I dreamt last night of faith-leaders being overturned by a coming Aboriginal-led resistance, rising up. Of an ex-vangelical mega-church pastor being turned into a youth-movement-leading prophet, raising up a generation to reclaim their voices. Of dirt bike accidents and flying polar bears.
When I awoke, blinking into the autumn blackness, I wandered downstairs alone, before kids awoke, to write down those absurd dreams.
This morning chores finished and led me to discovering that the Flaming Lips made the Beatles weird again. They also did a TinyDesk in bubbles. The music hit me like a unicorn/rainbow/wizard burst radiating out of my chest.
The day was as full as a filing cabinet in a 1970s law firm. I bustled and hustled, until at the end of the day, I was the fallen faith leader, overturned by my own inner resistance.
How can we lead people through the change to come, when they crave normalcy?
Are we here to tend to the religiously obsessed, or the righteously oppressed?
How can we be awa…
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