The Prodigal Son

So, I don't know if I've established this, but I identify myself as a Non-Denominational Christian. If you'd like to know what I mean by that, feel free to ask, but I have absolutely no intention of discussing it publicly on my blog. Moving right along, last night while I was at church, the sermon was centered around Luke 15:1-2, 11-32. If you are unfamiliar with the Bible, that is the story of Jesus telling the story of the "Prodigal Son".

The story is that of a man's son who takes everything his father has to give him (money, a good name, etc) and spites him. The son leaves to go abroad and squanders everything (presumably on prostitutes, booze and gambling) until he is left in poverty. Long story short, he decides to go home (meanwhile, he is starving and presumably pretty gross-looking) to serve as a slave in his father's home because he believes he is not worthy to be his father's son. When he returns home, his father sees him in the distance and runs to embrace him. When the son starts to apologize, his father has a robe and sandals brought to him and declares that there will be a feast in honor of his son's home-coming.

Meanwhile, the son's older brother comes up from the field that he works for his father and questions a servant about the celebration going on. The servant tells the older brother that his brother has come home so his father wanted to throw a celebration in his honor, which upsets the older brother. The older brother lashes out at his father and lays his resentment at his father's feet, stating that his father never celebrated anything for him so why should he celebrate his unworthy brother? the father simply states, "My son...you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found," (Luke 15:31-32).

Well, that's the end of the story basically, and was purposefully left up for interpretation. I'm not going to get into the reasons why and all of that, mainly because I do not want to offend anyone (and lets face it, very few things offend people like conflicting religious beliefs). But after listening to the sermon, it made me think of what I would have happen at the end of the story. I had this insanely vivid image of the father asking the older brother to come into the house to join the celebration (which I believe he actually does in the story, I can't remember right now...maybe). When the older brother is about to refuse, he catches a glimpse of his younger brother and sees his debilitated state. The son would be skin-and-bones, dirty, wearing tattered rags beneath the robe his father had given him, has deep circles under his eyes and hollow cheeks...his hair would be grimy and straggling in his eyes, his beard would be long and unkempt. The older brother would see this and suddenly realize how he had romanticized the son's life of sin. He would see how the son had suffered and be filled with compassion rather than jealousy. And then I had the mental picture of the older brother coming into the celebration--after publicly disrespecting his father--and embracing the son to the point where they are both so over-come with emotion that fall to their knees, the older brother wrapping his arms around the son's shoulders. A circle has formed around the pair, while the festivities have become a blur, though the bright colors and hint of a celebration could be seen like a soft halo of light around them.

It's upsetting. I have this vivid picture in my mind and I have no means to express it. Yes, I've obviously written it, but I have this picture of it in my mind as a water color piece. What upsets me is that I lack the skill to put what exactly is in my mind to any canvas. I suppose I'll try and get frustrated time after time until I eventually get it right. More than anything, I think posting this blog will keep the image in my mind forever. But if I can't convey the image artistically, I wanted to express it with words. It is such a powerful image to have and something that could change someone's life if they see it the way I have. It is only a shame I can't do it justice.

Dream Log 2

So, I'm not quite certain what it is about alcohol that will make you sleep like the dead, but I certainly had one of those evenings where after one drink (went to T.G.I Fridays with some friends last night and partook in a "Cosmo-Rita" ftw) and a large meal with good friends, I was utterly exhausted. As such, when I got home, I knocked out as if I had been shot with a tranq dart.

Honestly, after waking up this morning to my blaring alarm clock and my whiny baby (Rosalie this time) and rushing to get ready so that I could get to class, I can't really remember much of the dream. As it is, it's relatively unfortunate because I do remember that my dream was awesome.

The first part that I remember is that I was standing in a field of what appeared to be wheat. Do you remember the movie Gladiator starring Russell Crowe, when he's dying and he's walking through the rolling, Tuscan hills of golden wheat? Yeah, it was like that. The same high-contrast coloring and everything (obviously, my dreams get pretty detailed). So, I'm walking through this field and the wheat is blowing in the wind and whipping at my stomach. I'm wearing this flowy dress that does not seem to have any distinctive color and for some reason my hair is really long and curly (in reality, my hair barely touches my shoulders and it's Asian-straight). I remember feeling the tips of the wheat whipping me...it kind of felt like it had sawed edges and it kind of hurt a little bit through the fabric of my clothes. I really don't know why I was walking through it, but I just was. It was relatively peaceful and I remember feeling calm, despite the mild pain and irritation of the wheat.

After that, I don't remember too much. But I remember that everything went really dark and I looked down at my hands and they were glowing as if they were fluorescent "day-glow" and a black light was being shined but there was no black light. I know, it's strange but since it's a dream I hope no one will judge me. Ha. So, I'm staring down at my hands and as I'm looking at them, this petrifying sense of foreboding fills my chest to the point where a cold point in the middle of my sternum begins to spread throughout my veins to every single part of my b0dy and I can't feel my legs because I'm so nervous. Suddenly, the lines on my hands (on my palms and the joins at my joints) begin to split open and blood starts pouring from hands in these spider-webby patterns. The lines open up more and more until I can see the gore of the insides of my hands; my muscles are ripping apart to the point where they look like a raw steak being torn. It was bright pink, just like a rare steak, and the blood was this deep red like you see in macabre compositions (photos, digital paintings, stuff like that). My skin-tone had evened out at this point until it looked almost normal, only they were pale (save for where the blood was) and they had that same high-contrast look as before.

Oddly enough, the feeling of foreboding went away and the feeling came back into my legs. That same sense of peace that I had had before returned to me, and I felt utterly calm.

....

And then I don't remember anything else because my stupid alarm clock went off and I didn't have time to just lay still and think about my dream because my daughter woke up and I had to get her up. So, there was really more to that dream but I can't really remember it, but it is unfortunate--like I said. Right now, I'm actually in class and we're discussing basic html (something I already know how to do, so although I'm keeping my ears open for my name, I'm not really paying attention unless I'm helping someone...hence the blog), so I should probably become more involved with the class as of right now. But given the fact that it is a new Term for school, I should probably be paying a little more attention. I like to be engaged in my schoolwork. So, ta' for now!

Side-note: yes, I understand that my dream appears to paint me in a relatively masochistic light but I don't really think I am. It's just a dream. Ha.