i.

last night I had a vision.
There was a man, a pastor,
of my childhood.

His face was round
with dark thick eyebrows
framing soul-piercing blue eyes.
His head was crowned by gray hair,
peppered with black remnants of his youth.
His mouth, this is what I remember most,
could sink into concerned frowns,
and explode into an uplifting smile
that seemed to carry the most pain-wrecked bodies
to heaven.

I remember him as a man who walked a thin line
between leading me to a deeper sense of spirituality
and the duties of belonging to an organized religion.
His sermons spoke truth. A midwestern truth:
simple, direct. Honest.
But at just the right time, between his stories of growing up
on his family's farm in Montana,
and his weekly experiences,
he would explode into his passion for Christ,
God,
and the possibilities of Heaven.

He died. A month or two ago.
My confirmation class was the last he taught before tiring,
and it was soon revealed that he had cancer.
He was slowly being eaten away from the inside out.

I never gave it much thought. I was sad,
but never too contemplative about it.

ii.

last night I had a vision.
I was in the church of my youth,
which I haven't visited in a year or so, if not more.
It was roughly five years ago. I say five,
because it is a nice round number.
It is not accurate. Time is too melted together in dreams.

I know that the time period was real to me, because
at the time inside of the dream, my mother was
on some committee in the church.

I remember this happened in real life.

I know this happened because after church,
the pastor approached my mother with some questions.
He needed her to call some people and to answer a few questions
by the next day.

Then he looked at me. In this dream, he looked at me.
And I don't say his eyes just turned towards me. He

looked

at me.

And he spoke words. He said "You look down."
And I muttered a bit, as I usually did when I was younger.
He handed me a card with his name on it. "You know, Jared,"
he said to me as I took the card in my hand.
"Anytime you're feeling down, you can talk to me."

And then I awoke.

iii.

I was crying. When I awoke, in a tent,
in the woods, on vacation,

I was sobbing and tears were pouring from my eyes faster than I could
squeeze them shut.

I don't believe this was just a dream.
I believe he came to me, his spirit, in my dreams,
to restore my faith in God.

He was always the type to take care of all those in his flock in need of care.

And by those words, "Anytime you're feeling down, you can talk to me,"
he created a relationship for me with God that I didn't have before.
He gave God a face for me.

a round face.
with dark, thick eyebrows
framing soul-piercing blue eyes.
a head crowned with salt and pepper hair,
though, mostly gray,
and a mouth, so expressive,
it could sink into concern and explode into a smile
in a moment's notice.

god is my pastor.

07/15/2006

Author's Note: This poem is for me. COMPLETELY for me. It is not an attempt to articulate something to others. It is not an attempt to create art. It is for me. I was spending a week camping in the wilderness, and on the last night I was there, I had a dream, and I woke up in tears. This dream was the reason why.

Posted on 07/15/2006
Copyright © 2024 Jared Fladeland