Dream of:22 August 1996 "Passing Through The Walls Of A Church"
the perceptive mind
searches for the face of god
listens for the voice
It was morning and I had just awakened to find myself lying in a bed in a strange room. I vaguely seemed to remember I was staying with an oriental family in an Asian country, perhaps in southeast Asia, but more likely in Japan. Two members of the family – two young fellows probably in their late teens – were also in the room, in their own beds. The position of the beds caught my attention. Each of our three beds was along the three different walls of the room, while in the middle of the fourth wall was a large door.
Through this door entered the mother of the other two. She was carrying a tray of food and offered me some rice and cake. When I told her I didn't want any, she asked me again several times if I would like some, until finally I relented and told her to give me some of the food. Once I began eating the food, I found I rather enjoyed it. Thus I was disappointed when I turned my back for a moment, only to turn back around and find that the mother had taken away the food.
By now my attention was fixed on something else: a fourth bed was now sitting right in the middle of the doorway, and sitting on it was a stern-looking oriental man whom I immediately knew to be the woman's husband and the father of the two boys. From the way he was looking at everyone in the room, I thought he must be unhappy about something. His demeanor, however, soon changed to a more friendly one, and I saw he had also brought something to offer us: something to smoke. The other two fellows, his sons, were already out of bed and by the side of the older man who had handed them a long thin pipe, between one and two meters long. I had never smoked anything in such a pipe; indeed I was unsure I had ever even seen such a pipe. The other two fellows however had obviously had experience with the pipe because they were extremely excited and hurriedly took their turns smoking from the pipe.
I also started getting excited, although I didn't really understand what the big deal was, since I thought they were only smoking tobacco. Nevertheless, I eagerly took the long pipe into my hands, held it and took a hit. When I handed the pipe back, I discovered the mouthpiece of the pipe – similar to the mouthpiece of a trumpet – had come off in my mouth. I took it out of my mouth and handed it back to the person who was now holding the pipe.
Almost immediately I began to feel quite strange. Things took on such an unusual aspect, I began to wonder if I might be dreaming, but I rejected that idea as another thought came to me: I had been smoking opium. Or at least it seemed as if I had been smoking opium. Maybe I was only imagining I had been smoking opium. Something strange, however, was definitely happening to me, even if it were only my imagination.
One thing was certain: I was beginning to feel extremely good. In fact, as the feeling increased, it was so pleasurable, I could hardly think of anything else but the pleasure itself. The feeling of pleasure was so intense it completely overwhelmed me. I couldn't remember having ever had this kind of experience. I began to feel light as air, in fact I felt as if I were like white smoke drifting along. I was no longer in the room nor had any thought of it. I was just floating along, somewhere outside, without any care, save one almost completely repressed feeling.
However, I couldn't think about that; directly ahead of me, right in my path, I saw a large church, cathedral-like, emblazoned with stained glass windows. I was heading straight toward it. Clearly I was going to crash right into its walls and colored windows, but a thought suddenly struck me: perhaps in this state of mind, I could pass right through the wall. I had wanted to acquire the power to pass through solid objects in my dreams. However, in the past I had had great difficulty acquiring this power in my dreams. Thus as I sped toward the wall, although I thought it might be possible to have the power in this opium-induced state, I really didn't think it would work, and that I would surely simply smash right into the side of the wall. Nevertheless, there was nothing I could do to stop. I wasn't really in control; the opium was. I braced myself for the shock as I sped toward the wall of the church.
Suddenly I felt myself pass through the wall. The feeling was indescribably pleasurable. Orgasmic, only better. My entire body reverberated the pleasure. Passing through solid objects was far more pleasurable than I had ever imagined it would be.
The interior of the church was huge; indeed apparently it was a cathedral. I wanted to look around, go up to the front toward the altar. I was still floating, high off the ground, not even in bodily form, more like smoke. My pleasure was still intense, so intense that all other worries and thoughts were obliterated; all except one. And that thought was so small, so far away, I could hardly hear it. Yet it was there. It was the thought that I wasn't in control. On my own I probably couldn't have passed through the wall - but with the opium I could. Down deep inside me, however, I knew the opium - not I - was in control. That thought, however, was very deep inside me, so deep that it caused me no pain; the opium took care of all the pain. There was no pain. There was only pleasure, enough pleasure to drown out far away any potentially unpleasant thought.
I passed through another wall on the other side of the church with similar feelings of ecstasy. Only I didn't pass to the outside of the church. Instead I found myself in what appeared to be a large castle which apparently was connected right to the side of the church. I floated through long ornate corridors, adorned with exquisite wooden furniture. I wasn't in control of where I was going, but I thought and hoped I was heading for the throne room. I floated down corridor after labyrinthine corridor, trying to focus on what I was seeing, but little caring about anything except the pleasure which I was feeling.
One thought however did come to me. I thought that I now finally knew how heroin addicts must feel. Since I had never used heroin, I had never before understood how heroin addicts could give up everything just for heroin, but now that was completely clear to me. Nothing, but nothing could compare to this.
When I came to consciousness I was on a lonely dark street. I had been on the opium for a full day and the effects had now almost entirely worn off. I also knew I was now alone in an Asian city which I didn't recognize. The city seemed about the size of Portsmouth, Ohio, where I knew I had spent my teenage years - that is, around twenty-five thousand people. I couldn't remember exactly, but it seemed as if I knew someone in the town. I thought I needed to look for that person because that person could help me find the only thing that I really wanted right now: more opium.
Two days after I had smoked the opium, I was homeless and penniless. I was wandering the dirty streets of the city, desperately wanting more opium. I had now reached the one place where I thought there might be a chance of finding some. I knew one man who might give me some opium, if I could only find him.
The place where I was seemed to be in a large decrepit building, like an old abandoned warehouse. It seemed the building had been taken over by homeless people and that different groups of homeless people had built little cubicles on the dirt floor and were living in them. The cubicles were filthy little crowded affairs, with pieces of scroungy, broken chairs and couches for furniture.
Six or seven torn and tattered men were sitting around the cubicle in which I now found myself. They were all Caucasian, and apparently I had some brief acquaintance with them. As I stood before them, knowing they all had extensive drug experience, I wanted to tell them of the opium I had tried two days before, and of the grandeur of it all, but when I tried to speak, I stuttered, as if I were still somehow affected by the opium, as if I couldn't really describe what it had all been like. All that I managed to spit out was that I had smoked the opium, without really being able to go into detail about how wonderful it had all been.
There was no need. These fellows had all been there, and they took my news casually. They also knew what I wanted now: more opium; and they let me know that the fellow whom I was seeking wasn't around at the moment. One of them mentioned that I might want to try some LSD. That made me think how I had always thought LSD was such a powerful drug, but now I had no desire for LSD, now that I realized just how powerful opium was.
I sat down on a fetid couch just as the fellow next to me on the couch had taken off his ugly shoes. The rankest odor was emitted; I thought I couldn't stand it. It made me wonder for just a moment what had become of me, that I would endure this kind of filth and squalor, just in the hopes that I could acquire some more opium, but I didn't move. I was determined to stay as long as it took.
I didn't have to wait long. Suddenly the others in my cubicle jumped up in alarm. I too jumped up, only to see several soldiers standing next to the cubicle. Without warning the soldiers began firing their machine guns into the cubicle, immediately killing everyone inside in a bloody massacre, everyone that is, except me.
I stood numb, not understanding what had happened, not understanding why I had been spared. Then I had a vision of the scene and I could see myself standing there. I was wearing very dark sunglasses, and it immediately became clear why the soldiers hadn't killed me: I was blind. The soldiers had orders to not kill anyone who was blind, and so I had been spared.
Although I was blind, I was able to see the whole scene, myself included. I watched myself walk over to a tall black man standing near the soldiers. He also hadn't been killed, although I was uncertain whether he was blind, or indeed whether he had been in the building to begin with or whether he had come with the soldiers. At any rate, as the soldiers continued with their killing, going to other cubicles and mercilessly spraying them with bullets, I knew the black man and I were going to become companions, perhaps he would even be my guide now that I could no longer see, and we would leave this place together.
Dream Commentary of February 10, 2016
To proclaim that all dreams are created by God is to proclaim that all men are spiritually connected, that all dreams come from the same source. That God would communicate to men in this fashion suggests that God may not presently exist in the real world as we see around us in the stars and galaxies, but in a mentally-accessible, supernatural world which those - who are not blind - can perceive in their dreams.
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