Posted by: normanlgreen | October 21, 2012

Dream, October 21, 2012


Dream, home, 7:15am

My family has agreed to meet at a mega church built in the center of a department store. Bright early light in the parking lot. I get delayed. My family – wife children and in-laws – promises that they will be easy to spot inside. I return to the car for some object then trot back to the entrance of the store. People stream into it. They dress well for the occasion.

Inside, the store still functions as such, so to get to the sanctuary portion of the floor, I have to pass through housewares and the lighting department, with hanging lamps dangling above me.

The stock shelves end abruptly at the sanctuary. I had expected a semi-circular arrangement of pews, instead blocks of aluminum risers hold folding chairs. They are arranged in four sections that delineate the stage floor. Staircases in the corners between each square section give access to the raised seating. Beside each of the staircases stands a pallet of visitor cards, cut to a quarter sheet in size. Each seating section has its own color of visitor cards – I see blue and green, but know that there are others for the canary and pink sections. I look into the faces of the people as they take their seats. The service is about to begin, but mumbling and rustling lets me know that I am not completely late. I do not see any of my family, expecting to spot their distinctive white-blond hair.

I round to the far side, where the lighting is much dimmer. I climb the stairs at the corner and spot a large figure at the top. He reaches down with a welcoming hand and calls my name in a soft, slightly rough-hewn voice: “Norman.”

I am touched that he remembers my name. As he used my first name, I opt for his: “Garrison.”

He expresses a sincere pleasure that I made it to the show. When I ask after my family, he recalls having spotted my father-in-law. He keeps a gentle, warm hold of my hand as he leads me back down the stairs and around the blocks of risers. We pass a pallet of the visitor cards. He thanks me for providing them. He is pleased by the feel of the crowd and expresses how it is part of a cultural recovery from a period of alienation and irresponsibility. I offer the opinion that we should have taken a cultural cue from the Leopold & Loeb Murder, that they took their cue from Nietzsche. Garrison looks at me in surprise. He leads me to a section of the floor with a drop ceiling and picnic tables. He releases my hand and points to the far corner where my family dishes out a lunch for themselves. My wife gives me a little wave – confident that I would eventually find them. I fill a tiny bowl with chunks of pineapple, but cannot reach any of the meat at the crowded table.

Earlier: During a fire fight inside of a building, I cannot see the enemy combatants, but many bullets are exchanged. I feel their heat as they pass in the continuous noise of gun fire.

I know that some of the fighters on my side are dieing, but again, I cannot see that happen. All of my views are close shots of my rifle – loading it, clearing jams, slighting along the barrel without the ability to focus on any target. I fire blindly from behind large crates within the warehouse.

Knowing that we are low on ammunition, we decide to make a full-on charge to over-run the enemy position. I am concerned about a half-inch long piece of wire that is impressed into the top of the stock of my rifle. It must not become dislodged or broken by a bullet. We charge around the packing cases and take the enemy position only to discover that they have made a countering maneuver. We have exchanged places only to discover that they have left behind less ammunition than we had before we made our charge.

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