What Dreams May Come
Your problems lie herein
AN ODD THING happened as we left the house. It seemed odd to me at any rate. Albert was unsurprised by it. Even Katie didn't react as I would have expected.
A pearl-gray bird swooped down and landed on Albert's left shoulder, causing me to start.
Albert's words startled me even more. "It's one your wife took care of," he informed me. "I've been holding it for her."
"One my wife took care of?" I asked, glancing at Katie. In life, she'd have launched into a frenzy of barking at the sight. Here, she was completely placid.
Albert explained to me that Ann had come to have a permanent rapport with the injured birds she had nursed back to health. All the birds she'd saved--and there'd been dozens --were here in Summerland, waiting for her. Albert even knew that at one time local children had called Ann The Bird Lady of Hidden Hills.
I could only shake my head. "Incredible," I said.
He smiled. "Oh, you'll see things far more incredible," he told me. He stroked the bird with one finger. "And how are you?" he asked.
I had to laugh as the bird fluffed its wings and chirped. "You're not going to tell me it answered," I said.
"In his own way," Albert told me. "Just as with Katie. Say hello to him."
I felt a little awkward about it but did as he said. The bird hopped instantly onto my right shoulder and it did seem, Robert, as though our minds exchanged something. I don't know how to tell you what that something was except to say that it was charming.
Now the bird flew off and Katie startled me again by barking once, as though saying goodbye to it. Incredible, I thought as we started walking away from the house.
"I noticed you have no mirrors," I said.
"They serve no purpose," he told me.
"Because they're mostly for vanity?" I questioned.
"More than that," he answered. "Those who've marred their appearance in any way by their actions in life aren't forced to witness that marring. If they were, they'd become self-conscious and be unable to concentrate on improving themselves."
I wondered what my own appearance was; knowing that Albert wouldn't tell me if it was unpleasant in any way.
I tried not to think about that as we started up a grassy slope, Katie running on ahead. How trim she looks, I thought with pleasure. Ann would be so happy to see her. They'd spent much time together. Literally, Ann couldn't leave the house without her. We used to laugh at Katie's unfailing awareness of Ann's intention to go out. It seemed, at times, positively psychic.
I put that from my mind too, breathing deeply of the cool, fresh air. The temperature seemed ideal to me.
"Is that why it's called Summerland?" I asked, experimenting to see if Albert knew what I was asking.
He did, replying, "Partially. But, also, because it can reflect each person's concept of perfect happiness."
"If Ann were here with me, it would be perfect," I said, unable to keep her from my thoughts.
"She will be, Chris."
"Is there water here?" I asked, abruptly. "Boats? That's Ann's idea of heaven."
"There are both," he said. I looked up at the sky. "Does it ever get dark?"
"Not totally," he said. "We do have twilight though."
"Was it my imagination or did the light in your study dim as I was going to sleep?"
"It dimmed," he said. "Corresponding to your need for rest."
"Isn't it an inconvenience not to have days and nights? How do you schedule yourself?"
"By activities," he answered. "Isn't that, essentially, the way people in life do it? A time to work, a time to eat, a time to relax, a time to sleep? We do the same--except, of course, that we don't have to eat or sleep."
"I hope my need for sleep disappears soon," I said. "I don't relish the idea of more dreams like the one I had."
"The need will go," he said.
I looked around and had to make a sound of incredulity. "I suppose I'll get used to all this," I said. "It's awfully hard to believe though."
"I can't describe how long it took me to accept it," Albert told me. "Mostly, I couldn't understand how it was possible for me to be admitted to a place I'd always been positive didn't exist."
"You didn't believe in it either," I said. It made me feel better to hear that.
"Very few people do," he replied. "They may give lip service to the notion. They may even want to believe it. But they rarely do."
I stopped and leaned over to remove my shoes and socks. Picking them up, I carried them as we started off again. The grass felt warm and soft beneath my feet.
"You don't have to carry them," Albert said.
"I wouldn't want to litter a place as beautiful as this."
He laughed. "You won't," he said. "They'll vanish presently." "Into the matrix?"
"Right."
I stopped to put down the shoes and socks, then strolled on with Albert; Katie was beside us now, moving easily. Albert noticed my backward glance and smiled. "It takes a while," he said.
Moments later, we reached the summit of the slope and, stopping, looked across the countryside. The closest sight I can compare it to is England--or, perhaps, New England -- in the early summer; rich green meadows, thick woods, colorful patches of flowers and sparkling brooks--all domed by a deep blue sky with snowy clouds. No place on earth could compare to this, however.
Standing there, I drew in deep breaths of the air. I felt completely sound, Robert. Not only were the pains from the accident gone but there was no longer a trace of aching in my neck and lower back; you know the problems I had with my spine. "I feel so good," I said.
"You've accepted where you are then," Albert told me.
I didn't understand that and asked what he meant.
"Many people arrive with the physical convictions they possessed at death," he said. "They believe they're sick and continue to be so until they realize they're in a place where sickness can't exist on its own. Only then are they whole. The mind is all; remember that."
"Speaking of which," I told him, "I seem to be able to think better too."
"Because you're not encumbered by a physical brain any longer."
In looking around, I'd caught sight of an orchard of what looked like plum trees. I decided that they couldn't be but they aroused a question in my mind. "You said it isn't necessary, here, to eat," I said. "Does that mean you're never thirsty either?"
"We get our nourishment directly from the atmosphere," he answered. ''The light, the air, the colors, the plants." "We have no stomachs then," I said. "No digestive organs."
"No need for them," he responded. "On earth our bodies eliminated everything from what we ate but the energy of sunlight originally imparted to the food. Here, we ingest that energy directly."
"What about reproductive organs?"
"You still have them because you expect to have them. In time, when you understand their lack of purpose, they'll disappear."
"That's weird," I said.
He shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. "Consider those whose lives depended on those organs," he said. "Who, even after death, retain the need and use of them because they can't conceive of existence without them. They're never satisfied, of course, never fulfilled; it's only an illusion. But they can't break free of it and it impedes their progress endlessly. That's weird, Chris."
"I can understand that," I conceded. "Still, part of my relationship with Ann was physical."
"And there are people here, who love each other, who have sexual relations," he said, startling me again. "The mind is capable of anything, always remember that. In time, of course, these people usually realize that physical contact isn't as integral here as it was in life.
"For that matter," he continued, "we don't have to use our bodies at all; we only possess them because they're familiar to us. If we chose, we could perform any function with our minds alone."
"No hunger," I said. "No thirst. No fatigue. No pain." I made a sound of bemusement. "No problems," I concluded.
"I wouldn't say that," Albert told me. "Except for the lack of need for what you've mentioned--and the absence of need to earn a living--everything is still the same. Your problems are unchanged. You still have to solve them."
His words made me think of Ann. It was disturbing to believe that, after all the hardships she'd suffered in life, there'd be no respite for her here. That seemed unjust.
"There's help, here, as well, remember," Albert said picking up my thought again. "A good deal more perceptive too."
"I just wish I could let her know all this," I told him. "I can't get rid of this sense of apprehension about her."
"You're still picking up her distress," he replied. "You should let go."
"Then I'd lose contact completely," I said.
"It isn't contact," he told me. "Ann isn't aware of it-- and it only holds you back. You're here now, Chris. Your problems lie herein."
A pearl-gray bird swooped down and landed on Albert's left shoulder, causing me to start.
Albert's words startled me even more. "It's one your wife took care of," he informed me. "I've been holding it for her."
"One my wife took care of?" I asked, glancing at Katie. In life, she'd have launched into a frenzy of barking at the sight. Here, she was completely placid.
Albert explained to me that Ann had come to have a permanent rapport with the injured birds she had nursed back to health. All the birds she'd saved--and there'd been dozens --were here in Summerland, waiting for her. Albert even knew that at one time local children had called Ann The Bird Lady of Hidden Hills.
I could only shake my head. "Incredible," I said.
He smiled. "Oh, you'll see things far more incredible," he told me. He stroked the bird with one finger. "And how are you?" he asked.
I had to laugh as the bird fluffed its wings and chirped. "You're not going to tell me it answered," I said.
"In his own way," Albert told me. "Just as with Katie. Say hello to him."
I felt a little awkward about it but did as he said. The bird hopped instantly onto my right shoulder and it did seem, Robert, as though our minds exchanged something. I don't know how to tell you what that something was except to say that it was charming.
Now the bird flew off and Katie startled me again by barking once, as though saying goodbye to it. Incredible, I thought as we started walking away from the house.
"I noticed you have no mirrors," I said.
"They serve no purpose," he told me.
"Because they're mostly for vanity?" I questioned.
"More than that," he answered. "Those who've marred their appearance in any way by their actions in life aren't forced to witness that marring. If they were, they'd become self-conscious and be unable to concentrate on improving themselves."
I wondered what my own appearance was; knowing that Albert wouldn't tell me if it was unpleasant in any way.
I tried not to think about that as we started up a grassy slope, Katie running on ahead. How trim she looks, I thought with pleasure. Ann would be so happy to see her. They'd spent much time together. Literally, Ann couldn't leave the house without her. We used to laugh at Katie's unfailing awareness of Ann's intention to go out. It seemed, at times, positively psychic.
I put that from my mind too, breathing deeply of the cool, fresh air. The temperature seemed ideal to me.
"Is that why it's called Summerland?" I asked, experimenting to see if Albert knew what I was asking.
He did, replying, "Partially. But, also, because it can reflect each person's concept of perfect happiness."
"If Ann were here with me, it would be perfect," I said, unable to keep her from my thoughts.
"She will be, Chris."
"Is there water here?" I asked, abruptly. "Boats? That's Ann's idea of heaven."
"There are both," he said. I looked up at the sky. "Does it ever get dark?"
"Not totally," he said. "We do have twilight though."
"Was it my imagination or did the light in your study dim as I was going to sleep?"
"It dimmed," he said. "Corresponding to your need for rest."
"Isn't it an inconvenience not to have days and nights? How do you schedule yourself?"
"By activities," he answered. "Isn't that, essentially, the way people in life do it? A time to work, a time to eat, a time to relax, a time to sleep? We do the same--except, of course, that we don't have to eat or sleep."
"I hope my need for sleep disappears soon," I said. "I don't relish the idea of more dreams like the one I had."
"The need will go," he said.
I looked around and had to make a sound of incredulity. "I suppose I'll get used to all this," I said. "It's awfully hard to believe though."
"I can't describe how long it took me to accept it," Albert told me. "Mostly, I couldn't understand how it was possible for me to be admitted to a place I'd always been positive didn't exist."
"You didn't believe in it either," I said. It made me feel better to hear that.
"Very few people do," he replied. "They may give lip service to the notion. They may even want to believe it. But they rarely do."
I stopped and leaned over to remove my shoes and socks. Picking them up, I carried them as we started off again. The grass felt warm and soft beneath my feet.
"You don't have to carry them," Albert said.
"I wouldn't want to litter a place as beautiful as this."
He laughed. "You won't," he said. "They'll vanish presently." "Into the matrix?"
"Right."
I stopped to put down the shoes and socks, then strolled on with Albert; Katie was beside us now, moving easily. Albert noticed my backward glance and smiled. "It takes a while," he said.
Moments later, we reached the summit of the slope and, stopping, looked across the countryside. The closest sight I can compare it to is England--or, perhaps, New England -- in the early summer; rich green meadows, thick woods, colorful patches of flowers and sparkling brooks--all domed by a deep blue sky with snowy clouds. No place on earth could compare to this, however.
Standing there, I drew in deep breaths of the air. I felt completely sound, Robert. Not only were the pains from the accident gone but there was no longer a trace of aching in my neck and lower back; you know the problems I had with my spine. "I feel so good," I said.
"You've accepted where you are then," Albert told me.
I didn't understand that and asked what he meant.
"Many people arrive with the physical convictions they possessed at death," he said. "They believe they're sick and continue to be so until they realize they're in a place where sickness can't exist on its own. Only then are they whole. The mind is all; remember that."
"Speaking of which," I told him, "I seem to be able to think better too."
"Because you're not encumbered by a physical brain any longer."
In looking around, I'd caught sight of an orchard of what looked like plum trees. I decided that they couldn't be but they aroused a question in my mind. "You said it isn't necessary, here, to eat," I said. "Does that mean you're never thirsty either?"
"We get our nourishment directly from the atmosphere," he answered. ''The light, the air, the colors, the plants." "We have no stomachs then," I said. "No digestive organs."
"No need for them," he responded. "On earth our bodies eliminated everything from what we ate but the energy of sunlight originally imparted to the food. Here, we ingest that energy directly."
"What about reproductive organs?"
"You still have them because you expect to have them. In time, when you understand their lack of purpose, they'll disappear."
"That's weird," I said.
He shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. "Consider those whose lives depended on those organs," he said. "Who, even after death, retain the need and use of them because they can't conceive of existence without them. They're never satisfied, of course, never fulfilled; it's only an illusion. But they can't break free of it and it impedes their progress endlessly. That's weird, Chris."
"I can understand that," I conceded. "Still, part of my relationship with Ann was physical."
"And there are people here, who love each other, who have sexual relations," he said, startling me again. "The mind is capable of anything, always remember that. In time, of course, these people usually realize that physical contact isn't as integral here as it was in life.
"For that matter," he continued, "we don't have to use our bodies at all; we only possess them because they're familiar to us. If we chose, we could perform any function with our minds alone."
"No hunger," I said. "No thirst. No fatigue. No pain." I made a sound of bemusement. "No problems," I concluded.
"I wouldn't say that," Albert told me. "Except for the lack of need for what you've mentioned--and the absence of need to earn a living--everything is still the same. Your problems are unchanged. You still have to solve them."
His words made me think of Ann. It was disturbing to believe that, after all the hardships she'd suffered in life, there'd be no respite for her here. That seemed unjust.
"There's help, here, as well, remember," Albert said picking up my thought again. "A good deal more perceptive too."
"I just wish I could let her know all this," I told him. "I can't get rid of this sense of apprehension about her."
"You're still picking up her distress," he replied. "You should let go."
"Then I'd lose contact completely," I said.
"It isn't contact," he told me. "Ann isn't aware of it-- and it only holds you back. You're here now, Chris. Your problems lie herein."
