Years Ago and Yesterday

[Author's Note: Sometimes I am lucky enough to remember my dreams. On even rarer occasions, I remember dreams that stick with me for a long time and cause me to reflect on things. These are two such rare dreams that I have written in stream-of-consciousness style (which seems to work best with dreams). Also, the main title signifies the time in between the two dreams I had. Please also note, some artistic liberties have been made to make these dreams comprehensible to everyone other than me.]
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Civil War

War
To dream of a war, signifies disorder and chaos in your waking life. You are experiencing some internal conflict or emotional struggle. You are feeling torn. The dream could also indicate that you are being overly aggressive or that you are not being assertive enough. On a more direct level, the dream could be reflection of current wars around the world.

I found myself in a forest I had never been to and did not recognize in the least bit. It was lush, with the greenest grass I had ever seen and trees that looked to be in full bloom. Everything pointed to a beautiful sunny summer day, except the weather, which had an early spring briskness to it. As I looked down, I saw a gun in my hands, fully automatic and recently fired, smoke gushing from the tip. My clothes were camouflaged and my feet heavy from the boots they were occupying. A helmet gripped my skull tight and backpack straps tore into my shoulders. I was at war in an unknown land for reasons I did not know. But nevertheless I marched on.

I wasn’t alone. Others were around me in identical uniforms and scanning the trees for what could be considered an attack. I did not know who my enemies were in this case and so I had no reason to look around for any. I looked ahead to where a clearing in the thick forest greenery allowed me to see blue skies as far as I could see. From what I could tell, I was trekking through a paradise, somewhere that had yet to be touched by the horrors of war. I knew, though I didn’t know how I knew, that I would be one of the last to see this place as it is. Soon, perhaps moments from now, bombs would rip apart the trees, fire scorch all the life seen and unseen from this land, and blood soak into the loamy soil beneath me.

I turned around and saw two familiar faces. Friends of mine, Justin and Steve, were marching behind me, with fear clearly etched into their expressions. They knew why we were here and what was on the horizon. Everything I did not know, they knew. Whatever they knew was frightening them greatly and began giving me second thoughts about this path we were on. Then I heard the sound of tides, an ocean’s tides. That’s when I saw it.

A mile or more away, leaning to its left and crumbling away, was the Statue of Liberty. From where I was, it looked to be washed up on the shore, weakly standing in the sand of the beach. We all saw it and froze. So we were still in America. I had a feeling this is where we were, but I had ignored it. At this point we had entered a clearing in the forest, as long and wide as two football fields. I asked myself how such a clearing existed naturally, but before I could even think of the possibilities, shots were fired upon us and explosions erupted, its smoke blocking the view of the statue.

I ran toward the trees, adrenaline rushing through my body at incredible speed. I was transforming quickly. Where before I had been an unknowledgeable man lost in the woods, it wasn’t long before I was turning into a soldier. Tactics and strategy flooded my brain. Flanking maneuvers, playing dead, taking cover, running around the attack and hitting them from behind, smoke grenades, crawling through mud, climbing walls, hand-to-hand combat, Krav Maga, disarming the enemy and slashing his throat, a kamikaze last resort rush. Anything militaristic that might help in any way was racking my brain. Popping up and going away as soon as it came. I ended up running to a corner of the clearing, finally stopping when I came to a rock wall that prevented any further movement. I turned and saw my enemy for the first time.

They were just like me. They looked American, which is why I didn’t shoot at first. I could hear some yelling from these people, telling the soldiers on my side, “Drop the gun! Put it down!” before firing away. Americans fighting Americans? I was fighting a civil war. This Eden-like land was going to be torn apart by brothers. We the people were going to kill each other. The realization of the war I was in brought me to a standstill yet again. Why was I here? What brought us all here? What could have possibly torn us apart to lead to this?

And it was in my paralyzed state that a soldier running by saw me and turned, raising his gun but not shooting. He saw me with my gun to my side and surely saw that my face was saying, telling him, screaming, “What the fuck are we doing here?” He still had his gun raised, but no bullets flew into my chest. His face, as I saw, was beginning to emulate mine. Maybe things didn’t have to happen like this, friend. We had both realized the pointlessness of all this, even if we didn’t fully understand it all. Oh well.

A loud crack broke my thousand-yard stare. The soldier in front of my fell like a dead weight to the ground, eyes glazing over and lifeless, blood draining from his helmet and soaking into the earth. In a second, a life was ended. Running over the dead body were Justin and Steve, with both their guns smoking. They smiled, expecting me to smile back in relief for what they did. I responded back with a slight shake of the head as I dropped my gun. They ignored my reaction and turned back to the clearing, firing off rounds that made my ears ring. I took my backpack off. I don’t need this. I take a pistol from my side holster and point it to my right, not bothering to even look at my target. I fire its bullets off as fast as my finger can pull the trigger, and soon enough two men are dead from my random shots and my clip is empty. Oh well.

Bombs dropped more heavily now. The ground rumbled and shook. My ears rang louder, especially the right one. I took my helmet off. I walked through the clearing of the once beautiful forest unscathed. The sun touched my blonde hair. I smiled. I wanted to see the Statue of Liberty. I never got to see it before. I wanted to feel it, take it all in. A civil war was not going to stop my pursuit of her, especially not a pointless war. One that destroyed such an awe-inspiring place as this, one fought between brothers on their homeland. Voices from behind me were calling my name for help now. Oh well.

I decided to give one last look to the battlefield, where a heavenly land had once been now existed Hell. I gave a quick turn just in time to see the point of a bullet drill its metal body straight into my brain. The world went dark and quiet after that.
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Borderland

Crowd
To dream that you are in or part of a crowd, signifies that you need to make some space for yourself. You need solitude to reflect on a situation at hand and recharge your energy. Consider also the familiar phrase of "going along with the crowd" which implies conformity and lack of individuality.


It’s around dusk when I find myself enveloped in a massive crowd of people. They’re all travelers, like me, looking for a better life. But we’re not traveling at the moment, because are undesignated leader is addressing us. I don’t know whether I can’t hear him because of the murmuring of the crowd or because I really don’t care. Either way, his words are lost upon me, except for the last few. He’s a tall man, balding, and dressed in the way you would imagine a hiker to be clothed. I look at him and he’s wrapping up his speech dramatically, “It’s time to move…see you in two days.”

Where will he see us in two days? Where are we going? Why am I following this crowd? It’s not even a crowd; it’s a horde, better yet, a pack. We are a pack of humans crossing through a sparse forest. The trees are far apart from one another and their dead needles have covered the ground. We’re in the southwest, I can feel it. The landscape doesn’t match it completely, but the sun’s setting colors hint at it and my mind is saying it over and over. The pack is huge, the largest gathering ever on the move at once. Alexander the Great never commanded such numbers, nor Napoleon, and while we may move peacefully, not even Martin Luther King’s March on Washington is comparable to our movement. We are a herd heading for better pastures. I seemed to have agreed to these people wherever it is we go.

I don’t know these people and they don’t know me, and I’d like to keep it that way. Soon, shades of purple and red fall upon us as the dusk throws out its last beautiful waning colors before it’s snuffed out. We move on, over hills, through trees, as one giant mass of humanity. I can no longer follow, I can’t bear to follow all these others and not know my destination. I can’t. Enough is enough! I begin running, unlike anyone else around me, trying to reach the front of this pack. I pass thousands of people along the way, not looking at any of them since they’re not worth my time. Wherever we’re going, I’m going to get there in less than two days. I want to know our destination before everyone gets there, like I’m seeing our future through self-motivation. I never tire from my endless running, never stopping to catch my breath or to take note of how the sun has fallen along with the temperature. I just run.

I run until I finally reach the front of the pack and am a fair distance from the rest. I run until I see lights in the distance. I see neon lights on signs and lights coming from hotels and offices. We’ve come to a city. Is this our city of salvation? It doesn’t feel that way. I stand at the edge of a cliff looking at the city far away and down below. I look straight down then right back away. It’s a long way down. Not only that, but it’s a long enough drop to let you think about how painful it’s going to be when you land in a horrible heap of blood and bones. Those are the worst cliffs. As I look at the city in the distance, I see a giant store below, with its familiar logo lit up in the night sky. Something’s different, though. It’s not in the language I speak. We must have come to the border of our nation and we are now looking at someone else’s land. This is what everyone is moving toward? These are our better pastures? We’re fleeing our home! Giving up! No one in the pack says a thing.

Yet, this is not a pack, this is an exodus. The group is catching up to me and they don’t seem to want to stop. They’re an immovable object looking to knock me over that cliff with the rest of them. This is what I get for wanting to see where we were all going? I see our future and am still forced to experience it anyway? There’s no way out. I’m going to go over that deep, deep cliff with the rest. The moon is out now. As they near me, I finally see these people who make up the exodus. They’re mothers with their children, men of every race, all with the same defeated look upon them. Hopeless. I don’t even bother to tell them of their impending doom, knowing the futility of it. I begin running toward them, determined with every damn breath I take to overcome their numbers, to push through and escape my fate. I cross through a few and force my way through others, but eventually it’s too much.

I, the short-termed seer of this exodus’ future, cannot free myself from them. I’m stuck in the group, unable to move a limb, sucked up like dirt into a vacuum. This is what everyone and everything is moving towards, something I just can’t fight. It’s inevitable. I move with the crowd; against my will ‘til the end.

And over the cliff I go.