Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Afro Cuban
I finally get to sleep after all the hubbub with grandma and fall almost immediately into dream.
I wake up in Africa. I know it's Africa, but it doesn't look anything like I've seen in documentaries, movies, anything. I had no point of reference, but here I was in Africa, somewhere, in a village.
Then I'm in a building. A type of building I have never seen. There is a doctor sitting in a chair, examining patients. Her black hair is pulled back into a pony tail. She has dark skin.
"I'm Cuban," she says without looking at me. She gives a shot to the little boy that she is examining. The boy doesn't flinch. He just stares at me like I'm not supposed to be there.
The boy walks away. "I'm Cuban," she says looking at me. I can't tell what language she is speaking. But I can understand her. I'm confused, but I look into her eyes and realize it's Jesus. What the fuck? Why won't the bastard leave me alone?!
She says something like they have to wait, or something, to a person who is helping her.
"What the fuck am I doing here?" I ask all confused.
"I didn't call you here," she tells me. "You came here on your own accord."
"Well why are you healing people like that? You're Jesus. Aren't you supposed to do that Jesus shit like with the lepers and all that?"
"Fuck you," Jesus says to me. Her eyes narrow to slits of focused anger.
"Why would I come to hang out with you?!"
"Look," she said, taking my hands. The energy suddenly changed. I felt an understanding, a familiarity. Suddenly relaxed in front of this human being. "You came here because you are ready to hear a message."
I thought, "this is so full of shit."
"No it isn't," she said. The fucker can read my mind.
"OK. So what's the message?"
"You're a healer."
"FUCK YOU!" I scream, but suddenly find myself in my room at Chuck's. The candles are still burning. I look around. I'm angry. I know what it means to be a healer, and I aint it. I'm pissed. Then I turn to logic. Maybe Cuban Doctor Jesus meant that my words have the ability to help heal. Yeah. Ain't me. I'm just a human being. I'm no healer. Maybe she meant it in the generic sense, like everyone is a healer. Yeah. That must be it.
I roll over, grab my stuffed puppy and kitty, cuddle real close, and call for dreams of grandma and dad as I fall asleep again.
I wake up in Africa. I know it's Africa, but it doesn't look anything like I've seen in documentaries, movies, anything. I had no point of reference, but here I was in Africa, somewhere, in a village.
Then I'm in a building. A type of building I have never seen. There is a doctor sitting in a chair, examining patients. Her black hair is pulled back into a pony tail. She has dark skin.
"I'm Cuban," she says without looking at me. She gives a shot to the little boy that she is examining. The boy doesn't flinch. He just stares at me like I'm not supposed to be there.
The boy walks away. "I'm Cuban," she says looking at me. I can't tell what language she is speaking. But I can understand her. I'm confused, but I look into her eyes and realize it's Jesus. What the fuck? Why won't the bastard leave me alone?!
She says something like they have to wait, or something, to a person who is helping her.
"What the fuck am I doing here?" I ask all confused.
"I didn't call you here," she tells me. "You came here on your own accord."
"Well why are you healing people like that? You're Jesus. Aren't you supposed to do that Jesus shit like with the lepers and all that?"
"Fuck you," Jesus says to me. Her eyes narrow to slits of focused anger.
"Why would I come to hang out with you?!"
"Look," she said, taking my hands. The energy suddenly changed. I felt an understanding, a familiarity. Suddenly relaxed in front of this human being. "You came here because you are ready to hear a message."
I thought, "this is so full of shit."
"No it isn't," she said. The fucker can read my mind.
"OK. So what's the message?"
"You're a healer."
"FUCK YOU!" I scream, but suddenly find myself in my room at Chuck's. The candles are still burning. I look around. I'm angry. I know what it means to be a healer, and I aint it. I'm pissed. Then I turn to logic. Maybe Cuban Doctor Jesus meant that my words have the ability to help heal. Yeah. Ain't me. I'm just a human being. I'm no healer. Maybe she meant it in the generic sense, like everyone is a healer. Yeah. That must be it.
I roll over, grab my stuffed puppy and kitty, cuddle real close, and call for dreams of grandma and dad as I fall asleep again.
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