Asian people evolved for tens of thousands of years on the steppes of Central Asia before being chased out into modern-day China and Japan due to decreasing rains. As a result, they maintain an atavistic Lamarckian node of memory that both animates their dreams and haunts their nightmares.
Asians, what is it like to dream of open steppes that you have never visited before, but can see just as clearly as though they surrounded you? What is it like to dream of "The Great Thirst" that drove your people across the mountain ranges of western China? Or when you dream of empty streams and dying horses?
There are many accounts of far-flung Asians (like Japanese-Brazilians) visiting the steppes of Kazakhstan for the first time, and collapsing to their knees with overflowing tears, as though they have returned to a homeland of their dreams.
Asians, what is it like to bear along these ancestor memories of grasslands and endless steppes that constantly intrude into your mindspace?
The celebrated poet Wu-Ping Liu (considered one of the "Five Great Masters of Fujian" and also the most lyrical among them) wrote in "The Book of Nine Waters" that "My day is the day of ceaseless rivers and reeds, and the turtle in the sedge. My night is the night of riverbeds and lone ducks dying on dry flats of mud."
Western scholars tried to interpret this as a veiled political argument, but new research indicates that he was speaking of ancestor memory and pan-Asian drought dreams.
