Last night I had a dream about Hong Kong. The place looked and felt familiar, and I recognized it without a trace of doubt. I'd been there before; I knew it from a previous visit. When I arrived at the hotel, looking down on the pool and across at the green hills was a kind of homecoming.
The strangest part happened after I woke. Lying in bed enjoying the memory of my travels, I realized that the place had not been Hong Kong. I did visit that city in 1983, but the dream place was somewhere else. Yet where? It was none of the real places I'd been, yet it was familiar.
In the end, I was convinced that the dream place was somewhere I'd visited in a dream before. This nocturnal sleep journey was a dream of a dream.