Dream 1: Being hunted down by a repressive, fascist government

Dream 1: Being hunted down by a repressive, fascist government after I stabbed the #1 presidential candidate for this regime in the face with a broken bottle. I was saved by Morgan Freeman after being shot several times. This was probably the most drawn-out dream of the night and most realistic as being something that could possibly happen in real life. The landscape/geography of the area I was in didn’t resemble anything in real life, though I think it was supposed to cover a lot more territory than it really could have given the short distances I walked.

The fascist party in the U.S. was something like the Freedom Party or Liberty Party, but the only freedom you had was if you were white and ready to follow all of the single party’s rules, which were basically U.S. war fetish/conservative/jingoist/being white. There didn’t even seem to really be a capitalist system anymore, per se, as you couldn’t start a business unless you were part of the ruling party. So, it was totalitarianism at its worst from the 20th Century come to roost in the U.S.

However, the ruling party clearly hadn’t gotten good control over the entire country, and various organic groups were springing up to run separate economies which were mostly filled with people of color since most of the white people in the country had fallen in line with the Freedom Party in order to keep their jobs and houses. I was clearly opposed to the party’s primary presidential candidate, who was running unopposed. I pretended to be a big fan and member of the party who loved the candidate dearly (he looked and talked sort of like the dad from the TV show Frazier), and caught him by surprise in a men’s room somewhere before he was to give a speech. My only weapon was a bottle lying in the trash, which I smashed on the sink counter and rammed directly into his face and eyes, and then ran out of the bathroom like Ehud in the book of Judges did to Eglon.

I ran to one of the rogue communities, which truly acted as if they were free in how they ran their economies (which seemed to be a mixture of cooperative and small-business capitalism), and was hiding out when the fascist government sent the military to basically wipe everyone out. I took several bullets but managed to play dead and then sneak into a deep hole, but not before meeting Morgan Freeman, who told me to meet him back at his ranch way up north when I was able to get away successfully. Apparently, Morgan Freeman had some immunity from persecution being a celebrity. Most of the people in the community had died, and the military doused the place with gasoline and launched a flamethrower into it.

Those who got away streamed north into areas that were less penetrated by the government and military, and in the dream this entire part of the country was just streaming with people wandering around–a lot of people of color, but also people who had been sprung from prisons and mental institutions that the government no longer wanted to support in the territories that it had control of. I think the idea was similar to how the Native Americans were treated in real life–smoke ‘em out, push further away, and eventually once the government was ready and the unwanted people were contained, the idea was that all of them would be euthanized at once.

So, I was constantly being bothered by folks with mental problems as well as sex perverts, and people with chronic health problems and disabilities who needed assistance. Except, I had nothing to give, and I was in a pretty bad way myself. I finally got to a border that was being monitored by soldiers like the Berlin Wall before it closed for good, and had some kind of excuse that got me through into a territory that was even less controlled by the government. Morgan Freeman came down from his ranch way north (probably like in the upper parts of Canada) to meet me and take me to a doctor and some refuge.

Dream 2: A speech-making contest that was being attended by thousands of people. There were several stations for participants, and it seemed like the importance of it went beyond being just a contest or game–like we were competing for some kind of bigger prize. Even my son wanted to participate, and he was in the line behind me. When it got to be my turn to give my speech, I failed to give the previous one I’d given in rehearsal, which the coach had said was very good. I started talking about something else and didn’t know how to end it. Rhetorical craft seemed very important–perhaps like how people competed in Greco-Roman times. My first speech was something along the lines of how to speak clearly to the right audience, be it a crowd or over the telephone–a meta-speech of sorts, a speech on speechmaking. In the waking world, I am terrible at public speaking and have grown only modestly comfortable (ie, I don’t completely implode in anxiety) at it.

Dream 3: I received a bad grade from my OT professor that looked like the first bad grade I got on my theology professor, and the comments looked like the ones that the worship professor provided. Actually, the grade from the theology professor wasn’t bad, the test was poorly made and the professor knew it and padded the grading a lot. But, anyway, in the dream, I started to react to the test like I had reacted in the waking life. Except, there was something about needing to get home, and of course we (probably my wife and son and I though I don’t exactly remember) were located roughly around where my old elementary school was in real life and were trying to get home to my boyhood home. This seems to happen a lot in dreams–I end up located on the highway that runs parallel to the old elementary school a block away, and am trying to get home by walking or using a weird contraption or cutting through a dream neighborhood.

I am not sure if all these dreams where I start back near elementary school are trying to tell me something about some levels of maturity I have or not.


Meta notes on dreams…
I almost forgot the latter two dreams, and did indeed forget most of the content of them, in my effort upon final waking to remember the first dream.

Intent, intensity of focus, importance of a thing — could the mind be capable of seeing more about reality if it determined that it was necessary to focus “the more” — that which lies beyond the things it is commonly told to focus on? Could existence in this particular state itself be governed largely by an intensity of focus?

My ability to have those visions and moments of experiencing a higher reality may have come due to a sense of not needing to completely focus on this life, the life at hand. In other words, survival and the constant disparaging remarks I heard from people around me about realities beyond this one have prompted me to no longer focus on them (also to a large degree fear of them). When I was younger, I had parents who were taking care of my essential survival needs and so I had the freedom to let my mind not be nearly as present and attentive to this reality.

Even my focus on my aging self perhaps perpetuates the sense that my mind is becoming less capable.