This is a recollection of one of my dreams in the past... I welcome anyone who has psychic abilities or resources to interpret this dream, and tell me what could be drawn from it. This entry is part of my series title "Hunch of the Meek," which is a collection of my original fables, parables, poems & short essays in a five-page sequence - tales & reflections on morality & personal ethics. [For all other entries, please visit www.metaethics/hom]
[Page One]
By the time I was released from the hospital, the sky had already been dark. Officially the beginning of summer, the whether wasn’t yet anybody’s favorite topic – it’s been cold and damp, drizzling all week long. It came to my senses; I didn’t know why people were all upset about something – they were in deed. I’ve lost touch of it while a long stay in bed without a possibility of ever getting out.
Luckily, I had a jacket – a tweed jacket! I never liked a jacket like this, but I couldn’t afford being concerned about such a minor difference in taste this time.
I tucked the collar around my neck – it’s going to be a long walk; I might have to search for a stairwell to cozy up a little while for the night to keep myself from the rain.
The night’s drawing near, and I had to find a bed – or at least I needed to know where I was going. Passing the huge, vacant Olympic Park, crossing a long stone bridge – I thought this is still Manhattan but is this somewhere else?
[Page Two]
When I stopped by a building where I knew a library used to be, I came to realize this: enough’s enough – I should be entitled to speak out my mind and ask what I want, once and for all.
Inside, it was like an old joint where all those Hall-of-Fames would hang out; I saw a man with Afro hair and a pair of black sunglasses. He must be Reggie Jackson – or Sam Somebody from Philadelphia, a fellow resident at the shelter back in those days; o that was a long time ago.
I reached the counter and there was a woman with blond hair, dressed in JC Penny-like cloth. Maybe my memory’s coming back to the present time. She didn’t even bother to take her eyes of the desk, but pointed to a man behind me, saying, “This guy’s got some questions for you.”
I looked back, and there was a black man, looking a little annoyed by being told what to do. I smiled at him, trying not to insult his dignity and intelligence, and turned back to her. “Hi, uh – I used to belong to the project here. I thought I could be of some help.” Now my confidence was coming back. “Excuse me?” said she, and soon I noticed her admission of oversight and shortcoming by the look of her face.
[Page Three]
In the next scene I found myself caught in the middle of a group discussion, of my fate. This time it was that woman’s turn to reconcile by showing her courage to exercise her version of care and responsibility: “Guru, what can we offer him now?”
The guru, who once appeared to be Mahatma Gandhi, seemed to keep to himself a great deal of his sympathy. Instead he showed a greater deal of his sensitivity to the truth – the fact that he already knew I had confined myself and kept distance from the real world.
Then I felt strapped by the air of contempt, glued down to my bed with all the lights on. Anybody in the hallway could peak through the door that was kept wide open all the time. I was unable to move or speak; but I was almost aware of my surroundings – the air of intense public scrutiny.
“Who’s your father?” I was an orphan.
“Where do you live?” I am homeless right now.
“What would you like to be doing for living?” I will be out-of-work, self-employed so and so, currently on welfare – for quite a while until I get some help from someone.
While the group was analyzing my situation, I saw them using a matrix to accurately describe my prblems and locate the associated risks – or it looked like a Mandala. Then out of that diagram, a lady-like figure came out from the center of the circle, and claimed her maternity to me! Her name was Maria.
What a nightmare – and then what a pleasure! Mother Mary was on my side, vouchsafing me for the sake of asking what I wanted.
[Page Four]
Suddenly removed from the scene, to a palace I never knew, I was summoned by Pope. It must have been the guru’s request that brought me here – he said I had a legitimacy concern.
I’m not a minister of church – while I practice moral counseling.
I have not earned a degree in philosophy – while I claim to be an expert of ethics.
I’m not a member of the Guild – while I’m a published author of something.
I sat next to Pope, showing me his comforting profile. What he announced took me by surprise: he must declare repossession. Since he said I was possessed by the demons, that must be cast out.
In any event, for any case of what appears to be a sin, church is here to help.
I was not sure how that would address my concern, but even before that, I wanted to know what my problem really was.
Come to see me later, son, and we’ll help you out.
I wanted it to be a little more specific – when?
At usual hour – 1:30 would be fine.
What a straight answer, I thought.
[Page Five]
Now, in order to get back to his palace and meet him (although I didn’t know how I got out of the palace), you would assume you must be prompt – but, in a dream like this, you would never get there, because that’s the matter of fact in what appears to be a dream.
The palace was in the Mediterranean, and I needed money to go and stay there. A woman with beautiful, curly dark hair told me, “I saved up a bunch for that, y’know?” From a large house that looked awfully familiar to me, the palace was just over the rip current across the beach where I stood. But I knew it’s going to be like crossing a channel by a big boat.
Entering the house from the parking lot, for I thought I could make a short cut to the beach, I found it was the fifth floor. Sooner or later I saw my father (and it was his birthday), telling me to go downstairs to get to the beach.
I knew it! With the barbed wire and messy courtyard and all the intimidation and disturbance I get from those dead people down there, I would never get to Pope in time! It’s getting dark already and I’d have to miss the appointment by then.
When I realized that was the end of it, a nurse was checking my temperature.
I failed to meet Pope and ask him for help.
I failed to show up in court and hear thejudgment.
And I’m still asking myself what to do.
But I had MandalaMary rise up above me – I guess she's the only mother I've ever wanted, and her parenthood to whosever child I was!
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