I was lulled to sleep by the cold temperatures of the operating room and the soft hallucinogenic notes of the drug.  It paired nicely with my medium aged heart.  

I remember the dream vividly.  I was playing the viola in the string section of the orchestra.  I wasn't playing Somewhere Over the Rainbow as I had in my sixth grade concert.  It was an older longer piece and the soprano voice of Judy Garland was replaced by the lower voice of Oum Kalthoum as she held the words of The Love of My Life in her arms, her wide outatretched arms that carried the entirety of the room like the arms of a sun goddess.  

Come taste the bite of love with me

Taste it.

Taste it.

Taste it. 

I tasted her notes.  They landed on my tongue like the young arils of a fresh pomegranate.  I swam in her intricate compartments until every last aril was gone.  I searched and searched for more but each chamber of the fruit was empty.  I sat and waited for more.  Perhaps they would grow?  Instead, I heard the sound of a beat coming from outside the thick walls of the fruit.  It was    an ordered beat, like that of the tabla directing the steps of a dancer, instructing her hips.

"Mohammed?  Mohammed?  Can you hear me?  Came the voice of the surgeon's assistant behind my vanity curtain (curtain of vanity).  We need to put you completely under to test the device.

  It was the beginning 

Nazi and Huma were also in the orchestra.  Incorporate?

How to fold Arabesque art and Ibn Nafis into the dream?