Deadened House
I went out to breakfast with a friend.
I came back home, and slept the entire day away with some strange dream.
This dream was half-lucid; I couldn’t change the environment, but I could move around and engage with it as I pleased, and I knew it was a dream. A was trodding through a golden field of wheat, never ending, somehow a rural and unknown part of Tennessee, somehow home, somehow a real place in a spiritual world.
I walked for what felt like forever. The fields of wheat were endless, tall, ready for harvest. Sprinkled about were rickety houses, flooded at some point, destroyed, old, abandoned. At first, I ignored these dark places, choosing to take on skipping happily, running my hands over the top of the grain. Eventually, I became exhausted, covered in sweat. I stood up to look at the houses, considering seeking shelter in their shade, but I was immediately relieved of sweat and heat. Dry, cool.
Instead of skipping and walking as I had been, I picked one of the abandoned houses just a few hundred feet in front of me and made my way towards it. Before entering, I felt a sting along my ankles. I was being cut by some smaller weeds, my legs slashed and bleeding. I looked up, the sun beating in my eyes, and walked inside.
The place was moldy, decaying, darkened with the energy of death and sin. Repulsion. Bugs crawled, and my feet sloshed through the wet feeling of dirt and shit of the floor.
Still, my desire led me further in.
The living room was empty, the most deadened of them all. Still, I knew beauty was here, inside, so I crept forward, somehow knowing exactly where to go. I hung a right to the nearest room, almost hugging the walls to get there.
I found a woman’s bedroom. Awe. It was somehow me, somehow my things, yet those of a stranger. I looked and thought to myself “I can take these, I can own them in the real world, I can just clean them up and take them with me!”
I opened a box, curious, and found jewelry. I opened the closet and found fur coats, fur blankets, and raw fur. Everything I touched would glitch, then disappear when I would look away from them. For example: I would turn around from the closet of luxurious furs, then would turn back to find in it’s place a series of shelves, discarded taxidermy-style animal heads, rotting. One of the heads on the bottom row was entirely crushed under the weight of the falling shelves above it.
Still, I searched. I found a drawer of beautiful night dresses, and they would disappear, and become plain mourning clothes. I would look at the stained glass panels laid loosely on top of a table, and the night clothes, now mourning clothes, would disappear entirely. Dust and rat remnants remained. Everything was in a state of disappearing, turning, disgusting.
I finally accepted that this was going nowhere, and this was all meant to show me something.
I tried to wake myself up, and I wouldn’t wake. I began to panic, quietly pleaded to God to just end the dream. Instead, I felt a calm come over me. I felt an internal push to really look at what was before me.
In my time remote viewing, I became known for being willing to harm my “spiritual body”, and my willingness to do disgusting things in order to acquire information. Because these senses would be limited, you had to use all of them, otherwise you dramatically decrease your accuracy. I was able to get more accurate “reads” than my peers because I was willing to, in a remote viewing session, spiritually lick the ground to determine whether it was asphalt or carpet. I was willing to run my hands over glass and cut this spiritual body.
Those experiences made me unfazed to the mounds of dust and disgust in this dream, regardless of how repulsive. I knew I was in a dream. Also, being half-lucid, if I really found the dream that disgusting, I would simply walk back outside to the fields of wheat. Instead, I walked into a rotting pit for the prospect of taking these excesses into the real world.
I began to see what I was really doing— trying to avoid death itself.
I closed my eyes. I accepted the impermanence of my childhood home, of the earth and its birds and landscapes. I accepted the impermanence of the skyline of Nashville, the inevitable death of my beloved dog, my dear friends. I accepted that this place, in this dream, was not real, or was otherwise inaccessable. I accepted death for myself, my ideas, my body. I accepted the impermanence and death for the mattress I was currently sleeping on. I accepted death, and I accepted that I could take nothing with me.
I woke up happy.
Ends up, I spent seven real-world hours wandering about the wheat fields and attempting to plunder this house of disappearing, transforming things.