What is the fabric of a dream?
To have felt the silk of joy resting on coarsed shoulders…does experiential reality define reality itself?
Hands that clasp and clench at that which appears before me, seeing something that appears to befriend…and yet, with every reach, fingers close upon palm, nothing between.
How can this be understood? What is real? Who is real? The condition of the heart at stake, it trusts again, and again, and again…
The effort to protect from defeated conclusions becomes increasingly laborious. There must be a place where rest is the strength of the path of shadows. We labor to enter that rest, I hear the scripter say…
The dreamer…given divine incitement, holy unction…
There are hard truths to be interfaced, ones that pry at deepened bars, working them out at their roots. Bars that stagnate. Bars that restrict. Bars that ultimately imprison. Bars that we hold so tightly that they hold us.
Bars forged of manmade manifestation of that which can only be breathed of God. Even a dream.
So we have this treasure in earthen vessels…even a dream. But the tendency to fabricate by the arm of the flesh that which is but a vapor, leaves me clenching air, then grasping iron. And remaining behind it. O, for the release. But, the release…
To release that which has been promised, and so desired…
…is to understand and accept that to hold the Dream-giver is to behold the dream itself. And to understand that He is the ultimate manifestation of that dream.
Sarah, you did not have to fool your husband Jacob with the deception of Isaac and Esau. God never calls us to avert His principles of right-doing for the sake of fulfilling His plans.
Self, you do not have to manufacture that which lies within. Even if something may come of it, it will be at best a shell of the core of its purpose and fulfillment.
…the vapors that pass by…that which comes one moment, gone the next…losing that which you never had…grasping its image, while never holding its substance, chasing its shade as it dances freely away from you out of sight…then clasping its memory and not letting go…
How can we try to clutch the shadow of a vapor?
The unlearning process, not just the release of the hands, but the frontend…this must change. Walking circumspectly, with sobriety of mind and patience of heart, being found whole in the fulfillment of the Dream-giver. This is the gravity and surefootedness of the path of shadows.
We must…I must.
There is an altar, that which becomes the bed on which I must lie, against what begins as cold, hardened stone…but pillowing my head daily, it warms and embraces me. I remind myself, I do not have to fear the fire, the breaking…for it is in this wherein I am healed, multiplied. And I am in His hands most intimately in the process.
…and I hear Him say, only after having come to this point of re-surrender, Dream on.
May the wineskin of my heart be fit to bear these words better than ever before.