Here is this morning’s dream. I have often thought of my stint as Senior Tutor as a karmic payback caused by my own days of depression and misery.

The dream starts on a dreary wet grey council estate multistorey housing facility. There are runway balconies connecting the apartments. This is grey and tatty. There is a smell of piss and there are graffiti tags. The feel, the air, is of decay and danger. It is in South London, the rough side of Brixton. I am approaching a red door. There is music and a whiff of skunk cannabis.

I knock on the door and ring the bell. There is some talk inside, someone goes to the net curtain and checks through the window. The music goes off and a young white American man answers the door. He has blonde skanky corn-row dreadlocks. He is both surprised to see me and not surprised at all.

I explain to him that I have come looking for him because he has been cutting classes and not turning up for lab work. I ask if I can come in. He is reticent to let me in. I explain that it is ultra-unlikely that I will be shocked by what I see. I have been to drug dens before, and I will not judge him for a few spliffs.

He lets me in, and we sit in a scruffy lounge area where there is “party” debris. He ushers to his flat mate to leave us alone. I ask him what the problem is. He says that he has some debts and has to earn a little money on the side. He is into some gang related problems. I say that if he wants, I can come to talk with his gang contact. He does not think I can hack it. I explain that I have talked with gang bangers before. They do not scare me.

I say that he needs to find some way of balancing his work at university and his gang activity. He needs to stay off the class A drugs. I suggest that he comes back to college and tapers off his involvement in selling drugs. Otherwise, I will come and talk to the gang. He realizes that I am serious.

The scene changes and I am in an office, my office. It is in a university hall of residence, and I am tutor / warden there. It is late in the evening. There is a knock on the door and a young woman is there. She has been crying. I let her in. She says that the American man from before has suggested that she talks with me. She is highly suspicious and on edge. I invite her in and have her sit in my living room. I say to here that it is my job to look after the lost and the wayward. I have seen most of it. There are few surprises. I deal with boy girl problems, coming out issues, parent problems, depression, hyperactivity. I can advise on finances, condom coming off type problems. I can refer to health services. I deal with handicap and disability. Sometimes I just listen for a while. I can change her tutors if they are being arseholes. As a Buddhist I am well placed to discuss faith from all perspectives and am non-judgemental and widely read. I can hear “confession” if there is something she wants off her chest. Try me I say. I will see if/how I can help. I pass her a box of tissues to dry her eyes. I say that I am not an ogre. She smiles.

A while later in the morning I have another knock on my door. It is a young man a dwarf with achondroplasia.  I let him in. Now I am wearing maroon monk’s robes with a yellow under vest. It is my job to “simply love them” to offer my great compassion. I usher him in, and he plops onto the soda. I ask him about his general health and how his dwarfism may be hindering his studies. He says that he has some thyroid problems which are handled medically and that from time to time the arthritis is his hips plays up. I say that if he runs out, he can have some of my hip arthritis pain killers. I joke that we should go dancing. He says that the girl from before, has by word of mouth, suggested that he talk with me. I ask him how I may help. He says that he needs to get some height aids and a reaching device for high shelves. I say that I will sort it. He has been in trouble with the warden for being drunk and disorderly. I remind him that because of his low body mass he should not try to drink pint for pint with the other students. I will tell the warden he has been to see me.  I say that my door is always open. He notices my rosary on my left hand which is made out of antique yellow-amber beads. I explain to him that I am not easily shocked and am not prone to judgement. He wishes me a good day and leaves.

Next, I am in the corridor outside my flat and another young male student approaches me. He taps me on the shoulder and asks if we can have a word. We go to sit in a coffee bar. He is agitated and keeps glancing over his shoulder. He says that he is in deep trouble. I ask in what way and what his name is. He is sat on a sofa, and I am sat cross legged on the carpet of the coffee shop. He says that he does not want to give me his real name. He gives me his passport name. The one he uses. He is Eastern European / Russian. I ask him to tell me is real name. Anayin, or something like that. He writes it in Cyrillic for me. I know this to be the name of an exiled Russian mafia boss. He is having problems with immigration and the Home Office. His father has a security services protected identity. He says that the officials are being shirty with him. I suggest that for his next meeting I come with him. I can show them my University Identity card and confirm that his application and attendance at university is all in order. He is doing well in his studies. I say that my manner of dress can have interesting effects on uppity officials. It wrong foots them. He agrees and we will keep his familial identity between us. He says that the girl who came to see me before is his girlfriend and that the morning after pill has worked according to her recent self-pregnancy test. I suggest that he needs to be more careful because the last thing that either of them needs right now is a baby. The studies are hard enough. I punch him playfully on the arm.

The dream ends…