In the dream, I am a young boy of about 12 years old, with a little sister that I protect and care for. She is autistic and does not speak. We are both in some sort of Edwardian orphanage, where autism wasn't even a known-of thing. We are treated horrifically. The residents who are physically disabled suffer even more.
I remember getting lost in dark corridors, with what seemed like hundreds of doors and hidden passageways, and stairways at every turn. The walls were white, but the wainscoting and stairs were painted a dark, glossy black, which made it even harder to see. Most of the time I had no candle and had to feel my way around with my hands outstretched. My sister followed me around faithfully; she knew that no one else cared as I did.
I remember seeing rooms full of debilitated people, naked, and covered with their own filth. In rooms with no beds or light. Curled up on the floor or trying to climb walls. Ghostly, haunted faces. It reminded me of the famous 1980s Geraldo coverage of the conditions at Willowbrook Home, in New York. It was appalling and shameful and heartbreaking.
After waking from this dream, I prayed long and hard about the world. I prayed that people would find understanding and compassion in their hearts, and see the developmentally disabled and the physically disabled as children of God who need our love and protection from things they can't protect themselves from- such as this type of neglect and abuse.
I prayed that, if God wants it so, I someday may be used in service of these people. To care for and love them, when no one else will.
My feelings about the universe are changing yet again. I feel as though perhaps I will someday be able to be of use after all.
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