Friday, 28 Sep 2001

MARBLEHEAD, Mass.

I’m so grateful to Grist for providing me with this outlet, even if only for one week. I have an after-hours diary entry today; I’d like to share a puzzling dream I had last night.

Having been somewhat repressed in business school, I don’t often return there in my subconscious. But there I was, back at school. This time, though, school had a very different feel. There were familiar faces and new faces, young people and old people, many different skin tones — even children. There were languages I’ve never heard and others with recognizable accents. As soon as class began, everyone understood each other. Some carried briefcases, others weapons. Some had tools of their trade and others carried babies. They all seemed to have arrived here recently with heavy hearts and so much on their minds.

When the class assembled under a big, shady willow tree by a brook, I began to sense what was going on at this school. Everyone was anxious and willing to learn. Their minds and hearts were open, and they were willing to listen and understand other points of view. This class had such a feeling of importance, but I couldn’t make out the professor’s identity. Curiously, there was no agenda.

A woman with a baby on her back began, “My homeland has been stolen from me and I have no food for my children. My children are growing up angry, and I am weak and desperate.”

The man with the weapons spoke up: “I was the one who stole her homeland because I am craving power and control as the superpowers of the world don’t recognize or respect me. I grew up angry and seek out leadership, good or bad, to give meaning to what I feel is the darkness and smallness of my existence.”

A man with a briefcase was unable to contain himself any longer. He said, “Since graduation, I’ve achieved great professional success and my company’s shareholders are very pleased. I’ve worked very hard and am proud of what I’ve achieved, but I’m fearful that I’ve too often rationalized the misuse of precious natural resources and disregarded the effects upon indigenous people around the world for the sake of the bottom line. At this point in my life, though, I’m looking for more meaning to my existence and would like to start looking for more life-sustaining alternatives to the way I do business.”

Then a young (hey, it’s my dream!) mother stood up and said that she, too, is learning about her place in the world. She works tirelessly every day to undo a small part of the damage that the man with the briefcase has caused to her local environment. She sees detrimental changes in the health of her generation that her mother’s generation didn’t know. She worries for the health — and now the safety — of her children. She wants the man with the briefcase to understand the consequences of his actions, and she is grateful that he wants to make more respectful choices in the boardroom. She’s certain that this will help him find the meaning to his life that he is seeking, which in turn, may ripple throughout the world.

Boom! Suddenly, I’m startled awake. Was that thunder, or are we under attack? I don’t hear rain. I’ll wait for the lightning. Please, let there be lightning. One, two, three … phew, there’s the lightning.

After lulling myself back to sleep, I didn’t resume this dream. (Nor can I share with you what I did dream about.) I never did get to figure out what the lesson of that particular classroom was, but I do hope they all graduate with a greater understanding of each other.

Peace.