“Where?” Miguel shrugged and looked into the fog. Hrim waved his staff into the mist and the scene began to shift like images in a slide show fading from one to another. Miguel and Amelia watched as Hrim played all of the major scenes from the dreams that preceded his arrival in the fog. In reverse sequence he started with the circus scene and Jojo sparring with the clown. From there the scenes melted rapidly through scenes in small town America to scenes in India. Miguel could see Jojo and Amelia ascending the mountain on the back of an elephant. Then the images flipped wildly forward and he saw the last scene before he landed in the fog - Amelia struck by a bullet in front of his house.
“But that was real,” Miguel said. “She was shot!” He looked at Amelia with questioning eyes. “I do remember,” he said. “You’re Karen Bradford’s daughter, the lawyer. But it didn’t stop there. I’ve been working your case. You’re in ICU.” He looked at Hrim. “How can she be in ICU and here at the same time? Look at her.” Miguel stood up and walked over to Amelia, “There’s nothing wrong with her!”
“Do you remember the rest?” Hrim ignored the questions about Amelia’s health.
“How am I doing?” Amelia interrupted touching Miguel’s sleeve.
“Don’t answer that question!” Hrim waved his staff and silenced the pair. They looked at him and waited. “You humans need to understand that where you focus your attention is what will be manifest. What is important now is not Amelia’s prospects for survival as you have perceived them in the 3-D dream, but what you will accomplish in this dream to bring about the appropriate conclusion.”
“What do you mean? I’m dreaming right now?” Miguel tried to balance his lucid state against having a conversation with an elephant turned little old man.
“Yes. You and Amelia and several others have just completed a dream that reviewed everything that occurred during the day leading up to your encounter with the black Camaro,” Hrim replied.
“You were there?” Amelia asked.
“Not exactly.” Hrim clarified, “All that has occurred so far is a matter of public record.”
“The report I filed at the station,” Miguel nodded knowingly.
“No, the Akashic,” Hrim explained. “The actions of everyone, every thought, every intention, every fear, every ah-ha are recorded in the Akashic. I have tapped into your records and those that are connected to yours. This is how I know what has transpired.”
“Then tell us why all that happened,” Amelia urged Hrim, half knowing the answer he would give her.
“Can’t tell you more than you already know,” Hrim explained, “for me, it’s out of bounds.”
“For you?” Miguel heard the qualification.
“Yes, I cannot bring the knowledge of the Akashic to you, but you may seek after it for yourselves.” The whole Wizard of Oz parallels in her dream came up for Amelia as if fresh. She felt like Dorothy finding out that the wizard wasn’t a wizard at all and couldn’t do anything to get her home. She imagined Hrim floating away in a big hot air balloon and was startled when she heard Miguel.
“Hey! Come back here!” Amelia brought her attention back to the fog and saw Hrim floating off against a sky of blue in a beautiful hot air balloon. Catching herself, Amelia focused her attention on the balloon and imagined it was moving closer to her. The balloon followed her imaginings. Amelia was impressed. The balloon began to float away again. Amelia focused her attention once more on simply seeing the balloon landing in front of her. In a moment Hrim was disembarking the basket and joined Amelia and Miguel on the boulders.
“That was pretty neat.” Amelia was impressed with her feat of magic.
“Not magic,” Hrim corrected. “Intention and manifestation. This is the page we need the two of you on together.”
Miguel looked at Amelia who had seemed so pretentious and demanding on the phone. He couldn’t quite reconcile the young woman sitting across from him as the same person.
Pause, pause, pause…
Dreams are tricky things. While humans are becoming increasingly aware that they are constantly dreaming, few have begun to understand the subtle nuances of the dream. Without good working knowledge of the different classes and qualifications of dreaming, and most importantly, how to gain control of their dreams, humans endure entire lifetimes of thinking dreams just happen beyond their control, without intent, and mostly for their amusement.
Dream Guides maintain a high level of job security as the human race moves at a snail’s pace which is, we’ll admit, faster than the pace of a royal elephant when calculating for body mass, in uncovering the secrets of their dream habits while continuing to maintain one hell of a nightmare overall. Nevertheless, it is the sacred responsibility of Dream Guides when encountered by lucid dreamers to attempt to explain the practices and processes into which they have entered whether intentional or accidental.
Resume, resume, resume…
“The dreamer perceives and interprets energy according to his or her belief system.” Hrim read Miguel’s thoughts. “In the earlier dreams, the ones before the dream of the 3-D experience, you did not know who Amelia was, Miguel. You might have been attracted to her dream because of your connection to her case in the 3-D dream. However, it is also likely that you were attracted to her dream because of your connection to Jojo.”
Amelia remembered Jojo’s disappearance from the circus dream and realized the boy she saw on the front porch with Miguel was not Jojo. “Where is he?” Amelia asked, again knowing the answer before Hrim spoke it.
“Out of bounds,” Hrim confirmed. Miguel suddenly felt filled with rage.
“Where is he?” Miguel demanded. “What have you done with him?” Again, Miguel reached for the holstered pistol that was not there.
Hrim understood Miguel’s concern and tried to reassure him. “The boy is having his own dream.” Hrim pointed to the rock behind Miguel. “Please sit down and let’s stop delaying our work. There is much to be done.” Miguel stepped back and sat stiffly on the rock.
“I’m responsible for him,” Miguel muttered.
“Yes, I know. So let’s get on with it.” Hrim started again to explain manifesting to the pair when Amelia interrupted him.
“Excuse me Hrim, but I think you’re taking a bit too much time yourself and there are some points I think I can fill in that will help Miguel get the big picture.” Miguel was surprised at the familiarity with which Amelia addressed him. Hrim motioned with his open palm upward as if to surrender the podium to Amelia. A sparkle of energy ran through Amelia as she felt empowered for the first time since she’s come through the fog.
“Right now, I think we’re in my dream.” She explained, “People move their dreams in and out of other people’s dreams as circumstances attract or repel them like little magnets.” She looked at Hrim who nodded his head.
Not bad, Hrim thought to Amelia. She checked Miguel to see if he had any reaction to the thought exchange. He did not.
“I think this is my dream because the first time I realized I was dreaming I was in a foggy scene like this one. This is how I start a lucid dream, with fog and Hrim.”
“And me.” Zeke plodded out of the fog and jumped his feet up onto Amelia’s knees. He reached to lick her cheek as she dropped down and put her hands around his head and scratched his ears. She looked at Miguel who was apparently stunned to see and hear a talking dog.
“Sometimes animals talk. Sometimes they’re not really animals.” She smiled at Hrim. “Sometimes you can hear thoughts.” She smiled. “I’m okay Zeke, do you feel better now?”
“I thought I’d go nuts at the kennel trying to warn you,” Zeke replied. “You don’t listen so well in the waking dream.”
“You’re right, I don’t. How’s everything going for you?”
“I’d be better if you’d quit screwing around and get me outta’ that place. There’s a crazy Chihuahua chick who thinks I should be her man! She’s driving me crazy and practically blinding me with her rhinestone studded coll
ar!”
“Mom hasn’t picked you up?” Amelia looked concerned.
“I think that’s close enough.” Hrim interjected. “Zeke, why don’t you go get a treat, like a good dog?”
“I can’t argue wit’ ‘dat!” Zeke licked his chops and looked back at Amelia and admonished her as he toddled into the fog. “Don’t stay out all night!”
Amelia returned her attention to Miguel as Zeke followed a trail of treats into the fog. “People come and go so strangely around here.” Amelia played upon her ongoing Oz theme only to realize that neither Hrim nor Miguel seemed to share the same appreciation for the movie classic. She refocused on exploring dream states with Miguel.
“In my last dream, the one where I came to your house, I wasn’t lucid. It was a sleeping dream where I wasn’t in control of my circumstances the way I was just now with the hot air balloon. In that last dream, in addition to you, I dreamed my step-sister, an employee, my ex-fiancé,” she paused to make sure she hadn’t missed anyone, “and my mother.” Miguel made mental note of the potential suspects and remembered his call to Nick in his own dream.
“From what I’ve learned so far,” Amelia went on, “we walk around thinking 3-D life is different from dreaming but it’s not. We also think it’s happening to us but it really happens through the power of our imaginations.” Miguel watched Amelia skeptically as she stood up from her seat on the rock and paced as if she was presenting a case to a jury.
“So, were you dreaming me or was I dreaming you?” he inquired.
“Yes.” Amelia employed an answer she learned from Tetta. “Both ways because everything appears differently based on the viewing point. I was dreaming you from my experience but you were also dreaming for yourself too.” Amelia nodded her head as she deepened her understanding of the process and checked in with Hrim who nodded affirmatively and gave her a little wink.
“Whenever we had similar material in our dreams, we bumped into each other.
“So everything I dreamed doesn’t necessarily have something to do with you?”
“Not necessarily.” Hrim interjected, “But it is likely that even seemingly unrelated events can shed some light on each other.” Miguel understood the interaction of facts and how they could build together into one story.
“So if I’m in your dream now, will I remember it when I wake up?” Miguel asked Amelia who looked to Hrim for new information.
“You are both lucid in this dream which means you will remember it. It also means either of you can take it in any direction. This is why it’s so important to get you both on the same page.” Hrim looked at Amelia. “Much in the same way as your dream of India attracted Jojo because of Dumbo, and then Jojo made it all about his experiences with Darius. We don’t want the dream bouncing all over the place at this late stage in the game.”
“What about Darius?” The mention of Darius piqued Miguel’s attention.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Hrim replied.
“Out of bounds.” Amelia tried to explain for Miguel.
“But not for very much longer,” Hrim nodded. “First you two need to agree on what’s next. Then you can exchange information, being careful to understand that doing so may send either of you into the same or a different dream experience.”
Amelia looked concerned. “I don’t think we should split up.”
“That would likely be a good idea,” Hrim agreed. “What I can tell you is that because of your experiences there are several forces seeking you out in various dream levels and some of them may intend to cause you harm.”
Miguel looked at Amelia. He was trying to sort through the events in the front yard. It wasn’t clear to him who was the intended target, himself, Jojo, or maybe even Amelia. He reached under his right arm and felt his holster with gun inside.
“Do bullets hurt in dreams?” Miguel asked.
“If a person dreams themselves dead, no matter what level they dream from, then that person may not awaken unless a stronger dream revives him or her or there is a greater plan.” Miguel studied the soft blue aged look of Hrim’s eyes. They were honest and caring.
“Did Amelia dream herself dead?” Miguel asked. A little sharp breath could be heard as Amelia inhaled quickly.
“Her present state is in line with her perceptions of what would happen if she came in contact with a bullet.” Hrim nodded. “But she is not dead and as you know she has her mother strongly dreaming that she’ll live.”
“And me?” Miguel asked, “Did I get hit too? Am I dead?”
“No. Not then, not in the dream of your waking history. You continue to sleep as you have every night since the event.” Miguel felt relieved and yet sorry for Amelia. “However,” Hrim continued, “I must suggest that you get to work. Start comparing notes before daybreak, Miguel, about what you saw. If you go back to the waking dream Amelia may well be left here alone except for the guides. Guides cannot change a dream sequence. Amelia needs your support as her dream will undoubtedly collide with dreams of those who may mean her harm.”
Amelia looked at Miguel. Suddenly she was very grateful he turned out to be a detective.
Pause, pause, pause…
At the bedside of her daughter Karen Bradford started awake from her dream. She was exhausted from reliving the experience over and over again. She remembered that last phone call, and the next one from Miguel Alvarez. At first she thought he was calling about Jojo. It was, she thought, both a blessing and very strange that he had been the one to call about Amelia. At times, however, she felt so angry toward the man who had helped her help her students so much, and then had invited her daughter to a drive by shooting. She felt herself biting her lower lip, a habit she had developed to keep herself from saying anything she might regret later.
Rubbing her weary eyes she checked her watch. It was 12:55 am. The hospital staff had given up trying to restrict Karen to visiting hours. She needed to make a life or death decision and she had every right to try every way she could think of to revive her daughter. Removing the breathing apparatus, which seemed to be all that was keeping her alive, was out of the question.
Karen sat back in her chair and felt her back ache from the poor posture she maintained while napping. Detective Alvarez was convinced Amelia had seen the shooter. He was sure she could identify him if she awoke. When pressed for why this had happened, Detective Alvarez was open to myriad possibilities some of which he didn’t share with Karen. Karen was not satisfied with his plethora of possibilities. She wanted the answer.
Karen stood and stretched and moved to leave the curtained area. If there was one thing that could tear an aging mother away from her daughter it was the pressing down of the bladder upon sitting up.
“I’ll be back baby.” She observed her daughter’s beauty even under the mess of tangled tubes and wires. “And so will you.”
Pause, pause, pause…
Miguel and Amelia were sitting in a booth toward the rear of a coffee shop downtown. Both had decided coffee was important to keep them awake in their lucid dream so they could plow through the issues together. First, they needed to discern why there was a shooting. Amelia secretly enjoyed the thrilling sense of detective work that was developing. She wasn’t, however, thrilled with the fact that her recovery didn’t seem to be a part of Miguel’s puzzle.
“But isn’t it most important to find out who shot me?” Amelia demanded self-righteously.
“Not really,” he replied. Miguel was arranging a packet of sugar with blue, yellow and pink packets of various artificial sweeteners, a spoon, fork, knife, and several different containers of flavored coffee cream. “Who isn’t as important as why,” he continued. “See this?” He motioned to the spoon. “That’s you. Jojo is the fork and I am the knife.”
“Who’s the sugar?” Amelia asked not identifying with the shape of the spoon.
“Your mom.”
“What does she have to do with anything?”
“You never know,” Migue
l replied. “Right now she’s sitting by your bedside.”
“She is?”
“Hasn’t left for days.”
Amelia felt sad for her mother. Miguel resisted telling Amelia anything further about her condition.
“I must be pretty bad off,” Amelia surmised.
“She says you told her you would be home soon,” Miguel replied. Amelia remembered sending out the thought from her mom’s Main Street dream.
“Okay,” Miguel continued, “your mom’s the sugar. Jojo’s step-dad is the blue packet. Your ex-boyfriend is the pink stuff.”
“How does David get in this?” Amelia looked at the blue and pink packets on the table in front of her remembering the blue and red state shoe debacle. She had told Miguel the entire story about the break-up over the pair of gold lamé shoes at Des Shoe. He had seemed very interested in finding out more than Amelia cared to tell about David.
“I’m just documenting everyone and everything that has come up since we started talking.” Miguel shrugged his shoulders. “Like the Irish Crème flavored coffee creamer. That’s Nick. I called him about half-an-hour before the drive-by.” Miguel was careful to not even use the word shooting as he noticed every time he had used the term Amelia had squirmed uncomfortably squeezing her shoulders together.
“Okay, so Nick’s on the table too,” Amelia agreed. “Who is the pepper?”
“The driver of the Camaro.” Miguel looked at her carefully. “You’re sure you never saw him?”
“I don’t remember.” Amelia shrugged her shoulders. Miguel frowned. “Maybe it’s out of bounds?” She looked at Miguel apologetically and asked another question. “Who’s the salt shaker?” Her attention fell on the little glass bottle filled with salt mixed with white rice.
“Whoever is in charge of this whole operation.”
“You mean like a gang leader?” Amelia was convinced the driver shot at the wrong house. You’d have to be an idiot to do a drive-by on a cop’s house. She had not read the referral on Jojo beyond the assault charges. She didn’t know about Darius’ history with drugs or Jojo’s claim that he had made several pick-ups for Darius.
Gold Lame' (That's le-mayy) (Gold Lame' Series) Page 15