Dream

I had a weird and vivid dream a couple nights ago. (This often happens when I sleep for more than twelve hours.) I considered blogging it, but since it reminds me of another much more interesting dream I had several years ago, I will describe that one instead.

I dreamt that I was Jesus. I was up on the cross being crucified. It was extremely unpleasant and just went on and on. I suppose it's a good thing I'm not really Jesus, because I got to the point where I couldn't stand it anymore. In a moment of carelessness, I lost my resolve and found myself coming down from the cross, quickly and effortlessly. Of course, then I had to face the Romans. I made myself an AK-47, dove for cover, and started shooting. The Romans shot back. Fortunately I had my apostles, and they made fairly good soldiers. We waged a trench/guerilla war against the Romans. There was a lot of shooting and explosions going on all over. I sent small groups of apostles against the enemy. Some died, and some came back. We had small victories and small defeats. People on both sides were occasionally killed, but my twelve apostles never seemed to run out. They were like the loaves and fishes. (Although only now do I see the analogy.) This went on for quite some time, and we never got anywhere near victory or defeat. The whole thing became repetitive, pointless, and tedious. The tedium was by far the worst. It was like being forced to sit through several awful war movies. Eventually, I stopped paying attention. I mean, what was the point; we weren't going to lose, and we couldn't win. It's not like I was shirking my responsibility to the apostles by not leading them. It's amazing how long a dream can continue after the dreamer has stopped paying attention. Eventually I awoke. In retrospect, I really should have stayed up on the cross.