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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.

From the eighteenth-century has emerged new friends, John and Abigail Adams, originally from a working farm at Braintree, Massachusetts. As husband and wife, their humanness enlivened my imagination: I was with them during their long relationship with its chilling hardships and lengthy separations.

Prior to this memorable experience, found in the pages of John Adams (2001), by the master writer, David McCullough, I only knew John and Abigail from history’s dust-covered pages about our country’s beginnings.

In McCullough’s perception, too few knew of Abigail’s emotional and spiritual and political support of John, of his intellectual brilliance and astute reading of character, his ease speaking in the political arena, his passion for truth, his sense of humor, his diplomatic work in Paris and the Hague that led to American independence—all these had been insufficiently addressed by Adams’s authors. So McCullough set to work. Years would pass.

Ruminating over John’s and Abigail’s letters, diaries, and journals, visiting all the places they had lived in America and Europe, and steeping his imagination with sensory impressions, McCullough allowed the story to take its present form in his unconscious, while ever critiquing what he wrote and checking his facts.

Readers of John Adams by David McCullough can’t help being touched by the immediacy of this piece of eighteenth-century history. As one of the Founding Fathers, McCullough honors Adams’s passion for American Independence, the form of government of the new country, and his role as one of the Founding Fathers.

Available on Amazon

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