6/16/05

Ugh. I feel like hot death today. I promised myself I’d never use the blog as a personal diary because I have plenty of other self-involved writing outlets, so why spray ink on the 21st century’s new cliché?  But I’ve been reading a couple of friends’ blogs and so now I’m being swayed.  Plus it’s a blog so it’s not like I have to pretend to have writing skills.  If I f*** up, who cares?  Blog!

Plus I dunno if this counts for anything, what I’m about to relate. It may be of no interest at all.  Is it something? Is it nothing?  You decide.

The reason I feel like the poop-end of a warm meal is because last night, even though I went to bed an hour early and fell asleep quickly, I was waaaay active in the dream world.  I have this energy that lies dormant in me, waiting to spring to life when I shut off my will and let it “take over.”  I still don’t know what to make of it, whether it’s a spiritual possession, something alien, or some form of higher self that manifests when the ego rescinds.  Furthermore, I don’t even know if it has anything to do with last night. I’m including this factoid here because before I fell asleep, I was meditating and this energy, which seems to be Eastern in flavor, i.e., it makes my body do yoga, whirling dervish looking exercises, ti chi, etc. you get the point—a whole host of Eastern meditation and exercise goodies happen to the body when I tuck away the ME—this energy was doing some things to my stomach that it’s only done one other time. I wish I could tell you what that is but I simply don’t know. 

Physically, as with the last time, the mechanics involved my cupped left hand, palm up, pressing in firmly about 2 inches below my ribcage, while the right hand rubbed my belly in a circular motion really fast.  Then my hands pushed in the sides of my stomach hard. And some other stuff—that’s all I’ve committed to memory. But the last time this energy concentrated on my stomach in this fashion, it ended by making me fall asleep. The whole night my stomach jolted and pulsed with some other form of energy. (At least that’s how it felt.) It was not possible to sleep deeply; I felt like I might radiate and explode.  This time the meditation also ended in my being put to sleep, but my stomach didn’t pulsate or any of that. I just fell asleep.

I had this dream that started off mundanely. I’m in Vermont at my grandparents’ house. I need to use the bathroom but there’s no lock on the door, which is embarrassing so I hold it in.  I see these women walking past the door.  It turns out they are my ailing grandfather’s caregivers, one of who, a blond woman about my age, is pregnant with a girl.  I don’t know these dream women and am shy about meeting them but once I introduce myself I want to touch the pregnant lady’s fat stomach to feel the baby kick.  It doesn’t kick.  It talks.  And it’s male.

When the baby talks I can see his mouth and eyes moving through the mother’s skin.  It’s a creepy effect.  I’m baffled that this is happening. The baby is talking in riddles like some Zen master.  I don’t remember all of what he said, but the women were attentive like they were learning from him.  I asked some question about these people—I don’t remember whom—going to hell.  The baby didn’t really answer so I asked if there is such a thing as hell.

“Hell is not what the Christians believe,” he told us.

“So you’re saying there is a heaven and a hell, it’s just not what we’ve been taught” I asked.

He was hesitant to even say that there was a heaven and hell because the truth is so vastly more complex than those terms connote. 

“Are you Buddhist,” I asked.

“No. I am Buddha,” he responded.

“You mean you’re—“

“I am not a Buddhist, I am Buddha.”

He told me his name and the letters of it flashed at me over and over, spelling it out. Of course I’ve forgotten it.  It was one word and it was filled with hard consonants. It began with a “G”; there was a “k” in there somewhere.  Through our conversation I learned that when he is born, he will be the last of the buddhas, the final enlightener.  I asked him if he will remember who he is when he’s born and he said no, he’ll have the same amnesia we’re all incarnated with and will struggle to remember, then fulfill his destiny.  He will live to the age of 63.  I wondered silently if that meant humanity had until his death to figure out what we are or go extinct. I didn’t ask.

He told me I could ask him any three questions I wanted.  I asked him what the function of the Grays is on earth. (If you don’t know “Grays” is a common term alien abductees use to categorize the short gray beings who abduct them.)  He laughed at me and said they don’t exist.  The other caregiver, a brunette, excitedly whispered “yes” in my ear, as if to say she knew it and that she was right and I was wrong. 

Unborn Buddha stated that there is a race of aliens here, but they are amphibious and have gills.  I said well maybe these are the reptilians some abductees report interacting with. Maybe they are creating a hybrid race so they can breathe Earth’s air.  Again he chuckled at me saying there’s no such thing as reptilians either or this hybrid experiment that keeps getting reported.  He says the amphibians look like tadpoles when they’re young.  As he’s explaining this, I see an image of a large black, wriggling tadpole.

I’m confused about all of this and suspicious of him because if what he’s telling me is true then my abduction experiences and those of all so-called abductees are nothing more than mass delusion.  Still, though, I don’t want to confront him because I’m shy about relating my experiences, especially with strangers—in this case, the two caregivers.  I don’t remember the rest of our conversation I just remember being suspicious of the baby’s claims while at the same time wondering if my suspicion isn’t a defense mechanism keeping me from seeing that I’m delusional.  In either event, this talking fetus is real and proof in and of itself that something strange is truly happening. This should be enough to turn science on its ear.

I woke up and went to the bathroom.  It was a vivid enough dream to where it upset me that it wasn’t real. I was so bent on presenting this unborn Buddha to the world and it turned out to be just another friggen dream! 

When I fell back asleep I immediately found myself back at the Vermont house, continuing the same dream. It was slightly altered though: we were no longer standing in the same positions.  Same room, though, the kitchen.  Something about the tone had changed; there was now a sinister vibe.  When the Buddha baby spoke, his eyes glowed red through the stomach skin of his mother.  The mother seemed to be in a trance.  Sometimes when the baby spoke, his mouth moved; sometimes he spoke through the mouth of the entranced mom.

I thought Buddha types were supposed to be calm and patient?  This baby seems full of pent-up aggression and distain like—Hey!  Just like certain dream characters I confront when I “wake up” into a dream!  (For more on those see The Merging in my Short Story section.)  I quiz the baby again about aliens and again he laughs and tells me they aren’t real. I say, “But what about all the abductees who say they’ve experienced the Grays?”  He tells me they haven’t.

I decide to break the shyness and say, “But I’ve seen them! I’m an abductee! Are you telling me I didn’t experience any of that?” 

“No,” he says in growing agitation. “I already told you they aren’t real. That never happened.”

“Then where did I go all that time?”

His voice now contained a hint of the demon: “You were with us.”

I let that sink in. I was afraid I was questioning his authority too much and he might snap and destroy me. 

Us.  Who was that?  It reminded me of the scene in The Exorcist where the demon claims that the little girl is “with us.”  It reminded me of the nightmare my own father once had where I was abducted not by aliens but by demons. This demonic voice told him that they had me and there was nothing he could do about it.  He was yelling in his sleep.  His wife tried to shake him awake.  He didn’t wake up for twenty minutes through all that shaking, not until the dream was complete.

It reminded me that I was asleep and this was a dream and the baby was just another fear barrier blocking me from breaking through to whatever hides behind the façade of the human dreamscape. 

I don’t know when it happened but eventually this dream stopped and another one started, as dreams are prone to do. Thankfully, this one had nothing to do with that baby.  I was sitting around some dream place I’ve never been.  Sitting with my roommates, bored. I wanted to play a video game so I went into this drawer full of them and pulled out a mini digital videotape.  ‘That’s strange. What’s that doing in there,’ I wondered.  I played the tape and on it was that Buddha baby and the mother and the other caregiver and me.  It was a replay of our conversations!

I thought, ‘Yeah!  This WAS real!  This wasn’t a dream!  I knew it!  This is the proof I’ve been waiting for that something, something inexplicable is happening!’ 

The more I watched the tape the more I realized how mundane it looked. It looked like I was asking this woman’s pregnant belly questions and she was answering, while the other woman and I watched in amazement.  It looked like the dumbest, worst fraud I could think of. ‘No one’s going to believe this,’ I thought.  ‘But…this isn’t what happened!’

The tape was a lie!  A baby claiming to be Buddha had spoken through the stomach of this mother!  Why wasn’t I seeing that?  As an observer, even I couldn’t look at this and think anything unusual was happening.  All I saw was a group of people talking and making a big deal out of that, with a characteristic cult-like will to believe that something extraordinary was taking place. And I was one of the people.

But I’d been there, hadn’t I?  This baby spoke, damn it!  It SPOKE!

My alarm went off and I woke up.  That was ten and a half hours ago.  I feel like I didn’t sleep a wink.

###

I’m almost finished editing a documentary on…well…me.  In the documentary I show my body doing some of the various exercises I mentioned before under the direction of that other will.  Reading this back, it would seem that at least the last dream is about my fear that it’s gonna look silly or like a fraud to claim that I am not moving my own body when, in fact, I’m not.  This is something for which science has no answer, religion has no answer (or none that I’ve yet found), and I have no answer.  Nope, it’ll probably look like a delusional fat guy who is functional enough to avoid the mental institution.  I’m not sure what the rest means.  I Google-searched “Buddha” and “lineage” and “63” but nothing spectacular jumped out at me. So ho-hum.  Just another deep sleep that, ah, kept me awake for most of the night.