My Life Between the Dimensions

  555 It is Monday morning, August 23, 2021. For someone that likes words and the feelings and the emotions that are their companions by association, I find myself unable to comprehend, much less adequately express my intellectual and spiritual state today. I awoke with a compelling sense of urgency not associated with the usual compulsion of a man of my age to visit the porcelain receptacle  of our bedroom bathroom.  I was overwhelmed with and obsessed with the number 555 followed by a capital "A". 555 A.  I was acutely aware that this number came to me in a dream, but was not associated with any other defining memory accompanying the dream. It was also a number I had never thought about or encountered in my life in any meaningful way. Just 555 A. But, it was bigger than the dream.  It stood alone in my consciousness as I first awoke. I knew that I could not begin my day without seeing what the omnipotent virtual musings of the intranet could reveal to me ...

  I took this photo several years ago of Camp Eight Church in the Missouri Ozarks of Wayne County, Missouri.  It was the church of my summers in the 1950's as a boy when staying with my grandmother.  It hasn't changed much.  But, it always now brings back sweet memories.  During that stage of my youthful existence most mornings I would have rather been exploring in the creek and chasing crawdads and minnows and eternally hopeful of finding an arrowhead.. But grandma would have none of that.  Sunday was the Lord's day. We began with the mile walk down the hillside, over the creek, and down that lonely gravel road.  Paper fans, the old piano, gospel hymn after hymn, the preacher in the full path to stroke, his pleas for our salvation so deafening, sweating through his best white shirt, intent on purpose, are images that immediately come to mind.  Of course, there was no air-conditioning at this time, so we sweated right along with him. On those 95 d...