April 22, 2016 (Kampala):
Yesterday, on my walk, I was greeting people along the way. Near the bottom of the hill, three motley-looking teenage boys crossed the road so they could meet me head on. I imagine my psychic shields started to go up at that moment. They accosted me with a bunch of aggressive ‘hey boss!’s, but I kept walking. When one forcefully said ‘boss!’, I turned to him out of respect, for which I was repaid with a snooty ‘where is my 1,000?’. Disgusted, I turned around and gave them a contemptuous wave of dismissal. They didn’t appreciate that. My handling of the situation was not good, and I felt bothered by it. Where does it come from? My guess is that if comes from years of dreading human interaction. I am going to need some healing from this.
I was just praying about this problem, asking God for people in my life who will love me, like me, believe in me. I need a few people who understand the person I’m trying to become – who understand and believe in it.
And then I was given this image:
I want to be like a tree, like a great fecund fig tree that never stops growing and that branches out from a solid trunk in many different directions. I want to be broad and leafy, filling the sky and giving shade to those beneath my branches. I want to produce good, sweet, colorful fruits that nourish many, those under me when the fruit drops ripe, and those who come from afar to feast on the fruit still hanging in my foliage. I want to shelter and nourish and do so increasingly until the day my arboreal life begins to fade.
When, as an immense fruiting tree, I die, I want my hollow dry beams to be used as fuel by others, to provide them with light, heat, and energy for cooking food. Let the world consume me just as nature consumes the remnants of the great woody stems now lying prostrate on the body of Earth.