Manifest Destiny
Saturday night I had a very vivid dream:
I was on a trip to the desert as a teacher on a bus. The students were a mix of AUCians and BSCers and we had faculty from both. We stopped in a village in the middle of nowhere and all the people on the bus went off to do their thing.
I found myself on the doorstep of what looked like an antique shop, cluttered with bric-a-brac. I really wanted to go in, but was afraid; it was clearly not open for business, and entering would have been trespassing. Two professors joined me on the doorstep, one, named Nate, was equally hesitant and interested. The other, Steve*, said he knew his way around in there. He said he could show us around.
We went in, but the room was too cluttered to walk freely. We had to belly crawl. Although Steve led us in, once inside, I was in the lead; I’m not sure why. The stuff in this room was amazing, I especially noticed the rugs, Dragon style Persian carpets of astounding beauty. Pieces from the Caucasian mountains, Persian pieces and also Bedouin pieces. The other furniture seemed mostly of the typical middle class Egyptian style, heavy gilt and crystal, not really my taste. I also remember some alabaster pieces and some beautiful classical portraits.
After we had all gotten our fill of looking, I led us back to the front door. Although we had left it open, it was shut and barred! I had to stand up to lift the bar, and as I stepped out of the room, there was an Arab sheik, clearly the owner of this building standing on the front porch, casually drinking his tea and holding court with the locals.
I had never felt like more of a trespasser in my life. I felt utter shame, that I would have breached what, in retrospect, was clearly a private space, not meant to share with the likes of us.
The owner, turned toward us as we exited. He was a tall thin man, with bright sharp eyes, leathery, mahogany colored skin and a huge mustache. He was wearing a brown galabeya and a blood red turban. As we shuffled out into the light, covered in dust and cobwebs, he beamed a huge smile and welcomed us with a twinkle in his eye.
He never looked at Steve, but he took Nate by the shoulders and said that his people needed Nate to stay and help them. Nate, shrinking at the prospect, stepped back and refused to help. At which point Sheriff (I knew his name without an introduction) turned to me and asked me if I would help.
As I said that I would stay (I decided to build a school in his village), Sheriff reached out to shake my hand. He hand a huge hand, but the handshake was still strange somehow, it didn’t feel right. When I looked down to see why, I realized that his hand was missing the index finger and pinkie. Each finger was twisted and charred at the second knuckle. But he shook my hand with no self consciousness at all. And as he continued, I realized that it was a warm, welcome handshake, and I felt relief.
All this is introduction to the news that, on Sunday morning, I was invited by Steve to give a teacher training workshop in Baghdad and Irkuk this Spring. Given my name, and the proximity to Mosul, it may come as no surprise that I’ve felt as though my destiny somehow lay in (or at least beyond) the Tigris. The dream had no small part in my feeling that this was a trip that I absolutely had to do. Of course, the fact that I’ll be traveling through a war zone, about five weeks before my second daughter is expected to enter the world, certainly gives me pause.
But I simply can’t escape the feeling that destiny is calling me. Its time to step onto the shore.
Wish me luck.
I was on a trip to the desert as a teacher on a bus. The students were a mix of AUCians and BSCers and we had faculty from both. We stopped in a village in the middle of nowhere and all the people on the bus went off to do their thing.
I found myself on the doorstep of what looked like an antique shop, cluttered with bric-a-brac. I really wanted to go in, but was afraid; it was clearly not open for business, and entering would have been trespassing. Two professors joined me on the doorstep, one, named Nate, was equally hesitant and interested. The other, Steve*, said he knew his way around in there. He said he could show us around.
We went in, but the room was too cluttered to walk freely. We had to belly crawl. Although Steve led us in, once inside, I was in the lead; I’m not sure why. The stuff in this room was amazing, I especially noticed the rugs, Dragon style Persian carpets of astounding beauty. Pieces from the Caucasian mountains, Persian pieces and also Bedouin pieces. The other furniture seemed mostly of the typical middle class Egyptian style, heavy gilt and crystal, not really my taste. I also remember some alabaster pieces and some beautiful classical portraits.
After we had all gotten our fill of looking, I led us back to the front door. Although we had left it open, it was shut and barred! I had to stand up to lift the bar, and as I stepped out of the room, there was an Arab sheik, clearly the owner of this building standing on the front porch, casually drinking his tea and holding court with the locals.
I had never felt like more of a trespasser in my life. I felt utter shame, that I would have breached what, in retrospect, was clearly a private space, not meant to share with the likes of us.
The owner, turned toward us as we exited. He was a tall thin man, with bright sharp eyes, leathery, mahogany colored skin and a huge mustache. He was wearing a brown galabeya and a blood red turban. As we shuffled out into the light, covered in dust and cobwebs, he beamed a huge smile and welcomed us with a twinkle in his eye.
He never looked at Steve, but he took Nate by the shoulders and said that his people needed Nate to stay and help them. Nate, shrinking at the prospect, stepped back and refused to help. At which point Sheriff (I knew his name without an introduction) turned to me and asked me if I would help.
As I said that I would stay (I decided to build a school in his village), Sheriff reached out to shake my hand. He hand a huge hand, but the handshake was still strange somehow, it didn’t feel right. When I looked down to see why, I realized that his hand was missing the index finger and pinkie. Each finger was twisted and charred at the second knuckle. But he shook my hand with no self consciousness at all. And as he continued, I realized that it was a warm, welcome handshake, and I felt relief.
All this is introduction to the news that, on Sunday morning, I was invited by Steve to give a teacher training workshop in Baghdad and Irkuk this Spring. Given my name, and the proximity to Mosul, it may come as no surprise that I’ve felt as though my destiny somehow lay in (or at least beyond) the Tigris. The dream had no small part in my feeling that this was a trip that I absolutely had to do. Of course, the fact that I’ll be traveling through a war zone, about five weeks before my second daughter is expected to enter the world, certainly gives me pause.
But I simply can’t escape the feeling that destiny is calling me. Its time to step onto the shore.
Wish me luck.
Labels: Biographical, Dreams, Egypt, Politics
posted by Jonah at 11:24 PM
5 Comments:
Good luck! What an interesting and detailed dream.... You'll make it to the shore.
PS "The fact that I’ll be traveling through a war zone, about five weeks before my second daughter is expected to enter the world, certainly gives me pause."
Its gives me pause, too... Have been thinking about it, not so sure about it... But this makes me feel a bit better, somehow.
Hi, I'm visiting via Jess. Really interesting dream. While reading it, I thought to myself that I should share it with my husband, Steve. Then read about Steve in your dream. Hmmm.
Sounds like you know your calling. Blessings for that journey.
When do you go? Sounds scary - and exactly the sort of thing I'd do! Good luck.
I came here through Jess too!
Seems very clearly your destiny is calling. I often travel on buses in dreams too and sense they symbolize our journey with "classmates" or community, in this school of life. The men you explore with are parts of yourself; the confident and the fearful and the core united you. Cool dream, it seems you will be blessed.
Post a Comment
<< Home