Hanging On: Twenty Seven

The following is a presentation of the dream world Mark encountered in the wee morning hours of November 1st, 1869. The information contained herein is a re-creation of the testimony given to Matthew by Mark himself. In other words, it came straight from the horse’s mouth. For you see, if I may be allowed to get ahead of myself here, Matthew and Mark were destined to be friends a little further on down the road. There came a day when they were discussing the chain of events that led up to that terrible night in Bedlam. Mark happened to mention the fact that when he’d been awakened by Sam the next morning, he was smack-dab in the middle of an extremely strange, and mystifying dream. When Matt heard that his ears perked up. He wanted to hear all about it. Mark was reluctant at first. He didn’t really want to tell him, but Matt was well-versed in the art of persuasion, and thus was he able to weasel it out of him.

Matthew was amazed that Mark could still remember the dream as well as he did, months after the fact of it’s occurrence. Mark recollected it all in bits and pieces, and then he went on to give Matt a wild and crazy, but nonetheless vivid account filled with exquisitely interesting details. Matt listened curiously as Mark described the scene in a disorderly manner. Mark’s memories would run backwards for awhile, as if he were jogging his brain in reverse, and then he’d jump forward, and go the other way until he reached a point where he had to go back again, and pick up where’d he’d left off. This was all very puzzling to Matt at the time, but due to the fact that he was a storyteller, he was able to pick up the pieces, and put it all back together again. Although he never could make sense of it, Matt felt that it was a necessary addition to the story. Therefore, it is in that same vein that I include it here.

In the dream I’m about to describe, Mark was nothing but a casual, unemotional observer, invisible to others right on up to the very end, at which point he did suddenly find himself to be an active participant, but only for a moment, the moment before Sam brought him back to the real world. Throughout this dream he maintained a conscious sense of self, although he was bodiless, and could not see his hands, nor his feet.  Mark’s sense of sight remained, but he had no control over the direction of the view. The view itself was crystal clear, but limited to one hundred and eighty degrees. He was shown the scene that lay to his left, and also the one off to his right. He caught a glimpse of the blue sky above him, and was given a view of what lay below, but never did he see what was behind him. It was as if his eyes had a mind of their own, and like a bird they could swoop down to take a closer look, then they’d fly back to his fixed position without ever having turned around. He could not hear any sounds. He could neither smell, nor taste, and he altogether lacked the feeling sense of touch.


Part I

In the dim fading light of that cold weary night, Mark closed his tired eyes, and started counting. He didn’t recall having to toss or turn for any length of time, so he figured he fell asleep fairly quick. Mark told Matt that he didn’t usually remember his dreams. As far as he knew, he’d never had a dream that fit the common description of a nightmare. He didn’t know what it was like to wake up in a state of fright with a racing heart, and a sweaty forehead. On the rare occasions when he did awaken with a pleasant dream fresh on his mind, the memories of the scenes, and the actions in the dreams were short-lived, never were they lastingly retained, except for once. Mark could remember one dream, and one dream only. It had something to do with his father. He wouldn’t go into detail, and Matt didn’t pursue the matter. For the sake of comparisons, Mark did relay this much to Matt. He said that this particular dream was very different in aspect from the one concerning his father. In the one with his father, the two of them were alone, no one else was in the picture. There were no other attention-grabbing distractions in the background. He seemed to be his normal self, and was able to carry on a conversation in which feelings and emotions were included.

Mark’s objective lookout point was recognizably situated amongst the lower branches of the hanging tree. Mark estimated himself to be about twenty feet up in the air. He faced the bright yellow sun that had risen in the east a few hours earlier. To his right lay the graveyard. It had changed severely since the last time he’d seen it. To the left was the town of Bedlam. It was bustling as never before with people lining the street to watch a parade of some sort. The time of day appeared to be mid to late morning; he guessed the season to be early spring. The twigs on the ends of the leafless limbs were just beginning to bud. Below him on the ground, light green blades of grass could be seen bursting through a mat of brown. Floating way up high across the beautiful sky, and drifting in slowly from the north to the south were an endless line of puffy, white cumulus clouds that closely resembled the sheep that he’d been counting.

Straight across from him, and over the dirt road a little ways, Mark said he saw what must have been an audience of a hundred people or more, consisting of men, women, and children, all dressed in their Sunday best. They were sitting on pretty blankets that had been spread on the ground, and white wicker baskets full of food were aplenty. They were watching, and presumably listening to a small group of musicians who were sitting on chairs that had been placed between them and the road. Some of the members in the audience were clapping their hands in time to the beat. There were also six fun-loving couples who’d separated themselves from the crowd. These folks were square dancing in a circle, and they had to change partners as they moved along the circular line. This caught the attention of the eyes Mark had been seeing through. All of their own accord, those eyes decided to zoom on in to take a real good look at the faces on the dancers.



10 thoughts on “Hanging On: Twenty Seven

  1. Dear uncle, I am happy to see you keep writing, I am sorry I had not have enough time to make comments, I guess I will once your hole book is published, which I am sure will happen in the end. By the way I wanted to tell you that I replied to your excellent comments in my blog, and since it is so messy you might have not noticed that cause my posting got mixed in the end. It is in the last entry, the one that talks about how we read.

    Big hugs!

  2. No need to apologize, Mariana.

    Publishing a book is NOT what I had in mind when I first started
    this project. I cannot allow that to become my soul purpose (sole)
    for continuing this…this…this whatchamacallit. I figure I have until
    next Halloween to finish this, but really, all time limits are self-imposed.
    There is no outside pressure, except for holding my readers hostage
    week after week. I really don’t like having to do that to them(+ you).

    They call this a blog, but for me it’s it’s only a place to Show & Tell,
    just like it was in kindergarten. View tallies are nice, and it’s been a lot
    of fun, but they do tend to crimp one’s creativity. They make me want
    to hurry, and hurrying makes me sloppy, and then I can’t see straight.

    As an aside…when I was having a really good round of golf, I didn’t WANT
    to know what I was doing, or how I was doing it. Momentum can be
    gained in sports, but games end in a short amount of time. Writing is
    sort of like that, but every time I get ‘on a roll’ I have to stop. That may
    be why I find it difficult to start a new chapter. I can’t quit while I’m ahead.

    I have to go back to work today. And our winter weather sucks.
    Big time! I’m getting moved to a new position today, too. Yuck!

    Take care now, sweet niece! Luvz and hugz, UT

  3. A willing hostage Uncle.

    Yo, creativity comes in waves not bound by human timelines. You have to hit the waves when the surf is up. That takes a little creativity if your at work or in the grocery store.

    I always heard new positions were fun and exciting, Uncle. Well good luck with new position and think summer thoughts. It’s coming, I promise.

  4. Good to hear, Derek!

    Yo! You might want to save that first sentence, my man.
    It’s magnificent. Yes, it is that special, in my humble opinion.

    When there are no waves, I dog paddle, which involves a lot
    of unnecessary splashing, and chin raising. Being a jock at heart,
    I usually work, or keep my head above water, whether or not
    there are helping waves to bring me to shore with the goods.

    So far, so good with the new position. I’m doing pretty much
    the same work as before, the only thing that changed was my boss.

    Sunny summer thoughts…sunny warm summer thoughts…
    how long do I have to wait before I get some results?

    Mantras are an awful lot like prayers, you know,
    so it could be a while. 5 months and counting, UT 😉

  5. definitely a nice place to hang out is right here, dear Keith.
    I will be in the Big Apple this weekend, trying to keep from freezing :—)
    love & wisps of soulful ness
    ~ Kate

  6. Hi there, Katie!

    Oh, my. I just checked out the weather forecast.
    Knot good. We are heading for a record, probably.

    -20 degrees tomorrow morning, with gusty winds.
    School has been called off indefinitely. Lucky kids.

    Have fun in New York, Princess, and bundle up, too.
    Thanks for the wisps of a kiss! Cherish is the word…

    Luvz and hugz, Keith

  7. one thing that I had to come back to you gave an intro to a dream then started telling the scene then gave another intro to the dream by saying:
    “In the dream I’m about to describe” …to be honest at the time that I was reading it I thought that the setting was just part of the telling then you said this and it broke concentration I read on but it didn’t quite set right so I came back to it. You might give this part a once over and see if you had the same kind of effect.

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