I found myself seated at a round table. There were numerous other people seated there as well. They were dressed in white robes, and all of them had long hair and beards. They were all men, there were no women.
I could see nothing beyond the area of the table. I was asked questions about my intentions, and what I had been trying to do by killing myself.
I was told I had to make a choice whether to acquire money and fame, or be of some real use to the world. I was not dead, because there was no such thing as death. I had to choose one or the other. My choice was to be of some real use to the world.
Instantly I was shifted from where I had been into the presence of what I have learned to refer to as "the little gray man." He was about 3 feet tall and did not speak, but communicated with me directly, as in mental telepathy. His skin was gray, his hair was gray, and his clothes were gray and tattered looking. He looked kind of like E.T., except this was ten years before that movie was made.
His attitude toward me was almost matter of fact. He seemed a bit irritated that he had to be there dealing with me because I had committed suicide. His position clearly was there was no such thing as death, so my actions in killing myself were absurd, because I couldn't die anyway.
According to him I would just be in some sort of holding pattern until I was willing to confront whatever it was I killed myself over. He then telepathically asked for my response, which was, if that were the case I was ready to go back and deal with the problems I'd committed suicide over.
Immediately we were transferred into what I will describe as a tunnel-like place. It was well lit, but there were no lights. The walls looked exactly like beige stucco, and were curved into the ceiling. It was not a small place, nor was it extremely large, and it ran as far as I could see in either direction.
The floor was like translucent marble and light emanated up through it in a steady pleasant glow. Not bright light, just enough to see clearly by. As I surveyed the surroundings we started moving forward and going deeper into the tunnel. We were not walking or riding on anything, and the floor was not moving like a conveyor belt, we were just in motion.
We started quite slowly but picked up speed as we continued moving forward through the tunnel. I noticed other tunnels on either side branching off in other directions.
I watched the other tunnels go by for a bit, and looked to "the little gray man" for some sort of explanation as to their existence or importance to our voyage. What he did, knowing I was asking a question of him, was to overtly and emphatically turn his head one way and then the other indicating, "No," as his response.
As we continued on, I began seeing incredibly colored glass balls that just seemed to hang in the air unsupported by anything. They were the most brilliant colors I had ever seen. Not bright, but brilliant. An emerald green, ruby red, sapphire blue, and yellow that were otherwise inexplicable. These globes were mostly the size of a basket ball and appeared periodically as we kept moving.
We were now traveling at an unbelievable rate of speed through the tunnel. I felt calm and assured. There was no sense of fear or anything negative. I was completely comfortable and relaxed.
The speed continued to increase, and I could not make out anything, except "the little gray man" standing beside me. I looked forward again just in time to see us penetrate what seemed like a wall or veil.
* * *
I sat bolt upright in bed at UCLA's intensive care unit. All kinds of beepers and buzzers went off, and I had no idea where I was. I could barely see, but managed to make out the misty figure of what turned out to be my mother, whose face had a look of shock cut into it.
I started crying and blurted out from a place of deep sadness, "I'm an eagle, and they want me to be a sparrow; eagles can't be sparrows." I was crying because I was still alive.
The pain of coming back into consciousness on the planet I had left was the most excruciating pain I had ever felt in my life. It was like hitting a brick wall at two hundred miles an hour. I cried myself back into life, my God-awful life.
I will never cease to be amazed by your talent....
ReplyDeleteJennie
Hey, Bobby, you might be onto something here.
ReplyDeleteMost of this story has been a "wild ride," "downward slide," "powerglide" bio-pic. It would make a helluva movie (although it really has too many close encounters with the rich and infamous to be believable—that's the problem with reality sometimes...and yours in particular—it's way weirder than well-plotted fiction). But in this one you have the beginnings of a great sci-fi novel. Your vision pulls up all sorts of "other world" possibilities. It has elements of Philip Jose Farmer's "To Your Scattered Bodies Go" as well as Richard Matheson's "The Path."
With your creative energy, who knows. I understand that this is simply an attempt to recreate the hallucinatory experience of your attempted suicide, but as a starting point for the exploration of the eagle and the sparrow as mystical metaphors, not to mention the round table, the little gray man, the tunnels, the glowing globes: what an interesting assortment of introductions to an alternative reality.
Thanks for plugging on.
Tim
Dear Bobby
ReplyDeleteThis is what has kept you alive and will continue to do so. Absolutely remarkable. There's more yet to come.