I dreamed I was in a huge enclosed space, so big that thousands of us were in there without feeling crowded. Most or all of the floor was carpeted. In the center of the space various sorts of fancy coffee were constantly brewed and dispensed. There were plenty of comfortable chairs and sofas and coffee tables.
I and thousands like me roamed the space, men and women all dressed like executives: Presidents, Premieres, legislators, judges, lobbyists, chairpeople of boards, analysts, pollsters, strategists, financiers, entrepreneurs, party leaders, journalists, fixers, negotiators, some us having moved through several of those categories. We moved through this large indoor space making deals, breaking promises, forming coalitions, wheeling, dealing, moving, shaking. I had the impression that we were all pros, that no-one was there because he or she was born rich or became famous in something other than politics.
But I also wondered to what extent we might be fooling ourselves. Kings and queens have been known to believe that everything is just as it should be and every position deserved. There was no clearly-established career path I could see from truck driver, for example, to here.
I might have been tempted, in earlier eras, to call this place a "smoke-filled room," except I didn't notice anyone smoking. On the other hand, many of us seemed to have serious caffeine habits.
I made deals, strategized, huddled, sized others up and they sized me up. This was fighting with all but the physical violence. Some of the people in this room would no longer look at me or shake my hand. I assumed this was temporary in some cases, but not all. Trust was an asset in here, as much as political office and money. It was unwise to squander any of them. Or so it seemed to me at least.
We struggled with each other, made alliances, shifted alliances, with the fates of corporations, markets, nations, the fates of many, many people at stake. Some of us world-famous, others always to be unknown to those many people whose lives we affected. Some of us, young and old, amazingly idealistic. Others amazingly cynical and heartless. Young and old.
On the perimeter of the space were doors with lighted signs above them: "EXIT" in orange letters. Now and then someone would come or go through ones of these doors. I had no idea where we were: Manhattan? London? The Central Asian steppe? I didn't know, and it really didn't matter to me. We were connected to the whole world.
And then I woke up.
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