As the homework due this weekend is an inspirational talk/sermon (homework that I still haven’t written because I can’t find that thread of inspiration from which to weave a 20minute talk!), a dream I had about two months ago is re-sparked in my mind’s eye…

I dreamed that I was some sort of conference with my One Spirit community (the interspiritual seminary I attend), held in New York City at a giant complex called the Interfaith Center. Lots and lots of people milled about, preparing to attend workshops and gatherings. All of a sudden, a bomb exploded at the Islam section (every faith had its own space within the complex). Although a tragedy, the event wasn’t huge, maybe a few people killed, but there was chaos and fear of more danger. I began assisting people, including a young woman who seemed to be mentally and physically disabled. I helped her walk, with some aid from the girl’s mother.

Then, I overheard some people in suits, some sort of committee, discussing a need for a speaker, someone to allay fear and inspire love. They wanted to use words like those of Rev. Diane (One Spirit’s spiritual director), but they need a strong and passionate speaker. Mentions of a few of my classmates came into the committee’s discussion, but they all fell flat in the imagined scenarios of each person actually speaking to the crowd.

I desperately wanted to go over and tell them I could do it! I knew I could speak clearly and powerfully. But something stopped me. I was afraid. I even had some writing of mine on me that I thought would be appropriate, but I just couldn’t go over.

I knew there were words that needed to be heard. I knew that my voice could deliver those words in a way that could be heard. In the dream, I envisioned myself speaking to all of those people and felt panic arise. Maybe my voice would falter and fail! But, quickly, I saw myself overcoming that with the powerful words I felt like I was supposed to speak. I somehow knew that my voice would indeed remain clear, strong, and steady. I saw my body quickly moving from a hunched over position – inward and nervous – to tall and open, shoulders back and heart forward, my gaze extending to everyone in the room.

Sadly, my fantasy faded as I stalled, frozen in my spot, watching and listening to the committee. Was I just waiting for them to notice me? To somehow intuit that I was capable of the task? Something tells me I was supposed to grab the reins and let them know. I tried to keep myself in the dream long enough to get to the point of being brave and offering myself but alas, I woke up before I did, missing my chance.

As I think of this now, I wonder a few things. Was the lesson that I needed to stay and help the girl and her mother? Was my role in catastrophe to keep assisting and guiding others? In my dream, I was surprised at my calm amidst the chaos. However, the girl faded away in my dream, as if fine. They didn’t seem to need my help anymore.

Where was the desire to speaking coming from? Did I simply want attention? I’m not sure. Intuitively, I say no. I just knew that I could and wanted to.

When it comes to writing… why do I write? Why do I want others to read my words? Is it because I think I’m so special and people need to know that? No, it’s more like I think I’m probably pretty much like everyone else, yearning for love and peace and passion in my life, and asking questions about life and the universe. I put my words out there into the ether so that someone somewhere can maybe connect. Really, if I could put words to one of my deepest desires it would be that I desperately wish that everyone knew how connected we all are.