Escaping the Trump Tower Prison

By Bear Jack Gebhardt

Isn’t it funny how often we dream in metaphors? And, when we pay attention, our dreams can help us to better understand and more artfully deal with the challenges of our waking life.

For example, I recently had a dream in which I was arrested for murder, and held in prison in the Trump Tower. The charge against me was so serious that I knew I would never be released from the Trump Tower jail.

Bear Jack Gebhardt has written for many national magazines and published books on various topics. Learn more about him…

The dream went deeper:

Donald Trump himself singled me out personally for perverse psychological experiments. He would have me removed from the cell, take me into the glitzy lobby of the Tower, and tell me falsehoods to see if I would believe them. He obviously didn’t care whether I believed him or not. He even let me walk around the block, there in New York City, as if I were a free man, enjoying the sunshine and the ordinary movement of daily life, all the while knowing I was still his prisoner, with no chance of escape unless I wanted to live a life on the run.

Curiously, waking from this dream, I found I could breathe easier, psychologically and emotionally speaking—easier than I had in months. Through my dream, I had been presented with an accurate scenario—outplaying—of my inner life. With such a glimpse, I felt more empowered to deal with real-life outer circumstances.

“Hope is a mark of spiritual wholeness.”

The contemporary Benedictine monk Brother David Steindl-Rast, observed, “Hope is a mark of spiritual wholeness.” My dream pointed out how I had inadvertently fallen into a mood–an attitude, a worldview–of hopelessness, which, in Brother David’s view, would be a condition of spiritual fragmentation.  (If you are arrested and charged with murder, there’s little hope for escape.)

The reasons behind my mood, this attitude, were likewise plainly presented in my dream. Our current political upheaval had obviously captured my mood and emotions in a way that feels life-threatening, without hope. In my dream, many others were likewise held in the Trump Tower prison, though for some reason—probably just because it was my dream—I had been personally selected for Donald’s psychological experiments.

Don’t forget to take a short survey about your dream world at the end of this article.

My daughter, Annalee Moyers, is a lucid dreamer, and over many decades we have learned together to work with our dreams—play with our dreams—in a way that most often makes our day-life flow more smoothly. One of our dream practices is to go back, after waking, and “fix” our troubling dreams, sometimes on paper, sometimes by talking them out together. Playing with the exact images our subconscious has offered up allows our mental and emotional and sometimes even physical infrastructure to be repaired.

So, for example, I can go back into my dream, here as I write this essay, and have a fair-minded judge deliver papers to the Tower prison ordering the charges against me be dropped, because they were all based on insufficient and possibly even fraudulently fabricated evidence. While I’m at it,  I’ll have further papers delivered charging the Trump organization with false arrest, false imprisonment, not only for my case (my dream) but for all those who have been likewise imprisoned in the Trump Tower’s jail.

Since it’s our dream, and we can do what we want, we may as well send in blue-helmeted United Nations’ soldiers to open all the prison cell doors, release all of the prisoners, and haul all the Trump guards and prison administrators into waiting paddy wagons.

There. Doesn’t that feel better?

We do need to guard against being imprisoned in the Trump Tower. More specifically, and more importantly, we need to guard against the rising sense of hopelessness, this tweet-induced mental and emotional fragmentation.

Here in our day life, we are whole beings—beings who are nourished by the arts, all of them, and Meals on Wheels, and offering a helping hand to the poor; our compassion as non-fragmented beings leads us to help the refugees, and all those who have been made homeless by our own military and economic actions.

Let us not lose hope. We can wake from this nightmare. We all must work to stay healthy, mentally, emotionally and physically, in both waking and sleeping, in order to artfully meet the challenges we now face. Sharing our dreams, both daytime and nighttime, is an essential part of our healthy healing process.

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2 thoughts on “Escaping the Trump Tower Prison

  1. Good thing you weren’t in Gitmo. Or a Gulag. There were were probably plenty of judges and lawyers to file briefs and commiserate with.

    I’m reading “Dark Ages America”, The Final Phase of Empire, by Morris Berman, which confirms what I’ve been feeling and observing since the 70’s. Mostly the 80’s. Many of us were deluded by the false hope of Bill Clinton. The greedheads steamrolled Bush into the Whitehouse and the neocons took over. We all know the grievous consequences of that. Barack Obama, (clearly a class act), and the Democratic Party encouraged us to renew our hope then utterly and abysmally failed us and almost immediately. The abyss grows deeper as we speak.

    The USA has, at virtually every juncture, made dreadfully bad decisions and choices, often (usually) when those with enlightened and informed alternatives were readily available to temper these decisions. We could probably all name ten terrible choices without any hesitation.

    I think your story is a nice one. I can relate. But I feel that as a society we are morally bankrupt, spiritually bankrupt, ignorant, and mean spirited and I find little reason to hope that will change. I do hope that can change, but I can’t help doubting it. Market capitalism, consumerism and individualism have hollowed us out as human beings and we’ve become a scourge on the planet. Our cities are not really built for anything but consumption and profit. Our automobiles have ruined the landscape. Corporations control our food supplies. We spend our lives yearning for the next cool thing to buy, the next panacea to avoid fucking growing up or even getting old and dying.

    I can only hope that somewhere on the face of this beautiful rock there are people with the will and the spiritual strength and moxie that can somehow channel enough love to help revive and redeem the human race.

    With humble deference and gratitude for those (yourself included) who have devoted their lives to the pursuit of enlightened, progressive and loving solutions to our problems. I don’t know what we could have done differently. Perhaps we should all have become billionaires and started the Peace and Love Party and organized like the Koch’s have. And hope against hope that the acquisition of all that wealth didn’t kill our souls. There’s not much evidence to support the notion that hope will fix that.

    OK. Time to click to post.

    Peace and Love. Wilson


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