vicarious

I had a dream; and in this dream I met folks from far and wide, new were arrivals for the team. It was a beautiful thing. Their hair was colorful and dyed multiple shades of various hues. They had tattoos and other curious piercings or outer wear, I wanted to learn more. I’d never seen the diagrams depicted in that way before. In this dream they were happy to express themselves in all forms and fashions; in their native tongue – without fear of repercussions or reprisals. They walked proudly through the halls and had no difficulty finding the place, nor getting through the process, nor feeling welcomed or at home. It was as if inner peace and outward joy were freely available; and the cups of love were filled to the brim, overflowing like the Ace. I wandered further and found the training session happening, the languages were spoken in picture, written on the walls, projected into the air. I walked outside, and a gentleman from the training met with me, and told me he was looking forward to reading that book I recommended, as he headed into the cafe waiving back with a smile.

I crossed the street in this dream, and was startled awake by the sound of knocking on the door – it was opportunity; and we answered.

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