At night I dream about tsunamis
At night I dream about tsunamis. They are my most frightening dream. The come once every few months, and I've had them for years. Often they start with storms, and then a huge wall of water like the Hoover Dam looms on the horizon, and I know there is no escape. There are always more than one, and they continue coming until I wake up. Sometimes they are the same size, sometimes they vary. My strategy is always the same: move to the highest indoor point as possible before the wave hits, then allow the water to knock me around until it retreats and I can grab a hold of something again. Sometimes I must try to protect other people who are with me, and I will yell directions about what to do and how far away the wave is. There is never any one trying to protect me.
I am always in a building when the wave hits. Sometimes it is familiar, like the cottage at Melmerby, sometimes it's new. Once, a thrill-seeker in a wetsuit attached a long bungee cord to the cottage so they could ride out each wave. So far, the building has always survived the impact of the waves, but I know that someday it will collapse.
I believe the dreams represent the power of the outside world to affect my little situation. They also represent the Earth's response to the enormity of our arrogance.