I feel like dancing

I had a dream some years ago that at first scared and frightened me but as the years go on and I occasionally think of the dream... I'm no longer horrified to look at myself in the mirror.
In the dream, my younger brother was crippled and a beggar tyrant. His nasal whine pierced my ears every few moments. He shat himself, he gagged on his spit, he constantly needed attention. I pushed him around in his wheelchair around the lawn of our white house in Cornwall vermont. Towards the edge of my dream landscape was a small cliff. We were sitting at the cliff when he slowly rolled out of his wheelchair and off the cliff. I lept to the precipice and grabbed at his hand. He salivated and rolled his eyes, incoherent of the nearness of death. My eyes stared into his as his arm detached from his body. I held his arm in my hands and smiled. A wave of moral filth filled my soul as my lips turned upwards. I stared down at my broken brother's body, shattered on the ground far below. I felt a perverse satisfaction at his demise. No more complaints, no more groveling, no more forced pity...
When I woke up in the morning I was horrified at my subconscious immorality. As I've gotten older and engaged in more visceral amoral activities I'm no longer as morbid about my moral status. Many people think that deep down inside they are good people. If salvation comes they'll be on that train because really they are pure. The wrongs they've done outweighs the good. When I look at myself I realize that morally, I am ambigious, at best. Neither frightfully evil, nor all that good. Under the slavish morality of today I wonder if my soul would balance out between good and evil...