Waking Dream

Today is Mardi Gras. All around the country, and very specifically in New Orleans, people will be celebrating the beginning of the lenten season with as much stuff that they percieve doesn't fit into the lenten season as possible. I'm not intending to write about the debauchery of Mardi Gras. Truth is, I love a good party and I think Jesus does to, but it does betray a bit of how we view God. I think we believe that somehow there is a huge seperation between the desires of our hearts and the life we are resigned to live. I wrote this piece last week and, while it doesn't match with the day specifically, I felt like it fit. Happy Fat Tuesday. There was a morning last week that I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t even really wake up. I was aware that I was asleep and that soon I would have to shake myself totally awake and start my day. It wasn’t that I was overtired or not looking forward to the day. I had had a great evening and I have a great life. It was a rare phenomenon that had me strapped to the bed this morning. It was a really good dream. I’m not the sort of person that remembers the events of my sub-conscious, so this was an unusual occurrence for me to be in a waking dream.  The details were clear and I was completely present. I was at a party. It wasn’t like a house party, but a party at a place. People were dressed well and there was dancing. I had a tux, but was alone at the party when in walked…her. I had been hoping she would come. She looked stunning as she entered the room. She walked over to me and I handed her a glass of champagne. That’s when we noticed the other woman wearing the same dress.  Now, I must admit that it’s odd that I had a “same dress crisis” in my dream, but I figured out why shortly after. See, she noticed her and felt the crisis. I don’t think it was embarrassment, it just means that something is being taken away from someone. I could see it in her face. That’s when I stepped into action.  “Come with me” She took my hand and we left the party…but didn’t get far. In the lobby of the…actually I don’t know where it was...let’s just say in the lobby, were some ruffians. It was classic and cartoony. There was a big guy in a grey suit surrounded by bigger guys in dark suits. They had a beef with me and had brought enough muscle to get their agenda accomplished. Or so they thought.  As I opened the proverbial can upon their derrières, I was able to subdue them, keep my tux intact, and exit with a 007-like dignity. I took the fair lady across to the dress shop where and enjoyed watching her try on new dresses. After buying her the one she chose, we exited the shop and opted for a table at the outdoor cafe (very Parisian), deciding that the party was far too boorish and our time would be much better spent enjoying each other’s company over lattes. It was. And my subconscious worked like James Brown to keep me in that world.  When I finally wrestled my way out of that space and out from undercover, I wondered about my mind’s reluctance to leave. I have a great life. Granted, there are few tux-worthy parties and I would be first working to talk my way out of a scrape (though I’d like to think I would at least give the guys a workout before getting my hind handed to me). I’ve enjoyed the company of the fair maiden and have been blessed with the resources to do good things. But in that moment, I was able to do all of those things, in concentrated form, and be the hero that lives in the soul of every man who listens to his DNA. I wondered about it because of what I mentioned before - I don’t tend to remember dreams. I wake with my mind ready to address the ball that is coming my way that day. That might be how I wake; my brain getting the day’s list out of the drawer and starting to read it to me. This day is was different. This morning my brain kept the list in the drawer because I needed to understand something about myself. The man in the dream was me. I think we, men in particular, love movies that look like my dream because there is a manhood that is too often unrealized. Why we ignore our call to be great and leave it to a rare few (or worse, a fictional few) is beyond me. Men have so dropped the ball on the centrality of their call that it makes me wonder why women take a chance with us to begin with. We aren’t that pretty. I’m the first one to admit - it’s hard being a man. It’s the best kind of hard. We get to daily reflect those attributes of God that are given to us by nature of our gender. I don’t buy in to the concepts of traditional male dominance, but what we have done is given up our soul. It’s not about who we control but about who we are in our heart. There are very few concepts I despise more than a man cave. When did it become OK for us to define our sex in terms of what we don’t do. We get a big easy chair so we can sit on our fat aft and watch other men do things on a big TV and fill our bodies with beverages that mar our ability to love and protect. We stuff our face with foods that stick to our immobile veins and ensure that our value will be lost to this world earlier than planned while gathering with other like minded souls to discuss the great acts of other men. It’s embarrassing. Let me bring you all into the huddle for a moment to tell you a secret. True men do great things, not spend their life watching other men do great things. I enjoyed my dream, and, instead of waking and wishing I could run back in and live in that world, I considered how I could act in the spirit of my soul today. My body needs some work so that I can have the physical ability to do whatever is needed of me. I’m going to get on that. I work daily on the practice and understanding of love so that the people I care about feel bigger. I read and listen so that my grasp of the world I move in becomes sharper with age and not in a steady flow toward dementia. I work to gain further strides in fiscal health so that not only I won’t have to depend on others nor the ones I love, but so I can pay forward the large debt of the investment that others paid into me.  In other words, I want to become everything that I was made to be. Our stories are meant to inspire, not give us an escape route from the dissatisfaction of our reality. I read and see the stories of others who go before me and it informs where I need to be going. It’s why Jesus told stories - it gave us a window into what we are made to be. My dream told me a bit more about my soul and told me the areas that still need focus. I have boys that need to see what a man can be. There is a fair maiden that, when she gets to walk next to a man who is fully realized, gets to feel better about believing. There is a world of people waiting to hear that they can be more if they just listened to the call that is screaming in their soul rather than believing it’s too hard or that the men who do it are “lucky”. I've got a long way to go, but I take each day as it comes and try and be just a bit more. I'm forming a team. I hope you will join me.