Unshackled Moments ~ September 12 ~ Leave The Gun On The Ground

I had another prison dream this morning. I have had a lot of them over the past few months. I'm not sure why, but they were becoming almost nightly and bad. I got prayer Sunday and hadn't had one since until this morning. For some that may not sound like a positive answer to prayer, but believe me when I say that over the last few months five nights without prison dreams is a blessing and a miracle. Still, as one might imagine, I felt discouraged as I lay awake trying to get my bearings and slow my heart rate. At least this one wasn't too bad. It was one of the fantastical ones, where prion plays a part but in a non-realistic way rather than one of the "Hey, remember this? Doesn't this feel real and sucky and real sucky?" ones. I'm not sure why I had another prison dream after almost a week free of them unless it was all the remembrance from yesterday. "Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning?" Well Alan, since you asked, I was in D dorm 32 bunk of a transfer prison facility still trying to adjust to prison life while everyone told me that this wasn't the real prison yet, because transfer facilities were almost as different as county jail, and waiting for my permanent housing in one of the many Texas prisons. So anyway, I pretty much hate that song, and maybe all the 9-11 talk brought the dreams back, or maybe this one served a purpose. Maybe they all did, and I just haven't snapped to it. We left the prison on a Blue Bird (transfer bus) and went to Wal-Mart, which in the dream was apparently commissary. I mentioned it was a fantastical and non-realistic dream right? Right. One of my fellow convicts and I were talking. I can't remember his name, but this is the one part of the dream that was "remember me" in nature, as I actually did time with this guy. We just called him "Throwed," as in thrown off and crazy, most of the time, and that's what I called him in the dream. He was actually a pretty nice guy most of the time in both life and in the dream. But as we walked though an almost empty of food Wal-Mart, I guess prison commissary is always bad no matter how you dress it up in a dream, Throwed came across a handgun on the floor. He picked it up, and here came the crazy. I sensed that he didn't mean any harm when he picked up the pistol but had simply hoped that the threat would help him get some of the dwindling supplies before they were all gone. But once he had it in his hand, the gangster came out and the nice guy was locked away somewhere. Throwed was pretty much a modern day ghetto demonstration of Jekyll and Hyde, and you never knew exactly what would set him off. In the dream it was having a gun in his hand. He was about to start killing folks. I grabbed him and pushed the gun skyward so that all six shots went off harmlessly into the air. As soon as the pistol was emptied, Throwed dropped to his knees crying and saying he didn't mean to, he just couldn't help himself. I held him and tried to comfort him and help him even as the guards arrived to cuff him and take him to seg. Then I woke up. So why did I ramble all over the place trying to tell this dream before the fog burns off and the dream with its associated emotions fade away? Because I saved people from getting shot? Hardly. I didn't feel like a hero. I felt like a failure for not helping Throwed. There is a truth here buried in the weirdness of the dream. Throwed didn't want to get in trouble, he didn't want to hurt anyone, but he picked up the gun. We often don't mean anything bad or want to hurt anyone, but we see a situation out of control and instinctively reach for something that we've used to help in the past. Anything we use as aid in our situation outside of the will of God is a mistake, no matter what it is. We think we can control it or use it in a less harmful way than the destruction it's caused in the past, but once we pick it up, whether it be a substance or an emotion like anger or whatever it is, we go to Hyde. We've lost control and the crazy is back. It's a scary place to be in, knowing the ride won't end until someone or something stops it and not knowing how much damage will be done before it's over. It's like being in the middle of an argument and thinking "This is stupid. It's not important or worth the price to the relationship" and still not being able to stop the next stupid thing about to be screamed from an angry and has to win state of mind. So the words get said and the face of the family member or friend crumbles and the truth is evident. Too far. I've gone way too far. I didn't have control. I didn't mean to do it. I couldn't help myself. We can't help ourselves in that heat of the moment. Only the grace of God can stop a roller coaster before it naturally comes to the end in any other than a serious wreck. But we don't have to get on the ride to begin with. We don't have to pick up the pistol. The old tools didn't work right. The tools God gives us don't bring destruction. Today, let us go to our Daddy to meet our needs and not try to fix things ourselves with some variation of our natural instinctive choices of the past. Leave the gun on the ground.