Deluded (Blogophilia 28.8)

I had a dream the other night. It was not unlike other dreams. Light fog backlit with the sun stretched across a verdant field, a pasture really. But no horses or cattle grazed amongst the grass. Instead, the landscape was dotted with churches. Not small chapels these, but great huge behemoths. Alternating buildings of brick, clapboard and glass with steeples spreading upward toward the sun hoping for favor from above. Congregations of bees flowed to and fro between the churches. They held the pollen and nectar, but they could never decide which was right. 

                                     

Curiosity is lust for the mind, so I floated over scene this much like the bees of the congregation. I entered the first church, with its stone edifice standing proudly, with trepidation.  I am in need of supplication of my fears. The keeper of the stamen smiled and held out his plate, but I have no tithe or pollen to give. With a look of disdain, he asks me to come clean of my sin and pay the heavenly fine. I have great sin of anger and wrath, certainly, but I have no fine.

He retorts that the sin must be paid in a fine of nectar and pollen. It is with these the burden is relieved. But I have none and I have nothing for him, so he has nothing for me. I move on. 

And so it went, from brick edifice to glass chapel. Entering with hope and leaving with none. The only thing these buildings wanted was tithes and pollen. No fragrance, seed or nectar coming from the building like you would see in flowers. No supplication or drink for the weary traveler. Only surrender, theft, and slavery to the needs of the building. 

At the far end of the field, I arrived to a very small building that was in its first bloom. In this place, there was welcome for the poor and destitute. The stamen keeper was a bit concerned I had not been given pollen to tithe; he took pity and allowed me to stay.  He provided me with nectar and I was sated to sleep. Then a bird came and I was his dinner. The bird thanked the stamen keeper for his service and left him a tithe. 

And now I realize the fields of churches were not there to serve the Sower. They had blown in from afar to teach us of falseness and ill will. The Sower himself is concerned because the bees used to fertilize his crops have been blown to the winds and became dinner to the birds.  And he will act, even if it is within dreams.  


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Topic-Diana Jillian
Pic-Heather Blomquist

Pic guesses: Drink, Out of the muck, seventh circle,