Dreaming

I had a strange dream last night. I was sitting in an unidentified living room with a number of people. We communicated but did not look directly in each others’ faces; a lively discussion was under way. All lay on a red wood floor and espoused opinions on seemingly important topics. However, the content of these debates is now too hazy to recall. This innocuous pitter patter continued for some time until I became aware of a large white door behind me. It was an old fashioned door, one with a high handle about one third from the top. In fact, it reminded me of the doors found my childhood home in Northern Ireland. The door became the sole focus of my attention, and the others in the room faded into insignificance. It had energy, a pulsating importance. There was a reason why it became the focal point of my attention, however, its significance eluded me then as it does now. I felt drawn to it, but repelled at the same time. It breathed life and an eerie vibrancy into the room, humming and buzzing like an industrial machine. My ambivalence towards it multiplied. I could feel it held significance for me, a monumental importance. But, at the same time, as it glowed like a pearl under lamp light, I began to experience a guttural fear. Something was wrong. I became aware of a strange sound outside the room, and it was instantly recognizable. Although I could not see beyond the white door, I knew that behind were other people; they screamed when the swarm rolled in to the hallway, a lethal tsunami of insects. Instantly, they enveloped the people on the other side of the door, which had by this stage become transparent. I could see the whole deathly scene, safe behind the door.

I was left with a bizarre sensation: guilt and sadness gripped me. Could I have done more to help the people in the hallway? Why didn’t I act? Perhaps I could have saved at least one person from the gruesome end. Who knows, dreams always leave you thinking.