Fresh Kills _ Day 14

Day 14

Indeed they were perhaps dreams. Like this dream. But I was exhausted.

I had been holding back on letting go, sitting back and trying to feel comfort in this new temporary or permanent environment.

I must had remembered a bed from a museum and associated it as a safe place.  Museums are full of trusted antiques that fascinate and at the same time they are secure. The place is full of guards protecting the treasures.

I chose a simple middle class, Middle Ages, northern European environment.  Something close to my genetic background.

Though most of my ancestry is Irish and Anglo, one strain goes back to the Pennsylvania Deutsch.

Here in some room from some old castle, one of my ancestors may have slept as well.  Who is to know?

I perhaps in life had an affinity with this old museum spot.  Perhaps I inwardly knew that I would be stopping by here again in my quarantine in the afterlife before the official hereafter. 

Oh! The pain!

I had been blank on the pain thing since I passed over.  I was such a ball of fright, disbelief and physical shock colliding with present reality.

Perhaps in a tragic or violent death there are those frozen moments of pain that exist here and pass over in thought with you.  I know this must be a thought process.  Since I got sense of a shadowy sense of myself, with the force and outline of my hands in front of me, the thought of having any kind of surrogate earth like body pushed me into mind of that lost body.

Here, the pain of life in general, a lifetime, is a long progression like that of day, and of waking to waking, from sleep to sleep as well.

The sleep is a stopover.  A resting point.  A recharging thing.

In a way the law of motion and an opposite and equal reaction must exist here as well.  A life and a whole energy in that life must have pushed against some fabric of the universe.  Here in dream land is a sense of reaction to that life.

Again the pain! Make it stop!

Why was I the victim? I don’t want to be the victim.

Without reason or without form I am out of the museum room and back on that floor staring down the racing jet coming right at me.

I flinch but do not run.  The black at the head of the nose makes contact.  Black again everywhere.

But no pain.  I relived the final moment and much of the shock and certainly a split second of body pain were not reenacted.

I feel reassured.

But a strange real, non-real sense makes me believe that the feeling of pain is somehow an energy and transcends itself to here.

Death is somehow an archiving energy. The time after death is for the storage of one creature’s activity in life.  It is somehow a bit of information somehow stored somewhere and somehow within the context of the universe.

That I sense that the energy of pain is a large energy.

That somehow I must catalogue it for future reference before me and the universe can go on together in terms of future form.