I dream vividly, in great detail and full color. Thus, when I have the very rare nightmare; these, too, are not sparing in detail. I’ve been sick for over three weeks and that makes my dreams even more wild it seems. I had a real doozy last night, the kind of thing you wake from, in a sickening sweat and shaking.
A President sits in the White House – a proven liar, a sexist, a sexual predator, a misogynist, a con man, a cheat, and possibly a traitor in debt to Russians. This and being sick is not a great combination. No wonder I had a horrid dream, I told myself, arms around my own knees at 0400 this morning. But the revulsion still has me feeling nausea – I regret my breakfast attempts.
So, I must put it down on paper, I must pull it out of my head and see it on black and white. If you are reading it, I found the courage to hit “publish”! If you are a sexual abuse victim, I warn you not to read further. I am NOT being silly or politically correct — this dream shook ME.
In my dream, I had company – a friend I almost never see as she lives far away. She had come to visit and brought a woman friend of hers to meet me. We were having coffee when the doorbell rang. At the door was an incredible sight, which was rolled into my family room. The man pushing this wheeled contraption unfurled a paper scroll like some prop from an old “tyrant king” flick — something John of England would have read aloud by minions just before peasants got abused. He read this absurd looking scroll to us.
It announced that the government had a new crime prevention strategy, since public executions had not drawn the crowds expected. They wanted ordinary citizens – men and women – to SEE the punishments of crime, so as to properly understand deterrence. Now, I must describe the horrible thing he rolled into my home.
It had a flat bed atop six or eight wheels. On it was a nude woman, on her hands and knees – as if she was getting ready to do a yoga pose like “the cat”. But her knees were strapped in place in a very wide stance, as were her ankles. Around her waist was another large band tying her to a horizontal cross bar above her back. She could drop her elbows and sag forward, for instance, but her body was more or less locked in the sexual position called “doggy style”. Behind her was a kneeling pad, as if she was the most obscene prie-dieu ever devised.
The man, rolling up his scroll, announced that he wanted to park this somewhere where all three of us could sit in a row where we could see him and he could see us. This monstrous thing was too large to turn into my living room, he pushed it through into the den, where a platform bed is a nook in the wall and ordered us to sit on the bed. He was armed, so we obeyed – dead silent and utterly shocked.
This woman, he told us, was arrested for prostitution. She needed to be taught better ways and the government was merciful once she had learned, he said. After all, he said in a confiding, oily sort of voice – he himself had done time for rape, but now was forgiven and given a place in “law enforcement.” He locked a break on the wheeled hellish “prie-dieu” made of a bound woman’s body and stepped onto it. “If she wants to fuck outside of proper marriage, she will now BE fucked!” he announced, suddenly undoing his belt and zipper and dropping his pants. (And his gun belt, as it happens.) He dropped to his knees and began raping the woman in front of us. She sagged in her bindings, weeping.
I felt a terrible paralysis. My friend put her arm around her younger friend, who was whimpering. I tried to reach for her hand and found I could not move. I could feel tears on my face, my teeth were clenched and I could taste blood and then my fingers suddenly unfroze and I clenched my friend’s hand briefly. I couldn’t bear this. I drew my knees up to my chest, which made the law enforcement rapist turn his head sharply to look at me. I put my arms round my knees and put my head atop them — this expression of proper fear pacified the rapist and he looked back to his work, grabbed the woman’s hips and pounded on.
Another five seconds passed. He didn’t look at me again, as I released my clenched fingers and brought both my booted feet forward hard, directly into his hip joint. He flew off his prie-dieu and bounced off the large heavy brewing table on the other side of the room. I leapt to my feet, as did my friends. Before another thing happened, however, I woke – upright and shaking in my bed. There was blood in my mouth, tears on my face.
DO I expect something so horrific from the Trump Administration? Is that even sane? I could never have even envisioned such a thing in my waking life! It is enough that such a horrible vision could even be suggested; such fear unbound, unleashed, and loose in my head. My dream, for me, is recognition of the threat embodied by the type of mentalities behind Trump. My dream warns me not to think there is a low this new President would not sink to, to achieve his own idea of winning.
More than eight years ago, while Bush the Simply Stupid was President, I had a similarly scary dream. In retrospect, it was so prettily framed compared to my latest nightmare.
I was one of many peasants, harvesting a golden field of grain, by hand. In the distance there was a golden dais, complete with billowing golden draperies moving in the summer wind. The huge thing was empty, which in the dream felt reassuring for some odd reason. Then a sound began, a terrible bellowing, trumpeting with the attendant sounds of screams and crashings. People dropped their sickles, scythes and other tools and began to run. I was frozen in place, and into my most distant field of view came a giant elephant, magnificently caparisoned in gold cloth and jewels. The tusks were ringed with shining brass. It was rogue and maddened – swinging the massive head and tossing humans, animals, and furnishings before it. I looked once more and ran, and running, woke.
I thought my imagination had finally just gone nuts; what the fuck does that kind of thing even mean? The GOP rampant and mad? Well, hell, they had been there for a while – then calling what was once called “the loyal opposition” treacherous and disloyal for even disagreeing with them. Now, looking back — I have to wonder with a superstitious chill of the spine, if I saw the Donald; he of gold curtains and an unmitigated ego?
I don’t want to believe in dreams. But then, I didn’t want to believe Donald Trump would ever inhabit the White House either, did I?