Prodigal Poet: An Ecclectic Offering on God, Shakespeare, and the Beatles

Almost two months ago I had a dream that was both familiar and unusual.  Since my Grandpa Clyde (my mom's dad) passed away in November of 1998 I have occasionally dreamed of him.  In my dreams reality most always spills over.  In my dreams I realize that my grandpa is deceased yet somehow I am able to see him, hear him, touch him.  Most often I embrace him and begin weeping, for the joy of experiencing him one last time, for the pain of knowing that it cannot last.  These dreams are a comfort for me . . . sure, a bit painful as well, but mostly comforting.  These dreams seem so real to me at the time that I wake up feeling as though I have gotten another brief moment with my grandpa.    The dream two months ago was much the same; I saw him, knew that he had passed, laced my arms around him, and wept.  He looked at me and smiled, in that calm, gentle way he always did.  I said a few things to him but he never said a word, only ...

* This is part 3 of a series of posts that explore my struggles with self-esteem, weight, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, and the very difficult task of trying to be my fullest self in a world that constantly demands more than what I am. Because this subject is so vast and most of my life has been spent swimming in its waters in some form or another I thought it best to break it up . . . also so as to not bore you to death! Some of you may not be able to relate, but I hope that you will find it interesting anyway. And perhaps you will be better able to understand someone in your life. Some of you may be able to relate and I hope that you will know that you are not the only one -- that the journey may be long, but progress is progress. Remember that no matter how small it may feel, you still are not the same person that you were yesterday. And that is something to celebrate! For Parts 1 and 2, please scroll below . . . * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It's taken me many many...