SARAH IS FREE

Locked in a cell, your dreams are one of the only places you can go to feel free.  There is a place in your subconscious where the countless restrictions placed on your body and spirit are temporarily lifted, where you can soar.

Wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket with a shirt wrapped around my eyes to block out the flourescent lights, my lonely cot at Evin Prison was a small comfort, a reminder that I had made it through yet another day. In our dreams, Shane, Josh and I could travel across the world, revisit the past and even venture into the future. I used to dream up adventures in the streets and markets of Tehran, I would talk to imaginary Iranian people and assure them of our innocence. I dreamed that I was finally allowed a cell mate; she was sad like me but we were together and she promised to teach me Farsi. I once dreamed that I was able to hide a kitten under my chador and sneak it into my cell, another time I received a surprise phone call from President Obama and yet another time my sweet mother came to visit me (which later came true) in a garden inside the prison. Those dreams were the only way that Shane, Josh and I could see the faces of our loved ones, hear their words and stay connected to the world we love.

Since I’ve been free, many of you have told me about your dreams about Shane, Josh and I over the last 2 years. Dreams are powerful connectors, so I’d like to ask you all to share yours here now, anonymously if you like, just like Shane, Josh and I did so many times during the brief time we had together in the prison’s open-air room. I’ll start with my own, one that I had while I was still detained:

I dreamed that I woke up in the middle of the night and the door of my cell was wide open. Somehow, I got a hold of some giant crayons. I walked down all the corridors, upstairs and downstairs. The bright lights were all on as usual but everyone was sleeping, even the guards, and there wasn’t a sound. Wearing a long white dress, I began to draw lines across the walls and cell doors. I drew a line across the whole prison, crossing it out and connecting all of us inside at the same time. The next day (in my dream), the investigators called me into the interrogation room and accused me of being the one who graffitied the walls. “How could I have done it when I was locked in my cell and I have no crayons?” I asked. “Anyway,” I said, “those marks are lines of hope. There are a lot of people trying to help us on the outside. It could have been any one of them that drew those lines. It’s art,” I told them, “it’s not a crime for them to give us hope.”

More than any other topic, Josh, Shane and I dreamed about the day we would all be freed. All 3 of us dreamed dozens of times about a big homecoming party, with everyone we had ever known in attendance. We called these “Temporary Freedom Dreams” and they helped us keep our hope alive, knowing that every day we were that much closer to the real thing.

Until Freedom, Sarah Shourd