dreaming is

Was on my way to a place of books and knowledge, when I met my two teen-age neighbors who I'd befriended recently. They were "cool" guys, one small, one rough, both "tough". I noticed they had packed some weapons today, each a black gun of some sort, they must have been really bored. Didn't think too much about it until they shot a few people down right in front of a mixed part of town: a fancy man, a fancy woman, and a child. I didn't see them all, as I made it inside. No blood, no cries; I was going for where wisdom lies. The bookery was in the basement. I went. Straight to the information desk where the book lady sat, we began to chat. It was I who spoke mostly, she started getting annoyed. "Just one more question before I go..." I said "what's the meaning of dreaming?" She looked at me from across the information desk, her face young, intelligent with dark-rimmed sixties-style glasses. "Dreaming is a process..." is I think what she said, for my thoughts were so loud and insistent that I couldn't hear her anymore, just saw her mouth moving, words blindly spilling, while my own contemplations swamped my mind. Or did she say progress? Why do I miss the most important answers to my questions? I need to learn to listen better, silence consciousness for the sake of growth. "...for example..." she was saying "...I use it to develop the characters in my novel, which you don't need for you have plenty to read already..." she smiled at me, suddenly nice. I nodded approvingly as if I had understood it all, every golden word she had spoken, too ashamed to admit that I'd become victim to my ego-centric conscious. I made my way outside again, trying to make sense of what she had said, wondering how much I'd really absorbed. Outside the door by the bus stop, stood my two friends awaiting the public ride home. I greeted them jolly, but they were mad. The rougher one got aggressive and started to beat me. "Don't you say anything, not a word! You're going to tell!" I had been a witness to their crime. I assured them that I wouldn't say anything, for we were friends, but their anger was unstoppable. Nobody standing around seemed to mind that I was getting beat up, he kept hitting my face. Nobody cared. I took off in the opposite way to the bad side of town, where street vendors stood at wooden tables selling food, Mexicans and New Orleans. I went towards a Mexican man who was selling tacos and kind of explained what was going on. I couldn't go home, for I'd have to go past the bus stop where my neighbor boys stood. I was afraid. Nor did I want to pull out my cell phone and talk on the street since I had once gotten robbed. I checked and Andy hadn't called anyway. So I decided to stay by the Mexican man who treated me with dignity and I felt safe knowing he was Mexican, a family man, a husband, a hard working man. The tacos were great, so were the sauces, I ate. He told me how cruel the gringos could be...that was not the word he used. I realized that my neighbors, who I thought were my friends, were not once they had something to hide. A friend can be an accomplice to crime, but a criminal can afford no friend...

5 years later

The lessons I learned upon entering the inner temple, are the answers to the dilemmas I have recently faced. The dreamt path has taken five years (praise to Eris - thou art the fairest) in unfolding on the organic consciousness plain. Fascinating. I am in the jump. How long might it take? Might I land and be ok? Might I be able to catch up with Amitai and the other traveller? Where might the path that curves like the arm of a cave into the unknown lead?

I remember the carefully worn book with a brown leather cover that seemed to change in size, sometimes thicker, sometimes thinner. I believe to have placed it in the bundle. I also remember well the notes in green ink I looked at and tried to decipher. The pages had the scent of a scientist ahead in time who had scribbled them down frantically before becoming inorganic. Their language was alive and moved and morphed about the page making it hard to read. Symbols, drawings, words and phrases bounced around, danced about and shifted shapes.

dream 2007

Amitai led us to the temple. He is on a journey to the inner self. The superficial chamber was a majestic hall, as magnificent as the vault of a grand cathedral and as humble as the stomach of a cave: stoic and stony but open and fresh; lit only by the mystic glow of waxes and oils creating a reverent ambiance. The guide was already expecting us. No one else was there. He led us down the first set of stone stairs into a smaller chamber, like that of a cellar. He lit a candle and told Amitai that from this point on he'd have to find the path to the inner self, the innermost chamber of the temple, it's most sacred place, on his own. The attendant said nothing more and returned to the surface.
Though Amitai was sure of his quest, he expressed uncertainty as to the way which to take, for he had never been to the inner self. Nor had we.
I grew concerned, for we had no maps, no books and no instructions to help us out on this journey. The temple was vast and descended like a labyrinth deeper and deeper into an earthen womb in a series of chambers, hallways, tunnels and stairs with countless paths to turn on. I spotted a wooden fixture upon which lay a book and a piece of paper. I acquired it with enthusiasm as I discovered that it was a book about the temple which explained how to get out of the temple once the inner self had been reached. The paper was some sort of hand scribbled map in green ink starting at the place we were at. Excited about my finding I took it to Amitai who showed gracious indifference, he was too focused to pay it much mind. I guarded it anyway.
We proceeded into the next area which split up in a set of bigger rooms. To the left spanning very far back, there were shelves filled with books, chairs and couches and people all over the place: hangin', chillin', talking or simply being. Others were moving about, searching. A small hall led through to another path which grew dark and invisible, like a lightless tunnel. To the right I paid no mind at all.
Amitai led us right of the tunnel to another descent. It was a perfectly vertical non-stair. It went down deep. How could you possibly survive the jump? I wondered and grew nervous. Yet surely this was the way. Amitai and our other male companion figured out to throw down the bags, if a puddle of clear liquid formed beneath them at the bottom, they were ok to jump. But Maria was too frightened and disappeared into the room sequence of shelves and chairs. I went after her to try and convince her not to give up. Amitai and the other traveler stayed behind, they didn't seem to mind at all that Maria had left the path.
I looked around for a while glancing at books and faces. There she was in a group of women wearing make-up, red lipstick, blouses and skirts. Maria, too, looked like they did now. She said to me "I choose to stay here. It's ok to remain in a more superficial plain. Go on without me, this is what I want. Not everyone has to reach the inner self..." Though startled, I accepted and understood. Went back to the drop of stone, where the two men had already gone, they were down there barely waiting for me. As I arranged my things to throw them down -I took a long time to bundle up my robe in which I carefully placed my case of greens, which I thought to myself I wouldn't use in the temple anyway- a group of tourists led by a guide came along.
There were maybe half a dozen, maybe some more. The guide explained to them that they needed to jump. I understood that you needed to believe in the jump to be ok upon landing; believe in your path, know that you are going to be ok. Two of the tourists in front of me were very scared and someone said, "Help them!" So I did. I touched their arms to help them go. All the tourists dropped. On the ground they lay for a moment, then, they stood up. All but the two I had helped. These two now were dead. I understood that though you may encourage someone to jump, one alone must actually jump to proceed to the inner self.
Amitai and the other guy were already out of sight. I needed to hurry. I threw my bundle down and watched as the clear liquid puddle formed underneath on the bottom. Then I jumped.