I had a dream.
I was in an enormous marble hall, with light streaming in all the windows. The ceiling was a hundred-foot dome, carved in detail. Every few feet along the wall, there was a door and the hall extended into infinity.
Standing still, looking at the hall, I knew I could never see everything, even if I spent my life exploring it. But everything I found would be incredible.
Off to the right, on a pedestal, perched a vulture. The vulture was enormous. It was black and greasy, and hideous, and followed my movements with its eyes. But who cared about vultures when there was so much to explore?
I walked slowly, taking in the detail of the walls and the columns. Before long, a black-sadness came over me. I struggled to remain standing beneath the weight of the darkness, everything seemed so hard. I considered sitting and letting myself drown in the darkness.
Somehow, in my misery, I noticed I was close to the vulture. Maybe I should get away from the ugly creature, but what difference did anything make? Eventually the darkness passed, and I was overwhelmed with the beauty of the hall again.
This pattern repeated itself several times. I would be so thrilled by the possibilities of the hall, and then overtaken with depression. The depression always hit when I wandered too close to the vulture. Despite the vastness of the hall, I ended up near the vulture with great regularity.
In one of my dark moments, with my head bent low, I considered the horrors, ugliness, and struggles of life. I looked up to see my arm wrapped around the vulture’s pedestal. I thought about standing up, and taking three steps back. Maybe that would clear the depression. But it couldn’t be that easy. Life was hard and ugly and nothing would change that, the vulture had nothing to do with it, it was just part of the ugliness.
Then I remembered the hall. It couldn’t be that beautiful, because there was no beauty in the world. But I was in the hall, why couldn’t I see it? I forced my head up and took three steps back. The darkness fell from me like water after nearly drowning. I gulped in the breath of light. So overwhelmed with gratitude for the perfection around me, my knees buckled. I sat on my feet, absorbing the beauty of the floor.
When I regained my strength, I looked at the vulture staring at me with its empty, black eyes. He had to go.
Getting rid of him would require getting close to him again. I would only succeed if I stuck to my plan.
I strode up to the enormous beast, and felt the darkness overwhelm me. He was hideous, and nearly as large as me. Maybe getting rid of him would make no difference after all. Why did I care so much?
I knew my plan, but it seemed so stupid and weak. Why was I even trying? I should just sit down and forget about everything. I pushed further into the darkness, each step taking me closer to the vulture.
I grabbed the vulture’s feet, and the bird stretched its wide wings, attempting to beat me off and fly away. Somehow I kept ahold of the feet, and pull the creature toward the door. Why was I fighting so hard when nothing would change? Life was so hard and purposeless. I placed each step, one at a time, into the darkness, until I reached the door.
I opened the door and flung the creature out. He flew off, but not very far. I shut the door and turned back toward the hall, expecting a dismal, gray place, but it was even more beautiful than I remembered.
I knew the vulture would return, but for now, it was gone. And when I saw it again, I would know what to do.
To me, this dream is symbolic of life. Life is so beautiful with so many options, but if we stand too close to the vulture, our vision gets clouded and we stop caring. To me, the vulture is anything that limits me and creates darkness in my life. This can come in different forms, too much TV, poor diet, limited thinking, feeling bad about myself. Some situations in my life have been vultures. Perhaps life is just a series of vultures we need to throw out, so we can see our marble halls clearly.
I was in an enormous marble hall, with light streaming in all the windows. The ceiling was a hundred-foot dome, carved in detail. Every few feet along the wall, there was a door and the hall extended into infinity.
Standing still, looking at the hall, I knew I could never see everything, even if I spent my life exploring it. But everything I found would be incredible.
Off to the right, on a pedestal, perched a vulture. The vulture was enormous. It was black and greasy, and hideous, and followed my movements with its eyes. But who cared about vultures when there was so much to explore?
I walked slowly, taking in the detail of the walls and the columns. Before long, a black-sadness came over me. I struggled to remain standing beneath the weight of the darkness, everything seemed so hard. I considered sitting and letting myself drown in the darkness.
Somehow, in my misery, I noticed I was close to the vulture. Maybe I should get away from the ugly creature, but what difference did anything make? Eventually the darkness passed, and I was overwhelmed with the beauty of the hall again.
This pattern repeated itself several times. I would be so thrilled by the possibilities of the hall, and then overtaken with depression. The depression always hit when I wandered too close to the vulture. Despite the vastness of the hall, I ended up near the vulture with great regularity.
In one of my dark moments, with my head bent low, I considered the horrors, ugliness, and struggles of life. I looked up to see my arm wrapped around the vulture’s pedestal. I thought about standing up, and taking three steps back. Maybe that would clear the depression. But it couldn’t be that easy. Life was hard and ugly and nothing would change that, the vulture had nothing to do with it, it was just part of the ugliness.
Then I remembered the hall. It couldn’t be that beautiful, because there was no beauty in the world. But I was in the hall, why couldn’t I see it? I forced my head up and took three steps back. The darkness fell from me like water after nearly drowning. I gulped in the breath of light. So overwhelmed with gratitude for the perfection around me, my knees buckled. I sat on my feet, absorbing the beauty of the floor.
When I regained my strength, I looked at the vulture staring at me with its empty, black eyes. He had to go.
Getting rid of him would require getting close to him again. I would only succeed if I stuck to my plan.
I strode up to the enormous beast, and felt the darkness overwhelm me. He was hideous, and nearly as large as me. Maybe getting rid of him would make no difference after all. Why did I care so much?
I knew my plan, but it seemed so stupid and weak. Why was I even trying? I should just sit down and forget about everything. I pushed further into the darkness, each step taking me closer to the vulture.
I grabbed the vulture’s feet, and the bird stretched its wide wings, attempting to beat me off and fly away. Somehow I kept ahold of the feet, and pull the creature toward the door. Why was I fighting so hard when nothing would change? Life was so hard and purposeless. I placed each step, one at a time, into the darkness, until I reached the door.
I opened the door and flung the creature out. He flew off, but not very far. I shut the door and turned back toward the hall, expecting a dismal, gray place, but it was even more beautiful than I remembered.
I knew the vulture would return, but for now, it was gone. And when I saw it again, I would know what to do.
To me, this dream is symbolic of life. Life is so beautiful with so many options, but if we stand too close to the vulture, our vision gets clouded and we stop caring. To me, the vulture is anything that limits me and creates darkness in my life. This can come in different forms, too much TV, poor diet, limited thinking, feeling bad about myself. Some situations in my life have been vultures. Perhaps life is just a series of vultures we need to throw out, so we can see our marble halls clearly.