War and the Dreamworld

I'm on a small plane with a few rows of seats and propellers on both sides. We're flying over fields glowing pink, yellow, and lavender in the sunlight. All of a sudden, we enter a thick cloud. Instinctively, I hold my seatbelt with one hand as we bounce through the white. Next to me sits a woman, a mother I somehow know. With my free hand, I hold her elbow as if to make sure she's there beside me. I feel that she too is frozen in terror as we watch a black warplane approaching us at top speed.

Death anxiety. These words were on my lips as I emerged from the dream. Was it a lay interpretation? An existential explanation offered by my returning consciousness? A consolation, like wiping the brow of a child at night, whispering, “It was just a nightmare”? An attempt to convince myself that the dream signaled a common, if repressed, fear?

There were no real monsters lurking under the bed, no ghosts hiding in the closet, no warplanes heading our way. Except that warplanes do exist. As do drones and bombs and leaders who cling to power through violence and profit from devastation. Nightmarish yet real.

On February 28th, the United States and Israel launched coordinated strikes on Iran. Twelve days into the war, it was a regular evening with my kids at home: piano practice, homework, dinner, bath, and PJs. While the boys brushed their teeth, I looked at my phone, glimpsing warnings from California Governor Gavin Newsom and San Francisco mayor Daniel Laurie: “We recently acquired information that as of early February 2026, Iran allegedly aspired to conduct a surprise attack using unmanned aerial vehicles from an unidentified vessel off the coast of the

United States Homeland, specifically against unspecified targets in California, in the event that the US conducted strikes against Iran. We have no additional information on the timing, method, target, or perpetrators of this alleged attack.”

Planes. Towers. Dust. Images of 9/11 flashed in a window of memory.

I watched video