Fugitive Dreams.

While we are on the subject of dreams today, I think it’s appropriate if I share a series of nightmares revolving around the same theme:  Crime and the threat of punishment.

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A few years back, I had a very vivid dream where I was an accomplice in a sexual assault.  I didn’t know who the victim was or the prime suspect with whom I was an associate, but I was pretty damn sure I was guilty of something.

I called into a talk radio show much in the Howard Stern vein.  The host asked me some hard hitting questions about being a suspected accomplice.  I made what I believed to be a light hearted, self effacing joke, but the host made it clear that he did not find it funny.  He added that he believed none of his millions of listeners found it funny either.  I was weighed down with dread.  

I found myself seated in a car on a Metro North train.  A large man was seated next to me with his face buried in a newspaper.  He turned and looked at me.  I clearly detected a sense of recognition from him.  I also noticed that I was seated between him and the window.  Would he attack me?  Would he throw me through the window?  Ultimately, he scowled, rose from his seat, and left me alone - alone and weighed down by a sense of guilt.

I woke up that morning and I was still convinced I was guilty in the involvement of the rape of a woman, or even a man.  I couldn’t recall.  I feared being brought to trial and seeing a room full of unsympathetic faces.  I cowered at the thought of a dozen cameras being jammed in my face and reporters battering me with questions about the assault.

Image Credit:  Retro Book Covers.  

Based on a sculpture by Swiss artist Alberto Giacometti.

Then it dawned on me that it was just a dream.

As I ate breakfast, I asked myself over and over again:  Why would I have that kind of dream?   Am I guilty of something in real life?  Is there a long forgotten memory of something I had done to harm someone?  What could have caused that dream?  

I am of the opinion that the most potent dreams reflect an event that occurred in real life.  The reflection may be distorted, but the reality remained.  I could be wrong.  I could be influenced by stories of Enkidu dreaming of his death or an unnamed Pharaoh begging Joseph to interpret his nightmares.

I shared my dream in group therapy later that day.  I asked the therapist, as the mythical Pharaoh asked Joseph, if she could interpret the dream I had.  She had known me for some time and replied that a dream is usually that:  Just a dream.

Months went by and I was plagued by another dream.  I was running through the tall grass between the train tracks of the Metro North  and the Hudson River.  I was convinced - I was CERTAIN - that I had raped someone.  Now I was on the run from the authorities.  Even now they must be hounding me and on the verge of overtaking me.  I looked ahead and saw the George Washington Bridge illuminated by the usual flooded light at night.  Something told me that if I got to the George Washington Bridge I would evade capture and punishment.  Yet the bridge seemed so far away, so very far away.

I woke and again I genuinely thought I was a fugitive from the law.  A minute went by when I realized it was merely a dream.  I felt that I was about to cry.  Why did I have such a vivid dream?  Again I asked myself:  What is this distorted vision?  Am I, in fact, secretly guilty of something I committed in real life?  Can I recall what it was, or is it what my therapist assured me was only a dream?

I’ve had a few dreams afterward, spaced a few months apart, where I dream of being a fugitive from the law.  Maybe I was guilty of missing a rental payment, or perhaps an overdue library book, perhaps even giving someone the cold shoulder when they needed my comfort more than anything in the world.  Do I take these minor slights in my subconscious and magnify them to a ridiculous degree?  Most likely that’s the case.

But from time to time, I wrack my brains trying to find some wrongdoing on my part.  I search for a wrong that needs to be righted.  Sometimes I fear that the wrongdoing is beyond repair.

So far, nothing comes to mind.

So what is threatening me with punishment?  Is it some vindictive god of my own design that picks apart my every error and elevates it to a horrific crime?

Who persecutes me?

I believe it is only myself.

And it’s up to me to forgive myself.  Even of a crime that was never committed.

- JJB

Illustrated by Gerald Scarfe.  Image Source:  Nicole Gashi