They walked me down the hall in my chains and brought me into the room. I was seated in a chair and a helmet put down over my head. Then I was asked to bite down onto something that folded up from the helmet.
Everyone left the room except for a soldier sitting to my left and a man sleeping on the floor. I could see people through a plexiglass window in the wall.
And then it was the wait. The wait grew so excruciatingly long that I began to moan in anguish. And then I saw the woman in the next room pick up the phone. And then suddenly they were back in the room and taking off the helmet: I wasn't going to be executed. I couldn't stop moaning because of the soul-agony of it.
And then they tried handing me a coffee pot and something for me to eat: an odd purple plastic cup filled with light-colored river stones and one single black stone. My hands wouldn't work, though, I couldn't hold onto anything. The glass coffee pot was burning my hands. And still I couldn't stop the anguish.
That's when I woke up.
One dream dictionary says that when you dream of being executed, you are harboring a deep guilt within. Another says that when you escape your own execution in the dream, it signifies that you will overcome your enemies and succeed in gaining wealth. Still another says that execution dreams deal with one's own paranoic thoughts on death and and evil and torture.
Yeah. Well, I've been thinking about Troy Davis quite a bit and what happened to him in the end, at the very end. And I encountered a lady in lime-green yesterday that was offering up cultural slurs. There were river stones at my UU congregation yesterday. And there's no question that I feel trapped in my life, with a certain degree of anguish.
No more execution dreams, please.