Death Was My Beginning

Dying even only in a dream is scary. Most people say they always wake up right before they would have died, and so did I until . . .

I dreamt I was sight seeing in a beautiful castle in a South America. I was wandering through the ornate rooms trailing behind a family with many young boys that reminded me of my nephews. The boys were loud and rowdy, I couldn’t hear a thing the tour guide was saying. I let them get ahead of me so I could enjoy the rooms in relative quiet. Each room seemed to be whispering to me, but I could not make it out. The further I went in the louder the whispering got. Finally I reached a room with a waterfall on the left hand wall which flowed into a pool taking up a quarter of the room. Greenery grew all about the waterfall and pool. But even more striking was a statue of a woman that stood near the middle of the room at the edge of the pool. She was so well carved, I felt like she was alive looking down on me. In the center of her forehead was a large triangular emerald.

I could hear the whispering now, it was chanting the days of the week. As I got close to the statue, I realized the sound was not coming from her. I turned around and looked at the waterfall. That was where the sound came from. Above the waterfall there were words carved. They were the days of the week. The voices chanted all the days but ended with “sunday is rest day, on that day I sleep.” It was different from the rest of the chant . I move as close to the wall as I could, climbed on the tree carved on the side, reached up my hand and touched the word Sunday.

The wall moved and a cave was revealed behind the waterfall. I entered the cave, it was totally different from the rest of the castle. There were two rooms, the first looked like it had been built recently, it had electric lights a large metal fan and an air hockey table. The floor was strewn with litter, lots of chip bags and candy bar wrappers. But off to one side I could see where the secret passage way would have gone originally. The walls were rough hewn and dark. I entered the side chamber and found a place where a group of people had died, long, long ago. Scratched onto the wall was an account of how the native people had risen up against their white oppressors and trapped them in this room. There was no way out from this room. I shivered realizing they did not escape. I could feel their ghosts watching me and wanting revenge.

The family group came back while I was reading, seeing the room open the boys ran to the air hockey table and loudly began fighting over who got to play first. A chill ran through my bones as I realized, I should not have opened that door. These dead will not take kindly to this intrusion. Looking up I saw smoke curling over the boys. I moved as quickly as I could to the door. But it was shut and before I could look for a way to open it, the lights went out.

How long I stayed there in the dark, I can not say. Nor could I say for certain what killed me or how. But the thing I remember best was the splash of water, it felt so strange. In the dark I thought about how I had learned that water is often used to symbolize death. For a moment fear beckoned, but I knew in my heart I was not afraid of death, not anymore. I embraced the water. The next thing I knew I was floating in the village below the castle and I felt free and alive and lighter than I had ever felt before.

As a ghost I got the attention of a young man in the village and led him to the smoky castle. Somehow the family was saved but my body was removed covered by a sheet. I knew it was dead. I remained a ghost in the castle for the rest of the dream.


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