Dreaming of Danger

Dreaming of Danger

I was chased through the night by men from a homeschooling cult that called itself the Church of the Latter-Day Saints. (No relation, except in my mind, to the LDS religion or to homeschoolers I know in the real world.)

I had been invited to present to their community at the large compound where many of them lived in northern New York. My presentation went well, but after I talked I began to notice people shying away from me and I got the sense that I had said or done something that was quite wrong in their eyes. After several conversations about working out my return transportation schedule, I realized that they were doing everything they could to keep me there in the compound. They came up with one excuse after excuse as to why my departure had to be delayed. I was getting increasingly anxious and scared as I tried to work out how to get home.

Finally, they agreed to let me go, but the only vehicle they would give me was a rolling cart—like the big flat ones they have at Home Depot or a little like the one I used last week to move my parents into their new more assisted living arrangement. (Upon arriving, they both had to wear an anklet tracking device for the first three days, and then, they were told, it would be ‘evaluated’.) I could push the cart in my dream and hop on and ride for five or ten feet, but then I had to get off and push it again. I figured it would take me a long time to go the hundreds of miles back to Worcester. My fear, in the dream, was that they would let me go then send some guys to beat me up and leave me to die once I was well off the property—and then deny having any involvement in my disappearance. I began making plans for ditching the cart when I got a few miles down the road—hiding it and taking to the woods to find another way home.

(I listened to the book HOMELAND ELEGIES on my recent trip to Philadelphia. Beautifully written and narrated by Ayad Akhtar, the book gives a visceral sense of the suspicion and malevolence that has been directed at many Muslims in the decades since 9/11. His love for his homeland America as well as his confusion, helplessness, and rage are vividly portrayed in this semi-fictional autobiographical novel.)

My dream went on and on and my fear and anxiety kept ramping up. I partially woke several times through the night, aware that I was dreaming and wanting to change or escape the dream, only to fall asleep and into the same dream again and again. Dream-walking through unfamiliar territory, I came to a house and knocked on the door to ask for help. A woman who was on the board of a school where I worked came and invited me in. She too was a homeschooler with a huge family of children ranging from little ones to teenagers. I thought she could help me, but I was only partially right.

She made me breakfast and I did my best to engage the many children in conversation about their lives and interests. One teenage boy who was clearly a daredevil and troublemaker wanted to be sure to show me the terrible scar he had on his shoulder from one of his adventures. My friend, the mother, was about to leave with the girls when I asked if she was going toward Worcester and if I could have a ride. She said, no, she wasn’t going toward Worcester, but then relented and said she would take me anyway.

The father and all the boys quickly left the house, ostensibly to go to work. As the mother shepherded the girls upstairs in the homemade plaster house, I told them about how much I loved my two younger sisters growing up and how much I enjoyed playing with them and taking care of them when they were young. I was desperately trying to prove I was not a danger but knew it was futile and that the father and his friends and the boys would come back to get me soon.

I tried desperately to wake up, but could not. Men were now coming in the front door and I knew others were waiting for me out back as well. It was over. I woke myself up enough to know I needed a Deus Ex Machina ending to save myself. I imagined a helicopter descending to rescue me and realized that my friend, the board member and mother could have known this was happening and have called the authorities who would come to arrest the vengeful men and save me from death. I was working out how the police would be able to charge the men with assault if they hadn’t beaten me up when I woke up completely.