The Dreamer

A SORTA ALLEGORY OF WHAT'S GOING ON IN MY LIFE RIGHT NOW

More times than I can remember, I was a hero in a lucid dream.

They were not dreams where there were no problems. But I knew those problems and how to deal with them, because they were my dreams.

The poor people in my dreams could not solve those problems. I came like a Messiah to them, bringing to them peace and satisfaction in many ways; there was no crisis that was left unsolved. I comforted them in their utter despair and sadness and gave them hope. My dialogue was always charming, and I spoke power into their lives.

Even though I had the power even to make myself a king, or a man of great wealth, or with great might, I never did so. I knew those things would obscure my true self and my glory. The man who wins a battle empty handed has more glory than he who wins with weapons, and he who wins with words even more glorified, and he who wins with silence even more so. Indeed, my resources were little, but I always emerged the victor, winning battles and winning hearts.

At times, my dreams were rudely interrupted by some noise or commotion in the real world. Such interruptions were unbearably irritating; I wished I did not have to answer to the petty and mundane affairs of the real world. But as it is, the dreamer is real, and the dream is not, and reality dispels imaginings like light overcomes darkness.

Even so, I did not forget my people and the beautiful lands where I belonged. I would manage the necessary affairs of living (or at least, what I deem necessary), then return to my dream, where some quest would await me, and some trouble put me to the test.

Now, there was an ancient man who lived even to this day, and whose day of conception remains unknown. He was the most terrible interrupter of dreams I ever knew in my life; firstly, his body shone so brightly that if he walked into a dark room, the room would be illuminated as if it were day, and secondly, his footsteps had the very sound of thunder.

He used to walk past my room, where I slept and dreamt, and the light and noise would startle me. I knew that it was meant to wake me so that I would go out and follow him (to whatever place he takes people to), but I could not but feel very annoyed, and try to go back to sleep.

But one day I once again heard his thunderous footsteps, and for the first time... he walked straight into my room. The room instantly lit up, and besides the sound of thunder there was a deafening blast of wind. All of the sleep jolted from my body, I sat on my bed in speechless shock, wide-eyed, my heart pounding fast. I seriously thought I was going to die.

Yet, the closer he came, the calmer the wind, and the less thunderous his footsteps were. An invisible ghost that was in the wind whispered to me as the man drew near, saying repeatedly, "More to be seen, more to be seen..." Then as he sat down on the bed, all became still.

I could not look straight at him because he was so bright, so I sort of tried to look at him sideways, squinting. Then, to me these words he said,

"How long will you lie down, O sluggard?
When will you arise from your sleep?
'A little sleep, a little slumber,
A little folding of the hands to rest'—
Your poverty will come in like a vagabond
And your need like an armed man."

Then he left the room.

I did not feel annoyed, as I usually did before. Instead, I felt a mixture of soberness and exhilaration. And his words cut deeply to the heart, such that I did not want to go back to sleep again. I wasn't sure what to do.

"More to be seen..." I heard the ghost say again. 

And then I knew. Then I did the craziest thing ever. Immediately I leaped from my bed and charged out after the man, forsaking that room forever.

So I followed the man. And the longer I followed him, the more I could make of his countenance and features, whereas before he was so bright that I could not really see what he looked like. And it's not that he became less bright, but something was happening to my eyes that gave them a certain empowerment.

However, although I forsook the room, yet my dreams followed me. And whenever I am reminded of my dream world, I would grow tired of whatever business that the man had entrusted me to do, and doze off. When I wake up I would feel guilty of having neglected my work, but then afterwards still I indulge in my dreams.

Thus, I embarked on quests in two different worlds. It was not long before I found that the quests are of radically different natures, for in my dreams I do things for my own glory's sake, but for the man I work for his sake. The kind of satisfaction is different, too. In the dreams, satisfaction is much more easily attained, but fades rather quickly. In following the man, satisfaction is hard to gain, but persists for long.

It was also true that I could not pursue one without neglecting the other. Indulging in dreams severely affected my real work; whilst in the dreams, pain and sadness are quite bearable, but this causes the sting of real pain to surprise me and steal my enthusiasm for the work. My resistance to pain, fatigue, anxiety, sorrow, and shame are all greatly reduced, the more I continued living in my mild, self-written scripts.

Yet, I did not realize all this until the man sternly rebuked me today, saying, "The one who does not love does not know God, for God is love."

Oh, what a poor wretch I am, and how shameful! All this time I helped and comforted people who weren't real, while leaving the real people to their problems! A love with a false object cannot be a true love.

It is absurd, all my imagining and dreaming that I can help people this way and that, and never doing the deed, for fear that I cannot ensure my success. My hands have become too tender for work, and my heart too hardened for disappointment.

Yet the path of glory that the ancient man has for me is not all fairy tales and rainbows, but grit and failure and persistence. Oh, how I fear it, the true path of glory! It is like walking a trail of thorns and broken glass.

Forsake pride, fool! Awake from your slumber! May your eyes be more empowered to see the ancient man clearly, with holes in his hands and feet, having completed the path of glory!

The dreamer must dream no more, or he shall miss out in the perfect dream of God, the dream so divine that it comes to pass in the exact holy and wise way the Father of the ancient man dreamt it.

I desire Your glory, Lord. Don't forsake me to my own futility.

And those with the same desire, Lord, answer them. You Yourself have promised that there is more glory to be seen than is presently seen.

All glory and beauty be unto the ancient man. Amen.