Coincidence

I had found myself in a daze, time had slipped beyond my grasp. I was unsure how long I had been in these woods, these familiar woods. The snowy mountains towered around me, yet the sun warmed the rocks and soil beneath my hammock. The smell of opium hung thick in the air; a blanket of perfumed smoke. Had I been here for days, or weeks, or months? I could not muster the care to wonder.

Moses had found me when I needed him most. Looking up at his tall slender figure, I attempted to deduce whether or not he was the prophet Moses. He looked exactly the way I would have expected the prophet Moses to have looked. A tall, skinny, Iranian man. His tangled mat of hair graces his skinny waist, and his formidable beard must have been more than a foot long. I later learned that he had not bathed in over ten years. Moses found me, he slipped his hand into mine. He spoke in Farsi, sweet and dark. I let him into my hammock, and he sucked me into his hole. A hole where the tea was bitter with poppy seeds, and the beautiful blur of Farsi whirling thorough my ears. 

Eventually, my vision cleared. It had indeed been weeks. I had to leave, to not come back. I had let myself get lost in this alternate world; a world where my troubles were left behind as soon as I found myself in these woods. The paradox of extreme introspection, juxtaposed with the complete ignorance of my own life. I had no connection to these people. I had no phone, no way of using the Internet, no method of bridging my life with that of Moses again. 

Home was about a 16 hours drive from those woods where I had left Moses about a month prior. My life had returned to the typical monotony familiar to me. But, walking down a street one day, in a city of approximately 20 million people, I literally ran into him. I saw Moses. His lanky legs, his dready hair, his deep dark eyes and prominent nose. And once again, I found myself sucked into his hole. 

What a coincidence.

P.s.

I later found that these men were all involved in the Iranian mafia. They were traveling with fake passports; transporting benzene oil from Iran to Pakistan, and bringing opium from Pakistan back to Iran. 

Dream #3

I was planning on going to the library tomorrow morning, though, like many mornings I turned off my alarm and went back to sleep.

But, after returning to sleep I had a dream that I woke up in order to take a shower. I walked out of my bedroom and saw a shower of something. I tried to turn on the kitchen light, and then the living room lights; they would not turn on. In the dark and creepy corners of my kitchen, I saw something lurking. It took the shape of a bird. The bird flew to me, flapping in my face. It pecked me hard in the back of my head. Suddenly, there were tons of birds, flapping all around me and pecking at my head. Rain slapped against the dreary windows. And, with one heavy peck on the head, I awoke. 

Expunged of personhood and knit back together again

We were asked in class to attempt to assemble and reassemble ourselves. relieve ourselves of all of our beliefs.

This complete disassembly of my beliefs happened to me in a profound manner whilst experimenting with the powerful hallucinogen DMT. These things are incredibly difficult to put into words. When one gains access to the realm of the forms, even if it is only glancing through this analogical window, it is not an experience easily verbalized. 

I was stripped of myself. Momentarily relieved of all memories, all scraps of Sally that I hold onto when defining what it is to be myself. And then, slowly and rather painfully, as if I were chewing on tinfoil, my own self image creeped back into myself. But it was different. And yet exactly the same. The best way to describe my reassembly is as if an interior designer had entered my mind and completely redesigned my insides, but using only the materials that were already at hand. All of the contents were the same, and yet the room they resided in looked completely different. I had been disassembled and reassembled myself. I had been temporarily relieved of all of my beliefs, not only about myself but about everything else as well. I lay paralyzed, attempting to comprehend my restructured interior. 

It has been two years since my interiors were disassembled, redesigned by some outside source, and assembled back again in a way almost recognizable from the original... And yet exactly the same. And, after two years, I have gained no further access or explanation to what the implications of this dissasembly were.