It is impossible to recall all of this because it went on for a very long time both before and after a short waking break. Here is the gist.
The dream starts in a very upmarket high specification domestic kitchen. I am tasked with cooking a meal therein. However, the kitchen is an absolute “bomb site”. All the surfaces are covered with plates, condiments, and debris. I remonstrate to the owner that they need to clear this mess up if they want me to cook. The mess is huge and it is of their making. The owner does not accept that the mess is a) bad and b) of their own making. I start to try to cook on the range. I have a clean pan and am able to gather some ingredients together in the sink. It is very difficult to work with all the heavily cluttered surfaces. I know in the dream that this is a metaphor for a huge mess in the web of life made by others. It is not my responsibility to clean up this mess but until it is cleared I cannot “cook” or do anything meaningful.
I am now in a laboratory setting. The laboratory is beyond chaotic. There are glassware and books everywhere. There are lab electronics, computers and displays. The optical table is littered with unmounted optics. The place is very unkempt. Again, I know that the mess is not of my making. The algorithm for convergence, a variational quantum method, is failing to converge. With each day it is more and more divergent. I know that we could use Møller-Plesset perturbation theory with a large basis set. A larger basis set is perhaps the answer. This might help the problem to converge. But the lab owners fail to accept that the mess is of their origin, so there is no chance that they will listen to my advice.
I am now in a house in South London. I am trying to figure out a way to solve the mess. A black woman is looking into my house. On the floor are rubble, empty cans and strips of pharmaceuticals. This is not the ideal place for me to work. The havoc in my house has not been caused by me. The terrible mess has been made by others. In the background I can hear, “They should not have killed Biko, Biko never trouble no one.” The black woman sighs and turns away.
Dream ends.
Traou an Dour 