Sean LaFreniere had a compelling and oddly relevant dream last night.
I tried to argue with the villain but he only laughed. I turned the other cheek and he hit it too. Nothing that I did made things better. And throughout the ordeal I kept reminding myself that I was doing The Right Thing, that I was following The Rules, and that I should be prevailing. But I just kept getting beat to the floor.
Finally the dream bully reached towards me with a burning cigar… and I caught it in my hand. However, my dream self had no special powers. I was not wearing gloves, nor was I pumped full of painkillers. Oddly, terribly, I actually felt the stab of pain and smelled the roasting flesh, but I did not let go. Holding the bully’s hand I climbed to my feet and stood up. His implement of torture burned away and his look of evil joy grew more ghoulish, but I did not care.
Then I saw the image of a school’s front doors, decorated in crayon pictures of the Stars and Stripes, as they burst open and children rushed out. I saw people going about their daily lives, shopping and cutting each other off in traffic. I even saw a scene from this evening’s news, where a village elder in the Sunni area of Iraq argued with a young man over their response to the killing of a relative by American solders. The young man wanted revenge; it was what his father had taught him. But the old man wanted an investigation and justice “like in America”. This was a desire for something new, something better; it was what his son’s fate had taught him. And my dream self understood.
What does this mean? Why is it relevant?
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