My other life

May 16, 2003

(After the lightning and thunder wakes me at 5:12 am, I let the dogs out, then back in again. Unable to go back to sleep in the bed, I lay on the living room couch, setting a timer to wake me in forty minutes. I quickly fall asleep, and this dream sequence begins.)

"Let's live in the other side of the house for a while."

Quickly the scenery changes a bit, and I'm in a house made mostly of light-colored wood, looking out large familiar windows to an outside area I've seen before. It is dawn, and the rainwater is running outside as I look out. I notice that we have left two outside lights on, so I go over and turn them off. This is the left wing of the house, where we normally live.

The thought occurs: "Find your hands." No, it's okay here.

We head to the right wing of the house. The right wing is enormous, with extremely large rooms, and ceilings that are at least twenty feet tall. At first something is wrong with the rooms, but I see they are under construction of some sort. After moving through about three rooms they start to appear right.

During this process there are people around, and one is a thin woman with straight jet-black hair, should length, with dark skin and dark penetrating eyes. I can't tell if she is American Indian, Oriental, or something else. The problem is that she knows me, and the look on her face is a look of shock, like I should not be here, or that I am a ghost, and only she can see me. As we pass, the feeling almost sends shivers up my spine. She turns her head and watches me the entire time as we pass each other.

The tour of the right wing continues a little while longer, and I am amused to see computer books on one shelf. "Funny to see these here" I think to myself.

The alarm goes off, and I hear it, but decide to stay here instead. I'll get up in a few minutes. I'm not asleep.

As I'm trying to make coffee, I rifle through a number of things in the kitchen, trying to find something to pour in a small amount of water. I'm going through utensils that seem unfamiliar, but the unusual nature of the items doesn't bother me; I keep looking. The woman comes next to me, and talks to me while I'm rifling through the items. I can't remember what she says.

I know that I have to leave, and I ask to see "the book" before I leave.

"Your mistake is in thinking that everything that happened before you laid down on the couch is real."

back to the Tequila/Monk front page