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The Vision |
| Written by John Wells | |
| Thursday, 13 March 2008 | |
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Share it:      The time was close to 9:45 am Wednesday in late December l996. He was sitting on the edge of his bed contemplating his plans for the morning. He had decided he would go downtown and do some Christmas shopping. He really did not need anything; he was just keeping up appearances and trying to reconnect with the giving spirit of his past, trying to make the magic happen again, trying to find a life he could make for himself. He had so many things to be grateful for. He had just turned 40. He had his own condominium all paid for. He was free in so many ways. He had no financial obligations. He was in average to poor physical health. He had no commitments to family or spouse. He was in a place at 40 where it may take someone else his age another twenty years to reach. But he did not know if he had any future ahead of him. He felt like he was dying a little each day he lived. He could not find happiness in his current state. He was withering away. On that particular morning, he was very tired and depressed. He did not know why he was living or if he would live much longer. The reason for him to go shopping, to even go out at all began to become less important as he sat there on his bed. He had been in these similar moods many times before, and the only thing he could do to make them pass was to just lie down and try to sleep. There was always that hope that he would awaken after an hour or so and feel more refreshed, more like the way he did in his earlier years and then gain an interest in doing something such as playing his music, following the stock market, or enjoying his lunch in the dining room. He sat there on the bed. He looked at the clock. He looked around his room. The morning was quiet. There was a partial overcast sky outside. He was all dressed up to go out and do some shopping, but in his hapless state, he decided to lay down on his bed and close his eyes and find some kind of peace or rest in the moment. Within minutes, he had fallen asleep, and he had dreamed possibly the most lucid dream of his entire life: He was escorted by someone to a kind of waiting room, and there he saw his mother. She was dressed in her red sleeping gown and was looking at him. There was really nothing much to notice in the room, only that it seemed to be a place where the two of them could meet. It was a meeting room and she was there waiting for him to arrive. At first, he was not firmly convinced that it was her. He looked at her more closely, especially in her eyes. Then he experienced a great joy. He knew it was her. It had been such a long time since he had seen those beautiful baby blue eyes. He immediately fell into her arms. He experienced the most fulfilling embrace he could ever know, and as he fell into her arms, he heard her murmur his name in his ear. He also called out the name 'mom' in a most exclaimed voice. It was all true. He was again reunited with his mother. He was again the person he used to be. He had found the truth and the truth had set him free. He was happy. He was himself. She was the source of his being. She brought out who he really is; his freedom of thought and feelings, the privilege to perceive and sense the world as he once knew it to be. She did all of this. The sight of her as truly existing was instant karma, instant regeneration. The dream was such a masterful emulation of reality that he thought he had awakened and was reiterating his experience to the cleaning lady of the building, but that also was part of his dream. It was what he liked to call a dream within a dream. He then dreamed that he woke up, but that was still a part of the dream. It was now a dream within a dream within a dream. Finally, he did wake up, but at first, he was still not sure if he was awake, or if what had happened to him really did just happen. After a few moments, he began to recover himself, recalling the dream, thinking about it, remembering the feelings and the clarity of the entire event. He lay on his bed musing over the dream. Gentle tears washed down the side of his face. He wanted it to be real. He wanted to get up and see her and know everything would be as it once was. He wanted to hear her voice in the hallway when he came out of his room. He did not want to live without her. He could not live as he knew life without her, but where he was, was all now a little brighter. The sun had come out. The time was approximately 11:45 am and he could get up and start looking forward to enjoying his lunch and watching the stock market channel on the television. It is now more than twelve years later, and he still thinks about that dream. It is as if he had just dreamt it yesterday, or like it was last night. His moments of happiness have grown since that period in his life, but they can never compare to the times when he lived with his mother, when she was alive in the flesh. He lost his life when he lost his mother. Yet, he still lives for reasons unknown to him. He would like to be a source of happiness to someone, or he would like someone to be his source of happiness. He does not believe this will happen again in his current state, but he hopes he will be wrong. If he is not wrong, then all that he has described here will have the same meaning for him for the rest of his life. Copyright 2008 John Wells |
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