Last Night I Had A Crazy Dream
Or if you know me and my sleeping habits - this morning.
I was with my father and brothers in a town where people weren't speaking English - a train passed us on the street as we went to the airport to go home. There was a great deal of people at the airport with some commotion as they were being stopped from getting through to the check-in etc and being made to queue in parallel lines between which foam walls then exploded up (almost knocking people over) into a weird kind of maze through which people had to find their way -- only some how I was thrown out of the maze and became the problem of several people in uniform. Then I saw my father in a big white hall the other side of the maze, but though I called he did not hear me and kept walking away.
It was one of those dreams with a deal of realism and just the odd bit where you actually felt in the dream that this was SYMBOLISM! and moved along past it as best you could. And yes, I thought it was probably something about death and my family (my father being dead)
I still thought that when I got up and my brother told me there'd been a terrorist attack in Brussels.
And then while I was listening to the news and making dinner I started humming the Matthew Wilder song Break My Stride...
Synchronicity or less meaningful coincidence (although airports would not be high on any list of 'things appearing in my dreams - they'd definitely be below the giant Disney version of Rabbit with big red spots - an infectious killer bunny - that used to make regular appearances when I was young)
...
Back when I was 18 I went to Belgium with my mother - we noticed even then that there was some tension about Algerian immigrants, including the woman on the train home who became increasingly racist in her comments until mother gently introduced some verbal moderation and re-education. It isn't entirely surprising that in a country with an ongoing set of bilateral cultural divides the presence of a third community - perceivable as outsiders and with no obvious commonalities with either 'native' faction - might result in dissing the immigrants becoming a conversational glue for the existing communities. aka My Brother and I against My Cousin; My Cousin and I against the Stranger. The unstated follow-up to which is - when the stranger's kids grow up they will have no love for you, your brother, or your cousin...
I was with my father and brothers in a town where people weren't speaking English - a train passed us on the street as we went to the airport to go home. There was a great deal of people at the airport with some commotion as they were being stopped from getting through to the check-in etc and being made to queue in parallel lines between which foam walls then exploded up (almost knocking people over) into a weird kind of maze through which people had to find their way -- only some how I was thrown out of the maze and became the problem of several people in uniform. Then I saw my father in a big white hall the other side of the maze, but though I called he did not hear me and kept walking away.
It was one of those dreams with a deal of realism and just the odd bit where you actually felt in the dream that this was SYMBOLISM! and moved along past it as best you could. And yes, I thought it was probably something about death and my family (my father being dead)
I still thought that when I got up and my brother told me there'd been a terrorist attack in Brussels.
And then while I was listening to the news and making dinner I started humming the Matthew Wilder song Break My Stride...
Synchronicity or less meaningful coincidence (although airports would not be high on any list of 'things appearing in my dreams - they'd definitely be below the giant Disney version of Rabbit with big red spots - an infectious killer bunny - that used to make regular appearances when I was young)
...
Back when I was 18 I went to Belgium with my mother - we noticed even then that there was some tension about Algerian immigrants, including the woman on the train home who became increasingly racist in her comments until mother gently introduced some verbal moderation and re-education. It isn't entirely surprising that in a country with an ongoing set of bilateral cultural divides the presence of a third community - perceivable as outsiders and with no obvious commonalities with either 'native' faction - might result in dissing the immigrants becoming a conversational glue for the existing communities. aka My Brother and I against My Cousin; My Cousin and I against the Stranger. The unstated follow-up to which is - when the stranger's kids grow up they will have no love for you, your brother, or your cousin...