Saturday, April 23, 2011


One of my fellow bloggers, who shall remain nameless (unless she chooses to reveal herself), has an entirely separate blog for dream journalling! I was feeling all inadequate until I saw there was only one post there, so far.

So, I remember a dream from last evening, or maybe more likely early this morning. Dwaine and I were looking for a mansion -- not a house, these things were gigantic -- in a sprawling new development, sort of out in the country but simultaneously in San Antonio. He had already gone and scoped out a number of the houses and was showing me his favorite choice. I was glad he had done so much legwork already, so I wouldn't have to spend hours upon hours touring homes.

This house had almost a solid glass front, it was so open with bright windows. It was several stories and had room after room after room. I remember going up to some middle floor and finding a gorgeous, airy and naturally lit breakfast nook, with its own kitchen and refrigerator. Upon which I started thinking thoughts like, we'll have to buy double on groceries to keep this frig and the other one both stocked. Every room was lovely and picturesque. I really could fall in love with this house.

I liked this home very much, I thought, and that was when things started to sour. I looked out the huge window and discovered, to my dawning horror, that IH-10 just happened to be a mere stone's throw away! (Yes, I had been oblivious to this and then it appeared from nowhere, in the way things sometimes do in dreams.) It was so close, I probably would have felt the air blasting away from the vehicles as it was displaced. There wasn't even a front yard; just the raised concrete sides of the freeway, with cars and trucks and 18-wheelers careening past. It dawned on me that the traffic was quite loud, and I realized this was no country atmosphere after all! We'd have to go deeper into the subdivision to find something appropriate.

But then we had gathered downstairs and the subdivision developer was there, in the house, sitting at a table, giving some kind of obnoxious and hard-core sales pitch, and I became aware that I disliked him intensely. Detested all he stood for, in fact. I went right over to him and I think I must have been shouting at him, right in his face, I was so upset. I think Dwaine was in the background, probably stunned and telling me to tone it down. Perhaps I was even calling the salesman/owner names. Also, he was quite misogynistic, and this fact was simply the last straw. I was telling him what a poor businessman he was for being that way, because didn't he know how much power women had over making decisions about what house to buy? I was furious.

So this was how the dream ended. I don't think I ended up in that mansion or in any other. And in truth, it does offend my moral sensibilities to think of living that way. Yet there's something so attractive and even lovely about the notion, too. Just another way in which I am schizophrenic, and I have to live with this cacophony and cognitive dissonance in my head. A poor person, plopped into a rich person's life, and not even particularly grateful to be there.

But also, what of this saying? "In my father's house there are many rooms*. I go there to prepare a place for you. If it were not so, I would have told you. You know the way to the place where I am going." * I always want to substitute the word "mansions" for rooms, as this is the image that comes to my mind. It's on a magnificently grand scale, this place I visualize. 

My thoroughly domestic husband is sitting at the dining room table making hard-boiled eggs into little bunny heads, and putting out Easter decor. Good thing there's somebody in the house who likes to decorate for the seasons and holidays! If I were more dexterous with technology and our computer were faster, I might actually take a picture of his egg creations, nestled in fluffy fake grass inside an Easter basket (until they have to go back into the refrigerator again). But don't hold your breath!

Addendum: Did you hold your breath anyhow, even though I told you not to? Well, voila! Your patience has been rewarded.
Are they real egg-bunnies, or Memorex?
One little bunny egg seems comfortable sharing space beside the peanut butter and a bottle of beer, nestled close to its fellow eggs, in the frig.

Friday, April 22, 2011

I'm Baaaack!

(In case you noticed I was absent) ... I'm Back! This brings to mind two images/sound bites from our pop culture: "Back in Black!" (just listen to it mentally for a bit while I wait .....)

and "I'll be back" (Terminator). Speaking of The Terminator, my husband texted me this week that Skynet had achieved sentience as of April 19, 2011, right on schedule, and humankind was officially doomed. Go Google it if you have no idea, like me originally, what he was talking about!

It is Good Friday, in the Christian tradition. Jesus is in the grave ... or he's finishing up being crucified and dying. We compress the crucifixion-resurrection bit, because if he died Friday afternoon, how was Sunday "the third day"? I was discussing this with my friend Olga today, who is a Jehovah's Witness, and she said it's because in biblical times, referring to a "day" was actually a 12-hour period, such as from sunset to sunrise.

I believe there was an editorial in the Wilson County News about this extremely important hard-news story, as well, since this is the type of article we all get the Wilson County News for, all of us being equally and identically slaves to Christianity in this area ... anyway, this very important and timely news editorial said that the Passover Sabbath day was a different day than the regular Sabbath, so Mary's arising early on the Sabbath could be a different day than we thought. And I believe it. Why? "Because the paper told me so."

In any case, we like to avoid suffering, so we don't let Jesus linger in death for very long. As soon as possible, we resurrect him and say our Hallelujah!'s and have egg hunts and eat too much ham, or some other meat, and go about our merry way. And forget about that passion stuff. Why does it even have to be there? Why is Jesus such a big downer, anyhow?

There is something very human about turning away from suffering. And yet, turning away and denying the reality of suffering actually causes more.

So I wish to think of Jesus, my Jesus, dead. Dead, and gone. Just like every other human being has died, or is dying, or will die. Yes, it's only temporary, death. (Like everything else, only temporary.) But I want to stay with this thought long enough to absorb it and pass through it to the light, not swerve around it. Just let me bury the one I love, and maybe grieve for a while, before we jump into all the "Hallelujahs" and such.

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