Lovepats

God, Me and The Priest

I dreamed in poetry last night,

in words more poetic than I know.

It wasn’t  sexual,

but,  I did keep saying “yes! yes!”

Exuberant over dream words,

that for the first time, may have caused my husband some degree of concern over that trip I took

to a canyon of all places,

with a river

and it was hot.

You were in it.

(the dream, that is)

Sitting across from a priest, of all people

in that laid back, long legs crossed, fingers positioned over your mouth just so,

way of yours,

listening...

how telling of you.

I could see your wheels turning

when you said that thing I can’t remember.

But he wrote it down.

I had to hold my smile wide on the inside,

expanding my ribs without breath,

his facial grimace tightening.

“Balance, get your balance!”

I wanted to leap from the edge of my seat 

and shout “No!” in your defense.

But you were so calm,

unafraid of man-made condemnation,

and I didn’t jump, because of it.

The question was heavy.

Your truth was heavier.

We could feel the weight

there in the silence

of the dream…

I can’t remember.

Patricia Spreng

A real dream…  God, me and the priest... go figure.   I waited in stillness this morning,  quietly hoping for the memory of  what he said to come back to me.  I honestly can’t remember, it was gone.  I only remember how I felt.  The same way I always feel whenever I hear the Truth.  Maybe tonight I'll try and get back there. =)

(If you are a psychotherapist, please go easy on me in the comments section.)

Submitting this to d’Verse Open Link Night where you will find the wonderful words of poets.