There once was a man who dreamed. And the things he dreamed came true-- not by magic but by choice. He adjusted his life actively to align with the things in his mind. If he dreamed it, he did it, and he found freedom and purpose in this lifestyle-- in relinquishing control on the one hand by letting his dreams (and whatever caused them) do all the decision making. On the other hand, he had never felt more in control; every day he awoke with new purpose, new conviction, and the fearless drive to do that which was right. He did not know in the empirical sense that it was right, but that did not matter. It felt right.
He dreamed he had a dog-- one with black spots on a white coat. So he scoured the pet shops and dog pounds (16 of them) until he found one of this variety. He named the dog Chester, and the first thing he did next was teach Chester to play fetch-- for that was what they did in the dream.
Once he sold his house and used the money to travel around the world by bicycle because in a dream Jesus told him that this is what he was to do. And while travelling he fell asleep many times-- once while he was riding. He of course did not dream at this time for the sleep only lasted the 3.5 seconds it took to go crashing to the ground. But much like Saul, at this time of disturbance our dreamer had a waking vision, a vision of a world in which the one goal of all was selfless love. This was the man's interpretation, anyway. The vision itself was of a world map which quickly zoomed in and out of different countries and in each country were a variety of people dressed only in national flags sewn together. These people were hugging. Some laughed. Some cried. Some looked healthy. Some did not.
The vision compelled our man to act; however for the first time he did not know exactly what to do or where to start. So he decided to continue his journey but to start hugging people more. He also started asking people to join him. Most said no, but here and there he found some people in a transitional period in their lives. Most were students or recent graduates. Some were attracted by the hugging aspect. Some by the exercise and challenge of long distance cycling. Some by the opportunity to travel. But many of them simply wanted to do something-- something different, big-- something that seemed to matter.
This went on for some time, and all the while the dreamer continued to dream. Mostly small things: where to take meals, what to say to people, which direction to ride...
But sometimes the dreams were less clear. One time the sky was orange, his bike was flying, and some strange creature was perched on the handlebars. The man did not know what to make of this, but he was still on the bike in his dreams, so he stayed on the bike in real life.
Another time he wasn't even in the dream; there was just blue sky, clouds, and birds-- birds everywhere.
And then came a very disturbing dream. The man was on his bike with his followers behind him when suddenly a semi-truck came around a corner at top speed and straight at him. He veered right. The truck veered the other way. They missed each other, but the truck proceeded to run over 5 other cyclists. The man ditched his bike and started running toward the accident when the truck exploded. Then he woke up.
What was he to do? If he continued living his life this same way, it was clear that people would die. Or was he given this dream so he would know to make a different choice the second time around? Perhaps by veering left instead of right? Or was he supposed to stop cycling so the dream could never come true?
The next day the man told his followers to take a rest. They would not ride. They were to use the time to build up their energy while he planned their next course of action. This was, of course, a stall. He needed another dream-- something that would make things clearer for him. So he waited for night. He ate breakfast, talked to some of the people that had been with him longest. He ate lunch, called a few friends back home, read some poetry. He ate dinner, looked at some maps, drank some tea that was supposed to be good for sleep. And then he went to bed.
He laid there for quite some time. But sleep would not come for the dreamer. When it comes to desperate need, it is often the desperation that proves the biggest obstacle to having the need satisfied, and that was true in this case. The man was so hungry for guidance that his mind was unable to be calmed. He tossed and turned and tried all the tricks he knew, but sleep would not come. The closest he got was a half-awake chain of thoughts that were clearly thoughts rather than dreams-- for there were no images. Yet somehow these thoughts did not seem entirely within his control. But when the sun rose, the dreamer had made his decision. He had lived his life a certain way, and it had suited him brilliantly. He would continue on as he had always done. For what reason, other than sheer uncertainty, should a man do anything but stay the course when that course has proven itself useful?
So he assembled his followers, and together they rode toward their next destination. That day, they passed thirteen semi-trucks, and every time one of them came around a corner the man tensed, readying himself to veer to the right. But the trucks always stayed in their own lanes, and the cyclists always stayed in theirs.
Things continued on this way for months. The dreamer couldn't dream new dreams. He slept restlessly, consumed by thoughts of trucks, blood, and fire-- if ever his sleep lasted long enough to reach the dream state, it was these things he continued to dream of. In waking life, he found that people became less receptive to his random well-intentioned hugs. Sometimes they would hurry away quickly, glancing back over their shoulders.
As time went on, the other cyclists drifted away. They got jobs, they fell in love, their grandparents died, they got bored. Things changed for them.
And the dreamer was confused. How could he make his dream come true if he had no followers? Clearly he must have done something wrong?
Then a semi-truck came speeding around the corner in his lane. He veered right. The truck veered the other way. No one died, and both continued onward.
The man at first breathed a sigh of relief. He had followed his dreams and prevented death. All was right.
But was it, really? Life had not happened the way it had in his dream. Was that event still to come? Or had he changed things somehow? Was he still doing what he was meant to do? Or should he find something new? And for that matter, how did he know he was supposed to even be going around to all these countries in the first place? Had he interpreted his vision correctly? What should he do now? What now?
It took him a long time to sleep that night, and when he did he didn't dream. The next day he didn't feel very well, so he stayed in bed, dreaming again of the truck. Nothing had changed about it. But cycling around from stranger to stranger was seeming much less of a draw. Yet the dreamer had no other ideas. So he stayed the course. And his dreams rarely changed.
He dreamed he had a dog-- one with black spots on a white coat. So he scoured the pet shops and dog pounds (16 of them) until he found one of this variety. He named the dog Chester, and the first thing he did next was teach Chester to play fetch-- for that was what they did in the dream.
Once he sold his house and used the money to travel around the world by bicycle because in a dream Jesus told him that this is what he was to do. And while travelling he fell asleep many times-- once while he was riding. He of course did not dream at this time for the sleep only lasted the 3.5 seconds it took to go crashing to the ground. But much like Saul, at this time of disturbance our dreamer had a waking vision, a vision of a world in which the one goal of all was selfless love. This was the man's interpretation, anyway. The vision itself was of a world map which quickly zoomed in and out of different countries and in each country were a variety of people dressed only in national flags sewn together. These people were hugging. Some laughed. Some cried. Some looked healthy. Some did not.
The vision compelled our man to act; however for the first time he did not know exactly what to do or where to start. So he decided to continue his journey but to start hugging people more. He also started asking people to join him. Most said no, but here and there he found some people in a transitional period in their lives. Most were students or recent graduates. Some were attracted by the hugging aspect. Some by the exercise and challenge of long distance cycling. Some by the opportunity to travel. But many of them simply wanted to do something-- something different, big-- something that seemed to matter.
This went on for some time, and all the while the dreamer continued to dream. Mostly small things: where to take meals, what to say to people, which direction to ride...
But sometimes the dreams were less clear. One time the sky was orange, his bike was flying, and some strange creature was perched on the handlebars. The man did not know what to make of this, but he was still on the bike in his dreams, so he stayed on the bike in real life.
Another time he wasn't even in the dream; there was just blue sky, clouds, and birds-- birds everywhere.
And then came a very disturbing dream. The man was on his bike with his followers behind him when suddenly a semi-truck came around a corner at top speed and straight at him. He veered right. The truck veered the other way. They missed each other, but the truck proceeded to run over 5 other cyclists. The man ditched his bike and started running toward the accident when the truck exploded. Then he woke up.
What was he to do? If he continued living his life this same way, it was clear that people would die. Or was he given this dream so he would know to make a different choice the second time around? Perhaps by veering left instead of right? Or was he supposed to stop cycling so the dream could never come true?
The next day the man told his followers to take a rest. They would not ride. They were to use the time to build up their energy while he planned their next course of action. This was, of course, a stall. He needed another dream-- something that would make things clearer for him. So he waited for night. He ate breakfast, talked to some of the people that had been with him longest. He ate lunch, called a few friends back home, read some poetry. He ate dinner, looked at some maps, drank some tea that was supposed to be good for sleep. And then he went to bed.
He laid there for quite some time. But sleep would not come for the dreamer. When it comes to desperate need, it is often the desperation that proves the biggest obstacle to having the need satisfied, and that was true in this case. The man was so hungry for guidance that his mind was unable to be calmed. He tossed and turned and tried all the tricks he knew, but sleep would not come. The closest he got was a half-awake chain of thoughts that were clearly thoughts rather than dreams-- for there were no images. Yet somehow these thoughts did not seem entirely within his control. But when the sun rose, the dreamer had made his decision. He had lived his life a certain way, and it had suited him brilliantly. He would continue on as he had always done. For what reason, other than sheer uncertainty, should a man do anything but stay the course when that course has proven itself useful?
So he assembled his followers, and together they rode toward their next destination. That day, they passed thirteen semi-trucks, and every time one of them came around a corner the man tensed, readying himself to veer to the right. But the trucks always stayed in their own lanes, and the cyclists always stayed in theirs.
Things continued on this way for months. The dreamer couldn't dream new dreams. He slept restlessly, consumed by thoughts of trucks, blood, and fire-- if ever his sleep lasted long enough to reach the dream state, it was these things he continued to dream of. In waking life, he found that people became less receptive to his random well-intentioned hugs. Sometimes they would hurry away quickly, glancing back over their shoulders.
As time went on, the other cyclists drifted away. They got jobs, they fell in love, their grandparents died, they got bored. Things changed for them.
And the dreamer was confused. How could he make his dream come true if he had no followers? Clearly he must have done something wrong?
Then a semi-truck came speeding around the corner in his lane. He veered right. The truck veered the other way. No one died, and both continued onward.
The man at first breathed a sigh of relief. He had followed his dreams and prevented death. All was right.
But was it, really? Life had not happened the way it had in his dream. Was that event still to come? Or had he changed things somehow? Was he still doing what he was meant to do? Or should he find something new? And for that matter, how did he know he was supposed to even be going around to all these countries in the first place? Had he interpreted his vision correctly? What should he do now? What now?
It took him a long time to sleep that night, and when he did he didn't dream. The next day he didn't feel very well, so he stayed in bed, dreaming again of the truck. Nothing had changed about it. But cycling around from stranger to stranger was seeming much less of a draw. Yet the dreamer had no other ideas. So he stayed the course. And his dreams rarely changed.
