What Dreams May Come

UNEXPECTEDLY, ALBERT SAID: "Chris, I have to leave you for awhile. There's some work I must do."

I felt embarrassed. "I'm sorry," I told him. "It never crossed my mind that I was taking up time needed elsewhere."

"Not at all." He patted my back. "I'll send someone to continue walking with you. And, while you're waiting--you asked about water--take my hand."

I did as he said. "Close your eyes," he told me, picking up Katie.

The instant I did, I felt a sense of rapid motion. It was over so quickly it might have been imagined.

"You can open them now," Albert said.

I did and caught my breath. We were standing on the shore of a magnificent, forest- rimmed lake. I looked in wonder at the huge expanse of it, its surface calm except for tiny wavelets, the water crystal clear, each ripple refracting light into spectrum colors.

"I've never seen a lake so beautiful," I said.

"I thought you'd like it," he said, putting down Katie. "I'll see you later at my house." He gripped my arm. "Be at peace," he told me.

I blinked and he was gone. Like that. No flash of light, no indication of departure. One instant, he was there, the next, he wasn't. I glanced down at Katie. She didn't seem at all surprised.

I turned to gaze at the lake. "It reminds me of Lake Arrowhead," I said to Katie. "You remember the condominium we had up there?" She wagged her tail. "It was nice but nothing like this." There, browning foliage was always visible among the green, debris marred the shoreline and, at times, a mist of smog hovered above the surface of the lake. This lake was perfection and the forest and air, perfection. Ann would love this, I thought.

It disturbed me that, surrounded by such beauty, I should still be conscious of distress regarding her. Why was I unable to let go of it? Albert had told me repeatedly to do so. Why, then, did this anxiety persist?

I sat beside Katie and stroked her head. "What's wrong with me, Kate?" I asked.

We looked into each other's eyes. She did understand; I could doubt it no longer. I almost seemed to sense a wave of understanding sympathy from her.

She lay beside me and I tried to will distress from my mind by thinking of the times we had spent at Lake Arrowhead. Weekends during the year and, for as long as a month at a time during summers, we'd go there with the children. I was doing well in television at the time and, in addition to the condominium, we owned a speedboat, keeping it stored at the North Shore Marina.

Many a summer day was spent on the lake. In the morning, after breakfast, we'd make our lunches, put on bathing suits and drive to the Marina, Katie with us. We'd speed to a favorite cove of ours at the south end of the lake where the children--Richard and Marie, Louise when she and her husband visited--would put on water skis and be towed. Ian was too young at the time so we'd bought him a ski sled which he'd christened Captain Zip. Ann liked to ride it too because she had trouble skiing.

I thought about the sight of Ann lying on that sled, laughing breathlessly as she bounced across the dark, blue waters of the lake. I thought about Ian riding it, grinning with delight, especially when he was able to stand up on it.

For lunch, we'd anchor in the cove and eat our sandwiches and chips and cold soda from the ice chest. The sun would be warm on our backs and I'd take deep, unspoken pleasure watching Ann and our lovely, tanned children as we ate and talked and laughed together.

Happy memories weren't helping. They made me feel more melancholy knowing those tunes could never be recaptured. I felt an aching loneliness inside me. I missed Ann so; missed the children so. Why hadn't I told them, more often, how I loved them? If only we could share this lovely place. If only Ann and I--

I shook myself impatiently. Here I was in heaven, mind you--heaven!--and still brooding. I'd survived death; all my family would survive it. We would, all of us, be together again. What was the matter with me?

"Come on, Kate," I said, standing quickly. "Let's take a walk." More and more, I was beginning to appreciate what Albert had said about the mind being all.

As we began to hike along the shore, I wondered, momentarily, if Albert had meant for me to stay where he'd brought me so this "someone" could locate me. Then, I realized that, whoever the someone was, he'd find me by thinking of me.

There was a beach before us and we started to walk along it. The sand was soft underfoot, no stones or pebbles anywhere in sight.

Stopping, I knelt and picked up a handful of the sand. It was without grit, firm in consistency yet soft to the touch; while undeniably cohesive, it felt like powder. I let some run between my fingers and observed the delicately multicolored granules as they fell. I lifted my hand and looked at them more closely. In form and color, they resembled miniature jewels.

I let the rest fall to the beach and stood. The sand didn't stick to my palm or knee as it would have on earth.

Again, I had to shake my head in wonderment. Sand. A beach. Deep forest encompassing a lake. Blue sky overhead.

"And people doubt there's afterlife," I said to Katie. "I did myself. Incredible."

I was to say and think that last word many times again; and not only with pleasure.

Moving to the edge of the lake, I stared at it closely, watching the delicate purl of surf. The water looked cold. Remembering the chill of Lake Arrowhead, I put my toes in gingerly.

I sighed as I felt the water. It was barely cool, emitting pleasant vibrations of energy. I looked down at Katie. She was standing in the water next to me. I had to smile. She'd never gone in water in her life; she always hated it. Here, she seemed completely content.

I walked into the lake until the level reached my shins; the bottom as smooth as the beach. Leaning over, I put my hand into the water and felt the energy flowing up my arm. "Feels good, huh, Kate?" I said.

She looked at me, wagging her tail and, once more, I felt a surge of happiness seeing her look as she had in her prime.

I straightened up, a palmful of water cupped in my hand. It shimmered with a delicate glow and I could feel its energy pulsing into my fingertips. As before, when it ran off my skin, it left no dampness.

Wondering if it would do the same with my robe, I submerged until the water was up to my waist. Katie didn't follow now but sat on the beach, watching me. I didn't get the impression she was afraid to follow, simply that she chose to wait.

Now I was immersed in energy and kept walking until the water was up to.my neck. It felt like a cloak around me, vibrating subtly. I wish I could describe the sensation in more detail. The best I can say is that it was as though an invigorating, low-watt electric charge were soothing every cell in my body.

Leaning back on impulse, I felt my feet and legs buoyed up and lay in the water, rocking gently, looking at the sky. Why was there no sun? I wondered. It didn't disturb me; it was more pleasant to look at the sky without a glare to bother the eyes. I was just curious.

Another curiosity struck me. I couldn't die; I was already dead. No, not dead, that word is the prime misnomer of the human language. What I mean is that I knew I couldn't drown. What would happen if I put my face beneath the water?

Rolling over deliberately, I looked beneath the surface. It didn't hurt my eyes to gaze through the water. Moreover, I could see everything clearly, the bottom immaculate, unmarred by stones or growths. At first, restrained by habit, I held my breath. Then, prevailing on myself, I took a cautious breath, expecting to gag.

Instead, my nose and mouth were bathed by a delicious coolness. I opened my mouth and the sensation spread to my throat and chest, invigorating me even further.

Turning onto my back, I closed my eyes and lay in the cool cradle of the water, beginning to think about the times Ann and the children and I had enjoyed our pool together. Every summer--especially on Sundays--we'd enjoy "family days" as Ian used to call them.

We had a slide and Ann and the children loved to come hurtling down it, crashing into the water. I smiled, remembering Ann's hoot of half-scared delight as she shot down the curving decline, holding her nose, her legs and body arcing out into space, landing in the water with an enormous splash, her bright face surfacing.

We had a floating volleyball net and played long games, lunging and splashing, laughing, shouting, kidding each other. Then Ann would bring out dishes of fruit and cheese and a pitcher of juice and we'd sit and talk, then, after a while, play volleyball and slide again, dive and swim for hours more. Later in the afternoon, I'd light the charcoal in

the barbecue and grill chicken or hamburgers. Those were long and lovely afternoons and I remembered them with joy. I recalled that Ann had been unable to swim for a long time after we were married. She was afraid of the water but, finally, braved enough swimming lessons to get herself started.

I remembered the time she and I were in the Deauville Club in Santa Monica; we'd been members for a while. It was Sunday afternoon and we were in the basement, in the huge, Olympic-sized pool, Ann practicing.

It had been a terrible month for us. We'd almost gotten a divorce. Something to do with my career, Ann's anxiety not permitting me to travel. I'd lost a sizeable screenwriting assignment in Germany and been more upset than I should have been. Financial insecurity had always been a dread to me; something from our past, Robert--Dad and Mom separating, the depression years. Anyway, I overreacted and Ann overreacted, telling me she wanted me to leave.

We actually went out one night to discuss the details of our separation. It seems incredible to me now. I remember the night vividly: some French restaurant in Sherman Oaks, the two of us sitting and eating dinner, both getting indigestion as we calmly sifted over the particulars of our divorce. Item: would we keep the house in Woodland Hills? Item: should we separate the children? Item: no, I can't go on. Even as I transmit these words, I feel the crushing nausea of that evening.

We came so close; within a hair's breadth. Or so it seemed. Maybe it had never been that close. It seemed inevitable at the time however. Until the penultimate moment. The moment past the calm discussion, the moment to actually separate, me packing clothes and driving off, leaving Ann behind. Then it collapsed. Literally, it was inconceivable to us; as though, by divorcing, we would voluntarily permit ourselves to be torn in half.

So this day at the Deauville was the first day after we had reconciled.

The pool seemed enormous because, except for us, it was unoccupied. Ann started across the width of it near the deep end. She'd done it several times already and I'd hugged her when she'd made it, congratulating her--no doubt ten times as effusively as I might ordinarily have done because of our reconciliation.

Now she was trying it again.

She was halfway across when she swallowed some water and started to choke and flounder. I was with her and grabbed her quickly. I had flippers attached to my feet and, by kicking hard, was able to keep us both afloat.

I felt her arms go tight around my neck and saw the expression of fear on her face. "It's all right, honey," I said. "I have you." I was glad I had the flippers or I couldn't have supported her.

Now memory went wrong again. I'd felt a bit uneasy at first but basically confident because I knew, somehow, that this had already happened, that I'd helped her to the side of the pool where she'd clung to the coping, frightened and breathless but safe.

This time it was different. I couldn't get her there. She felt too heavy; my legs were unable to move us. She struggled more and more; began to cry. "Don't let me sink, Chris, please."

"I won't, hang on," I said. I pumped my legs as hard as I was able to but couldn't keep us up, We both submerged, then bobbed up again. Ann cried out my name, her voice shrill with panic. We sank again and I saw her terrified face beneath the water, heard her cry put in my mind: Please don't let me die! I knew she couldn't speak the words but heard them clearly nonetheless.

I reached for her but the water was becoming murky now, I couldn't see her clearly anymore. I felt her fingers clutch at mine, then slip away. I clawed at the water but couldn't reach her. My heart began to pound. I tried to see her but the water was dark and cloudy Ann! I thought. I thrashed around in desperate anguish, feeling for her. I was there. That was the horror of it. I was really in that water, helpless and incapable, losing Ann again. An end to despair

"HELLO!"

I RAISED my head abruptly, shaken from the dream. On shore, I saw a nimbus of light by Katie. Standing, I gazed at it until it faded and I saw a young woman standing there, wearing a pale blue robe.

I don't know why I said it. Something about the way she stood, the color and shortness of her hair; the fact that Katie seemed so pleased to see her. "Ann?" I asked.

She was silent for moments, then replied, "Leona."

My eyes saw then. Of course it wasn't Ann. How could it be? I wondered, momentarily, whether Albert had sent this woman because she might remind me of Ann. I couldn't believe he'd do that and decided that the thought was unjust. Anyway, she didn't look like Ann, I saw now. The dream had made me see her as I'd hoped, not as she was.

I looked down at myself as I walked onto the beach. The water was flowing from my robe. It was dry before I reached the woman.

Straightening up from stroking Katie's head, she extended

her hand. "Albert sent me," she said. Her smile was very sweet, her aura a steady blue, almost the color of her robe.

I gripped her hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Leona," I said. "I guess you know my name."

She nodded. "You thought I was your wife," she said.

"She was in my thoughts when you came," I explained.

"A pleasant memory, I'm sure."

"It was when it began," I answered. "It soon became unpleasant though." I shivered. "Terrifying really."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She took hold of my hands. "There's nothing to be terrified of," she assured me. "Your wife will join you before you know it." I felt a flow of energy from her, similar to that of the water. Of course the people would have it too, I realized. I must not have noticed when Albert took my hand--or else both hands had to be held for the flow to function.

"Thank you," I said as she released her grip. I had to try and think more positively. I'd been told by two different people now that Ann and I would be together again. Surely, I could accept it.

I forced a smile. "Katie was happy to see you," I said.

"Oh, yes, we're good friends," Leona replied.

I gestured toward the lake. "Quite an experience being in the water," I said.

"Isn't it?" As she spoke, I wondered, suddenly, where she'd come from and how long she'd been in Summerland. "Michigan," she told me. "Nineteen fifty-one. A fire."

I smiled. "This reading of minds will take some getting used to," I said.

"It isn't really mind reading," she responded. "We all have mental privacy, but certain thoughts are more accessible." She gestured toward the countryside. "Would you like to walk some more?" she asked. "Please."

As we started from the lake, I looked back. "It would be nice to have a home overlooking it," I said. "I'm sure you will then." "My wife would love it too."

"You can have it ready for her when she comes," she suggested.

"Yes." The idea was pleasing to me. Something definite to do while waiting for Ann: the preparation of our new home. That plus working on a book of some kind would make the time pass quickly. I felt a rush of delight. "Are there oceans here as well?" I asked.

She nodded. "Fresh water. Calm and tideless. No storms or heavy seas." "And boats?" "Absolutely."

Another rush of pleased anticipation. I'd have a sailboat waiting for Ann too. And maybe she'd prefer a home on the ocean. How pleased it would make her to find our dream- house waiting for her on the coast, a sailboat for her pleasure. I drew in deeply of the fresh, sweet air and felt immeasurably better. Her drowning had only been a dream--a distorted leftover from an unpleasant incident now long past. It was time to begin concentrating on my new existence. "Where did Albert go?" I asked. "He works to help those in the lower realms," Leona said. "There's always much to do."

The phrase "lower realms" evoked a sense of uneasiness again. The "other" places Albert had spoken of; the "ugly" places--they were as real, apparently, as Summerland. And Albert actually went to them. What did they look like?

"I wonder why he didn't mention it," I said, trying not to let myself feel anxious again.

"He knew you needed an uncomplicated introduction to this world," Leona said. "He would have told you in time." "Am I imposing on him to stay in his home?" I asked. "Should I get my own?"

"I don't know whether that's possible yet," she answered. "But don't feel in the least uncomfortable about staying with Albert. I know he's delighted about your being there."

I nodded, wondering what she meant about it not being possible yet for me to have my own home.

"We have to earn the right," she answered my unspoken question. "It happens to almost all of us. It took me a long while to achieve my own home."

I realized, by what she'd said, how kind Albert had been in not telling me that, at the moment, I had no choice but to remain with him. Never mind, I thought. That didn't bother me. I'd never been averse to earning my way.

"Albert must be quite advanced," I said.

"He is," she replied. "I'm sure you noticed his robe and aura."

All right, I told myself. Ask questions; start learning. "I'm curious about the aura," I said. "Can you tell me something about it? For instance, does it exist in life?"

For those who can see it, she told me. It signifies the presence of the etheric double and the spirit body. The etheric double exists within the physical body until death and the spirit body exists within the etheric double until the second death, each possessing its own silver cord. The cord connecting the physical body to the etheric double is the thickest, that connecting the etheric double to the spirit body about an inch in diameter. A third cord thin as spiders web connects the spirit body to--well, she wasn't sure, Robert. "Pure spirit, I imagine," she said. "And, incidentally, the reason I know about the aura is that it's part of my field of study here."

"You don't suppose Albert just might have had the idea I'd be asking such a question, do you?" I asked.

Her returned smile was my answer.

She continued, telling me that the aura of the etheric double extends an inch or two beyond the limits of the physical body, the aura of the spirit body up to several feet beyond the limits of the etheric double, taking on more luminosity the further it is from the dimming effect of the body.

She told me that auras all look different, the range of colors unlimited. People unable to think of anything beyond material sensation have auras which are red to brown, the lower their concepts the darker the colors. The auras of unhappy souls emit a deep, depressing green. A lavender radiation means that the person is acquiring a more spiritual consciousness. Pale yellow indicates that the individual is sad and has a longing for lost earth life.

"No doubt that's what mine looks like," I told her When she didn't reply, I smiled. "I know," I said "No mirrors either." She smiled back.

I am going to be positive, I vowed. Let there be an end to despair.