Dream of: 27 February 1997 "Artistic Ability"

I was aboard a large plane which didn't have the typical rows of passenger seats, but was divided into several rooms which looked like offices. Nobody else was in my room, although my mother and my father were supposed to be somewhere on the plane; I needed to find them.

The plane had just landed in Egypt, where my family and I were on a secret mission to try to save a man's life. The man was an Egyptian returning home to Egypt after having been absent a long time. He was a black-haired, heavy-set man (probably in his mid 40s). He and other members of his family were somewhere on the plane. The mission of my family and me was to give the man a gun. The gun was for the man's protection, because I had learned that someone was going to try to assassinate the man after he left the plane. The man was extremely popular; a crowd of thousands of people would throng around him and his family as they walked through the street. Someone in the crowd would then assassinate the man. But I had learned of the planned assassination, and I was now going to try to prevent it.

My mother (only about 40 years old) walked into the room. She was tall, slender and attractive. She had dark-black hair and was dressed in a long, tight-fitting, black dress. She immediately walked up to me and began talking in the most disdainful manner. I returned the sentiment. I was upset with her because she had boarded the plane without waiting for me, and I had been unable to find her until now.

I asked her about the gun, and she showed it to me: a coal-black hand-gun. I had originally thought I would be the one to deliver the gun to the Egyptian man, but now my mother seemed to think she should be the one. I didn't argue with her and I told her to go ahead. Without further delay, she walked out of the room and left me standing alone.

I looked around, trying to figure which way to leave. I walked over to a large door and tried to pull it open, but I was only able to pull the door part way; the door was made of steel and about 70 centimeters thick. Fixing my attention on the door, trying to understand why such a huge door would be needed on the plane, I began to realize I was no longer on the plane, but that I was actually in a room in the American Embassy in Egypt. When I also realized that my father had walked into the room, I turned to talk with him.

My father was also quite young (probably in his early 40s). He was thin and dressed in a suit. He seemed quite friendly, almost jovial, and I was glad to see him. However, I was also a little vexed with him about his involvement in our present mission, and I confronted him with the reasons for my dissatisfaction. It seemed to me that he had been trying to take credit for the whole mission to save the Egyptian man, even though he (my father) actually had done practically nothing. I was the one who had discovered the assassination plot. And now my mother was going to deliver the gun. My father really had done nothing, and I told him so.

My father seemed to shuffle his feet and tacitly admit that I was speaking the truth, but he seemed unaffected by my modest tirade, as if my feelings didn't really matter, and as he began leading me to another room of the Embassy, I put the matter out of my mind, realizing that my role in the mission was essentially over, and that I now needed to concentrate on other matters. The first matter at hand was exchanging some money so I could head out into the street with some Egyptian money in my pocket. My father said he knew where this could be done.

He and I walked down a hallway and past a large empty room which looked like an exercise room. I thought perhaps ballet lessons might be given in the room for some of the embassy personnel. I had the feeling that many people in the embassy were artistically inclined, and this feeling was reinforced by what I saw next.

We came upon a woman (probably in her early 30s) sitting at a table at the side of the room. After my father indicated that she would be able to change some of my money for me, I walked up to her. She was thin and frail-looking, with light brown hair. I was most intrigued, however, by a large pad of drawing paper lying in front of her. The drawing paper was about a half meter wide, and on the first page were several drawings. I quickly recognized one drawing as a caricature of Leonid Brezhnev, the former leader of the Soviet Union. All the drawings were quite artistic, and as the woman flipped through the pages of the drawing pad, every page she displayed was covered with drawings. As she came to each page, she would pause and make some slight change in a drawing, then go on to the next page. Apparently this was her custom – to be continually working on the drawings.

My father had walked up right behind the woman, and looking at her drawings, he commented, "They say you like to draw."

I was embarrassed at just how lame his statement sounded. Of course she liked to draw – she had probably heard people say this same thing a hundred times.

At least, however, my father did get the woman's attention, and it quickly became clear that she was the person in the embassy who exchanged money. I laid some things I had been carrying on the table and I looked through my pockets for money. The woman had written "$50" on her tablet, and I assumed she thought I was going to exchange $50. I had a $100 bill with me, and I thought I would give that to her. But as I searched through my pockets, I could only find smaller bills, which along with the other objects in my pocket, I began pilling on the table.

When the woman noticed that I had also laid a postcard on the table, she picked it up, looked at the picture of the large brown mosque on the front of the card, and asked me where I had bought the card. I told her I had just come from Lebanon, where I had been for two days. I remembered that I had been on another extremely complicated mission in Lebanon. The mission had gone well and I had been able to leave quickly. I told the woman I had just been "in and out" of Lebanon. I hoped that such would also be the case there in Egypt: that I would just stay a day or two and leave.

Now that the woman was looking at my post card, I could tell she seemed interested in me. And seeing her artistic ability, I was also interested in her. I thought perhaps while I was there in Egypt, I might get to know her. Perhaps we could even spend some time together. That would certainly make the stay more enjoyable.

I pulled out my billfold and opened it. There was the $100 bill. I extracted the bill and handed it to the woman. She took it and quickly disappeared around the corner, apparently to obtain my Egyptian money for me. I picked up the other bills which I had piled on the table and straightened them out to put back into my billfold instead of carrying them around in pockets.

Dream Epics Home Page

Copyright 2015 by luciddreamer2k@gmail.com