Dawn Dreaming

I was told dreams in the early hours of the morning are most authentic. True, they often either mirror real life or are very close to it. Still I feel upset about them because they come back lucidly and persistently. The good thing about them is: they appear to me as if I am watching a horror film from a distance. I find myself depersonalised watching myself burning. This is the most vivid of all: I am alone trapped in a house in flames. I watch how I burn to death, how people hurry to help but only to arrive when it is too late. So they stop their rescuing efforts and concentrate on putting out the fire first. I then watch how people carry my charcoaled dead body out. After burying me I see them how they pity me and try to find an explanation for what happened. All of a sudden everything is forgotten as if nothing of the like has ever happened. I am left alone in the dark and I wake up soaked wet.

I was told I had typhoid when I was just three. All women except one said: he definitely won’t survive for he is too weedy. They took me to a hospital in a city far away from where my parents lived but could fortunately stay in the house of some friends they knew. I was almost given up when the lady in the house gave me “normal” food to eat disregarding the doctor’s instructions. My mother said: suddenly and as if by a miracle I recovered. I got up and started playing. But I haven’t still asked my mother about the first lady who could see into my future. My mind tries to make up for that the moment I fall asleep. In the early morning dream I see a middle-aged woman with a marked face looking at me with two experienced eyes and a smile on her face saying to all other women: wait and see what will become of him.

Sometimes my dreams can be any moment, nothing of the sleepwalker like. On the contrary I am fully conscious of them for I am the actor and the audience in one. The difference lies in their duration. During the day they are usually shorter and I am more in control. My soul leaves my body for a while. The travelling never stops for I am restless, cannot stay in one place. But at least I can discern a cycle of twelve years. No grounding is possible for I cannot put down roots longer I was told.

Jamshid Ibrahim - January 2007

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