What woke me? Was it my slamming heart? Or the banging, splintering wood, screaming steel, heavy boots stomping toward my son’s bedroom then down the hall stopping at my bed. My heart is in my ears, my first thoughts are of hiding, of wanting to wake up and clear this strange horrible dream from my head, of shakily wanting to sit up, but strong leather gloved hands haul me to a standing position. I catch a glimpse of the time, its 3:17 AM and totally dark outside. I hear my son yell out and then stop suddenly. Voices barking orders yell in my ears, I can’t tell if I’m being asked questions or being told directions. Lights blind me as I am herded toward the dining room, chair legs are at strange angles the table has been shoved against the wall. My arms are yanked behind me and secured with plastic and cinched deeply, biting into my wrists. I try to find my voice to ask for paperwork because there must be paperwork. This must be a mistake. I ask for a warrant but a sharp crack to my temple is returned as an answer. Orange tape, the kind that finishes off arm and leg casts in bright colors, is suddenly wound around my head blinding my eyes, and then wound under my nose to gag my mouth; preventing my questions, my whimpering and crying, my screams. In the dark I hear my son moan and can feel his body heat, close. I am pulled, dragged through the doorway, my son before me, we both stumble, as rough hands push us down the stairs. Bare feet trying to navigate, trying to make sense of the surfaces encountered before cold wet asphalt and metal encloses around me, us, my son and I sit on cold metal using our feet to steady the swaying motion. It is cold; my teeth won’t stop chattering under the tape, my tears run freely from my nose as snot and mix with clotting blood, wetting my pajama top. I am cold. I am a cold disoriented 55-year old woman in a panic, a mantra repeats through my head: name, social security number, address, years lived at address, because maybe this is all a mistake and they, the men, my oppressors, want the apartment next door. Maybe I was confused for the young Chinese couple, maybe they are spies. Maybe. Then crazily passwords and phone numbers start scrolling through my head – is this what happens when you are trapped and feel out of control (under control, under someone else’s control, isolated) and can’t focus your mind into protection mode? What could I have done that brought on this … ? I can’t even form the words. My blood pressure seems to be pounding in my ears and I wonder if I will survive an interrogation, will I confess to anything, will I spill names and sacrifice groups of people with the only thought of preserving myself? I can feel my blood sugar dive and a buzzer goes off. It won’t quit until I realize slowly as I come up through the fog that the unrelenting buzzer is my alarm. I am not in a holding cell, my son is not sitting next to me shivering in his boxers, wrists shackled, we are not scared out of our wits. It is Thursday, I have to shower and get ready for school, my son is away at college, my cats are waking on my bed. My heart is still beating fast as I reach for the lamp switch, my dream won’t leave me, I can recall everything without embellishment – it is that vivid. Emotionally, I feel spent and raw, hollow, I have high schoolers to face in 60 minutes. A nagging thought begins to eat its way into my cortex and curl around my brain stem … it could happen, it could all happen. Homeland Security couldn’t prevent my nightmare because, it slowly registers, I remember seeing familiar Homeland Security insignia icons before being gagged and blinded. Could it happen … ?
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I apologize for no paragraphs – I recorded this prophetic dream episode straight without stopping to use writing mechanics. I added punctuation after but thought that the steady stream of words best conveyed the stark panic.
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Reading this pulls me back into my dream – I am amazed at my imagination – how could I make it seem so real? I don’t have any expertise in this type of thing, I tend to watch Jane Austen and Oceans Eleven movies, NCIS reruns. I favor comedy: a little Leno and SNL. I don’t like major gun totting shoot-em-up violent films. I don’t have a snub-nose gun hidden under my pillow. The last movie theater film I saw was Shutter Island which had nothing to do with Homeland Security. So. Why would I concoct this type of dream? Was it something I ate, chocolate, spices? Something I read – I’m reading 2666 by Roberto Bolano – nothing even close to my dream. I am a liberal, not a fear mongering republican corporation cell implant awaiting the call to stomp out all elite, democrat liberty-smashing wimps with Homeland Security thugs. I should have dreamed this dream during the Bush/Cheney regime – but it came to me right before Patriot’s Day, 2010. Oklahoma federal building. Waco. Is this intuition?