Awoke this morning from a dream, needing a moment to adjust, to rediscover the location of my body in its waking state.
In the dreamtime, I was in a small, aboriginal village quietly observing a ritual with a group of others who were outsiders like me, perhaps anthropologists or ethnologists.
As the rite was drawing to a close, a runner arrived with news that people from the government were on their way. The villagers responded almost as one to gather their things. Our interpreter said the people were moving into the hills or mountains or woods surrounding the village. They had been expecting this.
I found myself picking up a writing implement and, as though in a trance, writing on a piece of paper. The text was not in any language I'd ever seen, yet I recognized that it was text. An elder picked up the paper, looked it over closely, then looked at me. He spoke to me; the interpreter said, "How did you know to write this?" I said I didn't; I'd just seen the writing implement, picked it up and written. I asked, did he know what it said? The elder spoke again; the interpreter said, "It says, 'Who's the new prophet?' How did you know that the ritual we were doing was to call forth the new prophet? How did you know our old one left us?" Again, I said I didn't know.
Some of my traveling companions bustled in and said it was time to go. Our things were stowed in the back of a military-style truck and we were to climb in after them. The children of the village were getting into trucks as well. They were coming with us. One young girl, about 10 years old, walked past me toward the trucks. As she did, she absently handed me a bowl. I started to place the bowl on a counter/table in front of me, then stopped. The same type of writing circled the lip of the bowl. Looking at it, I could almost read it; I understood what it meant, yet couldn't quite put it into words. The same elder took the bowl from my hand, looked at it, then asked me if I knew which child had given me that bowl. I said I did. He said, "Care for that child well because that one is the new prophet." Then he made a gesture with his hands, dismissing me, hurrying me out. He handed me the bowl as I left. I climbed into a truck, pulled up by the girl who was her people's new prophet.
Who is the New Prophet in your life? What are you called to do to care for that One?