In the dream one of my blog readers decided to kill me.
She announced it clearly. We sat in a room surrounded by a circle of women-friends. She took our her pistol. She aimed it at Yours Truly.
I said, “You aren’t really going to kill me, are you?”
She said, “It depends how good my shot is.”
Me: “Can I duck?”
She: “You can do whatever you want to.”
My first reaction: OK, now’s the time to be emotionally mature and go into observational mode. It’s good to die spiritually aware. Twenty seconds of high-falutin’ calm witnessing followed.
Then: “PLEASE DON’T KILL ME!” and three minutes of sobbing begging breakdown.
The blog reader gave me two metal forks.
“Put one of these in between your teeth so you don’t bite your tongue,” she instructed.
(I have no idea about the second fork. She kept two for herself, as well.)
The dream–OK, nightmare–went on and on–for hours, it seemed.
Would she kill Kathy? Wouldn’t she?
I fell asleep, woke up, went back in the dream. JUST GET IT OVER WITH, I thought, somewhere in reality around 6:45 a.m.
The blog reader aimed her gun and shot.
Kathy toppled over. (No pain, no blood, no anything. Just a gunshot and it’s over.)
But, now, readers, I want to share the most amazing part.
The dream didn’t end. The blog reader remained with the smoking gun, Kathy’s body lay on the floor, the circle of women still sat in shock.
But the dream didn’t end!
I saw clearly that I was never that Kathy-person. I was always, ever-always, the dream itself.
I saw clearly that it didn’t matter whether Kathy witnessed or begged for her life, if the blog reader shot or didn’t shoot. It wasn’t a matter of morals or ethics (except in the lives of those being dreamed.)
None of it mattered. The dream went on. Awareness of the dream continued. Awareness didn’t “go” anywhere, it didn’t follow the body, the imaginary character. It just continued being what it always was: the entire dream.
I woke up elated.
So very clear. So very amazing.
Time for a cup of green peach tea. Pass the amazement, please!