The way to Post Eden

Certain kinds of dreams started in 2007 and I think they ended in 2015.  They were three or four trips to my personal, post Edenic paradise.  An actual place located outside of time, a place I could remain after my death and be happy for eternity, but only if I did one thing.  I believe the dreams were preparing me for that one thing, which now in 2018, I am on the cusp of completing.

I was introduced back to this realm of my dreams in 2007, by three or four unknown friends.  It was in the upstairs attic, or bedroom of a some type of informal reception house, sitting their solitary and all alone amid a vast and never ending wheat field, drenched in bright morning sun.  I still do not recall what they were telling me, but I have a sense that it had to do with the task ahead, and they were instilling me with the heart and fortitude to carry on with it, successfully.  The room itself was small and cluttered, and not all of the sunlight was coming in through the windows, and it was somewhat dim.  I was basking amid friends in their cool and comforting blue dimness.  And I still felt a longing to be back in their presence, even after I woke up.

Their well-wishes would prove effective the following year, as my life would drastically change.  In October 2008 I re-enlisted back into active duty Army, after already having prior service from 2002 to 2006.  In retrospect, those two years from November 2006 to October 2008 was my first brief reality check and bleak realization that I could not make it in the real world, and that I was given a hand of cards that I could not play, by people who were not at all playing with a full deck.  My going back into the Army after already having served four prior years was simply me putting it back away into the dark and murky bins of psychological damage, which had already started to clutter my mind.

About four years went by without any dream close to the one I had in 2007, until after new years of 2012 when I ordered that bag of superfly agaric and tripped balls, writhing and squirming in my bed because my mind was imagining a apparition of a soul taker in the form of a female, she was coming in on her train or monorail in all of her homely bratiness, with her mother too perhaps, coming to get me under skylights like I saw at that train station in Paris, ugly purple and yellow!  Then I opened my eyes and time appeared as if running on film, and I could see the numbers which inhabited the invisible dimension in my head.  More alarmingly, I had bought a Kahr MK40 pistol no more than two months prior, after staying at my parents.  I had just left Ft. Stewart for good where I burnt my face badly due to unchecked alcoholics anxiety, and the drinking had left me not only in bad physical health but bad mental health as well.  Their neighbor for whatever reason chose to use their parking spot while they were gone and my frazzled alcoholic brain registered it as an intruder and I got scared.  I think that day or the following, I left by foot into the snow to buy the gun.  But that wasn’t why I really bought the gun, I think I bought it for a subconscious reason that had not yet by the mercy of God raised its hideous head.  I even came close to accidental suicide after moving out of my parents into a closet room in the U-District of Seattle.  During one of my mindless nights of drinking, and hearing AWOLNATION’s Sail on the radio, I picked up my gun to pretend to shoot my computer.  It was chambered at that time and I could’ve easily pulled the trigger thinking it would not shoot, or even worse pretended to shoot myself only to find a real bullet spraying my brains all over that tiny room.  I thank the Lord that never happened.

Around February of 2014  the dreaming started again, the realization that I would not make it unless I did something drastic.  I found myself on the sixth floor balcony of my families apartment, surrounded by fur trees many times taller than the building itself.  It was sunny, and beautiful and I was trying to tell them that many years ago, human beings stood taller than even the trees which loomed out in front of the apartment building, but they refused to believe me.  It seems immediately after that I was taken high up in the air over the downtown of a city that had the look and feel of Houston, my birth city.  But I was still not high enough to the same height as the head of this titanic, spindly plant creature, which I saw far out in the distance amid a tornado like wind.  It’s long spindly appendages morphed into a more human form, at the same time he shrank and densified into the form of a giant Doctor Doom, or Doctor Doom-like character, with the same costume, cape and hood, but maybe a slightly different color, and he did seem to have a face of flesh although I cannot recall how it looked.  The vividness came out in his overall imposing size and presence, as his massive arm moved closer toward me and it seemed to grow larger and larger the closer he got.  He seemed to catch me in his hand as he got so large that he towered directly over my head and it felt like I crossed into his shadow.  I remember looking down and seeing if he would hit any buildings, which he did not!  It was like your coolest movie in 3d and on dmt.

This was the only dream other than the very first I remember having at a specific time in my life.  The other dreams I had, but I do not remember when I had them.  All I know is they were sometime between 2007 and 2015.  Like the others, the dream of being on my families non existent balcony and then being teleported over an unnamed city to meet a looming giant had its dream portal, a path to follow in your rem sleep to lead to that specific state if vividness and beauty.  The giants in the dreams symbolized what I had to become in the real world to overcome the task at hand and hopefully find myself there again, instead of somewhere else hellish.  I think the dream portal to that dream involved being outside of a Buckingham Palace type of structure, others surrounded it in the dream and I remember floating over their rooftops and looking into their windows, others I actually went inside of, briefly, but not the palace, I could not enter because of a trivial game being played on me that I cannot remember.

Other dream portals included boarding a grey hound like bus to ultimately end up inside of a library or courthouse building, with books and records of some kind, probably of my life and the the live’s of others.  Or being back at my old house on Mattson Road, but overlooking a different landscape, dotted with water and islands and seeing Oakville, the town it lied just outside of, and how it would look in the future, far off in the distance.  I know another portal was my grandparents old house, which was just up the hill from my parents, hidden behind trees inhabited by Sasquatch.  But my old house where I was raised in Oakville is a big portal.  It is beautiful most of the time and the 70 acre property looks slightly different, but there is a tinge of paradise in its two fields and within its forest.  I remember sneaking into my sister’s room for weed, in the late afternoon and in the dark of the night.  I may have had to undergo the wrath of my parents once or twice  but even after I wake up I vaguely wish that I lived there again, maybe even as its landowner, and imagine I’m back in that dream portal again, on the cusp of paradise.  Then there’s the Motel portal, were I am outside walking along the wooden dock of a motel trying to find my room, or going up and down a busy main street just biding my, away from a group.  I end up upstairs in one of three places, either a cute house with red burgundy walls and a comfy cozy bedroom with Victorian furniture, plants and potpourri; upstairs in a spacious living room with futuristic walls of silver and purple lava lamp, feeling very groggy and mentally sluggish and in the company of a friendly stranger; or upstairs huddled in a tiny bedroom lit dimly with purple blue light and adorned with streaming satin sheets.  But how could I forget the biggest portal of them all?  The one where I first board a super sonic train that enters into a dark tunnel and takes me to an aerial docking station.  There I board a large futuristic commercial air-craft where I may or may not have to wear ear-buds and other gear just to handle the noise and ruckus of the flight.  But I ultimately end up in space, not an endless and infinite space, but a finite and celestial heaven, inhabited at the very center by a massive sheening and glistening orb that is intelligent and putting on a cerebral light and effects show.  And still, I recall even more portals, but I no longer wish to continue.

I finally entered back into Post Edenic Paradise, it was either all in one trip or broken up into two or more.  I was taken to a subterranean marine base which housed a four dimensional interactive globe of prehistoric Earth were visitors chartered the path they were to take.  I remember chartering a specific course as I paddled my way through the bright and sparkling indigo water, it separated the land masses by just a few miles of shallow tropical seas, and still not yet turned to vast and cold saltwater oceans.  My way dealt with how to handle the rest of my life, and it dealt with visiting our giant prehistoric ancestors and feed off their energy.  After my charter I was dropped uninvited into a giant Victorian looking house in the middle of the day.  I could tell because of the sterile light coming in through the windows.  I was never told anything was there but I felt a presence which told me I had to find my way out without getting seen, and the thing that I never saw that inhabited that house was a beautiful giantess with long black hair.  It was strange cause I seemed to fall out of an antique Victorian sewing box that folded out of a cabinet in the wall like some strange other-dimensional gnome, and it was similar to the one my parents had in their house in Oakville, next to their piano.  I made it unscathed out of the house and into its giant flower garden and planting beds, and somehow over the giant boulders which fenced the prehistoric property from outside invaders.

But outside of its walls was nothing but barren land, littered with tumbling weeds and inhabited by nomadic tribes of roaming giants.  But there was still a tinge of post eden in the air that seemed to grow more intense as I walked closer under the legs of sixteen foot giants who appeared like towering tribesmen, adorned in toothed necklaces and clutching their piked spears.  As I kept walking the flat desert I kept walking under taller and taller giants, until I ended this journey in the company of a tour guide who led me to a city out in that vast desert, a city of megalithic temples and fortresses.  I entered in under a looming arch and surrounded by the bustling of the city and entered into a temple where I was shown or given something divine and dealing with my path.  That was the end of that journey as far as I can tell, and then I woke up.

I possibly made a brief re-entry one night after I found another portal in the pages of one of my favorite artists, Geoff Darrow.  I was marveling at his detailed and intricate work on the blue biomechanical Godzilla with interconnecting appendages, it covered a vast space and formed its own colorful alien world.  I realized it was my own illustration that I was doing for fun and at that point I may have entered back into some prehistoric city that existed at some point in the distant distant past.  The architecture of the buildings and the very landscape itself had a sort of cartoon, fish eye lens effect to them that was very subtle.  The sky was not blue but red, as if such a heavy dusk was setting that the light retreating off the refracting glass in the sky dimmed the Sun’s rays to appear red and no longer bright yellow.  I appeared to be entering a city built on a lava canyon with metal steps and stone staircases.  They led me into a fabricated wall of buildings, slightly dilapidated, masterfully fashioned and stacked one upon the other, like some ornate prehistoric shanty metropolis.  Once inside I passed through a narrow door and through two or three cluttered rooms, into and even more cluttered space no larger than a closet.  Standing within its tiny opening I faced the skull of a sixteen foot giant on display, amid a wide array of maps, gadgets and tools, used for finding the truth but long lost to time.  I believe my brother was with me briefly, refusing the validity of this giant skull even as he stood there staring at it.  I could not help him see the truth and I left going back out the same way I came in.

It would be on June 11th, 2014, my birthday, that I would catch a fleeting glimpse of what I thought was a tiny glowing orb that looked wispy in the air, directly above my head.  I saw it as I was walking back from the 7-11 to get more junk food, and I swear it was only for no more than a second.  It was foretelling, with good tidings, my successful future. It already knew what I still had no idea of myself yet, even at that late stage.  Only after I came back from visiting my cousin over the fourth of July that I had the horrible epiphany that life as I had known it was no longer worth living . . . unless.

It was that same year that I had three nightmares.  Well, the first was more of  a morningmare, cause it happened in daylight but it was of a demonic face with piercing eyes that bulged red and vainy, and it would not stop staring menacingly back at me.  It was staring at my fucked up face. I feel it had just as much to do with the alcohol addiction I battled earlier, I was still overcoming it and that was one of its last throws.  The second was of myself, although I wasn’t aware as I was having the dream that I was staring back at myself sitting down on a bench behind tinted glass doors.  I could not see my own face, just the sides of my legs, and I was horrified to open the doors and pass by this stranger because for an unknown reason his presence chilled me to the bone because I refused to pass by and see his face.  Only later on after I recalled the dream did I realize that it was my own face!  The third was of myself again, I was looking at myself and I saw that my head was caved in and I appeared like a hideous mushroom man with a horrible fungus, hideous features and debilitating handicap.  I was hopeless in front of my peers who could do nothing to help me.  These were all portends to a fate that was quick manifesting into reality unless I did not take drastic action, an turn it all around.

As 2015 began winding down and I began my second year of un-fucking what that inhumane orthodontist had done, I went on a second Amanita binge, this time gifted with patches running along my daily route to the grocery store and into town by something divine.  It was during the second muscimol trips that Adam and Eve both bid me one last blessing, on an intense muscimol high that left me vomiting.  Still, they waved to me from somewhere Southwest of time and told me to write on the wall if I saw them, and so I did.  I wrote that I could see them waving and I waved back, and that I could see through time, I would meet them again and I could sense that these lives we live now are nothing but brief illusions.  As I would end up basically being kicked out of that house for what I was doing to myself I belief I saw what had planted those amanitas while at the bus station during a blustery and wet day; through the clouds in the sky I swear I saw a white orb.  It was so high that it would be nearly impossible to catch unless I did not point it out to you in the sky, and even then it would be hard to see because its pure whiteness blended in well with the surrounding sky.  It occurred to me that maybe it had something to do with the blustery weather that month and the growth of the mushrooms along the road.  Whatever the reasons for the amanitas growing along the side of the road it signaled another change in my life, briefly for the worst but ultimately for the best.  After new years of 2016 I managed to choke down my last dried out amanita in a rented room in Parkland and only got a buzz.  I spent that summer secluded and aloof in a house overran by fruit flies and watching the Joe Rogan Experience on my Cintiq.  I would ultimately make my way down south to Centralia, the town where it all began.  Someone divine sent me back to this godforsaken town and I am forever grateful they did.  Since this is the town where it almost all began, this is the town where it most definitely should all end.