I had a fascinating dream last night. I woke up at 5:30 am with it still ringing in my mind, and knew I should write it down. I left my room and went into the study to type out all the notes and details I could remember, and then re-wrote it in narrative form later. It was a strangely vivid dream. I love the idea of the stories a brain constructs while you’re asleep, especially if they feel significant, vivid or just complicated. This one was one of those, and I’m publishing it here for anybody to read.

Dream: The Twin Stories of the Pellegrino Professionals

A true dream I had while asleep during the early, early morning of March 10, 2007

A famous female author is strolling with a TV crew outside of a plantation/temple in Colombia. To our left is the low-ceiling building, which is some strange cross between an elementary school and a Buddhist temple. My wife and I are walking with the woman, the camera crew and the interviewer, across the landscaped concrete paths, as the author tells about her most recent book.

The interviewer prompts her: “We’ve all been hearing so much about the recent manuscript that was discovered by archeologists in this country. The book was never published or made famous, but having been uncovered in perfect reading condition over one hundred years later, is now creating a media storm as people notice the bizarre similarities between this mysterious manuscript and your own book.”

“Yes,” she says, being careful and contained. “As you know, the drone characters in my book are called Pellegrino. In real life, my mother’s side of the family are Davises, but my father and his family are all named Pellegrino.”

“In my book, I have called my characters Pellegrinos. I thought I was just creating a tribute to my father.”

“But this other book,” says the interview. “The one that was just discovered…the characters are ALSO called Pellegrinos. Is this true?”

“Yes, it’s quite an amazing coincidence. To think that an author living one hundred years before me, who created a work that was never publicized, crafted a story with such similar storylines and characters, even to the point of sharing the same name. It’s kind of scary, actually.”

“What are some of the key differences between this work and your own?” asks the interviewer.

“Well, in my book, the Pellegrinos have a very pathological sense of obedience. They’re obsessive and dangerous. In the other document, while they too exhibit a drone-like existence, are more passively obedient than my characters. They don’t carry their obedience to the same extremes.”

“What does this all mean?” the interviewer asks.

She pauses, “I like to think that it’s my ancestors, trying to communicate the same Story.”

My wife and I exchange knowing glances. We’ve recently talked in depth with our friend Harrison on the topic of Story — the idea of a single narrative theme that, regardless of civilization or upbringing, always appears in the same form in every culture.

“I also think that this story is a metaphor for humans passing time on earth through an obsession with Church.”

My wife and I, and the crew, pause to digest this idea.

Scene change. I am now exploring on my own, perhaps scouting locations on behalf of the TV crew, and I’m on the inside of the building we were filming outside of. I’m standing in the middle of a dim, endless corridor. The concrete floor tiles are in a checkerboard pattern, and the walls are a dark wood, shaped (but not coloured) like bamboo.

A collie stands in front of me. Her mouth quivers upward to expose her teeth. I’m scared of her, but also curious – she is not approaching me. I cannot read what this long-haired dog wants. Is it dangerous? Is she lost? Is it scared? Is it part of the story? I want it to lead me to the room we need to go to, and I try to prompt her by walking towards a door, but she growls, and I realize she won’t let me move. There is a distant humming sound, the lights flicker and the whole hallway seems to vibrate. The collie looks nervous.

Behind us, there is a tall doorway, which is part of another long corridor running perpendicular to this one. Above the archway, red letters in an Anglican script reads, “DO NOT LEAD PROFESSIONALS INTO CHAMBER.” I understood that the reason for this message: the “professionals” will do so themselves when the time is right.

I also understood that the professionals were the “Pellegrinos” from the author’s story. The TV crew was back, and they were creating a documentary that would re-enact the storylines from both the live author’s story, and the recently discovered manuscript.

The “Professionals” (or Pellegrinos) describe a passive, obedient populace that all walk single file. Clothing is not uniform (some wear jeans, some wear orange prison jumpsuits, a majority have shaven heads). The TV producers have hired extras to re-enact the process of a scene from the story: these people are walking the hall, under the arch with the red warning script, single file, purposefully, like zombies. It is not clear what this march is all about, but they are definitely entering “the Chamber.”

Scene change. In the main sanctuary, which may also be “the Chamber,” there are wooden pews, and the extras, playing the Pellegrino, lounge around waiting for instructions from the preacher/director at the pulpit. The Pellegrinos, in this environment, are called The Listener.

There are crates of bananas on the floor, with a banana company’s logo. The company is called Bana-banana, but it has a similar corporate presence to Coca-Cola or Chiquita. The company has some sort of role in this story, and I understand that this company is the oppressor, the captor, but simultaneously the supplier of the bananas which keep these people alive and grateful for it.

“How does this company feel about being such a villainized part of the story?” I ask the producer.

“They know they have to accept it,” replies the producer. “It’s part of the Story.”

I take my seat in the pews beside a man in a very casual pose.

“It’s easy to stand out,” he whispers to me. “But nobody in the book does, because they don’t know how, and they’re told not to. But watch this.”

He stands up. The entire gathering of Pellegrinos gasp, and it’s clear he has broken a serious taboo. All arms point to him, and the room whispers and then begins yelling, calling him by his new name: no longer Listener, this man is called Worker.

Now, other people start standing too, as they realize they don’t have to sit. There is Singer, there is Walker. Everybody is standing, there is chaos, everybody is moving towards the hallway now, trying to resume walking under the arch that says “DO NOT LEAD THE PROFESSIONALS…”