The Fish Eating Sharon

He was surveying a scene in the desert. I happened to be in the area.

When I came upon him, he looked a little deranged. He was out of breath. His head was nearly shaved and his face was stern like an etching in stone.

He wore khaki pants, a typical bland old man’s Israeli button down shirt and an even blander light jacket, which probably felt comfortable over the cool evening desert wind.

Sharon wasn’t surrounded by body guards and he wasn’t in the least bit concerned. The aging prime minister gave over the impression he was still the old general, though his speech was slurred and his demeanor more ‘grandpaish.’

With the man making history by withdrawing from Gaza at my disposal (he was in my dream), I walked with him as he covered sand dune after sand dune like a man on a mission.

There were strobe lights and occasional gun fire in the background where visually, everything was a blur.

“Tell me Mr. Sharon,” I said, “How were you able to change your political direction so drastically that you forced the disengagement plan upon this nation?”

As he began to speak, he sounded like a cross between Marlon Brando and Batman.

“You see, I went to Tel Aviv one night,” Sharon began to explain, his lips like two gates moving up and down.

“I ate at a nice fish restaurant by the beach near the Hilton,” he said. “After the meal I said to myself, ‘What’s it all for?”

I followed him around with the intention to ask him other questions but awoke.

People never die in their dreams and i probably would have fainted by some of the things he may have said.

So there you have it.

The bulldozer dines on fish and knocks down some settlements; another warning that in the Middle East one must watch what he eats.