I had a dream. No not like the Martin Luther King Jr. kind, but nevertheless I had a dream. I dream quite vividly and frequently it seems. This particular night I dreamed about being at my old home place with many people surrounding me. Inside, I happened to be in a small bathroom in the back of the house. Standing in this tiny room next to me were several girls. Some of the girls were very young. There was one particular girl from Africa. She had been adopted. Why we were in this bathroom, I couldn't tell you. What I do know is that the house had a giant mess going on inside. Everyone was leaving and in quite a hurry. Everyone, except this one little girl, who refused to leave. She said she was afraid that if she left the house that her parents would no longer want her and return her to Africa immediately. She did not want to return. I tried to assure her and the other children that it would be all right and that all we needed to do was leave the house. I assured them, all would be well. At that moment, for some reason, I turned to this small child, held her face in my hands and looked into her eyes. This came out of my mouth, although I still haven't quite understood why. I told her to repeat, out loud, after me: "The house is broken, I am not broken. The house is broken, I am not broken. The house is broken, I am not broken."
I awakened from my dream in quite a haze. The repetition of these words resounded in my mind like a musical encore that wouldn't end. "The house is broken. I am not broken." What could this mean? What DID this mean?
