I dreamt that I was at some place with my kids. It seemed like an ordinary place, but the people there were very primitive. I don’t mean their culture or race or anything meaningless like that. They looked ordinary but acted like animals. Quite without any ability (or choosing not to use it) of reflection before acting out whatever base emotion was experienced. They were violent and brutish.
I was inside of a building- not a house, but some kind of a shop or service center. The customers, all made up of these type of people, would approach a small window with bars and plexiglass and their words would drift in only through small holes drilled into the barrier. The room which I saw it in to administer to them was quite small, like a closet. It opened up through a door into a larger hall containing similar doors to closets like this one. I had just stepped out into the hall, and my children were there. I glanced around, noticing through the big picture window to my left that the people outside were gathering, looking in.
My son W had been speaking to them, and whatever innocent child-thing he’d done had upset them, and they were roaming about the outside of the building in a blundering way trying to find a way in. I noticed that they were mostly if not all women and all very overweight.
My 5yo son ran around the hall in his usual carefree way and I warned him not to open or touch the doors for any reason. Of course, immediately, he rushed down the hall toward the nearest door. One of those big glass doors with windows floor to ceiling that is often seen in storefronts. He went to push the latch, and instantly the noise from outside intensified and got louder as the excited people saw it unlatch- maybe unlock?
I ran over to close it, and whatever happened was inciting hilarities in W. He laughed at the people, which only incensed them more. They did look ridiculous - severely overweight and appearing ugly as sin with vomit colored hair and facial piercings. Their rage was comical- like a joke. They pushed the door ineffectually, having no strength, and one even fell down. She was so fat she just rolled.
She had rolled close to the door, and W laughed uproariously, pointing his finger and doubling over laughing. Suddenly, with quickness that seemed impossible, she reached out, grabbed his hand and pulled it toward her. W still laughing, suddenly screamed blood chillingly and pulled his hand back. She had bitten a chunk of his finger.
Some incredible rage came over me. I screamed at them “what the hell is wrong with you!? He’s a child!”
I flung open the door and grabbed the fattest one still rolling on the ground. As I grabbed the fat rolls tore in that disgusting raw-dough reminiscent way. At this point they we’re now terrified of me and they screaming wild-eyed and started trying to get away. If I hadn’t lost it in rage, it was even more hilarious than their anger- they were simply too fat to run, had no strength, and were ineffectual and comically falling over themselves to get away.
The intensity of my feeling, I think, woke me. I was incredibly angry. It was rage. As I felt it, it seemed to only intensify. I began to discover the story of the rage: that I held myself responsible for my son’s injury. That I was the only who had to intervene and control the situation. As I discovered this, I found that I could let go of that story. No, it wasn’t my responsibility or job to take control of the situation. W has his own life. He is a child, but he is growing more into his own power every day. His soul knows what challenges he needs in this life, and exactly when he needs them.
The rage left. It was just gone. I felt a warm joy and relief in his freedom. And I fell asleep again.
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