Spring 1996, some time in the early morning.
I woke up. I felt so tired and distant. I finally got out of bed and walked into the living room. No one was home it seemed I was all alone. I sat on the blue chair to the left of the front door and stared at nothing particular. That is when there was a knock at the door. I had not been startled, I casually rose from the chair still half asleep. I unlocked the door and opened it. There stood the Grim Reaper with scythe. Before I could start for the door handle to shut the door it jumped forward upon me and grabbed me. It then drug me down the street as I feebly struggled against the impossible grip of he who lets none go. I felt the cement street pull and rip my skin like a thousand blades carving meat. I screamed at passers buy that did nothing, people in cars noticed nothing as Death drug me for miles down roads until we reached the place I was destined. Thibodaux cemetery near the down town area. I was flayed by the cool grass and chunks of dirt on my back and legs. I pleaded with the dark beast who's grip I was locked in to release me. It said nothing as I was finally picked up as a child by one skeletal hand and tossed into a open grave down into the dirt. I was broken and torn, and then the dirt came. Shovel full after shovel full I felt tossed on my chest and torso. Covering my body and finding it's way into my nose and mouth as I tried to yell for help. Finally I was buried completely. My breath was gone and the next would invite dust and freshly turned soil into my lungs. Instinct took over logic's plea and allowed the last breath in. And as the hard earth entered my throat and made it's thick presence be known in my lungs I felt the world darken. It was over, I was dead. Everything faded to black. Justin was no more. Awareness snapped back in my flesh. I had to get out of here, claw my way up and out! I did like a zombie newly awakened and hungering; I fought for freedom. After what felt like hours I was free and vomiting blood and black moist soil. Then I noticed it, no breath. I tried to take a fresh, satisfying, deep breath inwards and to no avail. The muscles listened but the function was lost. Then the next revelation hit: no breath means no heart beat! I checked and after much searching and trying to elicit some action from that failed organ I surrendered to the final knowing that I was dead, no, un-dead. I had to get home, get help do...something! Home was over 8 miles away, I started the walk as no one noticed a corpse among them. Finally after a weary journey home that faded from memory like gray clouds as the sun burns them away. I opened the door walked in to find still no one home. I walked into the kitchen and layed on top of the kitchen table. I was cold but it did not bother me, I was tired but felt no ache. The dead feel but do not, as if the memory of the feeling wanted to arise were it should. I pondered this as three men in dark black suits walked into my front door with no notice or welcome, also they brought with them guns. Shocked at the trespass more than the weapons at first, they without warning opened fire. Some bullets hit and I felt warmth for a moment and then a colder feeling. However I was not excited, I guess no testosterone or blood to rise will do that. I dodged the onslaught of bullets as best I could and found a blade in the kitchen drawer. I took to attacking these men in black and since they did little to me then make holes It was a simple matter. I killed those three men and watched them fade as I had done, away from light and life. Then I felt anger, I felt insane with confusion...who were these people? Why was I still "alive"? What is going on? I felt a tingle in my body and notice the holes the bullets made were gone, if my flesh healed why did my breath not return? Again as I questioned, something interrupted my inner dialogue. I was not in my home any longer, I was in a arena, a stadium and surrounded by men in those black suits. Their dark sunglasses trained on me. And they all had weapons, some swords, guns, rocket launchers, knifes, clubs and who knows what else awaited my dead flesh. I felt hopeless but still filled with a dull rage that maybe these people were in my way from what I needed, whatever that was. So we fought. It was long as it was bloody. Me slowly carving my way through them fighting as best as I could against the tide of the men in black suits. They tore me apart but it did not matter I healed just as easily. Then I got a gun. I used the gun and felt its cold hard power, it ability to take life so quick and easily. We struggled like gods wrapped in a epic battle to make or destroy all. And then after my body had been blown apart, torn severed and burned a thousand times over I was finished. There I stood on a mountain of black suits with corpses in them. I had won or lost I did not care, I was finished and either way I was done with them, done with the men in black. Then the scene transformed again. I was standing In a field clean, wide and beautiful. At the very edge were a ring of trees surrounding me however they had to be a mile away all around. I could not tell if it was dusk or dawn. On my right stood the sun, low and weak either rising or setting. On my left hung the moon, full, beautiful and clear as she was cold. And at the center was me, Justin, my breath still lost and cold from no heart beat. Then spoke the voice. A voice you may have heard or we all have heard it but cannot remember. It was neither male nor female yet was both in a way. It spoke as such " You have until the sun and moon meet at the zenith of the sky to return to life." And with those words I realized I had never woke up this morning, I was still asleep and dreaming. I had to wake up before the sun and moon rose and touched! If I failed to wake I would remain dead, here and in the waking world. I pinched myself feeling the pain and the fear of never waking. I slapped myself and screamed all the while the heavenly bodies raced above me to meet as they rarely do. After I exhausted my self in trying to wake up I sat down on the cold hard earth, gazed at the beauty of the field the trees and the sun and moon which vaulted to my doom. I saw how perfect it all was and how great it was I had a chance to live. I closed my eyes and with all my focus and power relaxed and let go fear and worry. I let go of the anxiety of death and knew peace. And with the last action I could do before Sun and Moon embraced in kiss I conjured a breath of relief a breath that sailed me into a mask with sealed eyes. A mask that welcomed me as an old friend long hoped for and loved. A friend I had known as my face. I rose now truly awake and aware, I took a deep breath a breath that must have been much like the first I ever took at my birth. And then after the longest breath I had taken in memory I felt it return, the long forgotten sound of a beating heart raged again in my ears. I was cold but warming, It started in my chest and felt like magma through my veins awakening tissue to life returning. I felt pain and joy. I was alive again!
This dream really happened to me, It happened before the matrix movies which the men in black reminded me of Agent Smith's clones. Also it happened before the MIB movie or before I had heard of men in black trying to hide information about other worldly places. (I discovered in the gnostic gospels that the Gnostics believed Jehovah was a false god or demiurge who believed he created the world but a more perfect being did, Jehovah had his angels try and keep humanity down and away from the more perfect divinity and this is were they got the idea for Agents in the Matrix from.) For many months after I had a shallow heart beat and a cold white completion. I was distant and was reserved into myself. Along with other things in my life I was viewed by some as troubled and really I guess you could say I was. In shamanistic cultures one has to die and return from the death's door to receive their magic and to be able to work with spirits. It is not something one does on purpose it just comes to the person who would be the shaman. I did not learn this until many years after that dream. I think the spirit world chooses whom they will work with and not the other way around. That night-morning the spirits chose me I believe, this may sound egotistical and I hope you will take my word that it bears no feeling of privilege, there is a place in all societies for all types and positions one no more great than the other. It's a shame the tradition of shaman was transformed into priest and the magic and power taken from it.
But, that is how I died.