This night/morning I witnessed a great and terrible dream. I say this not in an alarmist or frighten sense, but in a sober and relived state of being. The following is my memory of it. Memories in not just what I saw, but also what I felt and perceived as I experienced my travels in it. Due to the nature of some of the content, I left the dream once or twice but then returned to the place I left off when I fell asleep again. Like many of my dreams of this type, after it’s conclusion I was compelled to write it down without stopping until I had captured as much as I could.

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I find myself walking in a world I would describe as a deteriorated society. A crowded city where social classes are polarized and moral consciousness is devoid of human value. Everyone is getting from place to place by snaking their way through their own mob. Many of the upper class use vehicles to get around and navigate through crowds as if entitled to get to where they were going.   The structures and the sights engage my senses to recall city slums in India, as portrayed in films and documentaries I’ve seen. All around there is refuse and disorder. The atmosphere feels like wearing a jacket right on my skin, which through time, has become wet, sweaty, and dirty yet never washed. There is no place on the ground without trash on it. Everyone lives as if this is how it has been and always will be.

Everyone I see is busy in some type of commerce; people trading, selling, and buying. The air is saturated with an incomprehensible chatter of voices conducting all kinds of transactions. The shops are mostly run down canvas roof kiosks, one right next to the other in somewhat straight lines. Like little circus tents where sellers are trying to captivate the mind and money of those passing by. In this outdoor flea market one can trade literally anything.

In the background, a significantly predominant structure resembling an old luxury hotel dominates an already cramped landscape. It seems I spend a lot of time in there because I have good knowledge of the inside. A magnificent building reminiscing a glorious age now forgotten. Its architecture speaks of greatness but its façade is now inevitably corrupted by its surroundings. Inside, the story is very similar. The foundational materials built into enduring beauty are now victims of the prideful attitudes and lustful lifestyle of the privileged inhabitants. The grand rooms and living quarters are habitations for big egos and entitled minds.

The inhabitants of the magnificent building seem to be ones with self-imposed power and authority to interpret and execute law. Personally, I seem to be somehow connected to the privileged of society, though I do not feel I am either of their pedigree or a full supporter of their beliefs system. Regardless, accepted as part of their society and I am able to live in their mists “protected” from circumstances of their destructive world views. This connection allows me to move around the city under a weird sense of security. Inside their world I sense busyness and performance, and at the same time bondage and fear. The pride of the inhabitants is that they live inside the building and not outside. But just like the ones outside, everyone inside lives as if this is how it has been and always will be.

Though I am connected to the magnificent building and am well acquainted with it, I do not live there. I live not far from it in a neighborhood made up of many haphazardly built apartment buildings. The area reminds me of low income building complexes in South America.
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In the dream I am part of a superficial family unit which is neither intimate nor familiar. The people I live with are not relevant or memorable. From here, I leave to walk to the magnificent building as if going to work. I recall memories of the goings on I have seen on these streets. How I am mindful and vigilant so I may not fall prey to them. The curious thing though, is it seems that I am either unseen or untouchable as I travel through. But still, but I am watchful.

At this point of my dream, I am lead to a moment of acknowledgment, an awakening of consciousness.   The shift feels like the moment you notice a season is changing from the current one to the next. Through the balcony door of the apartment I notice a young woman in the middle of the outdoor courtyard area below. She is kneeling and her hands clasped together as if praying. Then an older woman, her mother, walks with a determined stride out into the courtyard holding a large knife in her hand. With anger and without saying a word, she grabs the younger woman’s hair with the other hand and cuts the girl’s throat. She then drags the body towards a trash container and throws it inside, but the body does not completely fit in order for the lid to close. After struggling with the lid, the woman takes the body back out to put it somewhere else. What I gather from her body language is she did not want to be bothered looking at the body parts that did not fit in the container.

Seeing the girl praying did not stir any offense or surprise in me. It seemed normal and right. The woman’s actions though, drew me out from what feels like I had been in a numb and calloused slumber. I was pierced by the act. It is as if the knife pierced my body leaving a mark I would not forget.

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