ROBERT HALL (cont.) agree!”and the like. Yet, the words-which initially had attracted me…something was wrong

with them. At first, they seemed full of largess and beneficence, as the beauty of them rolled off his tongue and fell upon us.

But still, as I said, something was wrong,

wrong.

My mind went to analyzing beyond the strength and power of them, and found them wanting. There were generalizations there, unprovable, uncertain, varying, and outright mistruths in disguise as gospel. Then, as he continued his oration unabated, they turned to tinny sounds, coming to my ears as missing the mark, lacking the ring of truth. Indeed, seemed pervaded in a twisting manner that made me come to this conclusion: “This is wrong. He is wrong. And the crowd is being swayed by the power of his speech, the sincerity, as his face masks the intent of his speech.”

I walked away, shaking my head and worrying that the others might be swayed by the untruth of the false gospel he was spreading.

Then, I woke up.

One would think the dream was a singular one. One would be wrong.

The next night, distinctly uncomfortable and squirming in an effort to find Mr.

Sandman, so he could fling some sleepy-dust in my eyes and knock me out, the dream came back soon as I shut my eyes.

Only, this time, the setting changed.

Now, I seemed to have materialized in a beatnik coffee house. You know, like one frequented by the bearded Maynard G. Krebs of The Dobie Gillis Show from the 50's? You know, like: “I'm beat, man. Like

real- l- l- l- l beat. You dig?”

Like that.

In this second dream, it opened with someone on the stage, speaking as the rest of us lounged at our tables in the relative darkness, drinking, chatting, in a thick cloud of cigarette smoke (and possibly another imbibed-in favorite weed from that era) permeating the air.

Then, I raised my hand after the speaker stopped reciting an irrational poem.

I stepped onto the platform, putting my mouth to the microphone.

And I spoke in defined words that I felt, were inspired. They were strong words, sound words, words that held respect and honor and truth, when said separately. (Just like the speaker in the town center the previous night.)

However, taken as a whole and strung together, they were lies. Total, complete and targeted lies forged in my mind with a deliberate intent to deceive.

I loved the words and began to cry at the beauty of them. I raised my voice and said them louder, with urgency unrestrained or diminished.

But they were wrong, for the same reason that they were wrong when the man in town said them.

Because they came from me, and the prompting of my selfish soul. An invention of my own reasoning, my own assumptions, my bias, my opinions. Yet, they were quite beautiful… to me. When I awoke, naturally I began to assess what were the twin visions about, what interpretation? And I came to the conclusion that everyone thinks they hold the truth (or justice) within themselves and see it as beautiful and unassailable.

But, here's the rub, as Shakespeare might say, as he pointed out in his play,

The Merchant of Venice: “ Though justice be thy plea, consider this: That in the course of justice none of us Should see salvation.

We do pray for mercy.”

For, it is mercy alone that supersedes justice.

Robert L. Hall is a resident of Marion and has a Bachelor’s Degree in music from the University of Memphis and a Master’s Degree from Florida State University. He is the pianist for Avondale Baptist Church and a writer of fiction on Amazon eBooks.