From my dreams, or perhaps I can call them visions, if not mental pictures, I try to reconstruct for you, my little friends here and now, a show of that vanished world in which I do believe I've ventured into a thousand times or more. Perhaps even lived parallel with; one of my two worlds-who is to say which one was more real than the other-now in my old age, I do believe it is the other one that is quieter, that is to say, deader, waiting to live, to rise like the tides of the sea. Perchance it is all made of ghosts. A world full of years for me; maybe I am the only creature with two personalities merging, or about to at this time.
I was living these dreams you see, in this other world, a far-off world; all I can say is that I saw man's existence in those far-off days-what we are becoming, or I expect-shall become. I've also discovered I live in what they call, 'the mid-Pleistocene' Yes, I'm from the trees, that part you all know, we are all from the trees, here. The best I can do with this is to call it a mental state and I'm sure they're many. I have learned I am a remote ancestor, to them. They are right, when they say I live in trees and clutch branches-how they know this I don't know, but I know where they live, and they live in what they call cities, and some of the city's structures that I've visited, the very ones they live in, are in part, made of trees. Hence, when I am with them, I am asleep, as if falling though space. When I awake I simple remember I am their arboreal ancestor-and usually back in this here tree, where I fell to sleep, where it all started from.
I am part of the new race, my tree dwellers, my little friends, I know you do not, cannot understand this, foresee this, but through me, and those like me, the race will live on, I am assured of that now. How I acquired this reasoning-wherewith, to see light where once there was none-to explore what to me is the unnatural world in my sleep, where it takes charge of me-is still a mystery, perhaps always will be, maybe all one is allowed are strained fragments of truth-so the voice of my mind tells me this.
This all makes me a freak of nature of course-like a two headed rat: for that is what he is, because that is how he is-and in a similar manner, that is what I am, because that is how I am-if that makes any sense-we are what we are, yet we can become more; with good judgment.
Dreams can protect one, and in a like manner, they are what they are; for some, like me, dreams also seem to process my fears, and allows me to I live in a binary world one needs to be guarded in-and so in the long run, that other kind of dream-fear, keeps me alert; even more-so while in this other world I speak of. You see, we must take advantage of all the assets we have, all the opportunities we are allowed. That is why I have allowed myself, year after year to venture into this other world. At first it's more difficult to step into this binary, then it becomes easier and easier. When I say binary, I mean in essence, my mind consists of two parts, or components. Twofold: by and large, it is a system of numeration having as its base, me. Again, let me repeat, my being lives in two sections, having two subjects, perhaps we can see this in the stars, likewise.
These other dreams I have are simply more pronounced, deeper, and stronger, than those of my kind-you, the tree people, and some of those we call the fire people, and the stone dwellers. Yet I run like they do, but from the large snakes, the gruesome bears, the opened mouth lions: they of course have them but they are in cages; in my dreams when I go to that other world, with the cities, they have different monsters, just as deadly-yes indeed, some deadlier, I will explain in a moment.
I am a freak of heritage-yes oh yes, of some perhaps birthright, bequest-some legacy in the makings. I do not believe I have lived before, I simply have visions-the mind sees and develops. It roams through time-as if it had ripples, unto this world far-off which it has selected for me, that becomes my present, what I see is a fragment of me, parts of me. I am the ancestor of these parts. I wonder what I'd see if I could go in the opposite direction-would I climb out of the sea.
Anyhow, they call me in my dream world, 'Long-ago life.'
To get into this dream state one must let go of the present, perhaps we can call it a stage of disassociation; blue visible echoes seem to surround me until I'm submerged while in this awkward word called disassociation. I've heard that word someplace-disassociation, perhaps I should call it: detachment or disconnecting: for me it means to cut off from one world to allow myself to venture into the other-if that makes for any logic.
At any rate, conceivably I am picking up transmitted memories, meaning we have already lived before we've lived-if this is a possibility. It all sounds corny doesn't it? Fine, say what you will, but here I am, real and alive. I am that, which has learned the raw beginnings of my race are now, I am it, and like it or not, you are part of it.
My first dream was something like this:
There was a large space between us, between my two personalities and the two worlds-which is really one world, time separated. I did not fear that space, but it did devour me-while in my state of dreaming. There were strong forms crashing, storms I feared at first, I was unfamiliar with all this you must understand, then I learned they were war machines, cars, planes all confusing I assure you at first. There were masses of humans, like ants. The future was as much a nightmare for me as our world is for us, which they call the past. When I awoke I was still in my tree-this being the first time, I was unsure where I'd wake up.
It was all at first an untidy heap, and so I shall not impose it upon you, no need to, it's too difficult to explain, and surely more-so in understanding. When one dreams long enough, and goes back to the same location in time and space, everything kind of straightens itself out. Familiarity breeds many things, and I could at a certain stage piece together, in proper order: this and that of this other world, the world I am trying to reconstruct for you. The very one I seemingly lived in, while in my dream state-that is to say, my second self lived in. They know all about us-these people in this other world, it is only wise to know about them, is it not?
I understand I have not framed this into a comprehensive story in the least, but I do hope, you have some kind of an understanding of those who will come after you, for when I am gone, you will need to write this on the walls of the caves-like the cave dwellers do, so your children's children will know what to expect.
Before I close, let me just say, I had never formed friendships on these so called trips: I never seemed all that interested in doing so, although I could have, I actually learned some words of their language, not just as they call-as we do-grunts.
I do remember, on all sides of me were buildings, tall stone structures, and as I've already mentioned, which I shall mention again in passing: they use trees, what they call wood, cut from the trees that is, likened to the ones we live in, for solid structures within those framed stoned buildings.
And what they called trains, their sounds were like grunts of wild boars-that's not funny, it's the truth. The trains I can never explain, 'seeing is believing,' in this case.
Those first dreams I sat in a park petrified, motionless-my instinct told me to do just that: observing, while curiosity fermented inside of me. I did scream once-to hear myself possibly, I don't know why. It is hard to describe the reaction of the people-they ran just like we run from the wild boar. I even saw an old man once, he took his teeth out of his mouth of all things, snarling at me, and he put them back in. I just made grimaces like a chimpanzee, and it frightened him. These people involuntarily bunch themselves together and mosey about here and there, much like we do, although we are not the mass they are, we are a much smaller gathering. This took the breath out of me also.
Well, it's time for you to go down and find some food, these branches are hard on the spine and the bump, if you know what I mean, and I know you know what I mean, by your chuckling and squirming about: I also know your parents think I tell wild and tall tales-but interesting if anything, and perhaps it is better left that way-but I know one of you will carry my wondrous words and gestures and dreams forward-which one, only time will tell.
As I say, when you leap, be careful of the overhanging branch with your hands. Never forget, the boars have clashing tusks, one instant they are there, the next they are not. At any rate, I must remind you of this, lest your parents blame me for not informing you-we are only a dozen feet from the ground, I'll have you know. Hold on with one hand, onto the branch, and drop to the ground in safety. Sometimes when I tell these tales you get so very excited, forget what world you live in. I am not scolding you, just so stop gnashing your teeth, there are no angry beasts to peer down upon as of yet, and I am one of you. Unless one of you have saw one approaching, and you have not indicated so.
What's that you gesture?
I failed to describe these apes?
No we are the apes; they are-oh well, they are nothing like us, and we are nothing like them-oh, I suppose I shouldn't say nothing like us. But they are not anything on earth or under the earth, as we know it to be.
Describe the old man, you gesture?
Well, let me try quickly, if in fact I can: he was large; the old man was large, much larger than us, perhaps two-hundred pounds, in comparison; as we are no more than a hundred and thirty pounds at our most. Our faces are broader and flat and our eyebrows hang over our eyes more than his did. Yes, it is the eyes, or much of it I should say, is in the eyes. We have a very, very little nose compared to them, or in this case, the old man. They have a nose like a beak from a wild bird. It is long and pert near reaches their mouth. Don't laugh; this is what your future children will look like. We have no bridge for the nose; they have a bridge you can leap off of. And how they breathe through those little nostrils, I'll never know.
The forehead you gesture how is the forehead? That's a good question.
Yes, that too is a trying dilemma to describe, but I will try: it is not slanted like ours-not slanted back from the eyes that is, and they have big, and I mean big heads, for such skinny necks-they are like big busy trees with little stems on them. How they balance them is surely a miracle. But perhaps the air holds theirs in place somehow: thicker air perhaps.
On the other hand, we have thick and short necks, in comparison. Gosh if they couldn't walk erect, they'd have to carry those heads from here to there.
They are if anything, small shouldered beasts, clean looking, although the old man was not, but I doubt he represents the majority of these advanced people, without beauty, and little strength.
We are much more hairy than they are, but they live in framed structures, we don't, they don't need a hairier body, we do. And their legs are longer than their arms, unlike us. That is perhaps because of the trees, and the stretching we do. They walk flat on their feet; it is hard for us to do this, in long periods. Their toes, believe it or not, are in line with one another, especially the great toe. This is perhaps why they can walk flat.
On another subject, I would miss I guess, the leaping from limb to limb, if I had to live in their world for any length of time.
I can see the old man now, waking up on the park bench, walking under the trees as if he was once, one of us, howling from that drink he drinks, called alcohol: howling like we do, when the boar chases us. Yes, he drinks the blood of the boar. And then he is like us, with rage, pausing now and again to beat his chest with his clenched fists, again much like we do. But he hesitates, unlike we do, and he is at a loss of what to do next, unlike we are, we cannot afford to be like him-unguarded.
Now you all must move your muscles, the surge and thrill of the leaping is required. You've kept me much too long in the tree talking.
You ask again, what do the children do?
I think they swing axes and chop down trees. To be honest, I've never seem them to much, I just made that up, they are for the most part lazy, but that is the way they are taught.
#885 (3-5-2012) Written between 10:00 p.m., and 1:26 a.m.) Couldn't sleep; morning reediting, 10:30 to 12:30 a.m.
