Digging

Seeing that all the tables were now full, I leaned against the back wall. I tried to focus on the music, but I couldn’t seem to shake the strange man’s words. He was, obviously, crazy, but what he said still bothered me. I wondered if there could be any truth to his madness. How was it that I could write such a popular novel and not even like what I was writing about? How was it that I could write and not have to think about it? Most authors plan out their plots and characters, but I had simply wrote. It just came to me. Was that strange?

Trying to shake the thoughts, once more, I moved closer, hoping the loud music would drown out my confusion. My theory was right, and I began to enjoy the music again. It doesn't hurt me. The band began to play their version of Kate Bush’s “Running Up That Hill.” You want to feel how it feels. A bright light flashed. You wanna know? Know that it doesn't hurt me. Again, the light flashed. At first I thought it was the band’s effects, but then I saw the outline of four figures. You wanna hear about the deal I'm making? The light flashed again, and the three figures closest to me looked afraid as the fourth approached them. If I only could make a deal with God. The figure advanced, right arm outstretched. Get Him to swap our places. The light flashed again and the farthest of the three collapsed. Be running up that road. The others seemed frightened, but kept their ground. Be running up that hill. More lights flashed. Be running up that building. Another figure fell. You don't wanna hurt me. I saw lights again, and the last of the three figures fell. You wanna see how deep the bullet lies. The figure kept his stride. Unaware that I'm tearing you asunder. There's a thunder in our hearts. The figure raised its arm, and another flash proceeded, brighter than the first.

I felt as if I were drowning in my own mind, groping for the surface. I couldn’t see either world clearly, torn between reality and memory. The memory; however, was foreign to me. Finally, I reached the surface and I took a deep breath of reality. Groping, now, for a way out, I ran through the blurry crowd. I pushed open the door and fell onto my knees. The vision had shaken me, more than anything. Quickly, the bouncer came to my side, but I waved him away, as the world started to become clear again.

With my regained balance, I stood up, patted off my knees, and began to walk down the street. As I walked, I tried to clear my head. The dark had completely consumed the alleyway, except for a small patch of sidewalk, which faded in and out of sight, due to a dying lamppost. Cigarette smoke left the air dense and putrid. The stars; however, shown bright and I couldn’t help but wonder if Dree had really seen these same stars, at one time.

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The morning greeted me unkindly, taunting me with the desire for peace. Hoping my routine would put things back to normal, I slipped on my jeans and buttoned up my shirt, headed down the stairs, and jumped into the car. I raced down the drive and cranked up the radio. Franz Ferdinand blared through the speakers, covering any trace of last night’s weirdness. I pulled up to the curb and dropped four pounds into the meter. The line was shorter today, but only because it was earlier.

Sleep had avoided me most of the night, and around four I had decided that enough was enough. To make sure I didn’t start to dwell on the night before, I did something that I rarely ever do. I watched television, making sure that it was something which would turn my brain to complete mush. So I watched Spongebob. Even so, it didn’t help, and around five-thirty I left the house.

The coffee shop was quieter at this time of day, which, normally, would have been welcomed for the stimulation of ideas, but today, ideas were a bad thing. I began to give in. How long could I avoid my story, anyway? I did have to get another one in print by next July. So, as I stood there, I began to formulate theories.

First: the man was just insane; therefore, I had, of my own resolve, written a very popular book in a very strange way. Though, there could be many other authors who write stories which revolve around a dream they had. Why not? I had. I wanted, so badly, to believe this theory, but the concept, which sat fresh in my mind, festered.

“And what would you like, Liam?” The round woman grinned, revealing aged laugh lines.

“The usual, Dolores.” I smiled back. “Actually, I’ll try the white chocolate mocha latte with skim milk.”

“Oh, daring today, are we? What happened to spark the change? A woman? White Chocolate…sure sounds like a woman.” Dolores winked, pouring in the milk.

“There’s no woman. I can assure you of that.”

“Oh well, maybe someday. But you’re already twenty-six, right? Time’s wasting away. Better hurry up.” She smiled, again, squirt the whipped cream on top, and handed me the drink.

“Thanks for the drink, and the advice, Dolores.” I said, taking the coffee.

“No problem, dear. You know, I have…”

“A daughter my age. You’ve told me before, but Kate just isn’t my type. Sorry. She’s gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, I’m just…” I studied the floor tiles.

“Waiting for the right one. We really need to stop having this conversation, don’t we?”

“Well, If you’d stop bringing up my lack-of-a-love life and your daughter, I wouldn’t have to…” I looked up from the floor, but my words were cut off by the sudden sadness in her smoky blue eyes. She really cared about me, but I didn’t need a girlfriend, right now. I had too much on my plate, as it was. “Thanks, Dolores, but you shouldn’t worry about me. I’ll be alright.” I smiled, weakly, barely believing my own words.

Finding a quiet spot in the back of the shop, I sat down in the booth. As I sipped my coffee, the dreaded theory rose again. If I was so effing convinced of my first, and most rational, theory, then why does this one keep popping up. It was utterly insane.

I, finally, decided the shop was not a good place for me, right now. Almost to my car, I spotted a Borders bookstore. No, I thought to myself, don’t do it, but my feet weren’t listening. I entered the bookstore and quickly found myself in the New Age section. Picking through the books, I found three and purchased them.

Eager to read them, I raced back to the house. Grabbing an apple off the counter, I exited through the back door. I sat down, back against a tree, facing the water. I considered which to read, taking a bite of my apple. Picking which I thought would have the easiest contents to digest, I opened Lucid Dreams and began to read.

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A lucid dream is a dream in which the individual is knowledgeable that he or she is dreaming while it is in development. Many times the dreamer can successfully manage the dream, characters, and environment. Impossible feats such as: flying or breathing underwater, can be controlled, as well.

There are two ways, in which lucid dreams can occur:

1. A dream-initiated lucid dream (DILD), begins as a normal dream, until the individual realizes that he or she is dreaming.

2. A wake-initiated lucid dream (WILD) happens when an individual moves quickly from the state of awareness to the dreaming state, without a period of sleep.

Lucid dreaming is more common among children than adults. While lucid dreaming is a hardened skill, several techniques can be used to achieve lucid dreaming intentionally, such as: reality testing, dream recall, and dream signs.

Reality testing is used to see whether or not one is dreaming. Practicing certain methods can, possibly, lead to use in the dreaming state. Many tests include: reading a line or two and looking away, and then reading the same lines again. The lines should have changed. One could, also, flip a light switch, because the lighting in a dream rarely changes. If one looks into a mirror in a dream, the image should be blurred or distorted.

Dream recall is, simply, the aptitude to remember one’s dreams. Recall is the first step to lucid dreaming. The best way to improve dream recall is to keep a dream journal. This shows intentional awareness to dreams.

There are five dream signs which are used to determine if one is dreaming: action, context, cohesion, form, and awareness. If the character, typically oneself, is performing impossible tasks, this is considered action. If the setting is unusual or implausible, random characters appear, or there are distorted sizes and colors, this is the context sign. Cohesion is defined by quick changes in setting altogether without appearance of transportation. Form is when characters or objects are distorted in image. A peculiar thought, a strong emotion, an unusual sensation, or altered perceptions, shows awareness.

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Pulling away from the book, the words penetrated my mind: lucid dreaming is a hardened skill… I had never practiced or dreamed intentionally, yet I had moved through my dreams as if they had been real and I had remembered each one vividly without any intention. I briefly skimmed over the dream signs. The dreams which had inspired my book didn’t seem to fit any of the signs, except for awareness.

I sat back against the tree and took a deep breath, eyes scanning the countryside. Maybe the next book would be of more help. I flipped open Memory Methods, but as I skimmed it’s pages I found nothing of importance. A few of the techniques mentioned might be of some future help, but not at the moment. Past Lives was my last hope.

Reincarnation means “to be made flesh again.”

I couldn’t believe I was, actually, considering this, but my eyes were glued to the pages.

Reincarnation is the belief that the spirit lives on after the body dies and is reborn later with a new body. According to such beliefs, a new personality is developed during each life in the physical world, but some part of the being remains constantly present throughout these successive lives, as well.

The new personality was me, but the dreams…and the vision…was that someone’s being remaining with me? Did I…have part of someone else? I felt like someone who had received a organ donation and was having “supernatural” problems. I had read the stories and watched the shows on the Discovery Channel. A woman gets a transplant and finds she is prompted to do things she would not normally do, like shoplift or find interest in hobbies she would have never considered before. I was not doing unnatural things, but I had memories which were definitely not my own.

Suddenly I felt bad for publishing something that did not, apparently, belong to me. Maybe the mystery man at the club was sent to warn me? No, he was trying to provoke me, more than warn me. Maybe the reasons my dreams had stopped was because the spirit was mad? Or…maybe the man had died before the “story” had ended? I will just have to finish it on my own, then, I thought, No Bestseller this time.

But what about the vision? It hadn’t felt the same as the dreams? Was it something else entirely? Maybe I was just hallucinating from the heat and lack of oxygen? The man’s words must have conflicted with the atmosphere. Who were the figures? They had been so blurred, I did not even know if they were human or not.

I shook my head, as if the thoughts were flees. Picking my books up, I decided I had thought hard enough for the day and needed to get to my actual writing. Maybe my findings would inspire a new story, apart from this madness.