Friday September 10, 1999 - It is hazy in a silent world. I am standing with a central vantage, a surreal water scape, glassy reflecting mauve, with varied people, nigh motionless, standing on the surface. I know it to be a dream, but this dream, it seems, has an impact on the collective unconscious. In this respect I perceived the dream as real, I thought it really was happening to the collective consciousness, as though my thoughts were traversing the universal unconscious. This is like the dream of the parabolic hive.
There were arches and buildings on the water surface. A tiny boat glides from behind on of these in the ensuing darkness, an inky night. In it are two little dwarfs, not garden gnomes, they have severe long lined faces hidden in their hoods with dark ruddy smooth beards, and they are devoid of expression. One is sitting in the prow of the little rowboat, the second stands; he is beaming an invisible spotlight, beaming it round in search of one person. What he is seeking out is not articulate, the closest thing I might say, is for the one who died and still lived, the only one this happened to.
I know they are searching for me. I have a dualist premonition of its entailment; on the edge of my awareness as before, but this premonition is inward as well as outward, and both are foreboding. I decide to save the dwarfs some time with the deliberate announcement; I shatter the silence by saying, "It's me." The weight of individuality assumed in that cuts two ways, whether the presumption is good or ill is not secure; it feels like stepping onto the knife's edge, with a keeling sense that this is not enough. The beam has fallen on me and the dwarfs are waiting, expectant. The declaration of surviving is not enough. It must be secure, present for everyone, not an unattainable feat. It must be ever present for all as if at the push of a button, the flip of a switch. It should not even take courage because it should not entail fear. All this I swallow without hesitation (as I must), and with a voice even stronger, I declare to the consciousness entire, "And I would do it again."
And again, and again, and again and again....
I declare this four times. It beams over the entire globe like the dawn. It is now morning. Heads swivel and the cacophony that ensues is the common consciousness all hearing themselves, the dawn of a new awareness. The reaction of this collective awareness is dualistic, as expected; does the gap of individualism lead to aspired heights, new consciousness for all, or are they insulted by its enormity, and determine it is a claim of supreme arrogance? In some quarters there is heated debate and my action is held in judgment. I sense the variance of reaction without hearing the words, without actually seeing it, something I have always expected. Are they happy to become conscious? For the impact in those words was the unleashing of a perspective they all absorbed instantly, of the existence of the collective consciousness, something I cannot verbally define yet already know completely. And I'm thinking, my that was simple, for it to happen all at once collectively in thought, in a dream. (Not through tangible efforts, such as trying to meet any one of them in person, or rendering it all for all to see.)
The results, upon waking in the waking dream are readily apparent. Firstly, everyone on the globe now knows who I am when they see me. I'm in a public building, sort of reminiscent of the library in Berlin ("Wings of Desire" location). I know what this will be like and inherently don't trust it. People who have known me all my life are reacting in floored surprise, all this time we never knew, awed surprise. Sean is the first acquaintance I meet (a 'regular Joe' of a guy, really nice), but the new appreciation he has for me is nothing pleasant; it makes his eyes glitter.
Then I decide to have some fun with it; I walk straight into an executive boardroom and traipse straight across the table where they're meeting. Everyone who looks at me has to deal with the consequential awareness that I was in their dream last night, causing varying levels of shock. -Glittering impish laughter. All I have to do is walkabout.
I head home to the family and all is as it should be. Dad is very proud of me, having produced his desired result. Part of what got unleashed was his establishment of pre-conception existence. The past is non-existent. My parents have a new lease of love and have decided to have three more children; there is a new baby. My sister sidles in, except she doesn't look at all like my sister, she is small with impish narrower features, is tanned, and has pink hair. She sits on my father's lap, leaning back on him, sizing me up.
"I'm not sure I like this whole idea", she says. "I'm not sure I like having been born into it." My Dad laughs at this, "We didn't choose you, you chose us."
The baby comes in on its own feet. Closer to conscious as an infant, the child is jubilant about the new awareness, laughing and jumping on my stomach. Having just been born it's a much easier shift to adapt to. It is a changeling child with thin stick limbs and pointed feet with no toes, and a wide grinning faerie face. (In the dream this wasn't odd.)
I go outside and closing the door realize I have forgotten my key and locked myself out. The weather is changing, blowing and overcast; it starts to pour. Next door on a settee looking out of vast portico windows sits an elegant ample middle aged woman blue velvet dress as heavy as drapery. I consider sheltering in her house, but she too is caught in the elements; rain is pouring through the windows, which are shattered, and where the rain hits the dress it stains lighter. I try to tell her what to do in my head, close the window draperies, but she is oblivious, making me wonder if the mind link is really as functional as I thought.