As I wandered out of the theater, I was disappointed and confused. The story was set in a military complex under ground, like a cave. The spiral staircases were a boring and dull setting for what promised to be an exciting sequel. And the bombed center topside was covered with white roses, a “gift from President Snow”.
Early in the morning I had had a strange dream. I was on my way to a new assignment, counseling young men and women at a community clinic. I was to meet my first client at 3pm. I was riding a bus. My 14-month-old son was playing with my beard, as my stop approached. I gave him back to his mother and proceeded to the front of the bus. When we stopped, I asked if this was the closest I could get to my destination. The bus driver, a blonde grandmother figure, said “No, if you want to get off and have a cup of coffee with me, I’ll take you there next.” This seemed to be an odd turn of events, but I stepped off the bus onto crystal white crusty snow. My new snow boots had a great grip and I caught my driver’s arm as she slipped going down a spiral to the warming hut, like a cave in the earth.
The only thing I got from the 3 pm movie showing was the final scene of the young love interest flailing wildly trying to get out of his hospital bed. Peeta was strapped down and all alone. Katniss is looking in the window at him. That’s the end of part 1. He and Katniss are the kind of trauma victims whom I treat in my spiritual counseling practice. I thought about my next client in the dream. No doubt the dream maker intended them to be another veteran with combat trauma. He/she would be another one like the last one, who regressed to the 14-month-old stage before coming out of his emotional tailspin. This morning’s dream was a high school setting, where I was explaining how problems at home are acted out in school. Not much difference between the dream world and the ordinary one. Since it is Sunday and my Army veteran with PTSD hadn’t called, I decided to attend his church again.
Everything seemed the same at first. But something had changed. The atmosphere was subtly different. The pastor pointed it out in her sermon. Her vestments and the flags were different. White was everywhere. The flags on the walls of the church were there in medieval fashion, but were all white. The altar was draped in white as well, with a equal sided Greek Orthodox red cross on the front. It looked like something out of the Crusades. Today was the celebration of Christ the King. And the sermon had to do with our never knowing if we are doing the right thing. That’s exactly how it must have felt to Joan D’Arc when King Charles refused to send the needed soldiers and her assault of Paris failed. That lack of support resulted in her capture and ultimate death. Katniss is playing an archetypal role, that of the Mockingjay. She, like Joan of Arc, is a virgin warrior, who is trying to bring her people’s plight to a focus. If the people rally against the tyrants who have risen to power in their homeland, there is hope of freedom and justice. In Joan’s case the tyrants were the English, in Katniss’ case it is President Snow, ruler of the Capitol. It could be ancient Rome and the Gladiators’ revolt. Actually it is all of them rolled into one script.
For me the white flags reminded me of snow. I went for my cup of coffee and who should show up? Yes, the dream grandmother, the bus driver. I had befriended her husband the week before. “He felt he had found a kindred spirit when he met you last week,” she said. I told her I had found my last client there in late August. I told her the main lines of the story and she knew exactly what I was doing. She had been a Dean of Students at a community college where there were several returning veterans acting out in the classroom. She wanted to find them help and knew a couple of excellent counselors she could refer them to. She concluded our coffee with the suggestion that I sit down with the pastor of the church and discuss my background with her. “We have been needing someone like you, with your skills. I can see how dreams would be an excellent way to key into someone’s trauma. Your Jungian background should really be helpful here, and your experience with PTSD, I mean, there are a lot of abused people in this world.”
And as I left the white snow-like interior of the building, I could see Joan of Arc turning into Katniss before my eyes. I hope Katniss has a better story line than her archetypal sister. That was definitely a tragic ending I don’t wish to re-experience.
[…] are riding the wake of terrorist attacks around the world). Her friend and lover, Peeta Mellark, who was programmed to assassinate her, responds like any brainwashed and tortured Veteran. He wants to make sense of all the suffering, […]