I was eight or nine the first time I had the dream. It's really never left me in all these years. It's not an every night occurrence anymore, not like it was at first. But it's still there, and I'm still not any closer to understanding what it means than I was in the beginning.
The dream:
I'm not me. I'm a man, a young one, and I'm in some kind of rowboat with other men. My clothes aren't normal. They're strange. Old. Scratchy. And the others are dressed the same (I think). It's more just knowing than visual. No one is talking. I get a sense of everyone being very tired.
Our row boat is headed for a tall wooden dock. There's another long dock on the right. I can see it as we're passing it. On the left, there's an enormous wooden ship with grayish sails that may have once been white.
I'm at the front of the rowboat, and as we get closer to the towering dock ahead, I see a man standing there, his feet slightly spread, hands on his hips. I can only see him from the waist down. His pants are brown, like mine, and his right leg is bandaged. But the binding is different. It's like gauzy rags, wrapped around his leg haphazardly. And it's dirty. Bloody.
I don't know this man, but I'm scared of him. I don't want to go to the dock.
Frantically, I look at the wooden ship, hoping to see a means of escape. It's burning. Huge leaping flames are climbing the mast and sails, casting an eerie flickering yellow over the whole area. I'm terrified. I know something horrible is going to happen.
Then I wake up.