Last night, I dreamed that I was in a room. In a chair in front of me was a robed figure with their back turned. In the distance there was a person framed in light. As I got closer, the person at the far end of the room began decrying the actions of Pope John Paul II. I walked up beside the seated figure and looked over at him. It was the late pope. As I kept listening to the distant person's methodical outlying of sins, I saw tears in John's eyes. I interruped the far figure and loudly stated that Pope John Paul II wasn't a bad man. "In fact," I said, turning to the Pope, "a great many people loved him." As I looked down into the face of the man who had called himself God on earth, a smile inched its way across his lips. His teary eyes glistened up at me as he thanked me for my kind words.
I slept on a beanbag last night.
