WAKE THOU DEEDLESS DREAMER
Wake thou deedless dreamer, lazying out a life of self-suppression, not of selfless love— From Saint Telemachus by Alfred Tennyson
Every once in a collection of busy days, my Creator speaks to me while I sleep.
You may be asking yourself, “How does she know?”
Some of us believe our dreams are phantom bits of little pieces of our lives that our brains remix and feed to us like a random stew.
But then there are the vivid visitations, the conversations about things we never knew. Dream Revelations, so clear and concrete, so fresh and wondrous, that all doubt about their origin vanishes like a vapor.
This is the content of my unconscious world last night—
I am standing at an all-white restaurant bar and a man dressed in black sits beside me.
He implores, “I prefer the words of Tennyson, the ones about the Saint.”
I repeat to him in French what I have heard, “Saint T du Tennyson, mais oui!”
A moment later I am in the restaurant bath and the man in black appears, blocking my path to the door,
“What you do to others, so will be done to you.”
—I awake with a shudder, clear that his was a threat, a warning, that the righteousness in me will be rewarded with the vengeance of humanity.
My awareness of Tennyson is cursory but my curiosity of the message I've been given is deep. So, I start my day searching “Saint T,” and discover the poem, Saint Telemachus, among his work—
"For up he sprang, and glided lightly down the stairs, and o'er the barrier that divided beast from man.
Slipt, and ran on, and flung himself between the gladiatorial swords, and call'd 'Forbear in the great name of Him who died for men, Christ Jesus!"
I learn that in his poem, Tennyson is honoring a real-life person, a monk, who is reputed to have given his life to halt the brutal Roman savagery of pitting man against man. For his good deed, he was rewarded by being stoned to death by blood-thirsty onlookers who had reduced the mystery of life and death to nothing more than a competitive sport.
I am reminded, now, of the man in black in my dream who warned me to butt out… ”What you do to others, so will be done to you.” And I remember last evening, just before bed, quietly asking God to give me the courage to do what I must do, however He defines it.
The amphitheater of our time is filling, seat by seat. The ones who yell most and loudest are mere watchers, spectators who are impacted the least.
Of the thousands present, there were only two on the field, forced to do battle against one another for position, livelihood, even food. Sound familiar? I knew it would.
Nearly four centuries before Saint Telemachus, the Lord he served died his own brutal death—
“Crucify him,” the crowds with their peanuts and popcorn violently jeered.
Isn't it curious that “the crowds” are always necessary for the honorable deed to unfold?
Therefore, do not be intimidated, but mindful of the part they must play in your own courageous journey
One… against many. One… daring to stand out. One… with singular purpose. One… whose mission is clear.
“The Baths, the Forum gabbled of his death,
And preachers linger'd o'er his dying words,
Which would not die, but echo'd on to reach
Honorius, till he heard them, and decreed
That Rome no more should wallow in this old lust
Of Paganism, and make her festal hour
Dark with the blood of man who murder'd man.”
Tennyson writes of Telemachus who followed his Lord's lead.
One man with a singular purpose.
What will yours be?
For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.