November 22, 2011

• GOING BACK

      GOING BACK

   

  Last night I dreamed that I died. My death was totally obscure of any detail, but it resulted in me being transcended to a place of unrestricted wonder. A strange but soothing place. A simple place where life blossomed. I knew it wasn’t heaven as God and I parted ways long ago. It was a place of many oddities, one of which was the absents of hate! No one understood the concept of animosity, jealousy, distrust or betrayal. It was not that everyone loved each other but better to say they were unrestricted in their feelings and all were cordial and considerate. There was total unfiltered honesty and this was displayed without effort or endeavor. Because of this, the reality of judicial relief was not necessary. Confusion over rights or judgment was often left up to those in attendance or an elder to decide and then all would depart in agreement. There was, without explanation, no obligatory enforcement required, therefore, the restrictive need of police was nonexistent.

      Every mortal was stupid. The combined I.Q. of an entire family must have been less than 100 and this was considered respectful. Having an intellectual void restricted the need to read and write and enhanced the honored status of story tellers who, verbatim, told the true and treasured stories of ancestral events both grand and adventuress. The verbal recitals were all given in truth as lying was a malady of retardation. Those that were adapt in head thinking usually made up songs and thus were considered a prize among the people.

      “Man religion” was never an indoctrination because even in the most inquisitive of minds, the people just simply could not associate God and Nature with the simplicity of man. Therefore, there were no restricted dogmas or commandments. This eliminated the self ordained priest, shamans and conjurers. The people knew their God and showed their respect with celebrations of feast and thankful benevolence. There was also the telling of good God stories.

      Here, as in the conscious world, people died every day. Illnesses, accidents and the passing of a long life. The deceased were buried with proper dignity and dutiful traditions. It was always a sad event but very much a part of their simple life. The passing, however, of an elder was a heart wrenching occasion. The lost of the ancient ones was a loss of great experience and worthy counseling. They would mourn unrestricted for days if not weeks.

      All the people gathered together each morning for their first meal of the day. The young women would bring out warm and rich porridges and fresh sweet breads. The young boys carried steaming pitchers of herb tea sweetened with blossom honey. After the grand meal the good folk would all go out to the different fields and tend to the collective crops while the boys tended the flocks of sheep and goats and the girls looked after the home gardens. At mid-sun, carts were brought out with fresh water, fire baked potatoes and good bread. At the end of the day all would return to their homes to rest and enjoy a good meal, family and the comfort of hearth and fire. Their days were not complicated or demanding. There was order and a type of subliminal discipline that never required a restricted obedience or compliance. There was no chaos.

      The dream ended at 6 am when my alarm clock began blaring misdialed static. I microwaved a cup of instant coffee and sat down with a plastic wrapped Danish. My phone vibrated across the small kitchen table and while I ate I checked my voice mail. My computer crashed two days ago from a Godzilla virus, so I was restricted to depending on my iPod to communicate. I just did make it to the 7-11 to gas up. The pump declined my credit card, (like I thought I would), and I ended up using my debit card while some guy in a heavy accent squawked at me over the intercom.

      I finished my fifty minute commute to work and then ran up the back steps to the third floor. I was over 30 minutes late….again. I sneaked into my small restrictive cubicle and sat down at my desk. There was an envelop. In it was my pink slip and final paycheck. Security help to gather my things and a few minutes later I was slowly driving back to my studio apartment. I was, for lack of a better word, “home” around 9 am. The elevator was broke again and I had to climb the four flights of stairs carrying a file box of my cubicle adornments.

      Tired and winded, I finally reached my apartment and once inside I collapsed on my “secondhand” sofa that still smelled like someone’s cat. After a few sober moments I stood up and slowly walked out onto my small balcony with the dead plants and single plastic chair. I looked down below at the stirring clusters of small human figures running along the sidewalk in pursuit of their own restricted and senseless missions. Even from the fourth floor I can smell and retch from the city’s exhaust and my mind begins to numb from the din of angry traffic and the empty rhetoric of urban music booming from blocks away. I close my eyes and I think of last night’s dream. The serene and mystical purity of it all. Only in this dream do I feel like I have a soul. I continue to daydream of the good folk and the sunshine and laughter. I now feel at peace and I begin to smile as I open my eyes to see the pavement rushing towards me.

  • 10:40 pm
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