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Beyond 7

Lucid Intent

Technique: RT
Sunday, July 3 2011 Views: 1095


10-30-84 BEYOND 7 (Last dream of the sleep period.)

I have been called again and have transported myself to the designated meeting place. It is an isolated building on a level spot near the top of an open mountain escarpment. This is a new location.

Dusk is falling as I arrive and golden light shines faintly behind the door and shuttered windows. In the entry, coat hooks line the inner wall at eye level. On the hook immediately to the left of the inner door hangs a plain, wheat colored robe. In the corner to the right of the door is a massive wooden chest with a thick, tufted seat cushion laid over the lid. Lifting the lid, I see where more than one of the plain robes neatly folded inside have been removed. Taking one of the many remaining robes and shaking it out, I see it matches the one hanging on the wall by the door. Wrapped in the belt are matching leggings and a thick wooly skullcap.

This would be the uniform for the meeting, so I carefully cover all my hair and street clothes and enter the meeting room. It is a large square banquet hall. The floor is thickly carpeted in beige tones and the whole room is warmly beige and brown. The first table is the only one lighted and in use. Tall, ornately carved, straight-backed wooden chairs line the outer walls.

Seated at the middle of the long table are three persons facing me and three seated back towards me. The ones back towards me have spaced themselves two to the left of an empty chair and one to the right. I take the nearest chair from the wall and set it to the left of this group. Before I can seat myself, one of the three says: "Take the chair between us."

I leave my chair at the end of the line and move three spaces down. This places me across from the middle person on the other side of the table.

The table is well set and softly lighted. Each person at the table is dressed the same as myself. Sharp, intelligent, worldly faces peer out from under the thick skullcaps. The monkish robes hide all else except their large expressive, well-groomed hands. Two waiters arrive silently, setting bread and drink before us.

The person across from me picks up the conversation, boasting: "Give everything to me and I will take care of you all."

"And give very little back," I add, just as if I was there all the time.

That one glares at me ferociously, but disparages me very softly, saying: "What can you know, you are blind."

An official comes in, carrying a big ledger like a scroll, and stands looking the room over. Coming to our table, this tall, nattily dressed being wears a dourly disappointed expression and dutifully counts how many have arrived. Having counted us once, the official stands behind the empty chair and counts again. "Seven and one more expected." The voice is high pitched and monotonous, but sounds pleased all the same. "We have enough this time. The scheduled event will proceed as planned."

"Please rest and refresh yourselves and assemble outside together when you are ready." Before leaving, the now animated official places a card before each of us. I note mine is blank and tuck it into the cuff of my left sleeve.

The one across from me scowls at the card received and snaps it into a locket from under the robe. The large bejeweled locket remains in full view, sparkling in the lights from the table. "Before the contest starts," this same one suggests again, "everyone should decide not to compete and leave everything to me."

No one agrees. The small talk dwindles down. We finish the repast being served in virtual silence. From the small talk it is obvious the others believe we are testing for a position as "Magicians."

We assemble outside. One by one, five advance to take their turns. They enter the second room and after an interval, return outside to stand apart from us over to our left. We do not observe their works.

The one who had been seated across from me stands ready to enter in sixth place, but turns and suggest to me again that I concede and neither of us compete, and calls me "blind" again. Standing by the curtained door, I say: "You can choose not to perform, but I will do my best."

"Then you go next," this same one says.

I push aside the curtain and enter into an ordinary living room that appears a bit old-fashioned.

Merely by taking thought, I begin to redecorate the room in brilliant glowing colors and to open new doors and expand new rooms.

In a tiny bath that is no more than shelf, mirror and shower, I start to brighten up the interior. A plump maid in a black and white uniform enters and comments on the changes. My new blue shelf is "too high and too wide," so I cut it down and add a ruffled edge. Then the two blue chairs I add are "too low" and she says, "not very comfortable," so I lengthen the legs and raise the backs.

Finished here, I start to add a playroom for children behind the bath (the maid has gone out of sight) and I have a kitchen area in mind for the other side.

Time is up, or at least the last person who talked to me outside has entered before I finish, saying "I can’t use your shower." I look around. The blue has faded back and pinned that one up against the wall with only the head sticking out through a circle in the middle.

I look around. Everything I changed is gone and everything that was there when I came in is gone. All that is left is bare walls and floor and ceiling: no furniture or extra doors or anything.

I exclaim, "You are the destroyer, not a magician." "And why do you keep calling me blind? Is it because you desire to blind me?"

"You are blind," the other insists. "You were number seven and I fooled you and I took your place."

"You are wrong," I say. "I am number eight, if I have a number."

"There is no eight," the other says, aghast at the thought.

"Yes, there is," I say. "Number seven, who IS blind, is late." (Number seven has just arrived at the scene.) "Eight is freestyle and random," I say. "You thought to make me take the unpopular sixth position, but there are seven of us without you. Seven was skipped when you thought to give seven your place, and seven truly does not need to compete. I came after seven, and did my thing. Your are the one who is out of order. Your missed your turn, then interrupted mine and proved you are the destroyer."

I continue to lecture number six. "You called me blind because you are the one who caused number seven to be blind. Your disbelief has destroyed not only my work, but also that which was here before we started.. Because of your lack of vision all of us beyond seven have always been free and unhindered."

"All! There are no more," number six protests.

"More!" I say, "there are 70 times 7 of us that are known and more than one more than that which no one can count or number. Because of your lack of vision, number seven has borne the whole of your disbelief until now, and the rest have all been free."

With this, seven suddenly regains sight and points to number six, saying, "Your are the one who made me blind."

Seeing me, seven grabs my arm , "How is it I can see?"

"It happens," I say. The other five have joined us. "When this one, who never wanted to see you, also does not want to look upon any of the rest of us, the monumental disbelief is vastly dissipated. It becomes no more than an occasional fleeting shadow across our visions."

The room itself, except for the wall that has trapped number six, has folded away, leaving us standing in the pre-dawn light with four golden lanterns marking the corners of the room where we each demonstrated skills.

Now the Judge is in sight to our left, wearing the normal black robe and white collar of that position.

"Here comes the Judge," I say. The judge is in no hurry and consulting with the two who were waiters before and the official who carries the fancy ledger. Remembering the plump maid, I remark: "What kind of black outfitted personage visited your demonstrations? It was an energetic, officious little maid in a black and white uniform who inspected my work in progress."

"I ran off a black and white dog," says one.

"A huge black bear with grinning white teeth stood stuffed in the corner," says another.

"I picked up a friendly black and white cat, but it ran away," says a third.

"There was a too large, black and white picture, like a big framed poster, of an Indian Chief on the wall," says the fourth. "It was the only thing that didn’t fit in, or change for me. So that was the Judge, checking us out!"

"When you two delayed and stood talking at the door, a guard or sentry dressed in black stood behind you," adds number four.

The fifth says, "Before I left, a great black bird carrying a string of pearls in its beak flew in the door and perched on my entry and strutted around the top edges, then flew right up through the ceiling."

We laugh at the different ways the Judge appeared to each of us and exchange names and business cards, promising to look each other up when we get the chance. We stand in a line, with seven between the two who saved the empty chair, and put our arms around each other and start to go into a huddle, talking. Before we can close the circle, the Judge has joined us.

"What have you observed?" says the Judge.

"That one is the destroyer," says seven, and the two former waiters take number six away. "There are 70 times 7 of us and more than one more than that, which no one can number," says seven.

"We saw you when you watched our demonstrations," says another.

"We have learned each others names," I say, "and will try to keep in touch."

"It is time for you to leave," says the Judge.

The meeting place is shuttered and dark. We remove the robes and leggings and caps and return them to the former waiters and the official. We all shake hands. The others depart.

I look around to thank the Judge and say goodby. The sun is rising directly behind the Judge and nearly blinds me. Shading my eyes with my left hand, I extend my right and we exchange a brisk, firm handshake.

I fly away into the morning sky. After making discreet and proper clearing turns, I see no other traffic and execute a looping barrel roll and climb straight up, exulting in the early sunshine. There is not a cloud in sight.

In a long extended power slide to home, I see I will run out of sunshine and into the edge of pre-dawn shadow again. My home city spreads before me like a dark, multi-textured tapestry, webbed with pale streetlights and set off here and there by the lighted windows of all night facilities. A smattering of traffic moves in the streets.

As I drop from the blue into a small scatter of golden clouds edging the last of nights shadow, I finger the business cards in my pocket and start to compose my first letter to these six who were at the meeting the same as me.

October 30, 1984

------Dear Friends: This is a multiple letter. Enclosed is a copy of my notes on the meeting. I would be greatly honored if you find it agreeable to exchange your notes on the same.------


Additional Comments:

This time I submit only the dream itself.  There is nothing else that has been added since then.  Nothing else I can think of to say right now.

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