I dreamed recently, and in the dream, I was going, somewhat surreptitiously, to an underground fellowship of Christians. Well, metaphorically, it was underground; I was in some sort of skyscraper, but I had to go through a swamp. On the way out, going through the same swamp, I was cornered. The dream changed then to some sort of martial arts fantasy, and there was a poignancy to it I cannot explain perfectly. I’ve tried to capture it in verse. The first time through the swamp, I was arguing with a companion about Christianity and Buddhism, and he said something about going in different directions but turning toward the same end.
I have, of late, begun to dream,
and strange these visions seem.
A swampy trek in a high-rise
with monsters half realized.
An argument between two things,
tween West and East, here rings.
A tyrant came to take control,
but light did seem the toll
and great the gifts that he would grant
and in these people plant.
Not slaves, but citizens, he'd make,
yet sovereignty he'd take.
The princess of this mountain clan
formed a rebellious plan.
She saw the strange martial powers,
but fear would not sour
determination to unseat
and the Viceroy defeat.
But he was master of that art.
He saw them at the start.
He flew to meet them on the stair,
and fought them then and there.
He singlehanded took them out;
thus failed her cunning rout.
But not to kill, indoctrinate;
His love answered her hate.
Her title kept, she learned their ways—
here dream passed years as days—
a war hero of the empire
then to the stars aspire…
There in Heaven the Viceroy met;
they argued in duet.
And East and West and hate and love
contended up above.
And so was proved they'd meet once more
as said in high-rise' swampy floor.
They met, her in some sort of spaceship, him strangely disembodied, before a black hole. And the argument had to do not only with religion in the abstract, but the choice of whether or not to fly into the darkness. She was old, greatly honored, but not at peace.
Tale Told 