I dream. We all do. Some people remember their dreams and some don’t. I always remember mine. I dream often. I dream lucidly at times. Others, I dream I fly through unknown areas only to visit those places years later and find out that I already knew about them. I know what is at the end of the road, I know what I would find when I turn a corner. Some call it astral traveling or astral projection. Some say simply that our minds (some minds at least) work faster than we can perceive, so it conceives of places, locations, and situations before you are actually there. And hence when you get to that crossroads in your life, you have the sensation of Déjà vu.
A la mañana siguiente, poco después de despertar, decidimos pasar por la pensión a ducharnos, cambiarnos y coger documentos y enseres básicos para hacer un viaje al corazón del desierto. Para nuestra sorpresa, el posadero, un hombre de mediana edad con un hijo de unos siete años, nos comentó que pasó la noche preocupado por la falta de nuestro regreso, y como se había quedado con nuestros pasaportes, estaba a punto de llamar a la policía para notificar nuestra desaparición.
Many people have died for justice. Many people have died trying to expose the truth. Journalists, hackers, political activities, human right activists, doctors, revolutionaries, and many others have died because of the truth. Died, been killed, or being ‘suicided’. These people were and are true heroes. Their lives and sacrifices should be something we all look up to and try to emulate. There are only so many of them and too many of us. Revolution is in the air.