Dream of: 24 June 2009 "Mr. Faustus"

I had gone to a convention hall where an elaborate dinner was being held. I was looking for a young man (about 20 years old) who I thought might be my son, but I couldn't find him anywhere. I left the hall, late at night, and next went to a big fancy school where my supposed son was supposed to be staying. A woman let me inside and I looked around the place, which was quite impressive. The woman showed me into one chamber which contained some small tiles (each about eight centimeters square), each of which displayed intricate pictures. The woman indicated that my supposed son had made one of the tiles. One tile told a story about a thirteenth century king whose history had undergone some kind of change. The story seemed to have something to do with Faust.

As I looked at the tiles, we heard my supposed son come in. The woman and I walked back to the main chamber.

Since I had never actually met my supposed son, I was uncertain how to introduce myself. I knew that another man had played the role of father for my supposed son all these years and I thought the father had written the story of Faust. When I saw my supposed son, I walked up to him, held out my hand, and said, "Mr. Faustus?"

He politely answered, "No."

He was thin and had black hair. We shook hands. His hand was small and limp, like a child's hand. I held his hand in mine for a moment and looked at it.

We sat down together on a couch. I was ready to tell him the story of how I thought I might be his father, and how he had grown up thinking another man was his father. I first asked him if he knew who I was. He gave me the impression that he knew something about me, that he had heard of me.

I felt very emotional. I could see that he had had just about the best life imaginable. He had been brought up well and had obviously been given so much. But I still needed to tell him this story.

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