I dreamt I was in a jail cell, the bars, the cement floor, puddle of water in the corner, gross mattress in the back.
And it was the day I was to be executed. And I could remember thinking "I'm not ready", three months ago, when I came into this place, I was ready to die. But the past three months have been one big blurr and all of a sudden, I'm not ready.
I couldn't remember what got me into this jail in the first place, but I had a distinct memory of being let in, and going with a somewhat willful obedience. Not so much that I wanted the sentence that was served; but rather that I was prepared to accept it. It was the just sentence for the crime committed.
But now, three months later on the morning before my noon execution all I could feel was ripped off. A sense of disbelief almost that it had boiled down to this. I take that back, not a sense of disbelief, because that implies that I imagined something better, or different. I didn't imagine anything, I guess I just felt ripped off- that really, after everything was said and done, this was how it was going to end. The good I did in my life, serving in this, helping that, really was all washed out by this one massive crime, that three months later, on the morning of my noon execution, really didn't seem all that bad.
But in my dream I couldn't remember what the crime was. And that was what was so frustrating. Here I was going to die, and I didn't even know what I had done. This crime, was the big black ink that apparently stained so deep the only resolve was to throw the entire paper out.
And there I was, I saw it all vividly, three months later, and I was set to die. The jail warden was walking down the cell hall and I had no ability to escape. Done, I was finished - the transition that happened from being willing to die, to now was astonishing, hard to believe it.
Relief, I awoke. Drenched in sweat. Couldn't go back to bed, had a shower, ate and came to work.