Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Do you remember the good old days when you believed in Santa Claus? Big ole' white beard, rounded middle, red suit, rosy cheeks, and a rather jolly outlook on life? Yeah, that guy. I used to believe. I would argue with anyone who told me differently, and often the argument would turn to bickering and fighting, since neither of us had any real proof of either side.
Well, think about religion. Isn't that what people do in general? A Christian can believe his side all he wants, but if a devout Judaist comes along, the Christian isn't about to persuade the Jew without use of force, and most likely not even then. Religion is a powerful thing: it has been used to raise hopes in times of hardship, but it has also been used as a shield of protection by so-called "righteous" men who simply wanted to take their neighbor's land and needed a divine excuse to do it.
After yet another long digression, I return to my actual point, which really doesn't have anything to do with jolly old Saint Nicholas.
Last night, I had perhaps one of the most controversially disturbing dreams in all of my remembered dreams. I do not recall what events preceeded this strange incident, nor do I know what followed, but I do know that this one skit was enough to freak me the hell out.
In the dream, I was at the entrance of this tiny, old, beaten-down church. At the end of the rows, seven on either side, I could see a Mary statue; she was very old as well, her blue robe was fading and her white gown was yellowing. I walked toward her and kept walking and walking, until finally I came to a halt in front of her, and I fell to my knees. I looked up at the statue of the Virgin Mary -- she was covered with dirt and cobwebs and dust -- and asked her, in my mind, for the truth. Then I turned and looked out the window to my right, and to my surprise, the dark sky lit up for a brief time, only to be quickly smothered again by darkness. An immense pressure weighed on me and I felt something strong, a feeling that I couldn't depict, and then I fell asleep.
I woke up seconds later to the worst sound in the world: my mother's voice at 7:30AM on a summer morning. My own personal alarm clock. Yay me.
I'm not quite sure what the dream means, but all I know is that I've never conciously had a dream like it. And second of all, I would never ask this Mary figure for anything, because I'm not Christian. I asked my little brother about it, and as one may guess, he called me crazy and joked that I was some sort of prophet.
I asked my best friend (a Christian) about it, and you know what she said? That I should become a Christian. Yep. She tried to convert me because she doesn't want me to go to hell.
I appreciate the offer, hun, but I'm pretty sure that I don't want to be ushered into your little "in"-group. Thanks anyway, I think I'll stick to my idea.
It's really amazing sometimes. You can be the soul twin of someone...and then at the same time have differing opinions about what exactly to do with your soul.
