War of a different sort.

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In the dream, I gathered with a few of my old friends.  We had all learned to play guitar, and were having a jam.  Literal friends, or at once.  Dave, I remember, the others?  The other Dave maybe?  And someone else.  In the group was a younger woman, I think just interested in the jam, heard about it, and wanted to listen.

Between songs, we would speak.  Most had gone through various faiths.  Most had ended up agnostic or self-declared atheists.  A few honest questions and answers explained why, for them.  Some had become mildly religious.  One had become REX catholic?  Not sure I knew what that was, looked it up when I woke.  I don't think... that is a thing, or currently, and wasn't ever a sect, so... not sure.

Anyway, it was more finding out about the others.  Disappointing, but not unexpected.  In a worldly world, expect... people, especially top performers, to confuse their success with worldliness.  It was... certainly an issue I had, at one time.  If you can live in the bubble of success, and never have health, or strengths, or other things tested, outside, and realize how weak you really are, you will never... want to give up the notion that you are success, yourself, alone.  And nothing else and no one else deserves any lauds for it.  Been there, done that, got over it.  Got thrown away like garbage when I broke.  Understand there were a lot of people supporting my success.  It... wasn't ever mine.  Can't... tell people this.  They have to find it on their own.

Anyway, we did have a really good time.  The pretty young thing there was... a bit unhappy.  She said she had always wished to play, but that... no one had taken the time to teach.  I told her no one ever would.  She would, as with much in life, have to follow that path on her own.  Perhaps, for moments, finding someone to spend time teaching.  But that it was a long, dreary, road.  Filled with failure, blisters, confusion, and occasional bliss.

However, I called her over, set her on a stool near me, gave her my guitar, and started a minor lesson.  Her fingers were stiff, and... mean.  Pulling and plucking, but clumsily, not commandingly.  I told her to caress the strings, as the pedals of a pretty flower, or the upturned face of a child, perhaps gently cleaning his face.  And, she loosened up, and began to play.  Doing it lovingly, without so much thought, but by touch.  I... saw she was on the way.

She thanked me greatly, and asked where I had learned this.  What guitar player had taught me.  I had to laugh.  Not sure she would understand.  But she insisted.  I told her it wasn't formally, a guitar player.  It was God.  When I had broken, and been cast aside, He had taken the time to tend me.  Pulling me out of the garbage heap into which I had been tossed, cleaning me, restoring forms of dignity.  Then, setting me on my long lonely path to... better things.  All I was doing is, as well as I may, emulating my Masters hands and actions.

I hadn't realized, but the whole room had gone quiet, and my friends had been listening intently.  I had thought we, myself and her, alone in our own little world.  Not sure it changed anything, but... I think it actually did.  Mustard seed, I am told.  And many were planted that day.

Only a dream, but what a dream.  Some of it, beyond any doubt, true.  No one to tell it to, mind you.  I'm not even sure what I write is actually read by more than one or two?  I don't know.  Mostly just... a log, not even really for me.  If, from time to time, there is something recalled.

Awake.  Blood sugar is a bit better this morning, at 177 fasting.  It is, slowly, eventually, coming down.  Beef and beans last not, if on salad, with some of the last of the buttermilk creme fraiche.  So hungry, needed more than just beef.  A kefir to start the morning, fatted coffee next.  Chops later?  maybe.

It snowed a bit yesterday, later day, but nothing is sticking.  It is back to a drizzle.  All good.  Sassy was fed, first thing.  I wasn't going to, but she... went away, meowling.  She was hungry, and I didn't... want to let her be so.  I love the little dear.  Losing some weight would be good, but it may not be possible, for her.  Fixing a girl changes... everything.  Kills their metabolism if nothing else.  Her litter is amazing.  It is being kept exceptionally clean.  She just doesn't use it much, and I have been staying on top of even that, almost obsessively.  After Sam, that's how it goes.  Later.