(5/28/09) for and against my defenders

(Entered in paper journal at 8:01 AM at Red Horse cafe in Brooklyn.)

Dream #1

It was a grey day. I was out on a lawny field that was bordered by a thick stand of old, wide-canopied trees, like a mix between a lawn in a suburban park and a lawn before a European mansion. There were a lot of people out on the field, loosely gathered as if for an ordered, festive ceremony. A group of older men, gruff looking, wide bodied, clean, but worn, sat at a table. The men were like a committee.

A group of younger men stood before the older men in some kind of ordered file. The older men made a judgment against one young man, probably me. The young man/I was a part of the group, but the young man/I wasn't actually standing with the group. The young men, all upset that the older men had passed judgment against me, came up with a plan against the older men.

The younger men, including me, were to give a display of arms before the older men later on. We all stood out on the field, before the table, at which the judges were not siting (having gone away for other events?). There may have been other groups among us, like people having picnics, etc. The young men went through a few moves with rifles.

Our plan against the older men was that at some point in our moves we would all turn our rifles upon the judges and shoot them. I thought this wasn't a proper thing to do. I tried to think of a way to get out of having to do it.

I was doing something with my rifle, and then with my bullets. I had taken an end off two of my bullets. Inside the cylinder of the bullets was dry, shaved material like little wood shavings or some kind of spice or tobacco. I figured I'd empty out the contents of these bullets altogether, so they'd be useless.

But then I figured even this would be no good. I couldn't be seen among the men as they shot the judges. I thought there had to be some way to stop the men from carrying out their plan. But I couldn't think of any way to do it.

I ended up asking one of the men near me about the trouble with my bullets, the ones with the open ends. I asked the man as if I were relatively inexperienced and he was something like a leader. The man may have been taller than I by far, as if I were now just a child. The man may have been wearing something like a British soldier's uniform and white wig, like from the eighteenth century.