I invite you to listen to my reading of this chapter, along with a selected, mood adding music track.
Just click on the link here to enjoy it while you read along, and look at the pictures, as if I were in your room, reading it to you. <Karima~ Diary Entry#2>
I can’t say I’m not tempted to tell Ismara about my first dream, because it would not be true, I am tempted. I’m lying here right now thinking about it, hovering on sleep’s border. Really, I never keep anything from her, except very personal details that might involve someone else in some way, but I can not get those sing-song words out of my head, each time I feel I just might let it all spill out.
“If you tell anyone. You will not be invited back. You will never come back”
I don’t want that to happen. I can not even think of it.
I sketched a few images this last week, and every night I wish and will that I will be allowed back in. I have now a book of sketches that I keep alongside my diary, and if she asks any questions, I will say it is just a project for illustrating a fantasy story, and in this way, I would hardly be lying. After more than a week has gone by, and I have not had another dream like the first, I am starting to believe it was a one-time vision or something of that matter. It really was only a dream after all, no matter how vivid, how real, how it physically touched me here in my bed, it was only a dream and there probably will not be another. These are my last thoughts as I drift off into sleep tonight.
When I become lucid in the dream, I am still in my pajamas, and as hard as I try to push my way in, as I did the first time, I can’t seem to enter. I am inspired to call out, but as far as I can see, my voice has little to do with how they understand me. I say they, because so far I have felt many different entities, some that seem to be much higher and much more curious about me, than the others. I remember I first saw myself on the other side, as if I were at home, and when I closed my eyes, and opened them again, I was in the dream, dressed for the dream. This might be how I need to do it, and so I close my eyes and just listen to a far away music that sounds like something I have heard awake, and yet it sounds like nothing I have heard. I keep trying to bring this world into something familiar, at least to compare it to, but it is illusive, dizzily changing, and so hard to describe, that when I try to write about it, I begin to think my diary will be painted like an abstract, open for many of my own interpretations.
I float on the other side, so painlessly, all I had to do was open my eyes. I am dressed in an evening gown, a hard to describe color, somewhere between pink and pale-blue violet. I have high heels, jewelry, once again a style I would not wear in my waking life, yet I feel this is who I am supposed to be here, or perhaps someone’s idea of who I should be. Each time I think of this, I am so curious as to who that “someone” or should I call it “something” might be, and what he/she/it wants from me. As I float suspended on the other side of the barrier, I am thinking that this very moment is now my living proof, that I am not dreaming,but instead voyaging in a land I can barely grasp, or function in. So far I have only seen spheres, felt fingers, and a presence so strongly sensual, that I was moved beyond myself. How can I describe now what I feel like returning to this state, this world, if I may call it that. There is a slight feeling of embarrassment, as if I have been scrutinized in my weakest moment. I wonder if the presence I met in that dark room, will show itself again.I won’t lie to a diary, because what would be the point of that? I secretly hope it does find me again here, sometime.
Languid and liquid is how I feel, when I am carried gently and smoothly from the heights of the barrier, through transparent floors that easily make way for my descent. I try to count them, and lose count, but I feel I am going very deep inside this structure of design, a new form of architecture for me, so foreign yet so beautiful in its strange angles, odd textures, surprising walls , sparse rooms with things that appear and disappear as I pass through them. It seems more logical sounding as I write it down, but at the moment I am living on this side, it is always on the edge of being too overwhelming. There seems to be no one to greet me, orient me, observe me, or tease me, so I lay here, still waiting to see what will happen next. Maybe only a few minutes pass, before I feel a direct summons to get up and to sit on the only piece of furniture in the entire long corridor, for this is not a room, but a passageway, where I have been put down.
I stare into the long hallway and now feel I am not alone. I call out to the walls that look almost like they are textured in blue-green hair,
“Hello if you can hear me,” my voice has a metallic echo,” I have returned and I have told no one that I have come before”
A warm heat presses into my raised hand, as if sunbeams suddenly could grow hands, that could gently press against my own. I feel faint, and at the same time so privileged. Whatever this presence is, I know it knows I have just spoken the truth, and it greets me in a way, we both seem to understand is friendly and trusting. I look down to my right and see the pink sphere, about the size of the large red one I was given to hold and asked to take back with me. This heat, the hand I had just felt against my own, moves past me, leaving a trail of warmth and almost a slight smell, not unpleasant, but unknown. I watch it enter the crystal ball, filling it making the orb, wobble and shudder a little as it is being filled.
It swirls in transparent waves, and then it sends a thought to me. It is not a voice, if anything it is my voice I hear, but the words, the feelings, none of these are mine.
“We say this one is welcome, and only this one. That one, that is similar to this one, must wait outside. It is not that one’s time to come.”
“Yes”, I nod in total understanding.”My sister Ismara, who is similar to me, can not come here yet”
The sphere vibrates the entire basket I am sitting on, I feel a chill emanate from it, and I know the words it says to me are once again a reminder that its rules, its order, its world must be respected and obeyed.
“If this one talks of here to that one, it will cause a danger, and a crack, so unfortunate, that even the other side where this one lives, will unravel and perhaps terminate.”
I can not even believe this warning, so dire, that it places now in my head. I have so many questions I wish I could ask, but I only say with a sincere heart,
“Never. Never will I talk of what I see to anyone”
“Follow” and I rise and follow behind the ball that floats at waist level ahead of me.
The hallway glows, as if in moonlight, and I am feeling that bewitched feeling of a full moon night. I have no fear, just a deep curiosity to see what it is I will be shown and how whatever I see, may help me understand this world. I already feel a certainty this is not a land of spirits passed over from the life I know and was born into. This is another world, that runs parallel, like my grandmother referred to perhaps as the “land of fiery beings” because she was afraid to say the name all knew and whispered about, the world of Jinn. A world as valid as our own, created by the same Creator. These were her beliefs, and many millions world-wide shared them, but no one liked to talk of them. Could it be I was the one who crossed over to this little-known side of Creation? What ramifications might this have on me, and on everyone? The sphere stops its floating, and right in front of me it begins to divide into smaller perfect spheres, exactly like itself, until it no longer is visible as a whole, but only as the separate parts now floating around me, circling me, causing me to feel their presence as individual beings, yet with the same feeling as when it was one…the presence in all respects is clearly more feminine and light.
Then they apply narrow fields of energy,like beams of broken light, that make my nerves respond in odd ways. I don’t feel this play is hostile, but I do feel helpless to stop it, so I try to relax and see what it is they wish to do with me. Before I realize it, my arms are twisting behind my back,as I am being slowly rotated, and I feel like a captive on display for…for whom? The little balls almost giggle as they twist me around and around, and I try to feel their sense of joy, or at least play, but my heart begins to accelerate slightly with this thought,”Someone, something watches me again” It is almost as if I hear the thoughts, of something much stronger, masculine, commanding, that the smaller spheres move me this way or that for its own personal enjoyment.
There is a humming and the sound of dry wind,while I rotate slowly around on my stiletto balanced axis, both feet like a dancers, pressed together tightly, my arms are now pulled and maintained behind me. The feeling is not as unpleasant as it may seem from my description but rather, I feel I am being asked to surrender my will to their order,and begin to be accepted in it. I find grace in my pose and a feeling again of warmth and well-being spreads over me. If I look upon this same position,from a point of view of fear, I could think I am being handcuffed and restricted, but no, it is like a game, and they all seem to take enjoyment out of it, and in return give me these pleasant sensations, that radiate from my limbs to my heart, and then back out my fingertips, that are in a clasp behind me.
In an instant, their game of subtle manipulation is over, the smaller balls reunite to the larger sphere again, and it begins pushing gently but firmly against the small of my back, urging me forward, floating me on the air, only a meter or so off the floor. My hands automatically wrap around it, holding it to me, and the sensation is so pleasing, I close my eyes, as we travel down this beautiful mysterious hallway, the large Sphere warm, vibrating in my hands that hold it behind my back. Every now and then it pushes against me, and I travel quicker for a few seconds, feeling it fit to the curve of my lower spine. When it touches me, I feel I want to cry, not even sure what my reasons would be, but I know it is not out of sadness, but rather the realization of my helpless smallness and also how chosen and blessed I am to be living, dreaming, imagining this night. In the end it makes no difference, be it fantasy or a separate reality, I am being changed by experiencing it. Every second I live here, I am being changed.
The heat wraps my nerve endings, passing through me in surging and ebbing currents that I perhaps will never be able to describe in even a tenth degree, just how it makes me respond. Coupling this sensation with the feeling of eyes upon me, recording, captivating, not only visually, but in every way, brings me to see my rare beauty as a human being with limb attachments, voice box, and soul, as seen through the eyes of a being whose shape changes and is not corporal, who is voiceless yet its thoughts are passed to me in my thoughts , and who is very interested in knowing everything it can about me.
“Extend the arms this one, to pass the curtain here, must be for this one’s ability alone ” and as I hear these thoughts, the orb frees itself from me, and hangs back behind, before it returns to where I first saw it resting on a trunk at the far end of the hall.
My arms shoot out ahead of me instinctively, and feeling separated from the sphere, causes me a moment of panic, which I talk down, as I see I am coming to a curtain, a thin gauze that divides this side from another, or so I am guessing. It is like a border crossing, and only I have my papers in order to make it across…or this I hope. The curtain parts for me, as I go slowly gliding into it, through it, but as soon as all of me reaches the other side, I am abruptly placed on my feet, and my solo flight is halted rather jarringly.
I am standing outside a door, opened a crack to let me glimpse into the room. The colors are so magnificent, deep reds and soft pink, somewhat similar to the room with the beautiful hand holding me tightly to the floor, but here enters light beams of the palest of blue. I try to walk in on my own, but am stopped by a wall that although is invisible, is totally impenetrable. I have seen this a few times, and do not struggle. Simply, I close my eyes and take some deep calming breaths. Any other action, would be fruitless, and as I slowly open them I see I am inside the room, standing by a window, bathed in light, a small, pinkish orb is resting on my right hand. I am trying very hard to not lose from my memory, all it is saying to me.
“I am not what you think I am,” its words pour into my mind as if it is speaking from my chest out, “But you also are not what you believe you are. For now it is enough that you learn what I am, and what this will mean for you. I am your intimate, this is what you will call me, and I will call you, mine.. just mine. You have crossed over into our world, perhaps brought over, as yet I do not know. Do not believe I know everything here, as I only know a part, as we all do. We cross over to your side, and many times it upsets things. We are cautious here too, you might cause unbalance, but we accept your presence, as long as you accept our rules.”
“Yes I accept” I answer him, a lump in my throat, reaching out, trying to understand what I just agreed to. I have decided upon calling this entity him, as that is how he feels to me, my intimate feels masculine, and there are no doubts in my mind about that, however all the rest, what my coming here can mean, swirls in uncertainty tinged with apprehension. I am not really sure I want all of this, or any of this, when I laid my head on the pillow and fell into his world, their world.
“I will enter you. Be empty,” he says, and before I can even try to imagine what this means, I am lifted off the ground, and at the same time, part of me, I would say almost all of me, is getting pushed out of my mind, by first a hum, then a breath that breathes inside my thoughts, and I am dissolving, fragmenting into I don’t even know, but he is inside me and I don’t have to breathe, my heart could stop and I would stay alive. His force, his life flows into me,and becomes me. Ohhh entry so sublime! I throw my doors open to anywhere he wants to go..and he wanders through me, sees my life and my dreams, lays in my bed, floats over Ismara, paints in his colors the word “mine” and it is like a tattoo inked upon my soul. I am in an empty space of ecstasy, tears bathe my cheeks, it’s both physical and very spiritual. I feel him inside of me, all my memories are thrown open to him, and he sighs, deeply moved as he lives one after another, as he lives me while viewing my personal picture album of all I have ever recorded in my memory.
“oh god, oh god, oh god”
Suspended in one long moment of communion with my intimate, time doubles back around, and I feel like we are re-meeting, having been joined before this moment. I surrender in ecstatic breaths, that come out of my open mouth like smoke being exhaled and in a moment of wild improvisation, I turn over on my back and pull his vessel, the small glowing orb close to my face.
In gratitude and feelings of the deepest kind of love, I press the ball to my lips, and I kiss my intimate, in such surrender, I empty myself of myself, and there is only one inside my floating shell, my hovering vessel of attachments, and dressings, and it is called “mine-intimate” or maybe “intimate mine” and as I press my parted lips to the pink sphere, his vessel, of round smoothness and reflected light. I feel him leave out of my mouth, and fill up quickly the orb which grows and grows with the floodgates of his being, rushing out of my shell, and refilling his own..Oh, there are no words, to be so filled, and then drained! My tears pour out of me, and I fall down to earth, kneeling in reverence for what was joined together.
I hold him in my hands, on my lap, as if he were an innocent child in my care, stroking and touching the orb, touching the inside, feeling the waves of the energy that filled me and then left me, leaving me dazed and gasping for breath. It has not yet ended, I sense it, and then he says to me, deep inside my thoughts,
“I will let you see for one minute what I see. Do not be afraid,” then he says to me
“Press me to your face.” I don’t hesitate but pick him up and do just what he asks me to do. Then I see the unseeable.
“Oh my god. It is too much” “It is too much” It is too much”
“Oh my god, I am not supposed to know this” I cry out and cry into him, into the orb which has turned soft and gelatine-like, now covering most of my face. I am so horrified, shocked, that instead of pulling him off of me, I lean into him even deeper, crying, sobbing, seeing the future, I should never be allowed to see.
“Stop! Please Stop!”
I pull the sphere away and hold it, at arms length, trying to control my heaving sobs. “Please I can’t anymore, please, just let me go back. I want to go back,” I beg him.
“Why did you show me this? There is a long pause, I do not hear his thoughts, and think maybe he is waiting for me to be calm again. The globe turns cool in my hand, and I look at it in such a different way, then I did when I saw the first one, in the previous dream. The globe, the orb, it is not him, it is his vessel, his housing,and transport, and for a short while, I too was that, a vessel for him to house all of his life essence inside. Then for an even shorter time, he was mine… but I could not handle this. I know it sounds so silly, the emotional hysteria of an unbalanced artist, but tonight I am feeling a love, as I have never known. I ask him gently again, my thoughts more quiet and at peace,
“Why did you show me this?”
“I do not know.” he answers me. “Lay back upon the floor, I will heal you”
“How can you not know? Are you as frail and fallible as we are?” I look into him,”Oh… can you even imagine what these words you say to me, are doing to me? Oh, they cause me fear and distrust. I trusted you, because I felt you did know what you were doing. It is the reason, I surrendered my will and my corporal body to house you for a few minutes. Are we all blind and guessing, failing, and erring in all lives that exist? Is there not one more perfect than the rest? Surely yours must be more perfect than mine.”
“Lay back,” he repeats “I will heal you.”
He covers my throat with his sphere, that begins to glow warm, against my neck.
“Mine, I take away the images that you have seen. I apologize to you for showing you too much. You will remember you saw something, but not what you saw. Keep our rules, guard our secret, and I will see you again. I wish to see you again. I touched your beauty, and it is like no beauty I have seen. Go now, Mine, go in peace, and as you rise back up to your world, we will watch over you. You will be safe.” Close your eyes Mine… Goodbye…”
I do close my eyes, but expect to be in my bed when I open them, instead, I am lying, floating just below the level where the barrier exists, between our two worlds. I see hands, clasped hands all around me, and then they begin to unclasp, one then the next, starts to slowly break into soft applause. There is that strange music again, and the applause dies down until it stops. I am so drained, I can not even think if this tribute is for me, or for something having nothing to do with me. I don’t care, I am at peace, and feel myself floating upwards, getting closer to the wall that divides, one life from another.
Like pushing up from the bottom of the pool, I rise getting closer and closer to the point where I enter. I am starting to wake up, and there is the mixed feeling of relief and yet nostalgia. I have fallen in love, and there would be no one who could understand it, even if I could speak it. I have fallen in love.
I gently push against the barrier, the hands once again applaud softly behind me, and I feel it is their way today of bidding me well, and saying good-bye with approval. All I need to do now, is close my eyes, and resting my head upon my arm, I close them shut, and when I open them, I am in the same position, waking up in my own bed. This is how easy it is, although it seems to me, it should be more complicated to return from a place so very very far away.
I listen to the sounds of the household, and there are none. It is early, by the light in my windows, so I turn on my own light and begin to write everything I can remember tonight. I don’t think I will use the word dream anymore from this night on, but I will call it something else, maybe just my other life.
I know now that this is not dreamland where I go to, but to an alternate world, where love has found me and bound me to want to return again and again. Am I still tempted to confess and relate this all to Ismara? My answer is the last word of my diary entry,
I close it and put it away.
to be continued…