The House With The Broken Door

You decided against the same old thing
You turned right, instead of your usual left

And you saw a brightly lit house
Its door hanging open
A broken door – Askew, Unworkable.
Like it was no longer something that people closed
From inside the voices came
Laughing, singing, and debating

Smells rolled down to you too
Fresh-baked bread
Apple pie
Roast chicken
New wine

A smiling face appeared at the door
And a friendly body hurried down to take your arm
“Oh!” “You’re Here!” “We were so hoping you’d come today!”
And they were all there
Old friends and new
Their names and faces filled with joy
Filling you with joy
Hugging and kissing
Slapping your back
Welcoming you in

Silly, Silly, So Foolish
How long you walked that lonely road
The house had been waiting for you
The friends had been waiting for you
But no matter
The time was paid for
And the time is at hand for you to be honored

“But I did nothing!” you said…
“I went the wrong way!”
“I did the wrong things, again and again!”

No matter, no matter
On your way you did much good,
More than you could have known
And your mistakes,

See!

They have all been redeemed-
Turned about like an engine at a roundhouse
Like a lump of clay on a wheel
Like the sun breaking through the rain
Like a starfish regrowing its arms

The journey is over
And you are home
What was forgotten has been recalled
What was stolen has been restored
What was lost has been found

There was always room for you here
You were always wanted and needed
Always wanted at our table
Always present in our prayers
If it was not so, would we not have told you?
Welcome Back!
Welcome Back Home!

The Unusual Desk

In the night I pray for guidance in this interesting life I live
And I see warm brown leather
With ink drawings appearing and disappearing on it
I see the letters ‘VS’ appearing between two fragments of drawing,
And I wonder what they mean
The scene shifts and I find myself in front of a large wooden desk
In a large room that is strange to me, all done in wood of light tones
It is empty, but it feels welcoming and warm
The thought comes to me that this is like an English courtroom
But it is not much so to my eye
The desk is in the middle of the room
And there are wooden barriers like altar rails down either side
Beyond which several ranks of wooden chairs rise
Perhaps more like a room of parliament
But the dream is focused on the desk – the room is the background for the dream
The desk itself is odd
There are vertical ridges dividing it into three major sections
Making it uncomfortable to write the way I would like
With a paper at a jaunty angle
The left section is decent sized, no more than two feet wide
And the right one is very wide, over three feet wide
But the center one is narrow, too narrow for letter sized paper
To write here, you would need narrow paper
It seems that the form of what one would write here would be restricted
I opened the desk, the center section lifts and there are writing materials
A drawer as wide as the right section pulls out,
And there are disassembled bits for old ink pens,
Wooden shafts and nibs,
I start to assemble a pen and begin to look for the ink
And I wake

Diggin

Do you have anything for me today, Lord?
Something in your sack?
Some miracle for me Lord?
Something to bring my cheer back?

I don’t want to dig all my life, Lord,
Don’t want to dig and hew
Don’t want to labor for the taskmaster, Lord,
Isn’t there anything you can do?

I owe my life to the government, Lord
And the banks stole it all away
I never agreed to sell my freedom, Lord
I never gave it away

Find me where I am working, Lord
Kuz they won’t let me stop
Find me where I am slaving, Lord
Working on the job

I’ll be digging for your glory, Lord
I’ll be digging for Love
I’ll be telling my story, Lord
And dreaming of heaven above

May all your dreams be peaceful and happy,
Even if your life is less cooperative.

Dreaming of the Father

I dreampt that I was a father,
An adoptive father,
Posessed of a particular race,
A race different than my usual;
And that I had seven adopted children,
Of all different races,
At first I was suprised,
That I had adopted so many children, and that I had dared to adopt children of other races;
But then I saw what a joy and wonder it was;
and how full of love we were;
I saw that it was good in a profound way;
And very, very right.

Happy Dreams
LE

Outrageous Easter

In my dream we were planning the funeral of a good friend, someone we loved a lot.

We were just getting started, gathering around a large table.

Family and friends were there, and around the table there were several who did not feel wlecome, or worthy to sit, and we were encouraging them to do so.

There was room for all.

And once we settled, and had started discussing, we realized a funny man was behind us...
...painting huge Easter eggs on the picture window that was there.

Even funnier, he didn't paint from his imagination, which you might think he would with such a simple subject. Instead, he had a friend who was arranging and holding large colorful Easter eggs so that he could paint them 'from life', draping fabric about them, and positioning them just so.

We talked about the two of them, and thought they were just a bit crazy.

But upon waking, I am not so sure.

In your times of mourning may you find moments of outrageous Easter.

LE

The Angel at the Loom

I walked into a room with yellow walls, and sitting there was a girl of about twelve, dressed all in white and working at setting up a loom. (Which if you know about weaving, you know is no small task.) So I sat down beside her and began working with her. After some time working together we finally finished, and I said 'Yay! We are Done!' And I went to hug the little girl to celebrate our success. But she drew back and said 'I am not allowed to hug people... ...but I can kiss them!'
Thinking that this made NO sense, I woke up.


Peace,
LE


A few additions/thoughts on this:

The room felt warm and friendly.
I didn't think of the girl as other than a girl till I awoke.

Perhaps the loom is a symbol of life, and the way it works out.

The work was already underway, and I entered into that work.

The delicate, knowing touch of her fingers on the threads as we worked together.

How Jesus was unable to be touched when Mary found him in the garden, but was able to be touched later by Thomas and the other disciples.

The kiss of peace.

'Angel kisses' seen as causing freckles and birthmarks - and also seen as being blessings.


I think that this was a spiritual dream, and encourages me/all of us to enter into God's labors.

I/we were not helping finish the work, but helping to start it - meaning much is ahead of us and we are still laying the foundation stones of God's great work.

The Angel is glad for my/our help and pleased with our progress, and has a kiss/blessing(s) to share with those who enter into the labors.

And... ...I wish I had stayed to begin the weaving.

May you all enter into God's labors and find many blessings there!

The Mosaic Lion

I dreampt that I was visiting a small town in Italy that was tucked in a niche in the base of a volcanic outcrop, sort of a cross between a dike and a volcanic neck. The outcrop formed a pinnacle in the center and two ridges of the same very dark brown rock swooped down to the plain from which the outcrop protruded at a wide angle, curving ever-so-slightly as if to contain something as they dissapeared beneath the yellow, dusty plain.

And there, between the arms of the outcrop, lay the plaza of the town. And it was not just any plaza, but a plaza made up of many colored bricks that made up a huge, rather realistic mosaic of a proud lion standing in left profile, tail twitched in front of its left haunch, head turned slightly towards the viewer.

The niche in the outcrop, and its little town faced the plaza, faced the lion that was turning to look at it.

And I sat at an outdoor table in that town with my true love, sampling tiny, bitter pickles that were the specialty of the town, as our waiter, who wore clothes with faint, small vertical bands of maroon and brown of varying width and a crumpled looking white apron, explained that eating a lot of these pickles would make us sick, and could be fatal. I told him not to worry, we would be careful, and I awoke.

Is the message of the dream temperance and moderation? Is it more about accepting your situation and nature? Is it about enjoying where you are? Is the lion a pagan symbol alone, or is it symbolic of the watchfulness of Christ, whom I associate with the lion? Why does the lion face the little town, and the pinnacle, and not the plain?

Perhaps this last question I can answer, in a practical way: the lion is posed for someone on the pinnacle, or in a building within its niche to view it.

Perhaps the lion is not concerned with those who might assault the town, but with the welfare of its residents.

Perhaps the theme of the dream is care: caring for yourself and others, being careful, and taking care to appreciate where you are, and who you are with.

Or maybe there is a message in the way the earth in the form of the outcrop, the lion; a symbol of faith, and the town all form an integrated whole, working together to form a place which people can call home.

The Impossible Dream

Saw this the other day, and had to share it:





Some things speak to us inside. I think this little video does.

Peace,
LE

Discerning the Spirits

I can often see what website my visitors came from, and if they came through a search engine, what they searched for.

And many people come to my site looking to see if their dreams come from a holy, or evil source.

Not wanting anyone to go away empty handed who came seeking, let me share my thinking on this topic:

1) God is everywhere and in everything and everyone, and loves you, no matter who you are or what you have done. What does this have to do with dreams? Well, it is a fundamental premise, the foundation upon which the theology that energizes me rests, and it informs my understanding of dreams.

2) We are complex beings with many different, conflicting feelings and ways of thinking. Some of these we supress, ignore, set aside, or deny.

3) Our minds choose from our many life experiences and conditions to help us 'process' things which concern us both in our dreams, and in what we notice while awake.

4) Spiritual forces, internal or external, can and do influence us.

So....

5) As God loves us, a message from God will never count us, or by extension, anyone as hopelessly corrupt. Messages that state or imply worthlessness and hopelessness are not from holy sources.

6) God is unlikely to order you to break the ten commandments, or harm others. (Turn to the Bible for guidance.)

7) More generally, messages from holy sources should eventually make sense in the light of faith, community and love.

8) Share your dreams, visions, signs and insights with your ministers and friends in the faith, and listen to their advice.

9) Write your experience down, and return to it later for fresh insight.

10) Watch for coincidences that seem to confirm or contradict your thoughts.

11) Your dreams, however dark, may reflect repressed anger and other emotions about past harms or slights, and even chemical imbalances or reactions. You should seek psychological or psychiatric help with your visions, signs, and dreams if they interfere with your life in a negative way.

12) Holy messages will be confirmed by prayer.

Peace to you, and may God's blessings surround you!

A Threefold Vision

I had a dream
I dreampt I should do three things
And I have done

One solved a problem in my home,
One solved a worry about my church,
And one of them solved a worry about my life.

None of these things got done in exactly the way I dreamed, in reality, each has been different, more complex, and better.

The third one was to build this blog.
In my dream it was called 'Book of Signs', but that name wasn't available, so here is 'Signs, Dreams, and Visions', something I dreamed, and then did.

How do we know if a dream is holy? Maybe if it comes true, better than you imagined.

May we have many such dreams.

What's to Do?

This morning I was awakened by a dream that had my spouse admitting to me that she was addicted to Methamphetamine.

Please note that my dreams are usually not dark or sad, and nothing could be further from the realm of liklihood, but a very scary prospect.

I think the dream was inspired by the State of New Jersey* trying to shut down a local homeless shelter's addiction counseling program for not having the proper licenses.

The dream expressed my dispair at what I saw as the likely loss of my favorite person to this desructive drug through a song, which was in the dream sung by 'Squeeze' that went somthing like this:

Who is to blame when it falls
apart
I'm not complaining 'bout my broken heart

What's to do about this play's new part

You took my love
And now you go away

That's all I remember, but if you know 'Squeeze' you might be able to imagine them singing it.

The fragment that was left singing in my ears as I woke up was "what's to do?".

I was dismayed to hear yesterday morning that the State was interfering with the Mission's program. I can't imagine that the State has a comparable program that serves the people the mission works with. It is one thing to hit bottom, but to add addiction to it... -It is almost unimaginable to me. I have worked in homeless shelters, and know what a tough road these people have in front of them.

I heard about this yesterday morning, and totally forgot about it in the midst of a busy day, until my dream reminded me.

I am not sure yet what's to do, but maybe sharing this dream is one step.

Maybe you, Dear Reader can help answer this question too.

I'll post links to the story if I can find it online.

* The actual story is worse: According to The Daily Record a local NIMBY (not in my back yard) group, Stand Up Asbury, from Asbury Park, trying to prevent the Market Street Mission from opening a shelter in their town, brought legal action which has resulted in the drug addiction counseling efforts of the Mission in Asbury Park *and in Morristown* being placed in legal limbo. A real tragedy.

The NIMBY group claims that the shelter will draw more homeless to Asbury Park (there is a problem in the town, and the sources I am looking at indicate there is no overnight shelter there right now), and that the Market Street Mission treats Homosexuality as an addiction too, a potentially hot-button issue for a town with a healthy Gay population. Somehow, with Homelessness, Addiction, and Job training to deal with, I don't think the Mission spends much time evangelizing about sexuality.

I know I said not so long ago that I wasn't going to try and be controversial. However, the blog is called "Signs, Dreams and Visions". And here is a dream, one that ended with a question of "What's to do?". In Isaiah, God asks: "Who will we send, and who will carry our message?"

Will you leave God's question unanswered?

Related links;
Market Street Mission
Market Street Mission on Charity Navigator

Dreams of Heaven?

I dreampt I was a child at a picnic
There were lots of people,
Lots of other children there.
And everyone was friends.
The grass was green.
There were stout oaks standing about, and picnic tables.

I say they were Oaks, because I know that they were Oaks, but as they were quite tall and straight, and as I was only small, I just remember their trunks, and the way their roots were kneaded into the ground.

The place was a graveyard, but without many tombs or graves, mostly it was grass, moss, trees and occasional picnic tables.

There was a mausoleum near where some of us were playing. The mood was happy. There was a feeling that this was a very big outdoor party, with friends everywhere, like, wherever you went, you would meet more friends, some old friends, some new friends, and some forgotten friends you would remember once you spoke to them.

An older man who was also a friend was arriving, walking towards us, coming up alongside the mausoleum, between it and an old oak with a tall straight trunk that I was playing next to at that moment.

There was a kind of cloud or mist near his right side, at his right hand, or around his arm, or by his elbow. We laughed and said that it was his 'little ghost', and ran to greet him, as he came to us, smiling.