An allegorical dream in which our pilgrim runs into a roadblock and tries to find his way out in Daydreaming on the Porch

I woke up from a dream this morning. It was vivid, strange and a bit frightening.

I was on a road trip to visit my parents

Traffic was at a standstill in the lane ahead of me as I approached a huge bridge.

I followed another car onto an exit ramp that was filled with construction activity and road workers. I drove as far as I could in the midst of all that road work until my car ground to a halt in what seemed like some white slag heap of discarded road material of some sort. I was stuck.

I got out of my car, grabbed my coat and set off to find help, someone to get my car loose.

I first entered what I presume was the office for this huge construction project. One woman lectured me for being so foolish as to get stuck in that heaping pile of whatever it was. But I somehow remained very calm and composed. A former co-worker who no one seemed to like but me and a couple of other people, offered to help me find a towing company, but for some reason none could be found that afternoon.

I bid farewell to the two kind ladies who were trying to assist me. I continued on, worried that my parents would be concerned about what had happened to me.

I entered a huge and massive city, on foot still, and thought I’d better try to find a cab to take me to my former childhood home, but I couldn’t find a pay phone to place a call. (This was obviously pre-cellphone/ Internet).

I found myself wandering in a poverty-stricken section of this massive city. In the near distance I could see towering skyscrapers. It was incredibly dreary and depressing, smoky and dark wheee I was, reminding me of scenes in a grim Dickens novel at the beginning of the industrial era with coal smoke darkening the skies. I entered one building expecting to encounter toiling Cockney accented men, women and even children laboring at long day jobs. But this was not England at the turn of the 20th century. It was presumably the present day when this bizarre, rambling dream took place.

I thought to myself, my God, what terrible working conditions and poverty. But then I found myself in bars or small stores and everyone seemed pleasant or having a good time.

I continued on, entering one depressing area of the city after another, trying to escape each scene that was more like a movie set than reality, toward clearer, lighter, and less polluted areas off in the distance. It was sort of analogous to that scene in The Wizard of Oz where Dorothy and friends begin their journey and behold The Emerald City far away. I would recognize a familiar and comforting scene from my past only briefly and then I’d feel lost again in some area of the city that seemed alien and dangerous.

I was still looking for a pay phone or help because by this time I was feeling more and more lost.

Finally I entered a building where others seemed as lost as I was . I was told to be seated at a long table and was soon served a meal, as were the others. It occurred to me this was a soup kitchen in a homeless shelter. I ate my food, which which didn’t taste too good, then got up to leave only to discover that I had lost my coat somewhere, and it was cold.

I was out on the street again, still lost and disoriented. Once again I passed an endless parade of strangers and stranger scenery and buildings.

I continued my search for a pay phone or cab so I could finally get home.