This is my psychiatrist's couch. Take from it what you will.
But do leave a note.
I still am a late middle aged former government worker marking time until the cliff.
Short Fiction, Doggerel and Insensitive Opinion are spoken here.
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Monday, August 31, 2015
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.