deepakI have awoken the last two mornings from dreams early, both mornings I realized they meant something, I tried to get up and write them down, as I started to try and figure out what they meant before I fell back to sleep, and today and yesterday.  I woke back up and couldn’t remember the dreams.   But this morning in my quiet time I think about what I wrote yesterday.   Looking again for a mentor.   Answers can’t be found outside of ourselves.    Sometimes I get lonely, I think I was writing that out of loneliness last night.  I’m asking, waiting, and listening.  In my listening today, something  just says be patient.  I look back at my life and sometimes I crave people (Mentor) in hope that another will bring me answers.  Last night I wanted a mentor as I was speaking of Solitude.   Yes I know I probably sound a little restless looking for answers.  Sometimes I am, and I sure don’t claim not to be.   It’s funny, I do have mentors.  One is my Pastor, it’s funny some times I just go to her to talk about what I’m feeling.  Today I feel full.   I went to see her, but she had someone there that she was already meeting with.   So I was left with my main mentor.  God in Solitude.    There is much that is unsolved in my heart.  I’m trying to let go of much, and one thing is also trying to let go of answers which cannot be given.   Many times I ask for answers to other people’s heart.  But I guess it’s only my own heart that I need to try and figure out.  I hope they come gradually, almost like I’m not even noticing.  Oh well just thought I’d write early today.  I’m off to listen!   Funny right as I wrote that, memory of my dream just came to me.  Guess I’ll go ahead and write it down now, as it just popped in my head, and then I’ll try and figure it out more.    Funny, I was a little boy in my dream again.  I would say in about 80% of dreams, I’ve always dreamed of Little Derek.    When I was little my mom used to see a painting, and she would tell me to tell her a story.   I’m not sure if she was trying to help me be creative, or that I was just creative, and she liked hearing my stories.   Well I was with her in a place that reminded me of the High Museum in Atlanta.  She was there, and we were going through and asking me to tell her stories about the pictures.   I was telling her stories.   We walked into a white white room, everything was white.   There was a man there, with a blank white Palette.  Then he asked me to look at his white canvas and tell me a story.    Colors came from every direction!   The man started to paint with them.   I played in all the colors, carefree as I was when I was a child.   Then I saw the picture, and with great excitement.  I saw something beautiful on the canvas.  I can’t really tell you what it was.  It had color, and light, and darkness in it.  I asked how did he know it was there.  He said you told me.   I can’t tell you what was on the canvas, I can only describe it.

I’m sitting here trying hard to remember what was on the canvas, maybe because it is the one hidden thing.  Going to go sit with it now. Funny how dreams work that way.


~ by deveil on MayUTCb000000pmWed, 01 May 2013 13:04:45 +000013 19, 2007.

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