Shadow Dreams

My heart thumps loud like a war drum signaling for retreat. Not again, I can’t do this again, I think in a panic. Rough fabric scratches my skin as my body's heavy length sinks into familiar cushions. I’m in the living room, but I know I’m not really here. This is a dream. I’ve had it before.

I’m paralyzed like I always am in this nightmare. Beads of sweat roll off my brow. I struggle to move, to run, because I know what’s coming next.

Dread snakes through my belly as I watch the inevitable outline of a figure assemble itself from smoky dark shadows. My screams sound like murmurs through sealed lips.

It has no face, just billows of blackness inside the silhouette. It stands tall, large like a man, then bends over me and grabs my throat squeezing the breath out of me.

Squirming against its vicious grip I look into its black nothingness. Rage, hatred, and violence radiate from this thing as if it’s formed from wrath itself. It wants to kill me.

Crying, starving for breath, my mind reels in search of anything to break this insanity. STOP! I shout with my mind; all the force of my will focused on my assailant.

Then it’s gone. Everything is gone. There’s nothing--like the play has ended and the stage is waiting to be reset. I’m left alone in silent darkness until I hear the music of my radio alarm.

I let the remaining tears of my nightmare slip unhindered down my cheeks, listening to the soft tones of Elton John singing Little Jeannie. A picture of my crazy friend Jean pops into my mind. I haven’t thought about her in years. I wonder how she’s doing. Better than me I bet.

One quick shower later, with a cup of coffee by my side, I settle in front of my computer in my home office. I don’t feel like working today. I’m tired and my focus is off. I haven’t slept in weeks, because of that wicked dream. I wish I knew why it’s trying to kill me. Maybe I’m losing my mind. This last thought motivates me to research shadow dreams.

A few clicks of the keyboard and Google supplies me with numerous answers. I open several psychological-based links, passing over the irrational supernatural ones. Jean comes to mind again. She’d love to hear about my shadow, she’d probably say something loony like it was the spirit realm trying to contact me. She always was into that “woo woo” kind of psychic stuff. Remembering some of Jean's out-there ideas makes me chuckle as I start to read the opened pages.

The articles say that my shadow is the representation of the repressed and undeveloped aspects of myself given expression in my dream. But they don’t tell me why my shadow is trying to kill me or how to stop these dreams. Puzzled, I ruminate on what I might be blocking or repressing. Absolutely nothing comes to me. Realizing the time, I sign into my telework meeting and try to put it out of my mind, at least for now.

The Zoom call loads and the face of my team lead, Bob, with his new jungle background comes into view. My scalp tingles with deja vu. I feel like I’ve experienced this meeting before, though that’s not possible. I dismiss the feeling.

“Hi Carol, how’s your day today?”

“It’s great,” I lie. “I like the new look,” referring to his jungle background.

Then I notice it, the shadow on Bob’s screen. I watch it pass behind him and disappear. I keep silent because I’m unsure if I’m imagining it. Am I going insane?

“Thanks, Carol. Hey, I want to talk to you about something.” Hearing Bob speak those words pulls me back to our conversation.

Somehow, I know exactly what he’s going to say and do next, but I don’t know how I know that. He’s about to reprimand me for something that my co-worker did. It’s as if I’ve pressed a replay button on this whole experience and I’m watching it unfold for a second time. I act fast.

“Real quick Bob, before you continue,” I interrupt. “I didn’t review Sean’s contract, he did. So, any problems you found are from him not me.”

Bob pauses looking stunned. I can tell he’s contemplating what I’ve said. His bushy grey eyebrows collide in puzzlement. “He never gave you anything to review?” his tone is as perplexed as his face.

“Nope, nothing.”

I watch Bob’s face relax into a look of understanding as if he’s solved some great puzzle. “O.K. I’ll talk to him about it. But, Carol, how did you know that I was going to ask you about Sean’s contract?”

“Oh, was that what you were going to ask me?” I lie again. “Wow, that’s weird.” It’s a lame response, but I can’t think of anything else. I cross my fingers under my desk hoping he buys my fib.

“Ha! Get out of my head Carol!” he chuckles. “Hey, I’ve got to cut our meeting short. We can do our workload review next week. I need to connect with Sean before my next meeting. Thanks again, Carol.” With that, he signs off and the meeting is over.

I sit back in my chair, feeling a mix of relief and confusion. I’ve averted calamity. I didn’t look like a jerk; I know I would have, and Bob didn’t get mad at me. But how can this be? Am I psychic?

Oh my God, I think I’m psychic! The realization hits me hard. I feel my analytical mind expand, then snap like a rubber band that’s stretched until it breaks. I dissociate from reality. My personality separates from my mind and body as if I’m a visitor in this fleshy shell, like an avatar in some elaborate video game.

I feel my logical brain frantically jump from thought to thought trying to explain how it's possible that I remembered a future event. But it can’t. Eventually, it realizes that this world might not be what we think it is. It’s this thought that disturbs me the most. What is it then?

My crazy friend Jean pops into my mind again; the yin to my yang in college. I always called her a new-age hippie when she talked about time travel and the spirit realm. Maybe she was right about all of it. My mind slips a little more.

What now? Where does one go when they’re exhibiting psychic powers? Is there a hotline? My dark humor keeps me anchored in reality, saving me from a mental breakdown.

Should I reach out to Jean? Maybe she can tell me how I can know the future. Last I heard she was headed to a meditation retreat in Sedona to contact her spirit guides; that was five years ago. My cell phone rings, snapping me back to the present.

“Hello?” I answer curious, the number not registering as one of my contacts.

“Carol?” the female voice asks. “It's Jean!”

“Jean?” Tingling chills run through me, recognizing the bizarre synchronicity. I feel it again, the rubber band of my mind stretching too far.

“Jean! I was just thinking about you,” I say, stressed. I want to tell her everything. I want to ask what’s happening to me, but I don’t get the chance.

“Listen, Carol, I’m calling because I was told you might need some help.” I don’t ask who told her that. “Have you been meditating lately, or doing any deep relaxation practice?”

I remember a little book on creative visualizations I bought at a garage sale. “Yes, I have. Why?” My voice sounds small, wondering if I opened a ghost portal or something.

“Carol, it's fine. Everything is going to be ok. You’ve opened up your third eye and that’s causing you to go through an awakening.”

“My what? An awakening?”

“Yes. Are you having any strange dreams? Are you dreaming about any shadows?”

My breathing comes heavy and quick, but I can’t catch my breath. I begin to see stars. Jean can hear my gasps through the phone.

“Carol, breathe. It’s ok, you’re going to be fine. Take slow deep breaths.”

I follow her instructions. “Jean, what’s happening to me?” I start to cry, fully breaking down.

“Carol, you’re becoming aware that the reality we think is real isn’t. And the real reality is very different from what we’re told.”

“I don’t want it!” I wail. “I don’t want to know the future; I want reality to stay the same!”

“Well, I’m sorry Carol, that ship has sailed. There’s no going back now.” Jean sounds truly regretful about my predicament. I think she understands how hard this must be for my analytical mind to accept.

“Carol, honey, I’ve got to go, but they’re telling me you need to know that you have to embrace the shadow.”

“Yes, ok,” I say through sniffles and hiccups, totally deflated. “I’ll do that. Thanks for calling, Jean.”

“Hang in there Honey,“ are her final words before hanging up.

Several hours of crying later, still contemplating what Jean told me, I crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep.

I’m here again, on the sofa in the living room in my dream. Familiar feelings of terror and panic rise within me. I know what I’m supposed to do, but I’m afraid. I watch the shadow lean over me. It feels so angry. Before it grabs my throat, I think to it, I accept you.

My arms unlock and I can move. I lift them to embrace the shadow like Jean told me to. I accept you; I think again. I can feel the shadow’s anger and viciousness fade, and then its form dissipates.

As it dwindles, I realize that the shadow is me, and was all along. I was in denial of my abilities, refusing to accept all of myself. I didn’t want to know that reality is more than we think. I was fighting against all of it.

I open my eyes to bright sunshine lighting up my bedroom. I feel calmer than yesterday. It feels like everything will be ok, just like Jean said. Do I have superpowers now? I chuckle at my silly thought. Thank goodness I have Jean. I would’ve gone bonkers if she hadn’t called.

Several hours into my day, chomping down on a delicious ham sandwich, I hear my phone ring. I know it’s Jean before I look, which excites and unnerves me.

“Hi Jean,” I answer, happy to speak to her.

“Hi, Carol! How are you doing? Did you do what I told you? I can’t talk too long, but I wanted to know you’re ok.”

“I did, and you were right. The shadow was me all along, and I just needed to embrace that part of myself. I feel better today for doing it, not in a panic like I was yesterday. Thank you, for all of your help. I appreciate it.”

“That’s wonderful, I’m glad to hear it,” her voice sounds light, like she’s smiling.

“I’ve got some questions though. If reality isn’t what we think it is, what is it? What’s our purpose here?”

“We do have a purpose, but it’s not what you think,” she sounds hesitant like she doesn’t want to say. “I was hoping to wait to tell you. I don’t think you’re ready to hear it, but they tell me you need to know now. I’ll have to say it quick because I have to go. I hope you’re sitting down.”

“I’m sitting down Jean; you can tell me. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?” I sound brave, but I’m not. I’m scared.

Her sigh is long and loud before she starts. “This is a prison, Carol. The Earth, universe, our physical reality is a prison.” She pauses a moment, presumably to check if I'm panicking. Hearing nothing, she continues. “We are bodiless beings of consciousness from a different non-physical dimension, who have been captured and put into bodies, which chain us to this plane of physical existence, on planet Earth.”

Her explanation is too wild and too out there to be true, but I want to know more. “Why are we imprisoned?” are the only words that escape my mouth.

“It’s because we’re beings of creation, and for the physical plane to exist we have to observe that it exists, which keeps it existing. Our constant presence on this physical plane maintains the physical plane.”

Again, she pauses, but this time I speak. “You’re saying that we’re the eternal power source for this virtual reality prison that we’re trapped in and our bodies are avatars that chain us here?”

“Yes, that’s exactly it.”

“Wow, Jean. That’s some story.” Curious, I dig deeper, “Who’s imprisoning us?”

“A being called Yaldabaoth, and their minions the Archons. Yaldabaoth built this physical plane, but they don't have the power to keep it going themselves; which is why they need us.”

Feeling pragmatic about this lunacy I push for the whole story. “I’m assuming there’s more since you’re saying I need to know now.”.

There’s that heavy sigh again. “Yes, there’s more. But you’re not going to like it.”

“What makes you think I’m liking this?”

Chuckling, she goes on. “They cloak us with a veil of forgetting, so we don’t know who we are, but when enough of us awaken like you have, we can crash the system and escape. The last time we got close to critical mass, they triggered the witch trials. That means you need to keep your talents on the down low.”

“Am I in danger right now?” I blurt out feeling panicked.

“No, not exactly. Just keep your experiences to yourself. Hey, sorry to run, but I have to go. I’ll be in touch. Keep practicing with your abilities and if you feel up to it, try reaching out to your spirit guides, they can help you.” Then Jean was gone.

Unsure if I’m buying Jean’s story, my mind whirls with more questions. Where do spirit guides come from? How do I get in touch with them and why is Jean always in such a hurry? Grabbing my sandwich again I bite into the perfect marriage of soft Hawaiian bread, mustard, and thick ham. It’s delicious.

Jean needs to redefine her idea of prison. I, for one, don’t want to leave.