The president wakes suddenly. It is either very late, or very early, depending upon one's perspective. For a tiny moment, the president has no particular perspective; then the sounds: the old clock ticking, the big house--slave-built, and he always smiles ruefully at the irony; the rhythm of the first lady's breathing beside him as he stares up into the dark.
In this tiny moment his mind is free of turmoil; the demands of office, but more the split, the divide that threatens to further rend a country seeming full of those who care not for the common good, but only their selfish interests--those who will not see.*
Then he remembers. Almost automatically the president reaches for his Bible. As his fingertips touch its leading edge, its small but strong spine, the president is reminded of strength...and of the dream that had awakened him.
He had dreamed of a very cold day in January. The collective breath of a great crowd rose in the chill air, as the president's sleeping mind saw a small gloved hand holding a small red Bible. The image was so vivid, the colors so crisp; it was, the president knew, his Bible. The second that realization came, he saw another hand come into the close scene...and the fingers...in the depth of sleep, he felt his heart begin to pound...the fingers were long and slender, but masculine...and brown.
It frustrated the president so, as he could not see the man whose dark and oddly beautiful hand now lay upon his own Bible. But he could hear the voice, and oh! It was strong and young and confident. "Mary," the president whispered, tears stinging. "Mary, wake up. I've had the most extraordinary dream!"
All is not lost. How easily people seem to become disillusioned today, seem unable to recognize then exercise the power they have. We have. I heard a man say, "We (America) don't make anything anymore...we just consume..."
Where did we go? What happened to bring this divide, this intellectual civil war? Not only have we become a nation of consumers rather than inventors/creators, we seem to have lost our sense of that old "can-do" spirit. But not lost. Not dead. No, we still can turn the great ship around; still be inspired. If necessary, we can go and deliberately look for things to inspire. That is what I do. I speak not of a soft, warm and fuzzy "feel better" ideology, but I seek genuine inspiration, because how can I pull myself up by my own boot straps while simultaneously wallowing in my depth of despair--and yes, though I stubbornly maintain my optimism, I do still struggle with despair from time to time.
I do not know whether or not Abe Lincoln really had dreams of Barack Obama being inaugurated as President of the United States. That doesn't matter, although he was quite spiritual, I believe. It does matter that individual despair not be allowed to turn to collective despair. Soon this present president will address us; soon we could see that he does know how to bring a fight, or, well, not. I believe it will be the former).
We still can do the things we seek to do; though there are many whose goals, if we can call them goals, appear to be based upon an old and to me strange jingoistic view of America and the world--we still stand. This is a sort of civil war. But it is a war we can win. And I believe we will. How far do the dreams of presidents, fictionalized or not--how far do they go, and of what does Barack Obama dream?
*There are those who cannot see; there are those who will not see; there are those who see and understand.