Only good dreams, please

If dreams are indeed an extension to senses and a visual spokesman for the subconscious then what should I make of the dream I had this morning?

A gathering of women, only women, young, covered from tip to toe except their faces. And those faces were angry. In small groups they were fussing around single girls not more than twenty years old who were completely naked and put to lie on the ground that looked like wet sand as if they were at a beach. The bodies of the naked girls were positioned - hours later I still can't chase the vivid image of three bodies arranged on the sand with arms stretched out forming triangles. The clothed women were stabbing the naked bodies and were covering them with sand and mud. The naked girls didn't seem to be dead but they didn't seem to be much alive either. That wasn't a burial; it looked like some ritual or punishment because the scene didn't carry the air of sorrow but that of fury and anger.

Maybe I should cut down on news. Violence is toxic and we're all inadvertent subjects to it.