Philipic1

    This is my first Philipic, so don't be harsh. It isn't really a philipic, but a critique on the nature of our human soul.

     Yesterday, I was surfing the Internet at high speeds, enjoying the cruising feeling of living life. My life was crystal clear, I knew where I was going. Over a month ago, I had mailed an application to the House of Representatives to become a Congressional Page. Although the job won't be glamorous (it is mainly paper handling) it would provide a great opportunity to get to meet and enjoy politicians and assistants from across the nation. I sincerely hoped that I would get the job. I knew that it was unlikely that I would get in, but I was so excited! The anticipation! The one magical moment when I can open that letter! Maybe that sounds a little ecstatic, but the whole situation was unusual.
     I stood up from my chair and strolled down the sidewalk to the mailbox. I opened the mailbox, only to find the long anticipated reply from my Representative's office. Bundling the letter with the rest of the mail, I hurried back inside my house. Splattering the mail on the dining room table, I carefully opened the letter. My eyes danced on the letter until I found the top line of the first paragraph. Thank you for the application....yeah whatever....."unfortunately, many other people applied for the same position." Silence. Devastation. Shattered dreams. I dropped the letter on the table.
     My dream. I shook my head from side to side, as if brushing off a disturbing thought. Did this dream mean that much to me? Maybe the dream had existed for so long that it slowly altered my perception of reality.
     Rejected?
     Shot down?
     Are dreams that vital to the human psyche?
     Are our lives simply a flood of dreams that never matured to reality?
     Maybe this whole experience, this entire application process, maybe it was some kind of a game to watch my reaction. Some sort of mental puzzle or a lab experiment to test my limits as a human being.
      Then, amid the turmoil of my troubled mind, someones throat is cleared from the back of my mind. It is the monk, an Ancient Chinese philosopher that I consult when I need his guidance. He spoke his words softly, yet with a great amount of thought in every syllable from his mouth.
       "Are your dreams that important to you?"
       "I thought that I could control my reality and my dreams separately."
       "Some believe they can. But they do not know what it means to control. To control can mean manipulating, but it really means having complete unchallenged control over yourself in each realm. You use dreams to understand reality; we all do. That is quite normal. What you need to know is how to not exist in either realm, but jump from one to the other constantly. Controlling both worlds may leave you hopelessly insane."
       "How do I......how do I know that that is the only way?"
       A warm smile appears on his face. "You always were suspicious of other people's unsupported wisdom. Well, every moment is spent in either one realm or the other. Most people go to their dream world only when they sleep. The ability to return to that mystical world at will, some call that meditation. The dream world is the world that your soul..or the mind...creates to understand reality."
       The only thing that could come to my mind were four words.
       God, I love monks.
       "What...what can we learn from controlling both worlds?"
       "Anything. Like talking to past lives or personalities. Like me."
       "You mean that I am dreaming right now?"
       "I see that you have learned another lesson"

       Dixie, my Dachshund, started to lick my hand. Awakening from my meditation, I am reminded of the letter on the table. The paper is rolled up, and sails through the air into the trashcan.   Dreams are a two-edged sword. They can give you happiness and wisdom, but too much will make you lose touch with the real world.

      Not too bad. Send your responses to me at [email protected] More on the way!