I am in California in the 60s or early 70s, in my early 20s, and with a group of people the same age. The location is on the coast, the culture a mix of northern and southern California, and the people are good hearted, a little naive, and a fusion of hippies, beach boys, and beatniks. We are a group of idealist, and are certain we are right. One thing follows another, and I end up deliberately killing several innocent people who are in our way. We begin to realize what we have done, but it is too late. The police/FBI are about to catch up with us. We are in a beach/harbor area with several people enjoying the sun and the ocean. I talk with one who left out group early on because he saw where it was going, and meet several who knew us from school and are horrified by our views and what we are done. We realize that it is the end for us, most likely in a literal sense. There is an acknowledging of what we have done. We cannot blame anyone but ourselves. And there is regret of what happened and that our lives will be over almost before it began.
This dream has two essential feelings to it. First, that we are responsible for our actions and cannot blame anyone else, which gives a sense of relief, reality, and of coming home. And second, a realization of what may happen when we are sure we are right, when an abstract idea goes before common sense and sanity. Although the dream amplified how this plays itself out, I certainly recognize both from my own life. And there is still more to see there, and let sink in.
Whenever I complain or blame others or life, whether to myself or others, I miss out of taking responsibility of my own actions. I can recognize that circumstances played a role, as it always does, and I may have acted from fear, beliefs, or confusion, but it was my choice and is my responsibility. And whenever I get caught up in a belief, perhaps to escape fear and not knowing, I place an abstract idea – a should – before ordinary sanity.
Associations: Although it was well before my time, and another culture, I have for a long time experienced a connection with the beatniks, hippies, and partly beach boys, and an affinity with the culture in especially Northern California. The lives of the ones in my group was good in almost every way, but they got caught up in a slightly immature idealism, one thing led to another, and they will have to live with – or die from – the consequences. If they survived, what happened may have been a source of either regret, resentment, and bitterness, or of growth, sanity, and maturation, or perhaps the first leading to the second.