A dream last night has been haunting me for much of my life.
I am in an unfamiliar section of a city, trying to find the route home. I look at signs, then ask directions from several people, all of whom give me the wrong information. Is this deliberate? Or am I asking the wrong question?

"It is the eye that sets off the true question, the interrogation of all the interrogations which sleep in the letter. The eye, not the ear," wrote Edmund Jabès, addressing his monumental, The Book of Questions. He added that "there were a few obsessive words at the origin of these works." Among them, "the word: God (and) the word: Jew." God he defines as "the extreme name for abyss." While the Jew is "a figure of exile, of wandering, of strangeness and separation."

The other side of the tragedy of a people exiled throughout the world, who return to land of their coeval myth, is discussed by Marie-Louise von Franz: "Even the worst things you fall into are an effort of initiation, for you are in something which belongs to you." However, a homeland never belongs to a people, only its stories and the dreams they inspire. Bashō wrote:

summer grass—
                                     all that remains
                                            of warriors' dreams.

Robert Bosnak tells of an Aboriginal woman named Nhanyinitja, who told him of a song she had dreamed. "It seemed obvious to me that the dream portrayed some aspect of her life." When he suggested this to her, "She said that she had to go back to her people and teach them the song and the dance so they could dance it for the landscape in order to keep its memory intact."
The psychoanalyst didn't understand, until she explained "that the dream had a relationship to her but that it was not for her. The dream was for the land."