Well, I warned you yesterday. The dreams I had last Friday have weighed on me since then, and I have come to the conclusion that I shan’t be rid of them until I spill them out in text on this here blog, so here goes it.

It began, or at least my memory of it begins, with my being quite excited because I have managed to secure a spot on the very special trip that was being undertaken. It was to be a diplomatic journey of some great symbolic significance, and I was extremely thrilled to be a part of it and eager to get going.

It was to be a trip from here to Pakistan and back. Here being where I live, in Richmond, British Columbia, Canada.

It was expected to take about three hours to get there.

Obviously, dream geography is a wee bit different.

Missing Pacific oceans and Afghanistans aside, we got onto our buses and, one dream edit later (isn’t it great how dreams always skip the boring bits, just like TV?), we were at the Pakistani border awaiting the processing of our papers so we could go through.

For lack of anything better to do, the person^[1] who was being our guide for this whole process decided to give us a tour of the border station while we waited.

I don’t remember much of the tour, but I do get a sense that, somehow, during the part of the tour leading up to the part I do remember, I had somehow gone from eager, youthful, “just happy to be there” participant to being the leader of our little group, older, relaxed, confidant, and totally in control.

This is not a state I have experienced in the waking life, and I must say, it was damn nice. I practically glowed with benevolent paternal authority and easy confidence. I was like some combination of Optimus Prime, Bing Crosby, and John Wayne.

Maybe that helps explain away what comes up next.

As part of the tour, we were shown the actual border fence ^[2] and that is where the drink kicked it up a notch, because behind the fence was a lot of people of a very wide slice of the colors of humanity were apparently straining to get through.

Or at least, that is what I thought at first, but it soon became clear that what they were doing was thrusting various products and goods through the fence and yelling prices. This was a form of trans-border commerce, all with guards with berets and AK-47s looking on, so obviously this was allowed or at least tolerated.

People were waving all sorts of things at us, like cheap digital watches, various bits of earthenware cups and plates and such, a bit of carpet, and some sort of round seed-encrust flatbread, sort of like you took a cottage loaf and flattened it till it was only about two inches high in the middle.

Odd how I remember that one so clearly. Must have looked tasty.

As we walked along the length of the fence, the guards would occasionally open a part of the fence to let one of these eager (and from the looks on their faces, desperate) entrepreneurs dash through and complete a transaction with one of my group.

Mighty big of them, I thought.

As we reached the other end of the fence, I noticed that, standing next to the post where the fence ended, people were lined up wearing big, big smiles, and somehow, whether the guide told me or I figured it out myself, I knew that these were slaves for sale.

And the really disturbing thing is, I was thinking about buying one.

Now you know why this dream has stayed with me so long. I don’t know if it was a result of feeling so smoothly confidant and powerful, or what, but I clearly remember thinking how useful having a personal slave could be on this trip and how I had a wallet full of big Canadian dollars (ha) and I could probably get one pretty cheap.

And hey, when in Rome, right? These people considering owning slaves to be perfectly normal. Who am I to judge?

Obviously, when I woke up, I was horrified by all that. It really makes you wonder about the relationship between liberal values and personal pain. Could I forget my morality entirely if I was happy enough? Not something one likes to think about oneself.

At this point, I decided we would go wandering around the area. I had this idea that we would go visit a place I had been many years before and wanted to see again, a sort of sleepy village I had once known and liked.

My guide began warning me, in increasingly worried tones, that this area was not like it was when I was there before and what we were doing was very dangerous now, but I ignored him with a kingly disregard, sure I knew exactly what I was doing.

The guide told me that the area was now ruled by two opposing warlords in a very unstable alliance, and that we should get out of the area ASAP.

In reply, I said something like “Then I’m sure they will be happy to see us. ”

In this dream, I was one smug, self-satisfied son of a bitch.

As we traveled, the road become littered with odd devices that looked like improvised booby traps, as well as these translucent, glowing bricks buried in the road’s loose baked-earth surface. I was told these bricks were monitoring devices.

Eventually, we got to the sleepy village, which looked more like a combination park and small Canadian village than anything else, and stopped in a square with a fountain in it, in a place where to main roads met.

I seemed to know what was going to happen, in fact, I get the distinct feeling that though I was playing it by ear, this was all going according to some devious plan I had just come up with on the spot.

I think I may honestly have been a villainous person in this dream.

What happened next was the two warlords burst onto the scene. One was a large computer screen on wheels that screeched up to a halt in front of us, the warlord’s face glowing blue on it.

The other burst from the ground, and was the same sort of thing, but looking far more like a tank, deadly and bristling with weapons.

And both warlords, I kid you not, were played by Dick Van Patten.

Yes. The Eight is Enough guy.

I don’t recall exactly what happened after that, but somehow we got to the point when I was facing off against the tank-like warlord in combat, which I guess was my plan all along, because I was all “Finally, it’s just you and me, after all these years!”.

I had some kind of long, straight, super light sword, and I was ready to do some damage.

I wish I remembered the fight better, because it sounds pretty awesome, doesn’t it? But no, I don’t remember the fight at all, but somehow, after I had one, I spotted this old Japanese man on an outdoor stage nearby, paying a reed flute, and I somehow knew that my fight was not over and that this was my enemy’s last chance to defeat me.

But for some reason, I couldn’t get directly to the stage right away, so I shouted at the people with me to “Stop him! Why isn’t anyone trying to stop him? STOP HIM!”

But they didn’t react fast enough, so in exasperation, I lunged up and shoved the flute (which had begone to glow bright yellow by now) out of the old man’s mouth. This seemed to be all it took to kill him, as he slumped down after that, but as he slumped, he put the flute to his lips and I shouted “DUCK!” just in time for us all to duck down and miss a volley of humming, hissing dart that flew out of the end of the flute.

Then someone asked “Is it over?”

And I replied “It’s never over. But we can relax for now. ”

And that is all I remember. Roll credits, ending theme, FIN.

All in all, a pretty epic dream.

And I do feel better now that I have typed all this out. Thanks, folks.