| Waiting To Be Rescued Michelle, counselor, Houston, Texas Submitted May 2000
Almost always my dreams are about War. Shooting, skirmishes, running, hiding in bunkers or running through the city streets are nightly events. Sometimes I lead a platoon or merely a small group. Sometimes I am fighting, following the battalion, aware that I am surrounded by the enemy. Sometimes I am shot dead, and sometimes I am taken prisoner.
The Wars may be ancient, such as sporadic fighting with the Huns, or in Tibet. The Wars may be between noble houses, on horseback. The Wars are sometimes fought against American Indians, and sometimes it is the Civil War. Sometimes it is World War I, or World War II. As much as one fifth of the time it is in a dry desert area, like Palestine, or Turkey, or Egypt, but in modern times. When I had to weigh the factors related to remaining married or divorcing my former husband, I had the same dream three nights in a row. I dreamed that I had been captured in particularly bitter fighting, and found myself in a jail cell built underground. The place seemed to be Palestine, and the cell waas suffocatingly hot, and cramped - eight feet by eight feet. I could hear bombs bursting overhead, and the loud rattle of machine guns from the cell. I felt that my execution would be very soon. As I tried to find a means of escape, I noticed someone was sleeping on the lower cell bunk. Curious, I walked to the sleeper, and noticed it was my husband. I shook him awake, and he was upset with me. When I urged him to help me find a way to escape, he told me it was useless. Suddenly, I heard boots on the steps and in the walkway, and I knew someone was coming. I held my breath, expecting the worst. When the man wearing a cloak and a face mask stopped at the cell door and raised his machine gun, I expected to die. Instead, he blasted open the lock, and motioned for me to follow. I hesitated, and went back to my husband, shaking him, again. The man waited at the door for me, and motioned more urgently. My husband refused to leave the cell, and said we would be killed if we tried to escape. He told me to stop bothering him, and to forget about the foolish idea of escape. Gunfire exploded in the halls around the corner, and the masked person left, running, firing behind him. I remained in the cell, paralyzed with indecision. At that moment, I woke up. The dream bothered me, because it was so easy to understand what it meant. The next night I had the same dream, but this time I hoped the rescuer would return. After waiting a long time, I heard the boots on the steps, and hoped it was the rescuer. It was. I stood nearer the door, this time, and watched the man blast the lock, and I saw the door swing open. I hesitated only a moment this time, looking back once at my sleeping husband. I ran out the door after a few moments of indecision, and followed the man in the cloak. He handed me a pistol, and we both shot locks off doors as we ran through the hall to the steps to escape. I felt the cool, fresh air in my face as he reached the outside but my hesitation cost us precious time, and we had to fight our way from the prison to freedom. Again, I woke up before I was able to run far from the prison. That dream, too, was a strong message. I had to be certain the decision was right, and not blame myself once I made it. The third night, I dreamed the same dream. This time I waited impatiently for my rescuer. Finally, I heard the boots on the steps, and I stood ready to run as he appeared in the hall. The rescuer shot the lock, and the door swung open. This time I hurried out of the cell, and reached for a second machine gun the rescuer brought with him. I led the race down the hall to freedom, shooting locks off cells for other prisoners as I went. There was no one at the exit, and I ran into the cool dark night air, feeling completely free. The bombs had stopped, and any shooting was far away. I waited only moments for the rescuer and several other freed people to run with me toward a hill which I knew "our" side occupied. I got the message. That week I filed for divorce. |