Hiding in a Cave in Afghanistan
Last night I dreamed I was hiding in a cave in Afghanistan. I was worried that the people there would find me before I could get out. I was sure I was leaving soon—even expecting it. But I still feared I would be found if I wasn't careful. Someone else was there with me, but I cannot remember who it was. It may have been my brother, but the image is vague.
I sneaked the occasional peek outside—mostly to find out if anyone was near my hiding place. As I watched the people, I marveled at how different their life was from mine. I noticed that they got a great deal more exercise than Americans—most of their day was spent walking to get water or to work in their fields. I felt compassion for them. But I also felt envy because we had lost much of the drive that they had to better themselves. I guess I was thinking that as Americans, we think we are above manual labor. And in my view that it sad because we lose the pride and joy of that comes with making something with your own hands—whether it's a garden or some other manufactured product.
In the midst of my wonderment, however, I was still fearful. I knew if the people found me, they wouldn't like me just because I am an American. I wished that things weren't the way that they are.
Anyway, it was a pretty deep dream. It seemed like it was brief—maybe lasting 10 minutes. And it didn't have a resolution. I woke up before I actually got out. So what does it mean? Maybe that I've been watching the news entirely too much.
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