Dreaming

Have you thought about it, the exceptional state of consciousness we're living during the nights? I'm obviously not referring here to dream-fragments that can turn up when the brain is cleaning up after a days work, sorting things out for itself. No, I'm talking about those other dreams, those special dreams that comes to us as messengers from within. When they come, when you find yourself there, it's a bit like venturing into a parallel existence, don't you think? As had you, all of a sudden and much to your surprise, turned up in a mystifying, outlandish realm, a place unacquainted and strange in so many ways and yet, yet you can't escape sensing it has this tantalizing hint of peculiar familiarity to it, wouldn't you agree? When you think about it thus, doesn't a dream resemble a fabric woven by a mind, heart and soul freely roaming about on paths undefined by the ego, and, hence unrestrained, they can mould a veritable amazing creation; a motion picture set out to envision the animated truth of that which is, that which once was, and that which might yet come about – if you just listen?

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Prologue

Fall came in haste that year. Whenever I close my eyes I can feel it again, it comes flashing through my body and soul like a Demon reaching out in perpetual despondency from a world beneath Hell. I'm in the hands of a merciless, uncontrollable force. Helplessly I feel the grip of fear squeezing me ever tighter with every move I make to break free. It's a force multiplying by my every re-focus. It is as though it has tentacles, feelers dripping with venom who can sense my direction before even I myself am aware I was heading that way.  This enables it to tantalize me at my present position, while already lying in wait for me when I – in spite of it's petrifying perpetual presence – have mustered a new tiny, fragile hope and the smallest of courage to try entering yet another path I pray will lead to my release, it's already there, ready to ambush me. Each tentacle snaking deeper and deeper within, unrelentingly inflicting me with ever more dread, insecurity, and angst. Slowly but steadily, inescapably, it penetrates all that I am, it drags me down into an all-overshadowing oppressive darkness. In the end I'm out of range, the grip so tight now it makes the very sky convert the air into a compact mass of pallid suffocation. Unable to defend myself in any way I have to watch myself get wholly and totally cornered off from life.
          It all happened so fast, and so totally without any warning. And so it stroke hard, gruesomely hard. It was high summer. Outside people were strolling by carefree and easily, wearing light summer clothes, laughing, talking, pacing slowly; it seemed they just followed whatever whim came dancing through their minds, went with it as easily and carefree as the dancing whim itself. I watched them, not having any specific thought about what met my eye, just absentmindedly liking how the blissful warmth of the high summer sun slowed down the otherwise so hectic and goal-focused pace of life.
          There simply wasn't any foretelling what awaited, the soft summer breeze bore not with it even the faintest whisper of warning of what abated just around the corner. But already the following day it hit; a dire tempest horrendous beyond imagination came upon us, all at once and from out of nowhere at all. It ripped the leaves off the trees like wanted it to strip them of every fragile hope they fearfully tried to hold on to in a coat of leaves turned autumn-coloured without anyone noticing, or realizing it was this time of the year already. It was as had a vicious storm been brooding just beneath the summer surface, lurking un-sensed, unseen, portentously on the other side of the membrane. And now it was upon us, a freezing cold gale unleashing its exasperation, a tempest rising in rage and despair, as if, I thought, it wanted to reveal a long hidden fury, wanted to break free by ruthlessly tearing apart and strip naked the unsuspecting and unprepared trees standing in its way. 
          The sky loomed low overhead, and the world turned cold as if touched by the hand of Death. A gale to chill the bones to the marrow, to steel the breaths from the lungs was ravaging the world. Anyone forced to go outside walked with fast, goal-oriented steps, leaning forward against the wuthering, wailing, howling wind, trying to get wherever they were heading as swiftly as they possible could. I felt as was Horror no longer just a feeling, but had it manifested itself into something solid, and now it was walking the Earth, making it tremble. And yet, yet my friend, if someone had dared to pause in this fuming storm, even for just a brief second, and if that someone then had, perhaps by accident, looked about, he would've noticed a curious glow in the air, a spectre in crimson, gold and amber whirling chaotically in the wind. A luminous glow in bright sunbathed colours. That glow came from the leaves, who had encapsulated the warmth and beauty of sunbeams previously caressing their surfaces in tenderness and joy, and now, as they whirled away to meet their death, they let that loving light shine on through in a breathtaking intensity.
          Yes, fall came in haste that year, my friend. Over night it changed everything. And it brought with it another kind of fall: a soul nightfall. It hit me as hastily and unsuspectingly as the furious wind hit the naive trees standing outside my window. When I look back at it now, in the rear-view mirror of life, it feels like it all happened aeons ago and yet it is so close in my mind, as were it still ongoing in the centre of my brain. It's like everything about what happened back then is enclosed in a parallel universe; taking place in this very minute and in times of yore, simultaneously. How strange it seems to me now I couldn't see it back then, I couldn't – or wouldn't? – sense even the vaguest inkling of a shadow petrifying and horrendous beyond words already standing in the doorway. Oh yes, this was foreshadowed to come about, in hindsight it all becomes so clear to me. You see, I recognize the pattern – it arises an ancient echo deep within me, a fearsome sound-wave resounding throughout everything that I am. If I try to tell you about it, as truthfully, systematically and in as many details as I can recall, will you understand me? Will you understand what happened that unblessed, ghastly fall, when God Himself seemed to look the other way?
 

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Prelude: Mayhem Begins

As holds true for so much in this life it all began with a dream. I can still recall its every detail more clearly than had the events occurred in a wide-eyes-awake experience. I believe this dream will always stay with me just like that. I would like that. Because the first dream was so mysteriously full of hope and wonder, so good and happy, so full of Faith. How strange a dream like that initiated the coming of such diabolic horror; Mayhem awaiting, just about to begin.
          Yes the instigating dream was truly something out of the ordinary. So much so I can honestly say I have never dreamt anything even remotely like it ever before. In this first dream I met B. At first I was just an observer, the beholder of it all; watching, but couldn't be seen myself. What I beheld took place in the past, I could tell because B had that outfit and long hair he had back in the 80's and early 90's. When the dream began B had flopped himself down in a couch, his arms and legs spread out. He was totally exhausted.
          There was another guy with him in the room were the dream took place, I think it was a hotel suit, at least it wasn't his home. B told the other guy he was totally worn out with the life he was leading. He didn't want to do it no more; the drugs, the never ending conflicts, the spot lights prowling his every movement. He was sick and tired of it all. The thrill he had first experienced with this kind of life had subsequently altered into its opposite, the excitement had turned into an empty void that sucked the living daylight out of him. He said he just wanted to leave, leave all of it and do his own thing. The guy answered: "Well, you can do it you know, you can start writing your own stuff, doing your own thing – you sure have the talent for it, fuck yeah, you have what it takes!"
          B looked at him with a thoughtful glimpse in his eyes, and he said: "Yeah man, you're right! I can do it ... Hell yeah!!, I will do it! I'll leave this whole fucking mess!" As I watched this I understood I had just witnessed history being written, because I knew (of course I knew) that B would do just that – go his own way, do his own thing. Then, the other guy left the room and as he did I somehow entered it, like was I transformed from my invisible watcher position into a solid state of being. I went over to B. I leaned over him and he looked up into my eyes and said: "You come from the future, don't you?"
          "Yes, I do", said I, "and I know that everything you're going to do from now on will be just so fucking great, and you'll be so happy you made this decision! What you'll do from now on will bring so much into so many peoples lives, including your own.". I smiled as I said this, happy and grateful for everything he had brought into my own life since that decision was made. Happy and grateful to be there with him in that crucial moment of time and space, confirming his decision. I woke up. 6 am.