Human CCC 3: Old Dude Strikes Again

So, I met up with the Old Dude again a few nights ago, as I was going through my usual dream life stuff.  Now, I know what you’re thinking.  Sheesh, Taobabe is writing up another one of her boring tall-tale dreamscapes again–but let me hasten to assure you, it’s not the usual suspect.  Bear up with me here.

Now, most of my dreams are dull and totally forgettable.  Half the time, it’s just hanging out with some strange peeps and shooting the breeze about philosophy, or food recipes, or clothing fashion, whichever happens to be the interesting subject on hand at that moment.  The other half of the time, we’re out doing our usual routine, which range the gamut from having intense meetings with both Obama and Putin (lolz, I really should write up on that dream…it’s really one of my more surreal moments), to driving around town on a crazy type of vehicle which feels like a roller coaster in that it moves really crazy, like some funky old roller coaster, but without the rails.

In any event, they are usually colorful, loud, benign, and rather boring.  That doesn’t mean I don’t get a few isolated night terror dreams, but they are rather short-lived, and let me explain why.  If I ever get any bad dream, something would always happen to cut off any threatening situation, I would immediately wake up with no idea what or how it happened, just a faint memory of someone intervening on my behalf.  And then the boring benign stuff would come back.  I always liked to believe it was because somebody was keeping an eye out for me.

But who am I kidding.

Only EXTRA SPECIAL people ever get those awesome light-radiating guardian angels with bright, shining faces and beautiful ornate outfits.  And wings.  Don’t forget the wings!

The rest of us have to make do with whatever we’re given, and what I usually get is this old dude.  I don’t know what his name is, but I call him the Old Dude.  He looks something like this.

Old Dude is usually dressed in an all-white Asian looking outfit, like one of those martial arts masters, except I never saw him fight, so I can’t say if he is or isn’t one.  His hair and beard are white, and his face is old, but not decrepit.

He talks sometimes, but his mouth doesn’t move.  I know it makes no sense, but that’s what I see.  He is jovial in a quiet way, but he’s got a wicked, serious, sense of humor, and he always makes me feel like I’m a little kid.  I guess I am rather like a little kid when compared to him, but that doesn’t stop me from having fun with him.

The first time he showed up was about twenty years ago.  He came around with a little boy and a little girl.  They ran around, laughing, screaming, and we all played tag in the golden sunshine.  He was following behind us, watching us play.  He didn’t say much then, but I got used to his presence after a while.

Then, he started showing up, first sporadically, and then, all the time in dreams.  There was this one dream where I was wearing ancient Asian clothes and was reading a book written in some ancient writing .  He seemed surprised–startled even, when he realized I could read ancient Hanzi (or some type of ancient pictographic writing).  He called me over to a tombstone and asked me if I could read what the words said, and I nodded.

Of course!  

I began reading the words, but he stopped me as soon as I began uttering the first word.

That’s enough, he said, with something akin to nervousness and/or worry, and waved me away from the tombstone, and that was when I woke up.  But during those initial moments of waking, I could still remember how to read the characters.  However, once I was fully awake, I could no longer recall how to read the words.

Too bad.  So sad.

Sorry.  I was supposed to tell you about what happened a few nights ago.  Anyhow, I saw him again, and this time, we got to talking about the world, and this is what he told me.

Go enjoy the sunshine and the cool breeze and the blue skies.  Enjoy the green leaves and the bright flowers and the trickling waters.  Take in the beauty of the hummingbirds and the crickets.  

I was going to ask him why when he started up again.

Play with your dogs, and eat all the most delicious things you know how to make.  And make lots of good things to eat, and create lots of pretty art and crafts.  

Why?  I asked.  But he ignored me, and continued with his monologue.

Sing out loud–don’t worry about bothering the neighbors.  Make lots of noise on your musical instruments.  Whistle as loud as you can and try to reach the highest notes that you can whistle.   Bang on pots and pans.  Do all the things that you truly enjoy to do, and enjoy them while you’re doing them.  

Why?  I asked him again, eyebrows raised.

Do you still remember your physics?  He asked

Maybe.  I answered.  Which part?

The part where particles wink in and out of existence.  He reminded me.

Oh yeah!  I nodded.  It’s pretty basic physics.  The duality nature of matter/energy is a particle/wave  which pops in and out of our spacetime dimension like a vibration.  

When it’s on our side of reality, we see it as matter or light or sound.  When it’s on the other side, we can’t sense it at all with our faculties.

He nodded.  Everything you do is constantly being fed back to the Source.  You’re not even here fifty percent of the time because when you’re winking out of existence, you’re over there, but it happens so fast, you aren’t even aware that you’re not even here.

Kind of like Siri, my phone’s personal assistant, huh?  I muttered, mostly to myself.  When I ask her a question, she answers, but only after she has sent my question back to the mainframe.  The ping-back is so fast, I think I’m talking to her in real time, but I’m not.

Yes.  He smiled.  When she responds to your question, she is going back and forth, relaying information that she got from the mainframe, which is the source of her real power.  She is only using your phone as a receiver so she can communicate with you.  Siri is not your phone.  SHE IS THE MAINFRAME.  

He turned and looked at me straight in the eyes.

So who are YOU, when you’re not here?