The illegitimate preacher (as some traditional preachers view him) is sitting behind a table and in front of him is a plate full of cubed bread. This preacher reaches millions and makes millions in the new, technological way. I walk up to the table and touch the bread; the plate is equidistant between us. Then the preacher touches the bread. I say, I touch your bread, and you touch my bread.
Then this preacher is at my house standing by my side gate and I am in the driveway. He is dressed in his usual Sunday attire, a suit, with his suit jacket, some would notice, cut a bit too small. His wavy, brown hair is perfectly styled. Another man enters the scene, quickly walking, not stopping to talk to anyone, and carrying a very large flowering green plant in a pot. The preacher motions to me if he should stop the man, as he is at my gate headed into my backyard. I don't really have time to react. The man places the plant in a planting bed, a location in which it will be well watered.
When I wake up from the dream, I cannot recall the name of this very familiar face, the preacher, John? Don? no, but I can remember the names of several of his family members.
I would then recall the story of my grandmother who was fearful of the outside world and would watch Sunday church service on television. Maybe she was the example of the better compromise compared to my other grandmother. But, is that plant a substitute for something else that can never be as perfect?