Friday, April 11, 2003

I had a dream last night that ties into the issue of shepherds. Well, actually the Good Shepherd. Easter approaches and I wonder if reading your note plus Easter-imminent led to the dream. In it, my son Christopher (the name means Christ bearer) is drawn into a conference of religious people. He succumbs to their flattery and persuasions. I have been down the street somewhere and return to the place where we parted. I look into a large room and see him there, at the far end, draped in bright orange cloth, blind-folded and hanging from a cross. The people at the foot of the cross yell encouragements to him. He is struggling. The point seems to be to cleanse him from all sin. If he breaks, begins to cry, asks for mercy and espouses their rites they will know that they have succeeded. I then rush into the room, though people try to restrain me, and scream for them to let my son down, to release him to me.

His helplessness, the crowd's manic objectives and my horror combined, early this morning, to wake me from sleep. I got up for a drink of water, feeling very sad and impotent.

My dreams are treacherous. They deprive me of any peace that sleep might bring. I've never liked my dreams.

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