The REM Precept

by J. M. Lanham

  “Oh? I am sorry to hear that.” He looked to Paul. “We never know the time or the place, do we?”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “So, what does a man who’s awakened from a months-long sleep talk about, Mr. Freeman?”

  Paul hesitated, so Michelle answered for him. “They wanted to do an interview for one of their morning segments. Wanted to talk about Paul’s experiences in the weeks since he’s woken up. You know, cover the basics.” She looked to her husband. “But from what Paul’s told me, they wound up focusing on some of the stranger things that’ve happened since he’s been awake.”

  “Stranger things? What sort of stranger things?”

  “Paul’s convinced that he hasn’t been in the hospital for six months. That the bits and pieces of the dreams he had while he was in a coma weren’t dreams at all.”

  “Interesting,” Dawa said, rubbing his chin. He asked Paul, “So, if you have not been in the hospital for the last six months, then where do you think you have been?”

  “I—I really can’t say. I mean, the memories come on a like a freight train barreling down the tracks and then vanish in …

  Paul stopped, hanging on what he had just said.

  A freight train, barreling down the tracks.

  He remembered Fenton Reed, the scrawny teenager working the camera earlier that day, ball cap on backwards, Baby Ruth protruding from his shirt pocket. Suddenly, it clicked:

  The hacker.

  Then there was Claire. Still a journalist, but far from the daytime talk-show type. No, Claire was different, willing to put herself in the line of fire for a good story. To help others. To uncover the dark truth behind a government conspiracy that had cost her friend his life—

  Aguilar. Alejandro Aguilar. Paul looked over to the empty bed. Impossible. Couldn’t be him. Aguilar was middle-aged. This guy wasn’t a day under eighty!

  The gears were turning full steam now as he looked back to Dawa, who was patiently waiting, almost watching the memories pour back into Paul’s mind. The monastery. The facilities. The little white sleeping pills—Ocula.

  Paul remembered all of it.

  “Vanish in what, Paul?” Michelle asked.

  “Huh?”

  “The memories? Barreling down the tracks? You were saying they vanished?”

  Yeah. They vanished. But now they’re back.

  Paul’s face couldn’t hide his eureka moment. He turned to Michelle and said, “I know you’re getting sick of hearing about my dreams, Michelle. But I’m willing to bet I can show you exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “Really? You’re going to convince me that you can prove what, that your dreams have some deeper meaning?”

  “Not just meaning, Michelle. I’m going to prove that my dreams are real.”

  Michelle pinched herself, then reached over and gently pinched Paul. “Nope. Still here. So we’ve established this place is real, am I right?”

  “Sure. Why not.”

  “So what are you telling me, Paul? That there are alternate realities? Alternate versions of what you’re describing as real?”

  “Absolutely. And I can prove it to you.”

  Michelle was intrigued now. “And how are you going to do that?”

  “Because I know about your dreams,” he said.

  Her arms were crossed, a single eyebrow up. “I’m waiting.”

  “Do you remember meeting me at the cabin in the woods?”

  Michelle’s expression changed in an instant, brow furrowed, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “The cabin in the woods,” she repeated, the words stirring something inside her.

  “You met me at a rental cabin on the porch. It was in North Georgia, a little place where my dad used to take Alex and me fishing when we were kids. It was a clear and starry night, the katydids were chirping—”

  “—and I was in my nightgown,” she answered, astonished. “You know, the one you always liked so much.”

  “With the lace at the top.”

  “That’s it! And I was telling you something. Something I felt like you needed to hear …” She thought hard on it, but now her thoughts were the ones that were fleeting.

  “You told me you loved me, Michelle. That Aaron loved me, and that everything was going to be okay.”

  “But how—how could you—how could we …”

  Dawa sat stone-faced and unflinching as he watched Michelle try to make sense of it all, listening to the confusion resonating in her hesitant voice as she struggled to put together a single coherent sentence. For the longest time, she couldn’t. Finally, she turned to Graham. “You know something about this, don’t you?”

  “Something about what, Michelle? Your dream?”

  Eagerly, she nodded, waiting.

  “What I know is of no consequence. It is what you believe that truly matters.”

  Paul said, “What I believe is that you remember everything, Dawa. But for some reason you’re refusing to admit it.”

  “Let’s entertain that for a moment, Paul. You believe that this world is not real, that reality lies elsewhere in the universe, in a place not unlike this one. A place with pain. With suffering. And you can’t shake the feeling that you must cling to those memories. That you must remember everything that happened over there, in that place. Does that sound about right?”

  “Well yeah, Dawa,” Paul said. “And I think you’re hiding something. About Asteria. About Skyline. About the CIA.” He cocked his head and gestured toward Michelle as his suspicions grew. “How are we supposed to know you’re not working with the CIA, anyway? You disappear at Skyline only to show up a week later?” Their faces filled with doubt as if Paul’s comments had sparked a series of thoughts Michelle couldn’t quite put her finger on. That’s when Dawa rose from his chair and took a single step toward Paul.

  “Tell me, Paul. Are you familiar with the five precepts of the Buddhist doctrine?”

  Paul shook his head no.

  “They are rather simple, and are not unlike the Ten Commandments. Most Buddhists adhere to these precepts and these precepts alone. Do not steal. Do not lie. Do not murder. Do not be overcome with intoxication or lust. But there is another precept that we tend to stray from. One that, in this hectic world of ours, we tend to forget from time to time.”

  He moved even closer, now standing at Paul’s bedside. “It is the precept of living in the moment. To not be whisked away by the past. To worry not for the future. This is the essence of all happiness. Of all joy.”

  Michelle said, “You sound like my yoga instructor.”

  The comment amused Dawa. “The philosophy has made a slow journey from east to west,” he said, “but it is catching on in some circles.”

  Frustrated, Paul shook his head. “What does any of this have to do with the Ocula conspiracy, Graham? With the CIA? With what it’s obvious they’ve pulled here?”

  “And what have they pulled here?”

  “Seriously? You’re going to stand there and pretend they didn’t use Ocula to wipe our brains clean of any recollection of a conspiracy?”

  Dawa craned his neck left, then right. “I do not see any CIA operatives here, do you?”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re not working with them. That Kovic and Cline and the whole lot of them aren’t going to be waiting for us the moment we get home.”

  Dawa leaned in and spoke softly. “Paul. My friend. Do you really believe what you are saying here? That I would betray you? Betray your family? Betray my principles, after everything you believe we have been through together?”

  Paul didn’t. And that was the most frustrating part of all.

  “Then what happened, Dawa? I know you know something. Please”—he looked to his wife—“just tell us something. Anything. We can handle it, can’t we, honey?”

  Michelle nodded yes.

  Dawa stuffed his hands in his pockets, eyes on the floor. Paul and Michelle watched intently as he took a deep breath. Then he started in. “In Tibetan Buddhism, there are n
ine levels of consciousness. Are either of you familiar with the principle?”

  They weren’t.

  “They are what create our samsaric reality.”

  “Samsaric?” Michelle asked.

  “The circle of life and death. You are already familiar with at least six of the nine levels, whether you know it or not. The first five base levels of consciousness incorporate the five senses you use every day. Touch. Taste. Smell. Sight. Sound. They are brought together by the sixth consciousness—the mind. Without the mind, the senses could never be interpreted by sentient beings as a coherent whole. The mind is what brings understanding to our external senses.”

  Paul said, “Why do I have the feeling things get really weird from there …”

  “Because they do,” Dawa said, “from a Western perspective, anyway. The seventh consciousness is called the Klesha, and it is where our inner dialogue resides. Home to our ego, if you will. It is what helps us make sense of the world, our own personal interpretation of it. Naturally, this is where many of us run into trouble. Because human beings are inherently flawed, it is easy to misinterpret the world around us; to see things in a negative light. The Klesha is where some of our worst traits abide. Anger. Fear. Jealously. Hate. Letting the seventh consciousness take control over all others has been the source of much hardship in the world from the very beginning of time.”

  “Let me guess,” Michelle said. “The last two have to do with shedding all of the negativity? Getting rid of the ego?”

  “In a sense, yes. The Alaya consciousness is where our karma resides. It is also where we transcend the ego to interact with the karmic energy of others. In this eighth level of being, a person can use their own karmic energy to communicate with others. With humankind as a whole. With plants. With animals. When one is in touch with Alaya, that person can have a profound influence on the well-being—or the ill will—of others.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Paul said, looking to Michelle as Dawa continued.

  “The ninth and final level is Amala; the pure and stainless level of consciousness, accessible only when the third eye has been fully awakened.”

  “Third eye?” Michelle asked.

  “The eye of consciousness,” Dawa said. “It represents the revelation of enlightenment that cannot be experienced through physical sight alone. It is at this level that a devout sentient being can shed the suffering of the past and find compassion within him or herself to forgive and move forward. To make the most of every situation now, in the present, without judgment.”

  Paul massaged his forehead as he tried to digest everything Dawa was saying. “This philosophy, these levels of consciousness … are you trying to tell me I may have gotten caught up in something like this while I was in a coma?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Maybe?!” Paul was indignant. “I’m sorry, Graham. But what in the hell kind of answer is maybe?”

  “It is exactly the kind of answer I can give you. No more. No less. Regardless of your suspicions, regardless of your memories—those lucid, and those flawed—you are going to have to accept the fact that you may never know what happened. That is to say, if anything happened at all.”

  Michelle told Paul, “I have to admit, the cabin dream is kinda tripping me out right now. But at the end of the day, I think Dawa’s right. I think we should try and accept the current situation and move forward from there. Take it a day at a time. No worries for the past. No worries for the future.” She looked back at Aaron, cooing from the comfort of a pile of blankets lying on the recliner, then back to Paul. She took his hand. “After everything we’ve been through, could you really ask for a better present than this?”

  Paul pursed his lips and nodded, almost tearing up a little. Michelle was right: nothing else mattered but the present. And at the present moment, things weren’t looking too bad. He turned to Dawa and asked, “So, Mr. Graham. What do you suggest I do then with all of this information, these memories … Just pretend that it never happened?”

  “I never said you should forget, Paul. Memories are the remnants of experiences, imagined or not. And it is experiences that help us grow.”

  “Okay, so what do I do then?”

  Dawa walked to the door, stopping halfway to read a get-well-soon card sticking out of a bouquet of flowers on the end table. He smiled, then tossed the card to Paul. “What I suggest is that you get yourself better so you can get back to work. As for me, I’m late for a date with my wife.”

  And with that, Dawa Graham left.

  Michelle turned and said, “I think that’s great advice, Paul. We just need to focus on getting you better. All of this other stuff doesn’t matter now; we’ll worry about it later, okay? And I promise, I’m going to be by you every step of the way.” She held his hand, and for the first time since he’d been awake, Paul started to feel an emotion he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

  Hope.

  He smiled, told Michelle he loved her, and watched as she gathered up their belongings and waited for the last of the doctors to sign off on Paul’s discharge from the hospital. He turned to catch the last rays of a setting sun pouring in from the west window, the steel-and-glass buildings visible from his bed painted a shimmering gold as a single word played over and over in his mind:

  Maybe.

  So what if Paul had fallen victim to the grand Ocula conspiracy? He panned the room. All was quiet. No one was chasing him now. His wife and son were free, and his brother was alive. And although a part of him craved a sense of justice, a sense of exposing the truth, and a sense of absolute closure, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to accept what was right in front of him. Live in the moment, like Michelle said. Stop trying to look past an eternally veiled horizon. No more worrying about the future—and certainly no dwelling on the past.

  Regardless of what had actually happened, there was little doubt that the last six months had almost marked the final curtain call for Paul Freeman. But for some reason, it seemed as though he’d been given a new lease on life. He glanced at the business card Claire had left on the tray table and thought about the others. Claire working the Atlanta beat, Fenton Reed in tow. And Dawa Graham, getting ready for date night with the missus? Hell, if any one of Paul’s dreamt-about doubts were true, it seemed as though they all had been given a new lease on life. (Well, except for Donny Ford, but who knew. Dawa could probably find him a good attorney.)

  At this point, Paul didn’t care about figuring things out anymore. He was tired, or as his brother Alex would have put it, dog-tired. His eyes burned and his muscles ached for the comfort of his own bed.

  But the lucid moments, as fleeting as they were, gave him something to cling to. And with each one that passed, he became more determined to move on here, in this world. Ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead while embracing every fear that crept into his mind, every doubt that burdened his subconscious. Those that arose in dreams, and those he’d most certainly face in this new and unfamiliar waking life.

  That started with taking Graham’s advice. He looked down and read the card the detective had tossed his way.

  It was from Asteria Pharmaceuticals, and it said:

  Dear Paul,

  As you can imagine, we’ve been following the status of your condition for the last six months, and we’re happy to hear that after a long road to recovery, you are finally on the mend. Please accept our best well-wishes, and take your time getting back on your feet again.

  Your job at Asteria will be waiting for you when you’re ready.

  All the best,

  — George Sturgis

  CEO, Asteria Pharmaceuticals

  Paul let the card slide from his fingers and drift down to the floor. Your job will be waiting …

  “Everything okay, dear?” Michelle asked.

  “Yeah. Everything’s fine,” he said.

  Everything’s going to be just fine.

  The End.

  Resources

  This nove
l is a work of fiction, but several of the themes covered in this book have real-world ties. The following list of resources was put together to help anyone interested in learning more about the science, history, and current events behind the book.

  Cohen, Reuven. “Dept. of Homeland Security Forced to Release List of Keywords Used to Monitor Social Networking Sites.” Forbes, Forbes Magazine, 3 June 2013, www.forbes.com/sites/reuvencohen/2012/05/26/department-of-homeland-security-forced-to-release-list-of-keywords-used-to-monitor-social-networking-sites.

  “Concept: The Nine Levels of Consciousness.” World Tribune, 3 Aug. 2018, www.worldtribune.org/2018/08/concept-nine-levels-consciousness/.

  Constantin, Lucian. “Researchers Show Ways to Bypass Home and Office Security Systems.” CSO Online, CSO, 31 July 2013, www.csoonline.com/article/2133815/researchers-show-ways-to-bypass-home-and-office-security-systems.html.

  Editors, History.com. “Buddhism.” History.com, A&E Television Networks, 12 Oct. 2017, www.history.com/topics/religion/buddhism.

  Eggertson, Laura. “Lancet Retracts 12-Year-Old Article Linking Autism to MMR Vaccines.” CMAJ : Canadian Medical Association Journal = Journal De L’Association Medicale Canadienne, Canadian Medical Association, 9 Mar. 2010, www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2831678/.

  Eschner, Kat. “What We Know About the CIA’s Midcentury Mind-Control Project.” Smithsonian.com, Smithsonian Institution, 13 Apr. 2017, www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/what-we-know-about-cias-midcentury-mind-control-project-180962836/.

  Fields, R. Douglas. “Mind Control by Cell Phone.” Scientific American, 7 May 2008, www.scientificamerican.com/article/mind-control-by-cell/.

  Fintel, Bara, et al. “Helix Magazine.” The Thalidomide Tragedy: Lessons for Drug Safety and Regulation | Helix Magazine, 28 July 2009, helix.northwestern.edu/article/thalidomide-tragedy-lessons-drug-safety-and-regulation.

  Fung, Brian. “To Battle Hackers, IBM Wants to Encrypt the World.” The Washington Post, WP Company, 17 July 2017, www.washingtonpost.com/news/the-switch/wp/2017/07/17/to-battle-hackers-ibm-wants-to-encrypt-the-world.