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September 5, 2007 Dream

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  • September 5, 2007 Dream

    (September 5, 2007)

    (From Mario's "Book of Dreams")

    [Note: We have replaced the names of the principal actors with “The Matriarch” and “The Matriarch’s Oldest Daughter” etc. ]

    I was in the middle of creating/working on a painting, when I found myself back in the hallway of our Beirut apartment. The door to the bedroom was closed. Joseph and my mother were inside. I see a huge sheet of paper plastered all over the door, upon which Arabic was written, although I could not understand what the poster was saying.

    So I knocked on the door out of frustration and Joseph said, “I’ll be there.”

    The door opened and I saw before me a TV screen. The TV was on. On the TV screen, I saw Daheshists marching in protest. I even caught a glimpse of Georges’s face among the crowd. “What is going on and what is that sheet of paper all about?” I asked.

    Joseph said, “Russia, Lebanon, etc. (Joseph cites all the countries in which Daheshists live) … all these countries have given the Daheshists until ‘such and such’ time to leave their respective countries, or they would be placed in concentration camps for Daheshists!”

    “Concentration camps for Daheshists?!”
    I asked in a you-must-be-joking tone. I was in utter disbelief.

    Then I knew it was real when I saw the Beloved Guiding Prophet appear… He was just as I remember him… I even remember touching him…

    The Doctor was outraged, but in an understated, quiet manner.

    I said, “We can do something about it, Doctor!”

    He said, “Yes, we have to do something.”

    I said, “We can protest on the internet.”

    He said, “Yes, let’s do that!”

    And so the others and I accompanied him into the adjacent room, where he gave me the name of an individual. I tried to write it down, but for some reason, I couldn’t do so onto the pad of paper I already had in my possession.

    So I asked my mother to hand me another paper pad… Unfortunately, by the time she gave it to me, I had forgotten the name that the Doctor had given me.

    So Raifah stepped in and gave me the name; however, I got the feeling that it was not the correct one. So I asked the Doctor if the name was, “So and so.” At that point, the Doctor, in his trademark mildly sarcastic tone, said, “Yes, that’s exactly the name!”

    He said that and he smiled. The others smiled as well. That’s when I knew he was pulling my leg!

    He gave me the name again, and I began to write it down.

    But then I noticed The Matriarch’s youngest son, to my right, sitting with pad of paper.

    So I asked the Doctor if The Matriarch’s youngest son could be the one to write down the name. I had a feeling, an intuition that he could do it better than I could, when it came down to writing in Arabic.

    And so it was The Matriarch’s Youngest son who began to scribble the name.

    I say to The Matriarch’s Youngest son, “They will probably say that Daheshville was the cause…”

    He said, “You’re probably right…”

    Something was said to the Doctor, to which he replied, “You have here three wonderful boys (i.e., The Matriarch’s 2 sons, and Mario) and you should feel very lucky to have them.” And then the Doctor commented on how much of a shame it was; that is: the way I had been treated by “some people.” He was very bitter about it, and he repeated the statement.

    I looked at the Matriarch’s oldest daughter's face, and one could tell she was in a somber mood, and felt ashamed. The Doctor repeated and said something to the effect of how The Matriarch treated me.

    And I began to think to myself, “Doctor, it’s all right what the Matriarch did. The one who really hurt me was…” and I woke up.