At 4:30 A. M., I awoke with these depth-dreams:

There are no radios anymore. Instead, on everyone’s wrist is a digital device with a screen, programmed by those in power. No one needs to know anything else. However, the material is frequently modified resulting in generalized confusion.

I’m horrified, exhausted as I watch armed camps fighting each other: one is good; the other, evil. No one knows the outcome but the destruction is cataclysmic.

Both dreams come from the collective unconscious of the psyche, a discovery made by the Swiss psychiatrist, Carl G. Jung in the early twentieth century. Content from this depth has universal implications, differing from those found in the personal unconscious in which recognizable aspects drawn from daily living are pieced together in dreams.

The first dream has an Orwellian ambiance around it and suggests the ultimate of mind control, already foisted upon the global population for decades. Even now, it’s hard to get a clear sense of the news, shredded and Scotch-taped to larger stories, later reported by tieless newsreaders and those wearing shrink-wrapped dresses. It’s all about titillation, distraction, while sucking spirit dry.

The second dream about the war suggests the continuing deadly conflict, here on earth, between the Archangel Michael and the damned Lucifer as found in the compilations of the prophet Enoch, an ancient Hebrew apocalyptic text, Book One dating to 4 BCE.  In my lifetime, World War II, Korea, Vietnam, Bosnia, Rwanda, and Afghanistan reveal the flip side of this angelic deadly conflict; it continues with al-Qaeda and the war of Terrorism. In the dream, the outcome is uncertain.

Only the mystical dimensions of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam offer a response to such evil: compassion, per the research of Karen Armstrong, scholar.

In today’s quiet, I returned to the lyrics of the protest song, Sounds of Silence (1964), its symbols pin-pricking the Alice-in-Wonderland world shapeshifting around its composer Paul Simon. Then, it was the war in Vietnam, with nightly footage of its atrocities numbing many viewers into powerlessness, voicelessness. Something was very wrong in our world. Switching channels helped.-

In my perception, Sounds of Silence still evokes shudders and speaks to our country’s splintering beneath heaps of social, political, and economic disorders. Morals no longer work; in their place, the bastardization of language.

The protest song opens with the imprint of a powerful dream upon the narrator that commands its communication to

People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

And at a later disaster was heard: “Just keep them quiet,” said one of the terrorists on the phone recovered from the debris of United flight 93.

The lyrics continue as if echoing Yahweh’s pleas in the Psalms:  

“Fools”, said I, “You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you”
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of silence

The warning was given. Yet, with passing years, even more trivia has dulled imaginations, stoked hot pursuit of substances, and atrophied psyches—even evolving into monster-like-minions of

 the neon god they made

The timeliness of conversion of heart has never been so urgent—it can be done.

It was a brilliant Tuesday morning, September 11, 2001, and, sleepy-eyed, I met my friend at the airport for our flight to Gloucester, Massachusetts, for our annual retreat—Everything as usual, or so I thought.

Only airborne a short while, the intercom clicked on. “This is your Captain speaking—Air Traffic Control is delaying our arrival at Boston. Some difficulties, they’re having. We’ll keep you posted.” I buckled my seat-belt, intuiting that something was very wrong. My friend didn’t agree and our conversation about terrorism continued until interrupted.

It was the Captain again. “There’s been another change. Air Traffic Control directs us to land at the nearest airport. Since we’re closest to Indianapolis, that’s where will land. They’re expecting us, as well as other planes ordered to clear the skies.” Only while deplaning did the Captain inform us of the terrorist bombings in Manhattan.

Slowly, the ghoulish pieces of the nightmare begin to coalesce while listening to the car rental’s radio on the way to Gloucester: a series of suicide planes had crashed into and leveled the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center; another crashed into the side of the Pentagon; and still another, intended for the U. S. Capitol or The White House, crashed-landed in a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, thanks to Todd Beamer and other passengers who almost subdued their four hijackers.

Panic, fire, dense smoke, mangled and burnt bodies, shocking injuries, lingering deaths, families decimated, destruction of symbolic edifices, disruption of the economy and much more scarred America’s psyche—an emotional scarring it still bears, despite the media’s sanitized coverage, twenty years later.

Only later did Osama bin Laden, founder of the pan-Islamic militant organization, al-Qaeda, take responsibility for this atrocity, his choice of the date to avenge the September 11, 1683 Christian victory over the Turks at the battle of Vienna.

Prayer and Memorials help, but the scar of 9/11 remains: No one has forgiven anyone—the war continues.

Available on Amazon

%d bloggers like this: