Dreaming of New York


I dreamt of New York the other night.

Seven days in that soaring city and now it is a place in my subconscious.

Of course, I’ve been there before, but that was close to ten years ago. I guess it didn’t stick those first times, but now…

A kaleidoscope of brickwork wrapping around itself in Escheresque architecture, hills up and rivers under and the thousand canyon faces of an endless maze of buildings. Around and around on asphalt streets and darkened tunnels, in cars and trains, on foot, in rain…

Thousands and thousands of people, but not one of them a person I know, or someone I want to see.

Who did I meet there, and why can’t I find them now?

What did I find there, and why do I want to go back still?

How did I change there, and why am I running through back alleys and narrow passages and coming out in a beachhouse with an elevator connecting to the Deathstar and maybe the airport?

Time teaches that we are not in control. It is a river we can’t follow upstream, only down to its conclusion.

God is teaching me that I am not in control, and that the only way to stop almost-drowning is to stop looking backward and start learning how to swim, trusting that He knows where the river goes and how to get to a good end.

Swimming takes faith, you know.

You have to believe… that somewhere, somehow you will touch land again, and find that something that you glimpsed once back upstream and long to see again, before you run out of strength.

Or that God will turn you into a fish before you reach the sea.


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