The Sublime Roundabout

This one was just as vivid as the one the other night. I was touring somewhere in Europe. At least, it felt like Europe, but it was someplace I'd never been. I was visiting some ancient and glorious structure, surrounded by the inevitable throngs. But this was a place that had been sacred at one time. In my dream, it had been downgraded to a museum, a destination, a peculiarity, a tourist trap. That kind of thing. It was grand, with large halls and high ceilings. Marble was everywhere, in tones of deep rusty red shot through with white veins and pale blush pink streaked with brown. Great statues proclaimed the Passion, moving for their colossal scale as well as their incredible detail. At the center, at the focus of worship, was a Pieta. For those unfamiliar with a Pieta - and there are several - it is a statue based on the moment when Christ's body is taken down from the cross. She, the mother of the Lord, is having a very intimate moment with the lifeless body of her so

no matter how long the winter, the spring is sure to follow. Always. - Lara Preston Neves

I woke myself up crying last night. I had an interesting dream. In the first portion of the dream, I was being pursued by a man with a large blade who was trying to kill me. Somehow, my mother was there, but she was powerless to do anything against this man. I was unarmed, and I offered no resistance. He first cut my leg just above my knee - a cut that was very deep and painful, but with surprisingly little blood. Then he cut my wrist - just above the back of my hand. Again, surprisingly little blood. Then he pushed me to the ground and pushed the blade into my neck. Slowly, tortuously. It was awful. While I couldn't feel pain any more, I could feel it slicing into my sinews and severing the very life from me. My mother was distraught, but again, could do nothing. I didn't blame her. I felt no regret at all, except for the soul of the man who would kill an unarmed person who offered no resistance. The man who was killing me was also unwittingly killing himself, too. Becau

Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham: A good soft pillow for that good white head Were better than a churlish turf of France. ERPINGHAM Not so, my liege: this lodging likes me better, Since I may say 'Now lie I like a king.' KING HENRY V 'Tis good for men to love their present pains Upon example; so the spirit is eased: And when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt, The organs, though defunct and dead before, Break up their drowsy grave and newly move, With casted slough and fresh legerity. Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers both, Commend me to the princes in our camp; Do my good morrow to them, and anon Desire them an to my pavilion. GLOUCESTER We shall, my liege. ERPINGHAM Shall I attend your grace? KING HENRY V No, my good knight; Go with my brothers to my lords of England: I and my bosom must debate awhile, And then I would no other company. ERPINGHAM The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry! ........ KING HENRY V

There is a connection between things unseen and things that are tangible. Just because something is unseen does not make it any less real.  We are creatures of spirit clothed - loosely, even - in a physical form. And yet, so often we neglect what is true and real inside of us in pursuit of that which will ultimately die.  We cannot know all things. But we can still walk in the light.  There will always be critics. Naysayers. Detractors. Those who want you to wake up to their version of reality. These folks should be respected and listened to, but their motives should be questioned. And never, under any circumstance, should one stop dreaming or abandon hope. Well did Dante inscribe above the doors of Hell - Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

Love me some Halloween