Bad Dreams

My alarm was rather... jolting this morning. Not only was it a combination of two apps that I somehow managed to have an alarm set on both without realizing it, but both alarms invaded the dream that I was having, making for some sort of weird atmospheric background music.  In the dream, I found it really weird and off-putting.  Even worse was the fact that the background music was in what my brain told me was a Buddhist temple above a paint store where I had previously taken ballet classes, a child in Madisonville, KY.  Add a level to that because the dream took place in a snow-covered and very cold South Bend, IN.  

I am not Buddhist and have never been to a Buddhist temple, so I couldn't tell you what one looked like (although I've often been curious, as the Buddhist faith to me seems incredibly beautiful), but I could tell you what that old paint store and the ballet studio above it were like.  From the dark stairs leading up to it, the stored junk from said paint store, halfhazardly strewn about upstairs, the smells (a combination of paint and old house that I still love to this day) and the creaking, original wood floors from when the building was first built in the 1920s or 30s (I'm totally going to ask the president of the Historical Society in Madisonville about that building later today.).   The building was definitely a Madisonville building, but the dream definitely took place in South Bend.  

In the dream, I was much younger, in my late teens or early 20s.  I wasn't married, and  I didn't have kids.  I was very much on my own.  I had a group of girl friends that I was involved with, and we were protesting I.C.E.  We were also very much homeless, squatting in what had been an old mansion belonging to either the Olivers or Studebakers.  It had been converted into apartments somewhere along the way, but abandoned.  The woodwork was still there, but the wallpaper was peeling from the walls, there was water damage, mold, basically anything you'd find in an abandoned house.  We kept warm with a kerosene heater that one of us had stolen from our previous homes.  

I had been kicked out of my house.  The idea had come from my step-mom.  She didn't approve of me standing up to I.C.E. or being a "radical leftist."  Somehow, I think she would feel that way in real life as well.  I know she didn't like me anyway and one day I'll write her a lovely letter telling her what I think, but that, as I like to say, is another blog.  My Dad, while he was heartbroken about me being kicked out, believed that it was something that needed to happen and didn't stop me from leaving.   He didn't approve of what was going on, but didn't like my methods of protest or me causing mischief to make I.C.E.'s mission that much more difficult. 

My group of friends and I tried everything we could to make things difficult for I.C.E.  We poured water around their cars at hotels so it would freeze overnight.  We took whistles and followed them around, alerting everyone in the area to their presence.  If you've seen it on TV with all the things going on in Minneapolis, we participated in it in my dream.  It was very satisfying to actually be able to prevent them from doing their jobs covertly. Unfortunately, they got wind of our identities and where we had been squatting and they (very violently) raided the building where we were squatting.  Myself and another girl (who was my friend in the dream, but I don't know her in real life) escaped running into a group of Buddhist monks on their way to their temple, the one above the paint store, a few blocks away from where we were. 

We pleaded with them to help, and they had us join in their silent procession.  We heard the shouting of the I.C.E. agents, but they kept us hidden in the middle of their group, walking quickly and silently down the street, some in prayer with hands pressed together, eyes closed.  I didn't know how they knew where they were going, but they did.  The sounds of the raid grew quieter as we continued to walk at a very brisk pace away from where my friends had just been snatched.  

We entered the building, and they guided us up the creaky stairs.  It was so quiet.  When we got to the second floor, we walked into a somewhat dark and very warm space with cushions lying about and a combination of monks and people sitting on the floor, some with their eyes closed in silent meditation and others looking around the room, bewildered.  They had obviously been guided to this place by their own monks.  I took a seat next to someone from another group of mischief makers I knew, looking around, trying to get my bearings.  At the front of the room, a white man in Buddhist Monk robes walked around, greeting people.  He would welcome people in and usher them to a seat where another monk would bring the person a bowl of soup and wrap a blanket around their shoulders.  I remember thinking it felt like an evangelical-type church situation, that the man didn't belong here, and also missing my Dad and wanting to call him and tell him about the raid on our building we were staying in.  

And that was when the music started.  Quietly at first, and then getting louder and louder.  It was a gentle music, something you'd listen to while meditating for sure, but as it grew louder, I remember thinking "something ain't right."  I kept looking around and things felt like they were melting...

I opened my eyes, sleep crusted in the corners, incredibly confused as to what was going on.  Two conflicting alarm sounds were blasting near my ear.  I grabbed my phone and slid it open in attempts to turn it off.  I couldn't figure out why I was getting two conflicting sounds, and my phone did not want to cooperate.  After a couple of confused minutes, I managed to turn it off and crawled out of bed.  It was 5:50am, and I needed to make sure that my son was ready for the bus to come at 6am.  Thankfully, he was, and I sent him off with a hug that was longer than normal. 

I told him to have a good day and be safe.  The dream really stuck with me.  I can't imagine what the people in Minneapolis are going through.  It frightens me, and it worries me, and I keep wondering where the line is drawn.  I feel like we've been fed a lie by the people who are supposed to be in charge.  I'm glad my Dad isn't alive to see what is happening.  I know how he would feel.  I know he would also be warning me to keep my own head down and stay out of the way.  I very much want to do something, but I also want to keep my family safe.  I don't want to do anything that would cause them to worry or cause issues for them.  

What is happening to not just immigrants, but to people standing up to the I.C.E. agents in Minneapolis and around the country, is absolutely atrocious.  The way people in this country are being treated by our government is appalling, and we should not be standing for it.  Everyone deserves to be treated with respect.  Everyone deserves to be treated with dignity.  Children should not be separated from their families, nor should they be weaponized or held hostage to attempt to get to their parents.  What is happening is absolutely not acceptable, and I don't think it's going to change until the administration currently in power is removed from office.  I hope that it will be done peacefully and under the rule of law, but I doubt that the "velveeta voldemort" will go quietly.  

I hope for the best but plan for the worst.  I am scared and feeling helpless.  I am grateful for what we have and share it with my friends and community openly.  Anyone who needs help, I will help. I can only hope this all ends soon.