In my dream this morning, I am living in the little house I lived in forty-five years ago. The living room is dominated by a big table on which is a large empty terrarium, and on top of the terrarium is a big piece of plywood covered with junk.
I realize that my sorrow (in the dream) has to do with my house being cluttered to the point of dysfunction, so I decide to carry the plywood covered with junk out the front door and dump everything in the garbage.
As I make my way to the front door, trying not to spill the junk balanced precariously atop the plywood, someone knocks on the door.
I open the door and here is an old nemesis of mine, a big abusive man I haven’t seen in twenty years. He is now elderly and sad. I invite him to come in.
When I get back from discarding the plywood and the junk, I find my old nemesis has brought along a teenage girl and an elderly woman, the three of them sitting in my living room.
“I’ll make some tea,” I say, but before I can there comes another knock on the door.
I open the door and here is a big young man glaring at me. Behind him are three young women.
“Are you going to let them destroy Bear Valley?” asks the young man, poking me in the chest. “You better contribute to the defense fund.”
I close the door and say to my old nemesis, “That guy just poked me.”
I look out the window and see a woman and two children come into my yard and sit on a bench, and I wake up.
*
Nowadays I’m tempted to interpret my dreams in light of what the Damaged One and his damaged minions are doing to our government and society; and they certainly do remind me of the many bullies I’ve known in my life.
When I was in elementary school there were two big bullies in my grade, and I remember how shocked and outraged I was when I discovered that our system, our school, couldn’t or wouldn’t stop them from beating up smaller kids.
I was in Second Grade the first time I saw the two bullies hurting a smaller boy. I ran to the school office to get help, and the secretary made me wait to see the principal. While I was waiting, the bell rang for the start of school and I had to run to my class where I was chastised for being late. When I explained I was trying to get someone to stop the bullies from hurting the little boy, several of my classmates corroborated my story and my teacher apologized for chastising me.
But the bullies continued to routinely beat up smaller kids for five more years, and the faculty and administration were unable or unwilling to do what needed to be done to stop the violence.
And now the bullies are in charge of our government, and they’re joining forces with other bullies to beat up the poor and weak and defenseless here and abroad, and there is no one to appeal to for help because we, the people, chose these damaged ones and many more like them to rule our society.
I wonder why.
fin