A dream, thanks to you.
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This post was created on the previous version of the MRFF website, and may not be fully accessible to users of assistive technology. If you need help accessing this content, please reach out via email.Mikey,
I woke late this morning having not heard my small PalmPilot alarm — that allowed me time for the dream segment to which I dramatically awoke and I then ran to my DC. Metrorail station. (I missed the early train but am relaxing into a commute to a mental healthcare seminar with that reminder that we don’t fully control the events of our lives.)
THE DREAM SEGMENT:
I was walking along a sidewalk heading to some event and began to pass by a scene where there were men in light desert camo fatigues, many were lying on the grass having been waiting for something to happen. Others were standing under a tarp roof wall-less meeting tent. As I turned to walk into the tent to find out what was going on, I felt a friendliness and acceptance by the troops. I overheard some of them speaking; they were saying “We want to be able to call our buddy Gonzalez and be with him that way.” Then I heard one say, “We want to tell him he is okay, he did his job. We want him to know it is okay to let go of his painful body, he can go now; we carry him with us.” (Or other words like that, my dream was more like feelings than words.)
Then I could see the tall, smiling white-guy face of a commanding officer or maybe a chaplain without rank ir I’d paraphernalia. He was sternly saying NO! He cannot commit suicide. That is sinful. It cannot be like that.
The troops were speaking back with a jumble of comments. I moved closer and raised my own voice; I loudly told him that he can’t do that. Gonzalez is making his own decision and he is not a quitter. You can’t push your private beliefs on us. It is our lives!
Then I began to wake and felt good about standing up for individual choices. Then I realized that this would not have been possible without Mikey Weinstein and MRFF, so I recalled the dream and now I’ve been able to write it. The dream was more feelings than words and it felt, well it felt Clean, like even in the face of death we don’t have to let others control our choices and muddy our experience.
Keep up the work, Mikey!!
(name withheld)
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