Dream of: 12 November 1992 "Confined Again"
I was sitting in the passenger side of the front seat of a car which my mother was driving. When we turned a sharp 90 degree turn in the road to right, I saw a guard outpost up ahead and knew we were about to enter Iran. I told my mother to turn around immediately before it was too late, that if we entered Iran we wouldn't be able to leave. I screamed at her to cross the divide in the road to the other side and head back. Just ahead I saw bales of hay on the other side of the road and knew they would block our exit if we crossed over ahead. But she paid no attention to me and continued on right up to the guard outpost.
We stopped, stepped from the car, and were immediately confronted by an Iranian soldier. He demanded my passport which I gave to him. My biggest fear was that he would discover that I had been in Iran once before and that I had been in prison. I feared if he knew that, he might think I should be returned to prison. Plus I knew I had also returned to Iran once in the not distant past. Proof of that was probably stamped in my passport and that could raise questions. But he handed back my passport without comment.
My mother and I were soon informed that the car, an older model blue Lincoln Continental, would be confiscated. Apparently we would be allowed to keep our personal belongings and luggage. I was upset with my mother because she hadn't listened to me. But she seemed distraught and disconnected. It was difficult to be angry at someone in her frame of mind.
Our luggage was set out on the ground. I also noticed several old, ornate gas heaters which were taken out of the trunk. Apparently the Iranians were also going to confiscate those. My mother and I were told that when we were released we would have to carry part of the car out with us. I didn't know which part or how heavy it would be. But it seemed as if it were being required as some kind of punishment.
I walked over to the side and a man probably in his mid 40s, dressed in civilian clothes approached me. He was an Iranian, but spoke flawless English. He quickly explained to me that he was the man in charge. He pulled some nylon stockings from his pocket, waved them in my face and suggested if I buy some from him, he could aid me in my release. I backed away from him. It seemed incongruous that the man in charge would be trying to make money from me. I thought it possible that he was telling the truth, but I didn't believe him and walked away.
I saw perhaps half a dozen soldiers gathered around one soldier speaking German. I listened and tried to understand what he was saying, but only picked up a few words.
I was soon taken alone to a confinement area where other prisoners were held. I was allowed to take with me only a couple notebooks which contained my dreams. I thought the important thing was that I be allowed to keep my dreams so I could work on them. I knew I also had some cassettes somewhere with dreams which I had recorded. But the main thing was that I had my notebooks.
I contemplated my fate. At least maybe I could learn Persian again. I recalled the language was written in the Arabic alphabet. I knew I had once spoken it quite well, but was unable now to remember any of it.
I walked into a large open area which seemed like a sports field. Other prisoners gathered around me and I realized they were all only boys. Some gathered around me and it looked as if they might attack me. But I talked to them, speaking in French since I thought that was a language we had in common. I brought up the subject of yoga and even demonstrated by doing a back stand. I then stood straight up on my hands for perhaps 30 seconds. It was the best hand stand I recalled ever doing.
I quickly became friends with some of the boys. I sat down on a couch with four of them, put my arms around them and hugged them. I really loved them and thought I would miss them if I were ever released.
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