dreams

You’ve heard the term “dream job”? Some of you are living it no doubt. I can appreciate the idea of having a dream job. There are some days, most actually, that I think that my existence as pastoral artist within my community o’ faith is a dream job. After all, how many of the rest of you get to do research and study time at coffee shops and cafés? If you do, I hope that the fireplace is working for you Anyway…., dream jobs are one thing, but I hate it when my actual dreams are invaded by my actual job. Far be it from me to complain but, since so much of what I do is for others, I’d prefer to reserve my dream energy just for myself thank you.
I woke up this morning with the annoying realization that my dreams, at least the part that I remember, and who really cares about the rest…, were invaded again by my working environment. It makes it seem that I was working even in my sleep. Now there are some in my community who probably feel that I must have been working in my sleep when they’re listening to me teach on Sunday’s, but I’m talking about really working while I was physically in bed sleeping. I don’t like it at all. I went to bed exhausted last night, mainly from my chosen vocation. That’s ok. As Neil Yong sings, “it’s better to burn out , rust never sleeps” and now that I’m gonna be a grandpa this year rusting out is looking more prominently on the horizon. What is not ok with me is when my chosen vocation chases me into the safety of my flannel sheets.
Some of you, or most maybe, know what I’m referring to. Working in your dreams can be a double edged sword. Besides all the weird Pink Floyd, Alice in Wonderland activity that tends to happen in dreamland, sometimes, in your work/dream, you get to tell your co-workers exactly what you think of them and why….unless you’re a Seattle dreamer then you still fear offending someone. The rest of us will be able to finally tell it like it is. On the other hand, there is always the risk in your work/dream that someone will tell you exactly what they think of you….Seattle or not. I don’t need that crap. I get letters already. I know fairly well what they think of me, I’d like to keep my dreamscape illusion if you don’t mind….whatever.
So I wake, frustrated, still tired, and seeking the sanctuary of a hot, black grande drip, a smooth croissant, and the sun peeking through the clouds at the beach while Bruce and the band are singing “Out in the Street” in my headphones. A tug boat is gliding by, the wind has died down, the snow melted, the retired people have not shown up yet, and my favorite chair was open. If only….a working fireplace….alas, not even in my dreams.