Witness

I’m not a big dreamer. (The kind you have while sleeping.) I still remember some very powerful--a few recurring--dreams I had when young, but for much of my life I’ve had no awareness that I ever dreamed at all. I fell asleep; I woke. I wasn’t conscious of any mental activity between the two events, just a void.

In recent years the idea of dreaming has become more familiar. I still rarely remember the contents, but I regularly know that dreams have occurred. Sometimes they leave me with feelings and moods. Less frequently, with impressions and images. And, on occasion, muddled recollections of oddly intertwined events. When I do recall something, it is almost always personal, relating to people and experiences I know.

Two nights ago I had an unusual dream that lingered; lingers. Vaguely. The setting was some murky cross between a repurposed school building and a technologically advanced post-apocalyptic bunker complex. I was working there, for some organization that was a murky cross between mundane office work and an official government agency. A president came through our offices. Not a particular one, just someone powerful I respected, far above my level with whom I normally would never interact. He pulled me aside, unexpectedly interested in my work. And then the two of us were meeting with Putin and his top aide. I was the guy he wanted along for that encounter; I was supposed to be able to bring some unique insight to the discussion. I didn’t know what to do except pay attention very carefully.

Last night I had another, a little shorter and less vivid. The setting was an SUV that was apparently bigger on the inside, as it was full of older white men in suits fighting for control. The Democrats fled, leaving me behind with all the Republicans. As they strategized their reign and planned how they would emerge from the car to face the press, it was my job to wipe up the blood and get the interior clean again. And covertly listen in the hopes my senior colleagues might return.

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