I woke up in the middle of a night. I was sweating. I was breathing heavily. Again, I dreamed my current nightmare! I usually denied this dream’s possibility of being real, but now, I could not, not anymore. The dream had repeated itself too frequently, as if God wanted me to comprehend that this will be my apocalypse.
In this dream, I was in London near the House of Commons. In front of me, there was a bridge, which was the nearest one to Big Ben. I faced a man, who was a few inches taller than me. This man was as fearless as I was, perhaps he was bolder than me. His face was a painting of war, but not against me; the war was against the government. Behind him, on the bridge, there was a crowd of wrathful people, the man’s army, who campaigned for a stateless country and against a pseudo-democratic regime. Another significant feature of the leader of the crowd, the man which I faced, was his tattoo. The tattoo was clearly exposed on his hairless chest. It was a tattoo of anarchy; the letter O circled the letter A. The tattoo was flame-red. The tattoo was alike to the man’s eyes. His eyes were filled with a desire to abolish and replace the current political system for a new one.
I… I subjectively adored anarchism for its principles, but I also knew, from the bottom of my heart, that anarchism was, and is, a utopian political system, which was, and is, unworkable in this world. I also comprehended that not everyone would appreciate lawless countries, but they would prefer to live in fear and oppression of an affluent elite. Furthermore, I knew undoubtedly that I cannot change everyone’s mind on this political matter. And even in my lectures, I knew that my persuasion had its limits. After all, we are individuals who make our own decisions. And whether or not individuals were influenced by me, it may not matter much … this dream, strangely seemed, in my eyes, a possibility. ‘‘WE WANT A REVOLUTION!’’ The angry crowd shouted in my dream. I could see it coming, but I feared it. I feared this revolution as it would be one of those rebellions, were blood would be shared not simply amongst rioters and policemen but this blood of violence would also spill amongst neighbours, siblings, parents and children. For me, this revolution was akin to chaos and not anarchy. Anarchy is a political system, a thoughtful process. Whereas, chaos is a careless process, which is led by manic leaders and followed by mindless crowds.
Now, I had awoken with this realisation of a rising rebellion, and I could no longer sleep. Nevertheless, this realisation never seemed to distract me, while I was delivering my lectures, which pleased me greatly. Yet, my lack of focus and hiding from the truth of my destiny, made me weak and vulnerable. At that stage of my life, the hiding and the pretending that I had everything under control, led me to becoming a person, which I always tried to avoid being. I became a hypocrite!