A Summer Dream

“As above, so below.”

“Suppose there is no below?”

“You want me to make something up?”

“No, there is a difference between what comes to you and what you imagine.”

“They both bring reality, but reality that has its origin in imagination comes with a price.”

“Isn’t there an exception concerning memory and association?”

“Well of course, and that’s all worked out in psychological identity.”

“Then it wasn’t a dream when I was a kid and I broke the world?”

“All that projection and self stuff, well that was in the realm of dream.”

“So what happens when there is no below?”

“Lucky them who are in the higher planes.”

“No, oh no, we are all one. Remember? It’s still all about service.”

“So is the earth gone or is this an Atlantis kind of thing?”

“It’s an Atlantis thing, but there are no four corners of the earth to migrate to. The migration is out there, the solar system.”

“So when I leave below it will be like moving out of the desert.”

“Not exactly, in fact for many it will be like moving to the desert.”

“And that’s because there are degrees of above.”

“Yes, and that segmentation will become more pronounced.”

“Below is an effective vehicle to progress.”

“Are you suggesting that there will be no below?”

“There will always be below, just fewer opportunities of expression.”

“No books. No CD’s. No storage devices to express art and beauty, to summarize what we have learned.”

“And no sleep.”

“But lots of work.”

“Work? What do you mean work?”

“Well there must be order. Of course it begins in what appears to be chaos. Events always appear chaotic. The helter skelter will settle to near stagnance.”

“Like being inside yourself, unable to move as fast as you feel you need to move.”

“Unlike earth, where you are permitted to move as fast as impulse will take you.”

“But the earth isn’t gone. There are just fewer opportunities. And of course there is solar exploration.”

“And is the solar exploration a below endeavor, or an endeavor from above?

“Both, but above initiate’s it.”

“So what happened?”

“Some of us knew what was coming. I was bleeding in and out of here and there like a dream, and I could not tell where I was. I was standing in the hall with a crowd of people and I bumped into a woman I knew named Cathy, but then it wasn’t Cathy.”

“Your brother is dead, but he is standing right behind you next to some girl.”

“That girl is my daughter, she died too. I lost my brother and my daughter. Why did this happen to me?”

She collapsed in my hug with a sob and we got on an elevator with a large group of people that I knew but could not identify. I sat on the floor waiting, hoping that my life would not end in the elevator. I could not take that, or rather the memory that it would create. I stood up and walked to the control panel, then pushed the button to open the door.

“We have not moved.” There was laughter and rustling and I pushed the ground floor button. It finally landed and we all got out.

“There is still time.”

“Yes, but hang on to your egreores. Call to them. They are all you will have.”

“Egregores meaning the group experiences I have had, and the energy created from them.”

“Especially those that have a celestial focus.”

There was smoke and a sweet incense that contained our temple as we traveled in back of the huge truck. Outside, the highway divided a magnificent garden on one side, and a desolate waste land on the other.

“Who did the landscape design? Who is the gardener?”

“There is none.”

“But could there be, I mean on the other side, over there, where nothing grows?”

“Imagine it and it will be.”

“So there is value in imagination.”

“Well of course, but it extends the journey.”

We huddled in the back of the truck, the same crew that was in the hall and in the elevator. We were like a collective soul of shared identity and memory, but there was still me. And it was my turn. I could see them up ahead in a bubble surrounded by clouds. They were the rapture people, all safe inside their imagined heaven. Yet one of them called to me.

“If this is heaven and all of you are saved in this paradise, then who am I?”

“You must be the devil, about to tempt me to do something I shouldn’t do.”

“I am no devil, and I am no angel either. Why would that exist if this is the paradise of heaven?”

“I’ve worn out this paradise and need to move on. Is there room on the truck for me?”

“There are many trucks. Let’s see if we can find the right truck for you.”