/she responded to one of my questions calling me by the name of a dear friend who recently deceased. “M.” Here is the remainder of that exchange:

Me: M. is not here, she passed away
R: That’s right..... you were there, holding her hand
Me: (amazed that this person would know such a thing)
(more forgotten details in this exchange, revealing that the person I’m speaking to has access to recent events from a spiritual vantage point)
R: The baby is healthy, doing fine.
(more exchange verifying that I really knew M... including images of a newborn, and the sense of M’s re-entry into the world)
R: I know who you are now.
Me: That’s more than I know!

All this time, of course, I am still physically restrained by the threat of this weapon. R. now reports to superiors that I appear to have died. I am able to get up and head away from the commotion surrounding the cabin/hall, toward the woods and the road. As I am leaving, I hear a voice, turn my head and see my former attacker some distance away, saying: “Goodbye, Robert.” I respond with “Goodbye, Robert” and continue on my way.

I head through the woods to the nearby country road. It will be a long walk, but I know the way to where I have a hotel room, money, car, etc. . . but I am walking away in freedom, leaving my old life behind. I pass very close by a fawn that is resting by the side of the road.... this animal does not stir or startle, just observes me as a normal, non-threatening part of her landscape. I think this occurs with one or more other deer as well. Something has changed. I wake up feeling content.

Would you buy a used life from this man???

Waiting for an iPhone. It's July 11, 2008 and I moseys on over in the mid-morning to my local AT&T store, figuring that the early rush for new iPhones in this rural county would have died down a bit. Instead what I found was a line of people stretching around three sides of the building. A quick inquiry with members of this queue let me know that the 8 GB models were already sold out, so this line was holding out for 16GB version.

Half an hour goes by. Having moved around the corner, I hear an employee tell someone that UPS just came and "now they have phones." we'll see.

Fifteen minutes later, we saw. Out of phones, come back tomorrow, or else come in and order your phone & we'll have it dropshipped to you. I opted to jump out of line and go back later, maybe next Tuesday.