Dreams Of The Pleroma

Perhaps it was only a dream, but maybe it was something more.

I awoke late in the evening to the feeling that someone was sitting downstairs waiting for me.  Feeling somewhat frightened, I reached for my gun and started to go downstairs.  Upon getting to the landing I was overwhelmed by this sense of familiarity.  Then a voice.

“The word is Pathos.  Why do you struggle so much?  You’ve been seeing home for months now, but you still torture yourself.  Will you remain here even when the symbol collapses?  What was that opening remark, “ I am the self-tortured prophet of Apollo?”

I couldn’t tell if anyone was sitting down in the living room, but someone was there–someone I know well but whose identity I am unable to focus on directly.  This first statement is relating to something I had been thinking about before I went to bed.  Mainly the fact that whenever I sleep or relax I no longer dream.  I am seeing vivid landscapes of a familiar world that appears to be earth with a few differences.  These experiences are lucid. The last statement “I am the self-tortured prophet of Apollo” is from something I wrote back in 2000 that is a bit much to get into at the moment.

In the night, while I am seemingly asleep, it feels as though I am living a separate life.  There is no escaping this.  I live in a giant city that feels more like home to me than this world does. How can that be?  I have awoken on numerous occasions laughing hysterically about things that I witnessed or interactions that were taking place.  This laughing takes place in this other world.  It is so powerful it awakens my physical body.  I attempt to draw the landscapes upon waking up.  One night a female voice laughs and jokingly says, “Awww. Come back here!” after I had woken up.  I do not know where to place such experiences.  These are not ambiguous events, they are vivid and represent something that is very much tangible to the part of me that takes over when my physical mind is at rest.  Because I had put so many of my inner contentions behind me, this opening of the doorway into my mind and into another world has become natural.  I cannot simply hope or pray it away and neither do I wish to.

“Where will you go when you die?  What does red smell like?  What color is a square?  Do you understand the destination of this line of thinking?” The voice asks.

My response was a simple and purely internalized, “Yes. The line ends at the nonsensical.  At heart there really is no question.”  The answer is the silent, still Pleroma.

“So you have it then.  You are being defeated.  You must stand. The crumbling edifice is an appendage.  If what I say is true than what are you really?”

By “crumbling edifice” he actually means the human body.  I set down the gun on the first stair and sat at the end of the couch.  I didn’t feel in any danger, but the experience was off. I seemed to be straddling two very distinct realities that may in fact not be as distinct as I think they are.

“Do you remember the nostalgia.  When you were a child you felt it all the time.  It inflamed the heart with the newness of experience. You felt your real world bleed through into this one.  It made your Soul joyous, even in the little things.  You are no longer a child, but you should become one again.  Your seriousness has put you in duress.  You are losing the battle. Yes. This is pathos. Listen to melodies. Heal yourself.”

This person was not inhabiting the spatial world at all.  This being is Pleromic, possibly my Seraph at a nearly full manifestation.  The idea of “melodies” is something I wrote about a few months back.  These are certain points in songs that mimic the sounds taking place within the Pleroma.  They can shuttle a being there temporarily if they have a sensitivity to music.  I believe this event happened because I found my old MP3 player and listened to this song before going to bed.  Many months ago I had used points in this song as a way to put myself into this other world.   At around 1:30 until 2:10 there is a sound that causes a feeling of profound nostalgia to hit me.  It comes in again at 2:56 for exactly one second.  This nostalgia is not common sentimental nostalgia, it is something much deeper.  I am practically thrust into the Pleroma almost against my will because I am extremely sensitive to certain melodies.  Often times there isn’t any visual experience at all, the experience is purely noetic and I can be fully awake and sense it taking place.  It adds extreme beauty to the physical world and in fact makes it wholly complete.  I can feel this Noetic/Pleroma as the substratum of my physical existence.   Dr. Eban Alexander explains that a melody also thrust him into a vivid and beautiful world during his NDE.  As I learned a few weeks ago, this sensitivity to music was true also of Henry Corbin.  I am not promoting NDEs here as an answer to anything, I am simply presenting anecdotes.

Admittedly there is a great deal of personal conflict going on within me at the moment.  Having plunged headlong into a very violent conflagration with my demons over a period of many years, has caused a rift to open up within me.  The problem is that even though a great deal of good has come of these events, there is also a very dark side to it.  Finding the place to put those dark experiences is very difficult.  One has to walk ever so cautiously so as not to fall prey to clever demons.

When I started fully coming to on the couch, I managed to break clean of the experience.  Afterwards I felt very good.  I had a glass of water and went back to sleep.  While sleeping I was again plunged into that very vivid world where I will likely be this evening.  What tends to haunt me about this is that I do often wonder if perhaps the reason these events are unfolding is because I am nearing my own death and that world and those people are in fact drawing near.  As brash as that may sound I am not afraid.