Presby-Musings

I had this dream the other night.  In the dream, I was about to preach in front of a large audience, clutching only a handful of my written notes.   Oddly, the monstrous, stone pulpit I was to preach from was on a hill down the street from where the crowd was gathered.  I climbed the stairs leading up the hill and stood in front of the pulpit, which towered over my head.  I glanced behind me, and noticed where I was standing happened to be on the edge of a steep cliff that fell into the ocean.   Inside the pulpit was a small fireplace (kind of like a hibachi) that was flickering and warm.  I spoke into the microphone, "Can anyone hear me?"  A voice shouted up from down below, "Loud and Clear!"  I laughed nervously, "This is the weirdest place I've ever preached."  From a block away I heard the crowd erupt with laughter.  Suddenly, I had the overwhelming desire to put all of my sermon notes into the fire.  I reached out with...

I had this dream a few weeks ago, and I thought about writing it down. And then that evil thing that author Stephen Pressfield calls the " Resistance " thwarted me, and I put it off. But no longer.  This dream deserves to preserved in writing.  You'll see why in a moment. I should also add that it probably deserves to be analyzed by someone who does that sort of thing. At any rate, here is the dream in all of it's surreality.   I am in a cab in a city, which I think is Chicago ---at least that's what it feels like.  It's dark and the lights of the city are flashing by as we speed through the streets.  It looks like it has been raining, because the streets are sort of glistening like they do after it rains and the clouds move away.   I look over at the seat next to me in the cab and I realize that I am sitting next to the Dalai Lama .  This seems odd to me even in the dream, but I can't think of anything to say.  The Dalai Lama smile...