[one of my fairly recent dreams]
After work, I pull up at the old duplex apartment in a crummy part of Little Rock where I lived years ago. I walk up the wooden steps, and there is a bunch of junk scattered on the porch. A young disheveled woman is also on the porch. She is disoriented. Out in the side yard, her husband (or whatever) also looks baffled.
I am mad. At all the junk and nonsense everywhere on my porch. I start scolding her. She recoils. I'm just pissed after a miserable day at work and coming home to my miserable apartment...and having to wade through inexplicable stuff on my porch. None of it was coherent. Just her flotsam and claptrap.
Man, was I imperious!
But in a flash, things changed. I looked at this pathetic creature, and my heart softened. I gently took hold of her arm and offered consoling words. She was so mind-blasted, she didn't know which way was up. And I was to blame (I must have known this way down inside the subconscious of my dreaming subconscious). After all, this was my dream, and I had landed this poor nomad onto my front porch. Her and her side-yard fellar and all that she owned in the world: pieces of nonsense...stuff that was pulled apart and would never go back together.
I gently escorted her down the steps. Told her I would gather up her stuff and try to put it to rights.
By this time, some other dream people had gathered at the street, looking on. I preached up a committee to organize some kind of existential solution for this odd pair.
I woke up this morning and worried about them. Mostly her. She came to me for help in that dream. I treated her badly at first. God...if there is a God (a dream god?)...please take care of her tonight.
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