Last night I had a fabulous dream, though it couldn’t have had a more bizarre setting. While the location seemed suitable for a wedding, I knew it was the San Diego Museum of Art, a magnificent building in a floral garden. However, unlike other times, on this visit only one section of the museum was open for viewing as the rest prepared to receive hundreds of guests. The entire event seemed to be about my homeland Iran, its glorious history, and even NoRooz. They had displayed a most elegant Haft Seen in the sculpture gallery. In the room known as Temple, Palace, Mosque there were paintings, ceramic tiles and artifacts dating back to ancient Persia. I knew this was still America, but with dreams being what they are, the visitors had only come to learn about Iran and to familiarize themselves with their Iranian neighbors.
Dreams present the strangest ideas and yet everything appears so credible. After it was decided where my art work should go, I remember someone ushering me to the bathroom so that I could get ready for the big event. I’ve never changed clothes in a museum bathroom, let alone apply makeup or curl my hair there! But in the dream all these actions seemed utterly natural. Soon a young woman was adjusting her movie camera to make a TV clip and she told me it would be broadcast all over the world. The paparazzi popped out of every corner. I entered a big reception hall where two musicians played my favorite Persian instruments: the dulcimer and daff. Looking closer, I saw that the performers were two handsome children, who in their white shirts looked like little angels. Had I died and gone to Heaven?
Just as I was beginning to realize such elation wouldn’t last, I was told to prepare for a royal reception. No, wait. It war even better. Someone important gave an eloquent speech, announcing that I was a successful writer whose novel had hit number one! Supporting readers formed a long line, each holding a copy of my book, asking me to sign it for them. People embraced me, pronounced my name correctly and said they were happy to learn about Iranian culture through my writing!
Alas, all dreams come to an end. I woke up this morning, still dizzy from the trance. Why can’t life be as beautiful as what I experienced last night? With one eye still closed, I staggered around in search of coffee and was astounded to find all my paintings stacked against the front door. What were they doing there? My camera sat next to them and when I picked it up, I came across a most peculiar phenomenon. The camera had miraculously recorded the entire dream!
As I stay home and study the pictures over and over, I know this is something I won’t be able to fully share with anyone without making them doubt my sanity. Like a Sci-Fi movie, the images remain within my camera: the crowd of four hundred, the magnificent feast, the musicians, and even my art work. Still, a question lurks. What are the chances that what I saw could have really happened?
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