I frequently have bizarre dreams. I think they’re fun. They may or may not mean anything (I don’t put much stock in interpreting dreams), but regardless, I like a good story and mine are usually well-developed in dreams. Here you go.
Last night, I began my dream looking down at my hands and in the mirror. Yes, I was a 7 yr old black boy, living in the inner city of a non-descript metropolis.  My parents, just trying to make ends meet, we were poor. Somehow, my dad got the bright idea to start an urban garden in the back patio.
I can’t remember what I did, but it was the typical 7 yr old boy naughtiness and rather than face my momma, her wagging finger and disappointing look, I ran for it. The city street at night was vivid with lights and long shadows – active, as a city is around 8:30 pm – too late for a kid to be out alone. I passed a window kiosk for some kind of concert tickets. While the man paying looked to the right, I snatched away the money with no one seeing me. I mean, I’m a dark little kid; I blend in, and I’m stealthy.
I took off and boarded a city bus, no one the wiser of my crime. I sat by the window watching the building pass by. They moved quicker and quicker, blurring until they changed completely to something like football risers. My attention was caught as I saw angels sitting down, watching my speed by the stands like I was in a race. And then mixed in with the angels were all these people in my own real life – friends and loved ones who have supported me over the years, cheering me on as I go on my way.
My little black 7 yr old self became ashamed of what I had done. The money crumpled up in the palm of my hand as I watched people spring up on the stands shouting out my name. The buildings phased back into the picture and I let out a sigh. Standing up I called to be let off and sprinted back to the ticket window.
I handed the money back to the lady standing there – it was her concert and she was so happy. I stayed and listened. Her dream was to earn a living playing the violin while dressed in a tight tiger suit and face paint. It didn’t suit myself, but the image of her so happy with whiskers sprouting from her cheeks were enough to spur me to go back home.
I made it home to my parents, who were so happy to see me. I confessed everything and then told my dad that he should sell the seeds we get from the garden for $24,000 each. I don’t know where that came from, but it seemed to be part of that vision from God while I was on the bus.
And then I woke up, expecting something a little more glorious, especially with seeds being sold for $24,000 a pop. But no, just a half hour later than my alarm clock and rushing through the shower.

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