Escape. I need to get away.

Frantic, I peer around searching for a way out.

Heart pounding, I know if I don’t move quickly, they’ll be on me.

In a panic, I dash for the darkened opening that leads who knows where certain that I’ll be caught any moment.

So who are the ubiquitous “they” who are chasing me? I have no idea.

I have no idea what I’m afraid of, where I’m running from or to, and who it is that is pursuing me. All I know is that each night for the past 2 weeks, I’ve awakened in a cold sweaty panic, as I try to evade my pursuers.

Sometimes, I’m with one or more other people and we’re all trying to escape, other times I find that I need to rescue a child or puppy from imminent death; but most times, it’s just me, the dark, and the panicky need to escape.

So just what it is I’m running from? Based on other aspects of the dreams, I’d say that there are situations that I don’t want to become entangled in, and there are people and situations that I really prefer to avoid. The biggest issue I face while awake, though, is trying to determine just what and who those situations and people are. It seems so clear to me while I’m dreaming, and yet when awake, the details of the dreams are muzzy and unclear, which leaves me wondering just who I need to avoid—is it someone at work? Or is one of the projects going to cause me problems and upheavals? Is it merely a lesson that I need to learn, or is it truly a situation that is best avoided if my life is to continue on the path best suited for achieving my soul’s goals.

While I’d like some more meaningful answers to help me decide just what I need to do or not do, I do so wish that nightmares would end so that I could get some restful sleep. I understand and appreciate when my inner self needs to communicate with my waking self; however, sometimes the messages just don’t seem to make sense. There are just some times when a different means of communication are needed, and this is one of them. The nightmares are doing little except creating havoc with my sleep cycles and leaving me sleepy and irritable. It would be so much better if my inner me could just whip out a pen and paper and write a note in plain and simple words that I could then read and act upon.

As it is, whatever it is my inner self is trying to warn me about, will probably occur simply because I’m too sleepy and tired to see it coming.

I really wanted to like it. I’d heard so much about it, and it sounded like just like my type of book—all about the intercomplexities of relationships and the connections we all share as we move from one life to another (sometimes referred to as past and future lives). Add to that the odd title, Cloud Atlas, which sounded decidedly fantasy-like or science fiction, and I just knew it had to be great.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t have been more wrong. After waiting for it to become available from the library (thank goodness I didn’t waste my money on a copy), I dove straight into the first chapter and landed with a crash.

The author used the literary device of writing as if in a journal for the first section. And while that could be considered clever and somewhat unique, it was instead, boring and lifeless. There was no character development; everything was flat and one dimensional. The author told us in short snippets about absurdly boring details of the day, but didn’t allow us to actually experience or feel these details. We were told that the journalist was hurt at someone’s attitude, or affronted, or embarrassed, but without the accompanying illustration as to why, the words meant little, and left me feeling uncaring as to what the journalist felt, saw, or did. When the section ended abruptly in the midst of the journalist’s sentence, I was relieved. It hadn’t been all that interesting, but I had forced myself to continue reading in the hopes that the writing style might improve, and that I might actually glimpse a bit of story buried within the dreck.

The next section wasn’t much improvement. Instead of a journal, we now had letters being written by some other person of no relation to any of those mentioned in the journal. These letters were sent to someone we don’t know and know nothing about, and there are no replies from this unknown recipient. It was like having a short story (a very boring short story) end abruptly, so we could start on a new short story with new characters, in a new locale, and in the midst of some drama that we are (as of yet) unfamiliar with. Toward the end of this tale, we finally get the connection to the journal: the letter writer has found the journal amidst several of the books and has decided to read it. (How wonderful for us.)

The next section was actually written without a device. Yet, unfortunately, the characters were still lacking any depth or interest, and seemed totally lifeless. I was not in the least upset that he was killed or that those same villains were now after her. The tempo and the plot of this short story were well done, but the characters were not. The best thing I can say for this section was that I finally found out that the name, Cloud Atlas, referred to a piece of classical-type music written by one of the characters in the letter writing section, and had nothing to do with some futuristic city, as I had thought.

With that question answered, I felt no obligation to continue reading any further. I had completed more than half the book, and had little desire to force myself to endure any more.

Will I watch the movie? I don’t know. Perhaps, this is one of those instances where the movie is actually better than the book. Legally Blonde was like that—the book was impossible, yet the movie is quick witted and well-acted. So, maybe I’ll at least give the movie a try…who knows, it may actually be good.

I know I often write about my dreams, but that’s because dreams are important to our lives…and because I know a lot about dreams (hence, the book On dreams and dream symbols). But while this post is about another of my (bizarre) dreams, it’s also about a series of events of which the dream was just the latest.

The dream was about me being trapped in a mirror, one of those large cheval-type mirrors. I could see a rather spacious bathroom, all done in black and white tile with an old-fashioned claw foot tub. This same scene was reflected behind me in the mirror world, but I needed to get out of the mirror world or I would be late (late for what, I’m not sure). Frantic, I began beating on the glass hoping someone would come and help me. Instead, the glass broke apart and landed in the tub and I stepped out of the mirror world and into the tub containing the broken glass.

About a month ago, I attended a milestone birthday party for a friend. Her husband had hired a tarot reader to entertain everyone and predict their futures. My friend thought it was a wonderful extravagance, and encouraged each of us to sit with this reader. Being the skeptic that I am—I can’t help it; having the abilities myself makes me aware of just how often psychics-for-hire are merely entertainers looking for a payday—I kept avoiding the tarot reader. Eventually, my friend goaded me into it and I finally sat down and let the lady do her schtick. While she may have been in it for the money, she had enough intuitiveness to get many things right.

I’ve used tarot cards before, and I can do my own interpretations of the layouts, so I didn’t need to rely on the tarot reader’s interpretation; although, her interpretations and mine were pretty spot on. But overall, it just seemed like another step along a path that I had started in my teen years.

When I was 18, a friend wanted to learn about palmistry, so she asked her pals to make copies of their palm prints. She took those palm prints and, using several books that she either bought or borrowed from the library, she began to translate all the lines, loops, and breaks into a series of “predictions”. When she finished, she gave us each back a copy of our palm print with her notes. I read it through, and then filed it away and forgot about it.

That is, I forgot about it until all of these other events started up.

According to my girlfriend’s notes, my Fate Line shows a complete break between two decades of my life (this decade and the next, in fact). When the Fate line restarts, it starts as a V, with 2 distinct paths. One of those paths is short-lived, the other lasts for several more decades.

The tarot cards indicated a major life changing event occurring soon (although with tarot cards there is no way to easily define “soon”).

And the dream…well, the dream says that I’m trying to break away from my current world view and adopt a new world view. I’m facing (or will be soon) some inner or worldly issue that will require my strengthening or changing aspects of my character in order to survive. Seeing broken glass or mirrors means a change in my life, and I will find that a situation will come to an abrupt and untimely end. Meanwhile, escaping from the mirror world and into the real world bathroom/bathtub indicates a need and desire to escape from overwhelming issues and for self-renewal.

So, what’s coming? I don’t know. But it seems as if all the warning signs are there and they’re all saying the same thing: 

Danger! Life Altering Event Ahead!

Do I have any idea what kind of changes are in store? Not a clue…but if it’s a windfall (like a winning lottery ticket), I’m ready (and waiting).

I decided to go for a walk…nothing unusual in that. I love walking and do it as often as I can. What was unusual was my perception of things.

I was looking down on the world as if from a great height. I,who have been height-challenged my whole life, was looking at the landscape around me as if in a body that was tall…perhaps upwards of 7 or 8 feet tall.

It was strange, yet it was also awesome. I looked down at the sidewalk and it seemed so far away. It was more than twice the distance from me as normal, while the tops of the trees, which I was now focused on, seemed so close. I reached out toward the sky and felt as if I could grab the clouds in a bear hug.

I spun around like a child…my arms extended, my face pointed skyward. As I spun, I felt almost untethered. It was if the merest of threads kept me bound to the earth. I felt that if I truly wanted to, I could simply let go of that thread and leaving my body behind, I could soar right up to the clouds drifting by.

I took a step forward and my body awkwardly responded. It was if I had just learned to walk. I had to actually think about the motions I needed to make for my body to step forward. After about half a dozen steps the body and I felt more in tune with each other, and I didn’t have to focus so much on what I wanted it to do. However, the feeling of tallness, of towering over my actual physical form continued. It was if I were two people…the short, typical me, and a towering giant standing over me. It was an awesome feeling; an interesting perception of reality.

By the time I completed my walk, the two realities had finally merged back into one…the short reality of my “normal” body. But the feelings and awareness awakened by the experience of being so “tall” lingers. And in that lingering perspective is a new and unique (for me, anyway) of viewing the world and those in it.

It gave me a feeling of connectedness and uniqueness all at the same time. It gave me feelings of being the same, yet different; and it allowed me to understand that no matter who you are, we all see the same world…we all just see it from our own unique perspective.

Reblogged from Nae's Nest:

Born in 1953, Eben Alexander III grew up in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, the adopted son of a neurosurgeon father and a devoted mother. Following in his father’s footsteps, he went to medical school to become a neurosurgeon. He then went on to teach at Harvard, got married and had two sons. Life was good. But on November 10, 2008, at age 54, Dr.

Read more… 1,060 more words

I've written about my own near death experience in my book, Escorting the Dead: My Life as a Psychopomp, and here is another view from the perspective of a neurosurgeon, Dr. Eben Alexander III. This posting recounts an interview between Dr. Alexander and Oprah Winfrey, during which Dr. Alexander tries to explain what happened to him.

I’m exhausted again this morning. It’s not easy spending most of the night holding the closet door closed against all those boxes and objects that keep trying to fall out. There’s just so much you can do when the closet is too full, but you just can’t bring yourself to empty it.

However, last night, I had to let some of the boxes tumble out into the hallway. It upset me to have my things exposed where anybody might see them. But I had to rescue several puppies that had somehow found their way into my closet. They were so cute and absolutely adorable, and for some reason someone (I have no idea who) was trying to poison them, so both the puppies and I hid in the closet, which meant that some of the boxes had to be displaced.

Yes, I’m describing a dream. But it’s a strange, repeating dream, with odd variations played over a central theme—a too full closet the contents of which I’m having difficulty containing.

Sometimes, I can keep all the boxes hidden within the closet, and at other times (like last night with the puppies) I have to make a choice to let some of the contents out of the closet or allow something or someone to come to harm. Each time, I’ve chosen to “rescue” the person, puppy, kitten, bird, or whatever, and each time I’ve had to allow some of the “boxes” to escape the closet.

My initial reaction to this dream (besides the exhaustion from fighting to hold the closet door shut seemingly all night long) was that I was trying to contain my “secrets”. You know the type of stuff I mean—information that I didn’t really want people to know about me; information that I deemed too personal; or information that might make me “too human”. Usually, though, once I figure out what it is a dream is trying to tell me, it stops. But since this one hasn’t stopped, I had to wonder if my interpretation was off.

During a luncheon with a friend, I brought up the odd recurring dream, and was surprised by her take on it. She posited that perhaps I was attempting to hide (from myself and others) those aspects of myself that I wasn’t fond of, no longer needed, or had outgrown.

She thought that if I tried accepting all these hidden or no longer wanted aspects of myself, that maybe I wouldn’t have to hold the closet closed anymore. She also thought the puppies and other pet-like creatures that I was finding in the closet were to help me understand that not everything I was shutting away was really “bad”. That I was closing off good things along with the (perceived) bad, and I should stop shutting off pieces of myself and just accept myself, all of myself, for who I am.

I was so surprised by how accurate her insights seemed to be, that I had no response for her. I realized that I needed some time to think over everything she said, and to read over my notes of each occurrence of the dream. So, this morning I’ve been doing just that, and I think she’s right.

Over these past few months, I have been trying to move forward with my life. For a while I was caught in a chasm of depression, but now that I’ve climbed out of the pit I was in, I want to move on. To do that, I thought I had to lock away all those pieces of me that I didn’t think would contribute (in a positive way) to the new me I wanted to be. I wanted to shed the parts of me that wouldn’t help me move along the path I wanted to take. But, locking them in a closet (metaphorical or actual) is unrealistic. All those pieces that I locked away in boxes and tried to hide away are part of me. They have contributed to who I am, and without them I can’t move on.

So, instead of holding the closet closed tonight, I’m going to fling it wide, and then I’m going to open every one of those boxes and let everything out. I’m going to let the pieces fall where they may…I’m ready to change, but not until I can accept who I’ve been and I am now.

It’s all good

I’ve always believed that who we are is a culmination of the choices we make, just as where we are in our lives is also. Every choice we make leads us down a path. Sometimes that path takes us where we wanted, planned, and hoped to go, and other times we find ourselves in some totally strange land living a life that we never imagined. None of it is bad, although some choices might be smarter than others, it’s all still good, because we’re not bad.Intrinsically, I believe in people, so just because they make some choices that lead them off on a wild adventure, or into the deepest forest of despair, or into the bad side of town where they hook up with shady characters, I still believe that they are basically good. Poor choices can be overcome by new (and hopefully) smarter choices. Just because someone wanders into the weeds, doesn’t mean they are lost forever.

So, it was with interest that I saw a posting by a well-known columnist that pretty much stated the same philosophy. I was a little surprised, I admit. Mostly because, while I’ve seen other writers hint at this philosophy, I’ve rarely seen someone of his caliber point it out quite so blatantly. Most will couch it in terms of God or Allah, but few actually state outright that we are responsible for our own destiny. That we can (and do) sometimes make poor choices, but those few choices do not define us, but rather it is the culmination of our lifetime of choices that make us who we are.

Click here to see Zig Ziglar’s article, The Choices You Make. Even JK Rowling gave a nod to how it’s our choices that define us and not our abilities nor our attitude. Instead, our abilities and our attitudes affect our choices, but they, in turn, are affected by the culmination of choices that we have made and which now define who we are and how we react to whatever life throws our way.

So, next time you start ragging on yourself because you said or did something you wish you hadn’t, stop. You did it, it happened, but it isn’t who you are. You’re a good person who made a poor choice based on circumstances of the moment. However, that moment is over, and it’s time to move on and make different (better) choices. No choice is so bad that it can’t be overcome. While it might take a lifetime of choices to redress, it can still be done, so never give up on yourself or anyone else. We’re all good people…some of us have just made a few more unfortunate choices than others.

Ooooh, more positive reviews. I just love hearing from the folks who have read my books. And it doesn’t matter if it’s a positive or negative review—though I prefer the positive responses—it’s just nice to get feedback. After all, how can I improve my writing if people don’t tell me what does or doesn’t work for them? So, thank you all for your comments, and please, keep ‘em coming.

On dreams and dream symbols

From Mr. W:

I’ve tried a lot of different ways to interpret the dreams I have, and this book seems the best. A lot of other sources don’t have the symbols or objects that were in my dreams, but this book does. It’s been really helpful.

From Ms. T:

This is one of the more interesting and (I think) accurate dream dictionaries in a long time. I found the introductory section about the different stages of dreams very fascinating. I’ve been using it now for a while to help interpret my dreams and it’s been spot on. I highly recommend this for anyone who wants to know what their dreams are about.

Escorting the Dead: My Life as
a Psychopomp

From Mr. A:

This book was great! I’ve been working with hospice patients for several years, and the information in this book has helped me tremendously. Several of my patients even requested that I read the book to them, and I was amazed at how it seemed to ease their fears of what awaited them. Very helpful and very hopeful.

From Ms. S:

I especially loved all the examples that the author included. They helped make the information more personal and definitely added pathos to the experiences. I also appreciated the bits of humour that the author used to express his/herself.

I do wish the book had been longer; I was disappointed to have it end, and do hope that there is a second volume with more examples and more quotes from the Masters.

I was dreaming of puppies again.

There were four of them. Four adorable, cuddly, and very frisky little doxies (dachshounds). They were quite a handful, literally and figuratively, as sometimes I seemed to have them on a tether, and other times I was trying to carry them in my arms, and in some instances, I was carrying two and trying to hang on to the tether for the other two.

I call it a tether, rather than a leash, because it wasn’t strong enough for a leash. In fact, for the two friskiest dogs, the tether was more like a long, thin strand of thread. I was constantly afraid that it was going to break with all their pulling, twisting, and antics, and I tried hard to control them without holding them back too much.

The two less frisky dogs had a tether that was more solid. I kept wondering why I couldn’t exchange the thread-like tether on the two friskier dogs for this one, which was sturdier. Yet, I could never keep the frisky dogs quiet long enough to swap out the leashes. So, eventually, I stopped trying.

I stumbled behind the foursome of dogs letting them lead me where they will, often picking up the two quieter ones so that we could all keep up with the two rambunctious puppies. Eventually, realizing that I just couldn’t keep up with them, I let loose of the tethers for all of them and let them take off.

Feeling bereft and alone, I turned to go back home, but then the two quieter dogs came back and insisted on cuddling. I picked them up and they licked my face and seemed genuinely glad to be with me. I waited a few moments more, hoping the other two would also return, but they never did.

Although, it broke my heart to give up on the two rambunctious puppies, I realized that they didn’t really want to be with me. So, I went inside with the two puppies that did.

So, what does all that mean? Well, what it means to me, is that I need to understand that not everyone wants to be my friend; not everyone is going to care about me; and not everyone is going to accept me…and that’s okay.

That’s the big key…it’s okay. I’ve been trying so hard all my life to be accepted, by myself and others, that I couldn’t see the people who did like me. I never saw that I had friends and family who cared, because I was too focused on winning over those that didn’t. I get it now, though (it’s taken long enough;-). But instead of trying to win over those people who just aren’t ever going to understand, don’t want to understand, and who don’t want to know or like me as I am, I need to appreciate those people who see the worth of me. I need to appreciate who I am and what I bring to “the party” (as it were), and I need to appreciate all those people who have liked and loved me for who I am all those years.

We’re all special, and we all need to recognize and appreciate that. It’s taken me way too many years to understand that. But for all of you have seen something special in me…I thank you. And I hope the hugs I send in this message can in some small way show you how much I appreciate all of you.

Wouldn’t it be great to live forever; to age so slowly that 100 years is like a single year of life; and to be impervious to any type of death? When most people are asked that, they immediately say “yes”, but if they thought it through, would their answer be the same? I really don’t think it would.

If you couldn’t die, no matter what, and you aged very slowly, you would out live everyone you know and love. If you were married, you would watch your spouse wither and die. And if you had kids, you would watch them grow old and die, too.

All your friends would also soon (at least to you) grow old and die, but, of course, you would have disappeared from their lives long before that. You would have had to, because otherwise they would begin to question why they were so old and yet you hadn’t changed.

Okay, so, you disappear, but how do you reestablish yourself? Maybe you think you can creep around the underworld buying a new identity—good luck with that, it’s probably not as easy as it looks on TV—and what about money and credentials? Do you reestablish yourself as some long-lost relative of your old self so that you can inherit whatever small amount of money you managed to accumulate? And what if you didn’t accumulate anything other than a small pension; after all, most of us are not financial geniuses, nor do we have extraordinary skills that will make us millions of dollars. For the most part, we are ordinary people who live ordinary lives.

So, maybe you’ll go back to school and develop a different skill set so you can update your credentials and get a new job. (Wow…think about it…centuries of going to school, getting jobs, falling in love, raising families, and then disappearing. Boy, doesn’t that sound like fun?)

If you’re lucky, you’ll get to retire when you’re 2070 (after all, you get penalized if you take your retirement benefits before 70), and then what will you do? Go fishing for the next millennia or so? Travel…hmmm, maybe by then they’ll have space colonies, because it certainly won’t take a hundred years to see all the sites in the world.

In the meantime, think of all the lives you can affect with a smile, a gentle touch, or a tender hug. Think of all the music you’ll hear, the books you’ll be able to read, and the rainbows you’ll see. But I wonder if it’s enough to offset all the wars and natural disasters you’ll have to witness, too. How selfless can we learn to be if we have to hang around for two or three thousand years, or will it merely drive us insane knowing that we can’t die, while we watch so many others do so?

There is wonder and beauty in the world all around us, but there is also fear and despair, and I don’t think living forever will change that, it will only change which of those we focus on. So, is living forever a curse or a blessing? I don’t know, but I do know that I would rather not find out.