Dogs and Dreams

The Emergent has not answered my supplications. I did seek, but I did not find. An ancient once spoke and said one would find if one were only to seek. I found nothing. No sooner had the query passed my vocal chords then the words were sucked into the void. Where is the great Emergent of whom the priest spoke? Where are the gods of whom priests and preachers speak? When I am spoken to, I answer. I am more than the gods. Many are the words I speak, few have much use for anyone. Their intent to influence is lost in translation. I only influence my inner listener. The sender is changed by the sending. I speak words of comfort, they comfort me. I speak words of anger, they enrage me. I speak words of love, they intensify my desire.

The three legged dog found my table again. It sat staring at my lamb chop. I gave it the bone. We became better friends still, by way of that gift. Gifts are powerful in that way. Gifts can solidify a friendship between species. It gnawed at the bone under my table. The crunching made me wince. Afterward it slept a while, then hopped off down the road, awkwardly, on its three legs.

In a different book of empty pages I started to write a fiction. Inspired by the flood I imagined a story. I imagined the rain never ending and the rising waters never ceasing to rise. Next I will write of the solution. Of how the man will find a way to save his family and many animals. Perhaps the three legged dog will not be saved, on account of being too slow. Tonight I will imagine more as I try to fall asleep; then tomorrow I will write it down.

Morron