I am caught up in the violence in the Mid East and am suffering a form of punishment. The Palestinians are clawing and tearing at each other, ripping themselves apart. I am not in the direct fighting, though hundreds of men, somehow far yet close and reduced in size, crawl over my feet and legs like ants, biting me and fighting amongst themselves. Periodically, an official, Israeli or Palestinian, it is not clear, asks me to write, in effect a subtle offer to set me free. He asks what time it is. My mother is present and answers. Then I do, correcting her. The man becomes hostile towards me. In the dream I do not accept the offer to write. I wake up anxious, having slept little at night though much in the day.