by Scott Blum
Martika gestured for me to follow her, and as we moved through the hallway into her beautiful home, she had one last thing to say on the subject: “My father used to smoke.”
When we entered the kitchen, there were several people I recognized from the constellation group and a few more who didn’t look familiar. They were of all ages, but once again, mostly female. It seemed like the large country-style kitchen was the heart of the party, and many guests were gathered near the bright blue and red pots that were bubbling on the restaurant-style stainlesssteel stove.
“There are a bunch of great people here for you to meet,” Martika said. “Can I get you some water or tea?”
“Tea would be great.”
“I hope you like rooibos,” she said as she handed me a cup of steaming red liquid.
“This tastes amazing.” I loved the tart, nutty flavor that was unlike any other tea I’d had before. “Where can you get it?”
“It’s from Africa, but you can get it at the Co-op, of course.”
“Of course,” I smiled.
“Oh, Scott, I want you to meet Lisa from the group. She was in the constellation with you, and I think you have a lot in common.” Martika introduced me to a short perky brunette with curly hair and bright red lipstick. After making sure we were properly acquainted, Martika brought the teapot into the other room and left the two of us to talk in the kitchen.
“Wow, your constellation was so intense,” said Lisa, speaking much faster than I was used to listening. “I know we’re not supposed to talk about it, but I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
“Have you seen a lot of them?” I finally remembered her sitting next to the “mustache” at the constellation.
“I’m in the yearlong intensive, so I go to a three-day weekend every month and sometimes a few other times, like the one you were in.”
“That’s a lot. I don’t know if I could handle doing that every month, let alone three days in a row.”
“You get used to it, but I think your session was a bit more intense than most.”
That made me feel a bit better. I couldn’t imagine it getting more intense than that!
“I was shocked when Hans said you were supposed to be dead,” Lisa continued. “I totally got truth bumps when he said that.”
“‘Truth bumps’?”
“You know, goose pimples, goose flesh, chills—whatever you call it. When the hair stands up on the back of your neck.”
“Oh.”
“Do you know why truth bumps happen?”
“Nope.”
“They happen when the connection to your spirit is stronger than the connection to your body. And that’s why I knew that what Hans said was true. How did you feel when he said you were supposed to be dead?”
“At first I was angry, but then I felt relieved.” I was surprised at myself for being so open with someone I barely knew, but being in Martika’s house made me feel safe. “I’m relieved because now I know I wasn’t imagining it. I’d always felt I was supposed to be dead, but it didn’t make any sense until he explained it.”
“Wow, that’s so intense.”
Martika reappeared, clinking her glass with the handle of a fork. “Everyone, please move into the dining room. Dinner is ready!”
We proceeded into the dining room, which had two large dining tables butted up against each other. On the long wall hanging above the tables was a horizontal cigarette-paper collage of the Last Supper that seemed to ominously supervise all that would be consumed in the room. There were nearly twenty place settings, and everyone took their positions behind their chairs and intuitively held hands with one another. I wasn’t used to holding hands with people I didn’t know, but there was a genuine innocence about it that seemed to make the evening more charming.
I was positioned between two gray-topped ladies I hadn’t met before. One was wearing a red velvet dress and had shoulder-length hair; the other was in green velvet, with her curly locks cropped close. The longer-haired lady loosely held my left hand, her cold, clammy palm barely pressing against mine; and the other gripped my fingers tightly, smiling a wide, toothy grin. She made me feel uncomfortable with her presumed intimacy, but I tried to be friendly and smiled back as warmly as I could.
“Thank you all for coming,” said Martika, raising her glass. “You are all very dear to me, and I’m happy to be able to bring you together on this special night. Since many of you haven’t met before, please take a moment and introduce yourselves before we eat.”
Everyone took their turn introducing themselves, and mostly they all sounded the same. “Hi, I’m so-and-so, and I’m in the X-year intensive,” or “I’m who’s-her-face, and I’m going to go to my first constellation next week.” However, one person stood out from the crowd during the introductions—a well-dressed young lady with long curly blonde hair who looked like she could be Martika’s younger sister. She was wearing a simple white blouse and a flowing powder blue cotton skirt that scalloped to the floor in the shape of a three-layer cake.
“Hi, I’m Madisyn with a y—S-Y-N, not S-O-N,” she whispered softly. “I just moved here from Seattle, and Martika has taken me under her wing. I don’t know if I’m up for the constellation work, though; it sounds too intense for me.”
Finally, someone who was honest about it! I wished I’d been told what was going to happen so I could’ve at least had the sense to run away. I guess it ended up being a good thing, although I wasn’t sure if I could ever do it again.
I didn’t hear most of the other introductions because I was trying so hard to think of the perfect thing to say when it was my turn, and I kept running through all the options in my head. I was deathly afraid of public speaking, and I probably wouldn’t have agreed to come to dinner if I’d known that I had to make a speech. As my turn approached, I became even more nervous, and when the person next to me stopped speaking, all eyes turned to me, and everyone patiently waited for me to begin.
“Hello, my name is Scott,” I finally said after a long silence. “Hans told me I’m supposed to be dead.”
Nearly everyone in the room burst into laughter, and I too caught myself smiling, while quickly checking to make sure Hans wasn’t in the room. I wasn’t upset because I could feel that they were all using their laughter and warmth to cradle and support me, as they genuinely seemed to care.
I hadn’t been sure if people would understand what I meant, but as I looked at the smiling faces, I recognized many from the constellation, and they seemed to remember what had happened. “And thank you, Martika,” I continued, “for being so supportive since I’ve moved to Ashland, and for including me tonight with your family and friends.”
The dinner was delicious, and it was the first time I’d been able to eat a full meal since the soul retrieval. I had been eating mostly bread and raw vegetables after the disappointing turkey-and-Swiss incident, and this meal of fresh angel-hair pasta with tomatoes and basil was an absolute feast. The food embodied love and happiness, and my soul felt nourished and rejuvenated. It was one of the most satisfying meals I’d ever had, and I could feel Martika’s love and support with every bite. When the dessert of fresh blueberries arrived, everyone switched places and I was fortunate enough to end up across from Madisyn with a y. With the benefit of proximity, I could see that she had light blue eyes and a small white flower in her hair that complemented Martika’s.
“This food feels amazing,” Madisyn said as she sat down.
“Did you say feels?” I asked.
“Yes, the energy here is so beautiful, and this food is filled with good intention.”
“I agree. I didn’t know anyone else could feel energy in food. I just discovered it myself recently—I tried to eat in a restaurant and couldn’t, because it felt like I was eating someone else’s anger.”
She nodded. “I don’t understand why more restaurants aren’t into conscious cooking. That’s the main reason I can’t eat out anymore.”
“‘Conscio
us cooking’? I didn’t know it had a name. Is that a new thing?”
“It’s been around since the beginning of time. It’s just that most restaurants don’t care about intention. That’s why a home-cooked meal always tastes better.” She caught her breath for a moment and then added, “If I had a restaurant, I’d force the employees to go home if they came to work in a bad mood. You can’t have a restaurant and let chefs put their bad energy in the food that’s served to customers. I guess now I have to start my own restaurant! Do I have to do everything myself?” She laughed and her blue eyes sparkled.
I had never met someone who effortlessly balanced strength with compassion as much as she did. In her world, it appeared that both were part of a single continuum; and I was genuinely impressed with the grace with which she wove them together.
“That’s a handsome bracelet.” She changed the subject without missing a beat while nodding to the bracelet Robert had given me.
“Thanks. A friend of mine made it for me.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s made of carnelian and has moonstone and silver because of my connection to the moon. It comforts me.”
“Oh, that makes sense,” she smiled. “I thought I felt some lunar energy coming from you. I have a spiritual jewelry company. This is a piece of mine.” She gestured toward the necklace she was wearing. It had three silver ovals with Chinese characters and a clear crystal hanging from it.
“It’s very beautiful.”
“Yes, I love it. I just licensed it from a friend of Martika’s. I’ve actually been looking for some new designs that can be worn by men. Maybe your friend would be interested in working with me.”
“That would be great—I’ll let him know.” I thought that getting Robert some additional income would allow him to spend less time at the Co-op begging for money, and have more quality guru time.
“Give me your number and I’ll call you when we’re ready to take on some more designs. In the meantime, find out if your friend might be interested.”
“I will.” I gave her my number, hoping that she wouldn’t wait too long to call. As I handed her the paper, a friend of hers appeared and whispered in her ear.
“That’s my ride,” Madisyn said while getting up. “I have to go now. It was really nice talking to you.”
“You, too.”
“Bye, Lunar Boy.” She winked as she walked toward the door.
“Goodbye.” I nearly blushed.
After Madisyn left, I realized that I still hadn’t fully recovered from Yreka and was starting to get tired. I decided it was probably a good time to leave and found Martika outside on her porch saying goodbye to the other guests. I too said my goodbyes and walked down her painted white steps into the night and toward my apartment.
There were no streetlamps on the road until I got to the main arterial, but the moon was full, which provided plenty of light. Walking alone by the light of the moon was a perfect way to end such a wonderful evening. When I arrived at my apartment, I immediately crawled into bed, filled with gratitude to finally be part of a community that welcomed me so completely. I closed my eyes and fell asleep, the happiest I’d been in years.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After I returned from Yreka, my sleep patterns never completely went back to normal. I’d been having nightmares about Cheryl’s accident for years, but the traumatic experience in Yreka took my nightmares to an entirely new level. Tapping into a fear from my infancy that I’d blocked out before I could even walk, the dreams shook me to my very core. And as the weeks progressed, I began dreading falling asleep because the inevitable flashbacks to that day in Yreka were sure to return. Robert attempted to assure me that I was safe, but I still felt that whatever was after me seemed to get closer when I was sleeping.
After nearly two full weeks of violently disturbed sleep, I began to get really worried and started to obsessively research what dreams meant and how they could be controlled. The lack of rest was definitely affecting my waking hours, and I was increasingly becoming unsure of the line that separated the two. I resorted to browsing nearly every bookshelf in the library and was finally relieved to discover a book about lucid dreaming, which outlined in very practical terms the tools needed to control dreams. I hoped that if I could remain in control, I would be able to put mine in their place and finally get an uninterrupted night’s rest.
I started by explicitly following the instructions in the book, and before I went to sleep, I would set the intention to meet my dream guides as soon as I was unconscious. I chose to hold on to the idea of my ancestors from the constellation because they were the only people I knew who were dead besides Cheryl. I was hoping that they would accept my invitation, since I’d only briefly met them at the constellation and had never spent much time with them while they were still alive.
I wasn’t very successful at first, and every time I tried to influence my dreams, I would either wake up or get sucked into another flashback of Yreka. What finally worked was to imagine standing in one place and spinning around really fast as soon as I began dreaming. Once I stopped spinning, I would still be dreaming and would remain in control. After a few nights of practice, I was able to direct my dreams without spinning.
When I finally arrived in my first lucid dream state, I nearly tripped over an older man seated in a weathered wooden rocking chair. We were on the porch of a familiar gray house with a white picket fence bordering a huge cornfield that I thought I recognized but couldn’t place. It was nearly dusk, and the air was warm and humid, with the buzzing sound of crickets filling the silence. After a few moments of taking in the scene, I recognized the porch as a house in Iowa my grandmother had taken me to when I’d visited her as a child. The house had been about to be torn down, and she had wanted to show me where she’d grown up.
“Hello, Scott,” the older gentleman on the porch said as he kept the rocking chair in motion with his large bare feet.
I stared at him blankly.
“I’m your great-grandfather.”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t recognize you.”
“That’s okay—you never saw me when we were on the same plane before.”
He had died in a hunting accident before I was born, which probably explained why my grandmother had been so upset when she’d found out that my father wanted to give me a gun for my thirteenth birthday. Nobody had really talked about my great-grandfather when I was growing up, and the only time I’d ever met him was at the constellation when he was represented by a woman.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time here,” my great-grandfather continued. “Don’t you like living on Earth?”
“It’s okay, I guess.” I had never thought about it before. “I suppose I was just drawn here to discover something.”
“What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know. But it seems important.”
“Yes, it is. You are starting to pay attention to your intuition, which is good. You will come to find it is the only sense you can rely on. Your eyes and ears are easily deceived, but your intuition is your compass.”
At that moment, the white picket fence that surrounded the house morphed into a brightly colored cement wall that was painted in alternating rectangles of primary colors. The lawn turned to sand before my very eyes, and a silver metal slide and seesaw grew out of it within seconds. I instantly recognized the playground as the one from the preschool I had attended during my early childhood years. When I looked back to my great-grandfather, I saw that his house had been replaced by a lowslung gray stucco schoolhouse.
“Where are we?” I yelled over the echoes of childhood screams that began to fill the playground.
“We are in your dreamland.”
“My dreamland? What’s here?”
“Whatever you want to be. You can use it to work on earthly problems and find the best solutions before returning. It’s also a good way to stay in touch with the spirit plane while you’re on Earth.”
Although
none of this seemed to make sense logically, I could feel in my heart that what he was saying was true. “So this is the spirit plane?”
“No, this is a safe zone between consciousness and the spirit plane. Many of the same rules apply, but nobody can get in unless you invite them here.”
“Can I get to the spirit plane from here?”
“Yes, you can, but you aren’t ready yet. I suggest you spend some time here and get familiar with your dreamland first. If you’re still interested, we can talk about that later.”
Spending time in my dreamland was a lot of fun. I could conjure almost any time and place I wanted and meet friends and relatives from the past at whatever age I wanted them to be. I started with my favorite memories, reliving them one at a time: The first time I learned to ride a bicycle. My first puppy. The vacation to Yosemite. One after another, I revisited these moments until I couldn’t remember any more.
Then I began to conjure my worst memories and change them into good ones. I visited my first day of first grade, where I wet my pants during recess. I found I could will a different course of events if I tried hard enough. So I made sure to use the bathroom before I went to class, and by the time recess came around, I was completely dry and played on the seesaw without incident. I ran through my bad memories and fixed them all. I could reinvent my past, and although I knew it hadn’t actually changed the course of my own history, I became much more at ease with myself. It was comforting to know that I could learn from my mistakes.
But there was one thing I couldn’t figure out.
“Why can’t I relive memories with Cheryl?” I asked my great-grandfather.
“As I mentioned before, you are able to invite people and places into your dreamland at will. But those people and places have to accept your invitation before coming in. The souls of people you conjure actually participate in your dreams.”