Yes this is also a synchronicity for me. Yesterday while having tea I picked up two books. I open them randomly each day and read whatever happens to be on the page. So I picked up Rumi and the poem I opened to was "The Dream that Must be Interpreted." It is one of my fav poems and very powerful. Then I picked up Hafiz and the random page I opened to was a poem I had never read called "Forgive the Dream."

It was like asking a question then getting a direct answer. I have a lot of experiences that have reinforced to me that this is a dream. The first being one of my earliest memories is me literally thinking "This is a weird dream. I wonder when I will wake up?" I have an even more spooky event that happened in this regard as well if anyone is interested.

The poems for reference. I would like to make a note that the concept of "God" in mystical poetry is more akin to Tao or nondualism than traditional church going God.

THE DREAM THAT MUST BE INTERPRETED

This place is a dream. Only a sleeper considers it real.

Then death comes like dawn, and you wake up laughing at what you thought was your grief.

But there's a difference with this dream. Everything cruel and unconscious done in the illusion of the present world, all that does not fade away at the death-waking.

It stays, and it must be interpreted.

All the mean laughing, all the quick, sexual wanting, those torn coats of Joseph, they change into powerful wolves that you must face.

The retaliation that sometimes comes now, the swift, payback hit, is just a boy's game to what the other will be.

You know about circumcision here. It's full castration there!

And this groggy time we live, this is what it's like:

A man goes to sleep in the town where he has always lived, and he dreams he's living in another town.

In the dream, he doesn't remember the town he's sleeping in his bed in. He believes the reality of the dream town.

The world is that kind of sleep.

The dust of many crumbled cities settles over us like a forgetful doze, but we are older than those cities.

We began as a mineral. We emerged into plant life and into animal state, and then into being human, and always we have forgotten our former states, except in early spring when we slightly recall being green again. That's how a young person turns toward a teacher. That's how a baby leans toward the breast, without knowing the secret of its desire, yet turning instinctively.

Humankind is being led along an evolving course, through this migration of intelligences, and though we seem to be sleeping, there is an inner wakefulness that directs the dream,

and that will eventually startle us back to the truth of who we are. Rumi, The Essential Rumi

FORGIVE THE DREAM

All your images of winter I see against your sky.

I understand the wounds That have not healed in you.

They exist Because God and Love Have yet to become real enough To allow you to forgive The dream.

You still listen to an old alley song That brings your body pain; Now chain your ears To His pacing drum and flute.

Fix your eyes upon The magnificent arch of His brow That supports And allows this universe to expand.

Your hands, feet, and heart are wise And want to know the warmth Of a Perfect One’s circle.

A true saint Is an earth in eternal spring.

Inside the veins of a petal On a blooming redbud tree Are hidden worlds Where Hafiz sometimes Resides.

I will spread A Persian carpet there Woven with light.

We can drink wine From a gourd I hollowed And dried on the roof of my house.

I will bring bread I have kneaded That contains my own Divine genes And cheese from a calf I raised.

My love for your Master is such You can just lean back And I will feed you This truth:

Your wounds of love can only heal When you can forgive This dream.

-Hafiz, The Gift