The following is an actual dream included in my dream journal, and does not describe actual facts
Dream of: 18 May 1997 "Volatile Substance"
I was in Mexico, heading back toward the U.S. border through brown and barren countryside. I was riding on a flatbed truck, sitting on the back, while a young blonde-haired fellow was driving. But I wasn't alone; five or six other fellows were also sitting on the back of the truck. They were speaking a different language which sounded like either Dutch or German. But I couldn't hear them well, because I wasn't sitting right next to them. I was riding considerably higher than they.
Stacked on the back of the truck was a load of large sacks. They looked like large grain sacks, about the hundred pound size. However I knew the sacks didn't contain grain, but a highly volatile black chalky substance, a substance similar to the fertilizer which had been used in the Oklahoma City bombing of the federal building. This particular substance wasn't available in the United States, so my companions and I had traveled to Mexico with the specific purpose of obtaining this load and transporting it back to the United States.
I was sitting on top of the sacks, while the other fellows who were riding on the back were sitting down on the bed of the truck at the sides of the piles. That was why I couldn't hear them well when they talked. But as we continued along, I began to become concerned about the way the sacks had been stacked, worried that they might topple over and take me with them. The sacks had been stacked step-like, from the front of the bed to the back, and I was sitting right at the very top of the steps at the back of the bed. However there was nothing right behind me, and I was worried the whole stack might fall right off the back. I finally became so concerned that I climbed down to where the other fellows were, and together we began re-arranging the sacks to make them more stable.
However, as we succeeded in securing the bags, another concern beset me, and I climbed around to the side of the moving truck so that I could talk to the driver through the open driver's window. I began telling him that I was worried about complications at the border when we tried to enter the United States. Previously we had been concerned that we might have trouble with the Mexican authorities when we tried to leave Mexico with the sacks. But now I had suddenly realized we hadn't even considered whether the U.S. authorities might have problems with our importing the sacks. In fact, I now realized we might even be arrested if we tried to import our cargo into the United States.
As I expressed my fears, I looked up and realized we had entered a town. We were at the top of a high steep hill, and the road descended straight down to the heart of the city below. Suddenly I realized we had a problem. We were on a one-way street, and a car had pulled into the street up ahead of us, headed straight toward us. It looked to me as if we were definitely going to crash. We were headed downhill, straight for the car, and the driver of our truck seemed to be having trouble with the brakes; it looked as if he weren't going to be able to stop the truck. I knew if the truck crashed, with the dynamite-like sacks on the back, we would all be killed in the explosion. We were right next to a railing along the side of the road, and since I was just hanging onto the side of the truck, I simply reached over to the railing and jumped off the truck. I then held onto the railing and watched as the truck headed on down the hill.
The truck and car were able to swerve and miss each other. But I watched in amazement as the truck continued to pick up speed, racing down the hill. It was obvious that the truck would crash at the bottom, and I could just imagine it all going up in a giant fire-ball. It was hard to believe that I had just been talking to the driver, and that in a few seconds he would be dead. It made me think of my own mortality, and how that I also could die at any time.
But I hadn't died, and I began to think of what I would do now if the truck were destroyed. I realized I had left all my identification and money in a suitcase on the back of the truck. Now I would be penniless and would have no identification. How would I get out of Mexico? Could I call someone in the United States collect? Would I have to beg for money? I was uncertain what to do. I just knew I was going to have a difficult time of it.
Dream Journal Home Page
Copyright 2001 by firstname.lastname@example.org