I dreamt that I opened a homeless shelter for runaway teenagers and dispossessed young adults in downtown Fresno, California. We transformed an old factory building, with those picturesque old glass block factory windows, into a safe house of refuge and welcome for young people in crisis. When the people were ready to leave, they left empowered by good food, deep rest and a clean, upright mind. Angels walked the hallways and isles between beds and desks, leaving tracks of luminescent pigments of greens, purples and golds. How beautiful it was.
“In those dreams I spoke that language too, the first language, and I had dominion over the nature of all that was real. In my dream, it was the tongue of what is, and anything spoken in it becomes real, because nothing said in that language can be a lie. It is the most basic building brick of everything. In my dreams I have used that language to heal the sick and to fly; once I dreamed I kept a perfect little bed-and-breakfast by the seaside, and to everyone who came to stay with me I would say, in that tongue, “Be whole,” and they would become whole, not be broken people, not any longer, because I had spoken the language of shaping.” –Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane