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Adoption and war
Nov. 10th, 2023 07:46 amI dreamed we adopted a teenager, freckles and red hair, tall. He was a few years younger than my daughter, and we had him living in the basement. He was severely depressed, and the wife and I didn't know what to do for him.
*
I dreamed I was sent undercover to Palestine, disguised as a priest in the pope's entourage, to tour the scenes of devastation there. The CIA had arranged it, and there I was, Roman collar and all, walking besides the pontiff and other officials. The debris and destruction were unreal. Scenes of crying old people on piles of dust. Explosions shook the night.
When we returned to our deployment site, I spoke with a short, red-haired Israeli female soldier. I marveled that I was somehow able to walk there (no plane transportation from Newark, in the dream). She shook her head. "Yes, you can simply walk there," she said. "It's closer than you think."
Back in New Jersey, I was on a suburban street, like Levittown. All the houses were roughly white and looked the same. It was twilight, and it had snowed enough that it made the going difficult. I was carrying a sort of orb inside a cage that shed water, which would then drip down into a pan underneath. I gripped the two sides of the pan tightly, trying not to spill the water on the just-shoveled sidewalk, where it would freeze over immediately. My son was with me, but I couldn't see him; he may have been lingering on a random house's porch or otherwise fooling around in the snow. I told him to be careful, and that I would meet him at home.
In the darkening sky above a biplane flew overhead in the direction of New York City, too low for my taste. It was followed by two police helicopters, with lights shining on the clouds. I called out to my son again, and together we made our way down the street.
*
I dreamed I was sent undercover to Palestine, disguised as a priest in the pope's entourage, to tour the scenes of devastation there. The CIA had arranged it, and there I was, Roman collar and all, walking besides the pontiff and other officials. The debris and destruction were unreal. Scenes of crying old people on piles of dust. Explosions shook the night.
When we returned to our deployment site, I spoke with a short, red-haired Israeli female soldier. I marveled that I was somehow able to walk there (no plane transportation from Newark, in the dream). She shook her head. "Yes, you can simply walk there," she said. "It's closer than you think."
Back in New Jersey, I was on a suburban street, like Levittown. All the houses were roughly white and looked the same. It was twilight, and it had snowed enough that it made the going difficult. I was carrying a sort of orb inside a cage that shed water, which would then drip down into a pan underneath. I gripped the two sides of the pan tightly, trying not to spill the water on the just-shoveled sidewalk, where it would freeze over immediately. My son was with me, but I couldn't see him; he may have been lingering on a random house's porch or otherwise fooling around in the snow. I told him to be careful, and that I would meet him at home.
In the darkening sky above a biplane flew overhead in the direction of New York City, too low for my taste. It was followed by two police helicopters, with lights shining on the clouds. I called out to my son again, and together we made our way down the street.
