May 27, 2007
The Black Boxer
There is something uniquely exhilarating about realizing that one is dreaming in the midst of a dream. In my case, unfortunately, this sensation rarely lasts long, and I wake up. The adrenaline-type rush also makes it difficult to return to sleep.
Last night I found myself standing in the den in the house in which I grew up, petting a very large dog, even for its breed (Boxer). Another distinctive feature of this dog was its colour: a shiny black. (From the linked Wikipedia article: "The Boxer does not carry the gene for a solid black coat color and therefore purebred black Boxers do not exist.") I found myself thinking about how much the dog had grown since the last time I saw it.
Wait — the last time I saw it? Suddenly I realized that I had seen this dog in a recent dream, and that I was also dreaming at the moment. The electric charge I felt coursing through my nervous system upon this awareness caused me to wake, and I was left with only the memory.
If I let my imagination run wild, here is a spooky twist to ponder. My dad died just over 3 years ago. I have been "visited" by him (or his memory, whatever) several times in dreams, and almost every time he has come by to announce an upcoming change in his afterlife. The last such visit was quite some time ago (I need to start blogging these to keep track), and he was about to leave a basically human-like form/format and enter what my subconscious understood at the time as "The Dark Tank." It really wasn't a tank per se, but was liquid and two-dimensional, an infinite plane of black, silent absorption. He was letting me know that he would be there for a while. An analogy that comes to mind is that of a caterpillar entering a cocoon, where it "melts" and later transforms into a moth or butterfly.
Here's the kicker: the last weeks of Dad's life were spent in hospice care in a medical bed that was placed in the den. He died in the same room in which I have lately found myself standing and becoming acquainted with this dog, in at least two dreams. Now, I'm not suggesting that he has been "reincarnated as a dog," in the juvenile understanding that many Westerners attach to this concept. I don't profess to understand the spiritual world, mostly because I cling to the notion that there is a scientific explanation for everything in it, such as, for example, sub-atomic routines related to what we know as "memory," which defy our current "knowledge" of time and space.
But is there not a chance that the "soul" (for serious lack of a better term) of my late father is traversing unknown pathways that occasionally intersect with the unconscious meanderings of still-living offspring's minds? And if that's so, then there is no reason I know of to doubt that my end of this interaction would, for whatever reason, ascribe a form to this entity. And so, though I currently don't know why such a form would be a friendly, youthful, big shiny black Boxer, I simply cannot rule it out.
(Cross-posted from my non-political blog.)
Sunday Drive | By joe lance | 10:21 AM