Lucid Dreams Of Fire, Smoke And Healing

     I subscribe to Lilou Mace's Juicy Tours on YouTube. Lilou recently interviewed lucid dream instructor Charlie Morley. Afterwards I immediately ordered a copy Charlie's book Dreams of Awakening. This was one of a very few books I finished reading and flipped right back to the beginning to read again. Here was a spiritual practice based on how I have always dreamed! Now I was learning how to use it. I was enthralled to say the very least. I would be reading the book a third time except I gave it away to someone who expressed an interest. 

     Once a person delves into lucid dreaming, the ability to recall dreams grows stronger. Also, the dreamer knows s/he is dreaming while the dream is happening. This was certainly the case with me last night.

     I read a post on Facebook that said in effect we are where we are in life as a result not of circumstances, but rather the choices we made. Given my current circumstances I wanted to discover the instances where other choices might have been which would have lead me on a "happier" path. Other books I've read recently about non-linear time suggest the possibility of revisiting our choices and making alternate selections.

If there was something in my past that I could do over to relieve me my present situation I was all for it. If I could also rid myself of this week old chest cold, so much the better. 

     As I began to drift into sleep, I told myself to pay attention and remember the details of my dream. I stated my intention, "I want to view the particular choices where choosing differently would bring a positive change in my life." My dreams are always like watching a movie, this one featured a voice-over narrator.

     "If you make changes in your life, you will miss meeting some of the people who have mattered to you."

     "No, I don't agree. The people who have played meaningful roles in my life I would have met regardless. I want to see where I might have made better choices. I want to fix this!"

     Suddenly I was in a dark space of indeterminable dimensions. Smoke began to fill the space. I could hear fire crackling all around me as the smoke became denser. I began to cough, both as the person in the dream and the person in bed asleep having the dream. I comforted myself with a reminder that the fire was only a dream. I began coughing a lot and loud. Loud enough I discovered the next morning I woke my roommate whose room is across a hall and we both had our bedroom doors closed.

     I saw various shades of grey in the smoke. I decided to follow the lighter colored bands. I continued to hack and cough as I made my way through the space and eventually outside. In the fresh air and sunshine I turned to look at where I had been. The structure was completely destroyed by the fire. Only smoldering rubble remained.

     "Now what will you do? The records you hoped to see no longer exist," the voice over said.

     "All I can do," I said. "Move on."

     My coughing subsided in the fresh air of the dream. I finished the night sleeping peacefully. I didn't cough at all today.

     My dream freed me of any notion of punishment or bitch-slapped by Karma. I also read recently somewhere that if your path is smooth you're on the wrong path. I am most definitely then on the right path.  

     

    

     

Sometimes I Kill Myself Part 8

I watched my visitor as he seemed to walk through some kind of invisible curtain. I called out, “Maybe we’d be more comfortable sitting at the kitchen table.” There was no response and nothing more of my visitor as far as I could see. He seemed to pass into some rent in the air! Does that make any sense? Whatever the Ali Baba passage was neither Open sesame, nor Open simsim were the magic phrases to permit me follow. Buster apparently felt safe enough now to run out from his hiding place behind the sofa to the kitchen door. He still needed to go out. I grabbed a jacket.

As Buster and I strolled, or rather I strolled while Buster sniffed out a suitable spot for his business, I attempted to clear my head. My mind had other ideas. My conversation with Masson Number Two played as an inner audio loop. A couple things he said became magnified with repetition. The main one being that he thought I must have killed the man in the park. Secondly, he had only tracked him on line. On line? What did that mean? I always considered myself to be somewhat a man of the world. After all, didn’t I own a Rambler, Motor Trend’s 1963 Car of the Year instead of a Ford or Chrysler?

I decided I would pay a visit to the local library to do a little research. Somehow the discovery of the meaning of on line was instrumental to understanding Number Two’s message. The library was only a short walk away so Buster and I headed in that direction. I tethered Buster to the empty bicycle rack, gave him a treat and told him, “I’ll be right out, boy.”

All I could find about the secret phrase was that English people don’t stand in line. They queue up or else stand on line. Masson’s statement that he had tracked Number Three on line made no sense. My only option was to give it up, at least for now, and go home.

Buster sprang to his feet when I reached the bike rack. He stood on his hind legs as wolfed softly a couple of times in greeting while pawing the air between us. I untied the lead and squatted to give Buster a hug and to receive his adulations. Buster has a way of kissing my face and sniffing my breath at the same time to see if I ate anything during my absence. Whether I had or not, this was his way of letting me know he expected a treat. I always gave him one.

Buster stopped all of a sudden as we turned the corner onto our street, pulling backward on the lead. Next thing he leapt up and into my arms, which is what he did whenever the boxer was around; the boxer belonging to Masson Number Two. The dog was standing on alert in the middle of the driveway. When he spotted me, he wagged his cropped tail and sat down to await my arrival. My Buster turned to put his arms around my neck and hide his face. Sight of the boxer cheered me as I took it as a sign Number Two and I would be able to finish our earlier conversation. I wanted to understand what he was talking about as well as his reasons for accusing me of murder.

The front door of the house opened. Someone whistled. The boxer stood up and walked toward the door. Just like his master had done, he disappeared into thin air right before me eyes. I closed my eyes and shook my head. The house was exactly as we had left it. The front door was closed. There was so sign of the boxer or his owner. My Buster jumped down and ran to the backyard gate. His fear and affection had managed to allow him to slip out of his gentle lead. I realized then I didn’t have his lead either. Buster was out of sight. I stood alone.

***

The man on the phone instructed me to meet him in the northeast corner of the park near the playground. He said he was bringing someone he was sure I would like to meet. A glance at my watch confirmed he was late. I stood up from where I sat at one of the picnic tables and strolled over to the edge of a grove of trees. I heard a crush of dry leaves behind me, the crack of a baseball meeting a bat, and a flash of white light. Then everything went black. I heard or saw nothing more. A foot to my ribs broke one. I inhaled the pain and released it. More dry leaves blanketed me. My final thoughts struck me as odd since I knew I was dying. I wished I had had a dog. I would have named him Buster.

Sometimes I Kill Myself Part 7

I grabbed my jacket, slipped Buster into his gentle lead and opened the kitchen door to go through the backyard. The sight of someone standing on the steps caused me to gasp.

“Detective Sintes! You caught me off guard. Buster and I are just going for a walk. Is there something I can do for you?”

“As a matter of fact, I came to share some information with you regarding the man you found in the park. I think you’ll find this interesting. Might we step inside? I’ll only keep you a couple minutes.”

“Of course, Detective. Just let me free Buster from his lead.” I opened the door and stepped back to allow Sintes to go in. “Stay in the yard, Buster. I’ll be right out.” I watched to make sure Buster wasn’t going to leap over the fence to show off, but he didn’t. I joined Sintes inside.

“So what was so important to bring you all the way over here? You could have phoned, you know.”

“I’m sorry if my visit is inconvenient. Like I said, I think you’ll find what I have to tell you interesting.”

“Well?”

“The man’s name is the same as yours. Masson is spelled with only one s and the last name is spelled m-e-r-s-a-l-t, but to speak it, the names are identical. Quite a coincidence wouldn’t you say, Meursault? You find a man who has died with virtually the same name as you and yet you claim you never met him?”

This news took a while to sink in. I didn’t understand what significance Sintes was attaching to this detail. Obviously, he was making something of it.

“No, I’ve never known anyone who was not family with my name. Certainly, I have never met anyone with a name so close to mine. Why mention this to me?”

“I found it a curiosity. That is all. I wondered if he might be some distant cousin or something like that. There is one other thing you might find interesting.”

“What is that, Detective? Did he also have a dog named Buster?”

Sintes looked at me as though I had presented him with another piece of evidence. “We haven’t determined an address for him yet. When we do and if we find a dog there, you’ll be the first person I tell. The other thing we do know about Mr. Mersalt is that he was due in court to be arraigned for child sexual abuse. It appears our victim had victims of his own.”

My jaw dropped. This was incredulous to me! “Again, Detective, why tell this to me? I’ve told you I didn’t know that man; I had never seen him before.”

“Given how details are emerging, I thought you should know. The public might confuse you with the victim. Some might even try to take justice into their own hands, especially where pedophilia is involved.”

“But the man who did unspeakable things to children is dead. Why should I worry about vigilantes? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You know how people can be sometimes. All it takes is some eager reporter to do an address trace and come up with your address. I’ll do all I can, of course, to keep a lid on that happening. We can’t always control the press. I think you might want to take extra precautions just in case. You have my number. Call me if you notice anyone doing anything out of the ordinary.”

As I opened the door so the detective and I could leave, we heard a blood curdling cry. I pushed past Sintes to see Buster lying in the yard a couple feet from the fence. The dog was obviously in a tremendous amount of pain. Sintes followed me to Buster. Someone had poured acid on him and his fur was melting away.

“How could someone do this to a dog?” I shouted at Sintes.

“I’m calling for an animal control van. We’ll get Buster taken care of. You stay here with him. I’m going to scout your neighborhood. I think our nightmare reporter had just stuck.”

Sintes ran off. I stayed with Buster and talked softly to him. I wanted to pet him, but there wasn’t any place to do that without causing him even more pain. I stretched out next to him on the grass so we could gaze into one another’s eyes. I still clutched his lead in my hand. “Hang in there, buddy. Help is coming. You’re going to be all right. I have your lead. We’ll go for that walk later. Just stay with me.”

Suddenly I heard a strange sound. I thought it must be the rescue team. “Hear that Buster? The medics are here. You’re going to be better in no time.”

The strange noise didn’t seem to get nearer, nor did it stop. I rolled to my other side. I reached out and turned off my alarm clock. Buster was standing on the bed next to me where he had dropped his lead to breathe into my face. In times such as this, dog breath is as sweet as violets.

“Okay. Okay. Buster, give a guy a chance to wake up, will ya?”

I got up, used the toilet and washed my face. Buster was eager to go outside and was being a nuisance. I managed to dress and slipped his gentle lead on him. As I opened the door to leave the house, I heard a huge explosion. An electrical transformer must have blown up. Ozone filled the air. To top it off, there was a man standing on the steps ready to enter. He had keys in one hand and a dog lead in the other. His dog was a boxer whom I felt like I knew. Buster definitely recognized him. He ran to the security of the backside of the sofa. The man seemed vaguely familiar and then he spoke.

“So it’s true!” he exclaimed. “There are two of us!”

“I beg your pardon,” I said.

“Does the name Masson Meursault mean anything to you, sir?”

“Of course it does. That’s my name.”

“Mine, too. This here is my dog Buster. I think your dog’s name is also Buster. Am I right?”

“Yes,” I replied with some hesitancy.

“I don’t know how long we have, but we definitely need to talk. Do you mind if we go to the living room?”

“What would we possibly have to talk about?”

“Survival, Masson, our continued survival. It’s highly unorthodox that we’re meeting like this. I think it must have something to do with the man we discovered in the park.”

“Wait a minute! What do you mean we discovered in the park? I found the body in the park. You weren’t there.”

“Actually I was. You and I are both the same. We’re separated by time. The man we found is also us. He was a pedophile. I think you must have killed him. I only found the man on line.”

“I think you’re right.”

“You mean you did kill him?”

“No, of course not. What I mean is I think you should come in so we can discuss this further in the living room. It’s right this way,” I said trying to be gracious.

“I know. Let’s be quick. Like I said, I don’t know how long we have for this visit.”

Sometimes I Kill Myself Part 6

“Masson, I have read through your journal. There are no dates on your entries. Do you write in your journal every day?”

“I record my dreams when I awaken. Sometimes there may be several entries for a single night. In my dreams there is no timeline, so I never thought to structure my journal that way. I sometimes think I am living, or I suppose I should say dreaming, in several dimensions of time. That last entry you read seems to indicate at least two layers are collapsing.”

“How do you feel about this?”

“Concerned. Disturbed I guess you’d say by the possible implications.”

“How so, Masson?”

“Doctor, assuming the theorists are correct. We lead multiple lives in multiple dimensions of time. If, as you say, at least two of mine are converging what are the consequences to me?”

“What makes you think anything unpleasant would result?”

“Isn’t that evident, Doctor? In one instance I hold to two opposing views: I don’t know what a phone number is and I recite one. A phone number, I might add, belongs to me. I know I am not insane, but don’t you think this dichotomy implies I am insane?”

“How do you feel?”

“I’m here for your opinion and advice. How I feel doesn’t matter to me nearly as much as how I seem to you and other people with whom I come into contact.”

“You seem like a rational man, Masson. People we deem to be insane have difficulty distinguishing between what is real and what is fantasy. Can you?”

“Tell reality from fantasy you mean? Of course I can.”

“How?”

“I just know.”

“But how do you know?”

“Well, for one thing in my dreams I have a dog named Buster who is devoted to me and always with me.”

“I assume you don’t have a dog?”

“No.”

“Interesting.”

“What’s interesting about my not having a dog?”

“You say you know you’re dreaming when you have a dog. Obviously you would like to have canine companionship. In your journals you write about Buster as your best friend. Is having a best friend a fantasy of yours rather than a reality, Masson?”

“When I was a kid I had a dog named Buster. He and I went everywhere together. He died. You can’t replace a friend. So when I dream, I have a dog named Buster.”

“What kind of a dog was your friend Buster, Masson?”

“My dad always called him a Heinz 57.”

“I noticed in your journal that Buster is never the same breed. Sometimes he’s a Jack Russell. At other times he’s a Boxer. Two very different dogs with very different temperaments. Neither of them a Heinz 57 as you say. Why do you suppose that is?”

“I honestly don’t know. I like them both. I like all kinds of dogs actually.”

“Yet you don’t want to have one live with you.”

“No.”

“Our time is up for today. Take your journal with you. Let’s see if your dreams change now that we have discussed them. I’ll be interested to read your entries next week.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Just one more thing; I have to ask: do you think I am losing my mind?”

“That is not for me to say. I am simply a tour guide. Let’s meet at this same time one week from today.”

***

As I finished writing about my visit with the doctor, I paused and considered dating it. Before I could even think what the date was Buster jumped up and the bed with his lead dangling from his mouth. He thought it was time the two of us went for a walk!

Sometimes I Kill Myself Part 5

I don’t know how I came to be seated in another office, just that I was there for an interview. The line of questions seemed to be designed to trip me up, you know, to confuse me into saying something I didn’t mean to say. Some of the most basic ones left me wanting for a proper answer. Of course, I knew my name. Masson Meursault is difficult to get wrong.

“What is you address?”

“If you mean to ask where I reside, obviously you know that already. You had me brought here, didn’t you?”

“For the record, Mr. Meursault, we have to ask. You do understand.”

“I’m not sure I understand your question. I live at Quarter House about five miles out the south post road.”

“Yes, but what is your street address?”

“Pardon?”

“How do you receive letters and parcels, etcetera?”

“Why, they’re delivered of course to my home.”

“And that is where?”

“I’ve just said. Quarter House. It’s about five miles out the south post road.”

“Fine. Let’s move on then. What is your phone number?”

“Phone number? I don’t know what that is. I’m sure I don’t have one.”

“How do people make contact with you?”

“The same as everyone. A stable boy of someone comes to the door with a note. If a reply is expected he waits while I write one otherwise, he leaves. Either way, I give him a coin for his trouble and he leaves. What an odd question, I must say.”

“So you don’t own a phone?”

“As I said before, I don’t know what one is so my answer must be no.”

Even as I said this, a strange series of numbers sprang into my mind. Sometimes the strangest ideas come to me without the slightest effort on my part. As I’m not a particularly creative person I don’t understand the why or wherefore of them. Under the circumstances I believed it best to keep that to myself. I lowered my hand for my dog Buster. He wasn’t there. His absence greatly distressed me. He is always at my side.

“Where’s my dog? Did you leave him home alone?”

“We didn’t notice a dog. Do you have one?”

“I wouldn’t have inquired about a dog I don’t have now would I? His name’s Buster. You must have seen him when you brought me here.”

A younger man standing silently at the door now spoke, “Sorry, but there was no dog, sir. Perhaps he had gone outdoors.”

“Perhaps. Not likely though.”

My last statement made little sense. I could feel myself slipping into a kind of fog. With Buster I felt lost without a compass. My senses were fading. The strangest thing happened next.

“5-5-2-9-9-9-0-2-4-6,” I recited as though from some memory. I witnessed the interviewer writing it down and then I fainted.

“Masson, do you realize you recited your phone number?”

“I need to find my dog.”

Sometimes I Kill Myself Part 4

Buster finally released me, but only so I could take him outside.

I never bother with putting a leash on him. Buster is so closely bonded to me there has never been any chance he would run away from me, even to chase a squirrel. As grey and misty as it the day is he will stay especially near to me.

When we arrive at the park, Buster spots a Jack Russell terrier he has tried to make friends with several times. The terrier wants nothing to do with my dog, so Buster curbs his enthusiasm and acts nonchalant. This morning, the terrier spouted off a series of short little barks as though he wanted Buster’s attention. Maybe there’s a chance for Buster and him to be friends after all. Buster totally ignores him and trots off to explore some underbrush. I wanted to get a look at the dog’s owner. I thought if we acted friendly, our dogs would follow suit. The foggy mist of the morning blocked my view. Man and dog seem to only be around on gloomy days like this. They went off on their own walk while I tried to determine where Buster had gone.

Suddenly there was a cry, no a wail, a howl. “Buster?” I yelled. “Where are you?” I had never heard Buster sound so mournful before. I was afraid he had gotten hurt somehow.

When I found him, he was resting his head on the waist of a man lying on the ground. “Buster! What’s the matter, boy?”

Buster raised his head and ran to me. He flung his paws around my waist to hug me. He was whimpering his relief that I was there. I hugged him back and quietly reassured him everything was all right. After a few minutes, Buster let go of me and walked back over to the body on the ground. He tapped the shoulder trying to wake the man. Nothing happened. Buster looked to me to do something.

“C’mon, Buster. Let’s go home and call the police.”

Buster lay down next to the man. I could go call the police. He would guard the body. I said okay. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere else.”

Buster laid his head on the small of the man’s back. I knew he would still be there when I returned.

When I arrived home, I called the emergency line. I told the dispatcher about the body. He said the police would be there shortly with an ambulance. “An ambulance won’t be necessary,” I replied.

“The medical examiner would need to transport the body for identification and autopsy,sir.”

“Oh, yeah, I didn't think of that. The man is obviously dead. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”

“Please make sure no one disturbs the area.”

“My dog stayed with the body to guard it. No one will get near there.”

“Is your dog trained for rescue?”

“He might have been. I adopted him from a shelter. I better get back over there or the police won’t be able to do their job.”

I arrived just as the police and the ambulance team parked their vehicles. When Buster saw help had arrived he came to me. Something was off. Boxers always have a sort of melancholy look, but he was visibly disturbed by all this. He apparently didn’t want to let the dead man out of his sight. All in all strange behavior considering we didn’t know the man.

Buster and I were politely thanked and sent on our way. “We’ll take it from here, sir,” said a man who identified himself as Detective Sintes. “If you wouldn’t mind giving this officer your contact information, I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure. No problem.” I turned to the officer who had pen and pad on the ready. “My name is Masson Meursault.”

“Wait a minute! I thought I recognized you. We’ve met before.”

“I don’t know how that’s possible, Detective. I haven’t had any contact with the police before, not even for a traffic ticket.”

“No, your name is familiar to me. We have met before. Officer, give Mr. Meursault and Buster here a ride home.”

“How do you know my dog’s name?”

“I heard you call him a few minutes ago.”

“I didn’t call him. He came to me on his own.”

“Maybe that’s how I know you. Through your dog, I mean. At any rate, the officer will give you both a ride. I’m sure we’ll be in touch.”

The detective rejoined the forensics team. Buster and I got into the squad car to be driven home. As I pulled the car door closed lightning struck the very spot were the detective and I had been talking. Buster climbed onto my lap and nuzzled his face under my arm. What a strange series of events! First Buster finds a dead body, then the police detective thinks he knows me, definitely knows the name of my dog and then we are nearly struck by lightning as we leave the park. The Universe was trying to tell me something, but what?