The Dream About War (And the Wish for It to Come True)

Photo by Joshua Sukoff

From the sounds my husband had been making at some point during the night, it seemed he was having a bad dream. I asked him in the morning what he had dreamed about, not expecting an answer. His 99% response was usually: “I don’t know. I don’t remember.” Which has always been a disappointment and a frustration for me since I love to hear about dreams. I like to try and figure out the cause of having them as well as their meanings.

But this time he surprised me with, “I do remember a dream I had last night.” (Did I hear trumpets or was it from my inner joy singing ‘Hallelujah’?)

He proceeded to tell me that he was in a warzone with other soldiers hunkered down in a trench. Mortar fire could be heard from afar and was getting closer. He and his men were frightened because they didn’t remember signing up for a war situation nor were they trained to fight in one.

“We all wondered what in the hell we were doing there, from the sounds of the fright and exclamations upon hearing the rifle fire sounding closer and my own feelings. We were very troubled about our roles, as many had never even fired a gun.

“Because the bullets kept sounding closer and closer, we felt the need to respond with our own arsenal of firepower, not wanting to be plucked off like sitting ducks, so we began shooting back.

“Then a strange thing happened,” he said. “Instead of the screams we’d expected from men being hurt by the bullets that were zinging at us and making direct hits, the men were making sounds of joy. They were singing and laughing.

“Not only were the men making joyous sounds,” he told me, “The other side seemed just as happy. I suddenly heard what sounded like a multi-voiced choir coming from both sides.

“Puzzled by this phenomenon of not seeing blood and death and seeing happiness instead, I also realized that there was an unexpected smell in the air. Instead of cordite, there was the smell of flowers.

“Unable to totally identify the fragrance, I switched my attention to the ammunition we were firing. What were the bullets made with? I wondered.

“I was shocked when I found out. Instead of gunpowder, the bullet casings were filled with essential oils that would explode after being fired so that the smell of the oils would scatter like smoke. I didn’t know anything about essential oils or what they would precipitate when used, but I assumed those oils in the bullet casings were for promoting happiness that would take away the hatred and the urge to kill, since that was what seemed to be happening.”

He stopped and looked at me. “That was the dream,” he concluded.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez

I sat looking at him stunned by the final revelation of his dream. I finally said, “Wow! What a different dream! If only that were possible. Imagine what our country would be like, as well as the rest of the world.”

“Exactly. It turned out to be a pretty good dream, although a bit fantastical.”

“Yeah, but I wonder if we could somehow pass the idea on to the bullet-makers? Nothing is impossible, I used to be told,” I said and sighed wistfully.