27/04/2026
The sculptor...
Don't ask how I met him. (Dreams don't give us descriptions, do they?)... At first someone was narrating a story to me about this ancient sculptor of medieval ages who sculpted giant wood sculptures with green life force veins in them. I saw the sculptures, they didn't impress me but I knew they were expensive.
The narrator continued with the story.
This sculptor was so good at his work that his worth was above kings and knights of his era. They sought him for advice and paid for him just to be in his company.
But
Trouble arose with succession.
The sculptor had one son and one daughter and it was not clear who was to inherit the estate.
Then as with dreams I was outside the sculptors sunken mansion. The sculptor himself was beside me he asked if he could give me a tour of his sunken empire and I accepted. The sculptor walked beside me like an equal. Not ahead , not behind
I was aware even though he walked besides me, he didn't belong to this era
We entered the mansion.
And I saw them. Sculptures taller than me, each dark with green veins in them. The veins we see in leaves. It was dark but they were glowing with light. Like they had life in them. There were more than a dozen in each room and each would cost thousands of dollars in today's market.
We walked into the sitting room. I could hear his daughter talking to someone. I tried to switch on the lights but they wouldn't come on. But I could hear the daughter. She sounded steady, kind, benevolent, organized. The kind that can run a successful business. She seemed to have been the one chosen to take over. But, I wondered, if she was this meticulous and this kind, why did the empire sink?
The sculptor walked on and I went with him deep into the house. To where his office was. To the place where designs were done and planning was carried out.
There I saw him.
His son.
He didn't look human.
He looked like a dangerous roaring lion.
I looked at The sculptor. He stood quietly he didn't look afraid, he just watched.
I felt a bit uneasy then I took a deep breath and said a prayer and there was silence...
I looked at the sculptor and thought to myself.
1. What if the son and the daughter were not his children but his daughter was his logic and his son his emotions?
2. What if his daughter was what he presented to everyone while his son was his creative power running amok?
3. What if his empire sunk because of his own lack of ability to reconcile what was running inside him?
I don't have the answers yet but I see this daily
In great ideas but rugged people
In good hearts but fragmented lives
Well learned but deep in drugs
In great minds but a lack of organization
And many times the person is capable... But the results are sunken
