Hit or miss

My decision to come to seminary was an abrupt one, seized when it seemed that my ties to my work responsibilities were self imposed. Perhaps, it is better defined as a twist of fate or an expression of faith. Still, on a rather impulsive decision in February, I find myself in a theological institution.

My goal in being here is finding the divine in my life. That, I believe, will only come when and if I am focused.

Focus is why I came some 3,000 miles from home. Focus is what I hope to achieve in these months that I separate myself from that which is familiar. Still, I’m well aware that we never really leave ourselves behind. In whatever we strike out to do, our distraction remain our constant. The most, it seems, that we can hope for is that a new experience or new knowledge can open up new direction in our lives and a commitment to applying ourselves to a new way.

In some ways, I’m waiting to become enlightened. I pray each night for some sort of message. Like Moses or Mohammed, I am hoping that the ultimate spirit(s) of the world will speak to me. I ask that I might be filled with some sort of ultimate understanding. I ask for some sort of sign that I am on the right track.

So far the small bits of dreams that I remember have been filled with images of dying. I dreamed that I was in a room and a gunman burst in with an automatic weapon. Knowing that this person was going to kill someone and I was there with my son Zac, I quickly offered myself up for the slaughter. I remember being filled with bullet holes and dissolving into some sort of blue ocean of bubbles.

I told my dream to a dream interpreter in the dining hall the other day at dinner.

“Was there any blood?” he asked of me. When I told him “no,” he asked: “Is there anything in your life that you think should be aerated?”

“All I know is that I wasn’t afraid of dying, and my life dissolved into bubbles,” I responded.

A few days later, I dreamed I was on a concrete bank and a school staff member was walking through water some three feet deep. I didn’t want her to fall off the concrete walkway and then looked over my left shoulder as a huge wave was gathering to inundate us. Again, I wasn’t afraid.

I can’t help but wonder if my dream was a question of ‘what can I do but drown,’ or whether it's the proverbial surrender that ultimately leads to some sort of enlightenment.

I can only hope for the latter.

Yassir Chadley, my “Introduction to Islam” professor, tells us stories of the Islamic faith every Thursday night. He said that everything in our lives has the opportunity to be manifested. For him, Allah, the merciful, the most gracious, manifests everything, included our dreams.

If that is so, I hope that I will be aerated and that those things that I have inflicted upon myself as limitations will be lifted. I pray that the good wishes that I send to those whom I love, to all who I know, and all who I don’t know will manifest themselves as well.

I'm focused on peace on earth and our ability to touch the divine in us all, as if it could be so.