One Must Imagine Sisyphus Happy

A lecture hall

Seated at about the middle of the hall, I first notice all the seats before me are empty. I intuit there must be some students behind me, else this is a rather poorly attended lecture. Right? Maybe. I don't bother to turn to look. At the front, President Obama leads the class. He wears black pants and a white dress shirt with no tie. He talks and I hear words but I am not listening. I am just watching him, more interested in how he moves. How he maneuvers. Starting from the center, he glides to the left a few paces with his long, casual stride. This first move is inconspicuous. One expects the teacher to wander a bit, to engage the whole room and to reach either end of the chalkboard. But then he takes another step to the left. More talk. And then another move to the left.

Now, I take notice that this is odd. He keeps going left. And now he is also gesturing left with the chalk in his hand, emphasizing and exaggerating his movement. He has gone too far. He's at the edge of the blackboard. Or is it a whiteboard? For a moment I unfocus the professor and squint at the board. It's a blackboard, but it's one of those green ones. But enough about the board, I look back at Obama. He is still going left. Another step and he will be out the door that flanks the room. He can't go any further, yet still he is leaning, ready to move once more. Time stops. This can't be real. Him, down there in front, frozen midstep, his leg halfway through the doorway. Me, alone in the center, agaze in disbelief.

At last, my observations become a conscious thought: Why is he going left? My confusion progresses to speculation and eventually to amusement. I can only guess that he is compelled to go left. Or he is being dragged left by an invisible hand. Or the whole world is tipping left and he is merely obeying gravity, but I am oblivious to the imbalance. I cannot know. I can only stare with delighted puzzlement.

Now, another thought enters my mind: That's my left, but his right. He must think he's going right, but not so from my point of view or anyone else's in the room. Is there anyone else in the room? Now I want to turn to look but the world has already frozen and I am too late to move. I can only linger on that paradox that his right is my left, and so my right must be his left, but which left is The Left? It's all because of the different points of view. He and I are victims of geometry. It all seems relative to me, conveniently. But maybe there is an absolute. Sigh, I'm ruminating. My final take is that it's like he is on stage, so his orientation is backwards. Or ours is. Which one is "stage" left? From the perspective of the actors or the audience? I struggle to recall which. It seems as if knowing that bit of trivia in this moment would bring some closure or payoff to this scene. But alas, I cannot remember. Oh well. The urge to laugh is too strong to resist and I can't hold the moment still any longer.

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This was not meant to be a political satire. What amused me so much, both in the dream and afterward, was that it could be mistaken for one.