In my dream, I have arrived in an Arabic speaking country, perhaps Egypt, to conduct a choir. When I enter the choir room, a low ceilinged, metallic hall, I am confronted with a motley collection of singers who are being introduced to me. First, I am introduced to the basses. There are only 2-3 of them sitting in a column on the far right, and they are all grotesque, cartoonish gorillas, very fat and much huger than the humans in the room. At the far left is a column of tenors. In between there is one row of young looking sopranos, and several rows of altos behind them.
I am bewildered and don't know how I can possibly conduct this ensemble, I go outside for a breather. There's a veranda outside overlooking an urban scene and some desert. There, the man who originally brought me to Egypt to conduct, perhaps their professor or guru, talks to me.
"It's so random," I say, "I'm not sure how to handle it."
I pull out a book in which there is a seating chart of the room inside. I look at this map and try to determine the nationalities of the singers. "If enough of them are of the same ethnicity," I say, "such as all Arab," I could handle it. I start marking up the page.
Suddenly I am aware of another person beside me. He has an auto-stamping device that prints a dark blue circular logo on the page. He starts stamping all the Arabs in the room map.
"You can't stamp this!" I say. "It's my passport."
"All right," he says. I see now, he is preparing to take over the chorus as soon as he has figured out who all the Arabs are. He well then become the conductor, freeing me to sneak off into the moonlight, perhaps fly away. I wake up.