Troubled By Dreams

Over the past maybe four or five weeks I have been troubled by dreams. Not all of them. Three, particularly.

The first of the dreams was one wherein the Clinton woman and I sat down to discuss her candidacy, and what she needed to do to remain a viable candidate. It was pretty simple, really, all she had to do was to clearly and truthfully answer the one question most important to someone like me – Why should a social and fiscal conservative vote for you? In my dream she had a good answer, and I awoke with a sense the woman is genuine, intelligent, and that she is, at some core level conservative, that we hold to similar values. So yeah, I woke up troubled. The dream seemed more real than the run of the mill dreamland adventure. I didn’t want to write about it, because I didn’t want my thoughts to escape into the real world where they might effectively aid a Clinton candidacy. That’s pretty absurd, of course, but also a measure of the dream’s strangeness, clarity, and felt realness.

The second dream followed a couple of weeks later. In the dream I met and interviewed, I think, all three of the candidates. Obama impressed me as just another power-hungry grab-ass crooked pol, and reminded me (just as he does in the waking world) of a lizard-like cat who’s the overpaid pastor at the non-SBC First Un-Baptist Church of Stepford. McCain, during a time where I observed him doing campaign stuff, and interviewed him briefly, struck me as a man devoid of spirit or integrated self – spiritually hollow, but full of stuffing or attic insulation material. Again, HIllary Clinton impressed me during our dreamland interview as the one genuinely Christian (with a big “C”) candidate running for presidential office. And, at least in the dream, I liked her and thought, “This woman can be trusted.” Effing crazy, and for the second time disturbing, eh? Again, I didn’t want to write about this, my second bizarre dreamland political encounter.

Last night, however, I had a dream as vivid, and more disturbing than the previous two. I don’t know whether it has anything to do with those dreams briefly described above.

I awoke to find myself speaking with a woman who said as she got into it, “There is a hiding place beneath the mantle in this house I bought.” She pulled the trapdoor down over her head, and I saw her standing in a nice little room under the hearth. I saw a man in a straw fedora, blue shirt, necktie, and light colored-suit who appeared to be of her social-class and age (upper middle) walking into the livingroom above her head, looking for her. Quietly menacing, he paused over the hearth, looking at the fireplace and mantle, and I reached in and held the trapdoor down, and the man left.

A little later, I was walking in the dreamland seaside neighborhood and was to its residents a visible part of that world. I struck up friendships with the people I met, most of whom were Jewish. They knew I wasn’t a Jew, but seemed to like me anyway. What they didn’t know was that I was a traveler from another world, that is, my own waking world. And I knew that something horrible was going to happen in the neighborhood and to my new friends – I tried to encourage them to prepare for the coming of a persecution that would grind away every pleasant summer afternoon. Of course, how can you tell the people of Dreamland that you see their future?

During a coastal cruise on someone’s yacht, a storm blew in with waves that pushed the boat to shore. We got out and struggled soaked and splashing up the beach.

Returning to the neighborhood, we found most residences occupied by both their owners and government monitors. A surprisingly large number of people had managed to hide from the officials in their own homes in hiding places built for the purpose. Usually just one or two from each family group had been chosen for hiding, as it did not seem practical to most for the entire community to appear to the government to have vanished. But one or two from each family might go unnoticed, might escape whatever unknown evil was about to befall them all.

For some reason, I was able to come and go as I wished, was able to converse with those in hiding, and those living in apparent compliance with new government strictures.

Later, I drifted away and upward from the dreamland, and as I did so, I saw a slick television commercial advertising seaside houses in France at bargain prices with clever animations showing floor-plans with novelty hidden rooms – all great fun to own. And I knew that my friends had not escaped. I was left with a sense of dread because I thought at first what I was witnessing had happened already during the 1930s and 1940s, but the commercial seemed to indicate a horrible future.

Why France? Dunno, I guess maybe because I’ve watched and written recently about Jaques Tati’s Les Vacances de Monsieur Hulot. Seaside village. Innocence. No reference in that film to the then recent horrors of homeland overrun once more by warring forces of other nations.

So, those are the dreams that have troubled me. Maybe writing about them will purge them from my psyche. We’ll see. Certainly the first two will have me branded a heretic and a liberal; but really, I am neither. The third dream perhaps will bring accusations of anti-semitism, but if anything, the dream revealed me a strong desire I harbor to oppose any pogrom.

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