(A slightly different version of this was published by Dandelion Magazine in Spring 2005)
Snow and open road
I am riding in a car
A dream of the past
– Senta’s 23rd Haiku
I wake up in the body of a man. He’s in a car. He is the passenger. The woman driving is, I think, his wife. She looks like she is in her 40’s. I think she is attractive. I like the way she’s dressed. She looks pretty cool. Maybe she’s an artist. It’s hard to see her body, but I think that it looks good. Her face is dark and beautiful. Her eyes are green. Her lips are full and are very red.
I look down at the body of the man. His hands look older than my hands. His clothes suggest that maybe he’s an artist too. I can’t control him yet. She is talking to the guy. I can’t understand it yet. But I can tell that she’s concerned about something. He seems a bit distracted. But I have to wait for clarity.
It’s their instinct that I always tune in first. The stuff of the reactive mind. Then I get the feelings. The senses and emotions. Then I get the dreaming. The poetic flow of imagery that reflects the hidden soul. With this I must be careful not to pay too much attention, but sometimes there are important clues. And finally I get the thoughts. The thinking mind. The notions and abstractions that coalesce the other layers of the total mind, and which shape the personality. It deliberates the self’s sense of its own self. The mirror, the sword. This is where my work gets done, where I can have some influence. I am hidden here.
The car is on a highway. We are traveling fast. I think we’re in the Rockies. There are a lot of mountains. They really look amazing. Snow is on the ground, but the roads are clear. There is not a lot of traffic. Inside the car is warm. But it doesn’t seem that cold outside, despite the presence of the snow. The sun is shining brightly and intensely. Its reflection off the chrome and glass of passing vehicles is nearly blinding. I think that we are traveling west. The dash board clock reads 2:00.
The guy feels pretty calm. I think he’s meditating. His wife is talking to him, and it’s starting to make sense. He answers her, but doesn’t have that much to say. I think they’re sorting something out, but it doesn’t seem that critical. He seems preoccupied with something that might be interesting.
I see the gate ahead of me. I’m not overly excited by the place I’ve traveled to, but I think I’ll stick it out. I have a kind of feeling for the thing. So, I let the gate go by. There’ll be another one. The gates are always there when I really need them. I shouldn’t be so cocky though, in case I slip on the cosmic banana peel. I might get stuck somewhere, and that would be a drag. I need to travel. It’s everything I am.
I can feel the dreaming coming on. I brace myself. The guy seems very calm but who knows what’s underneath it all. Watch out for the quiet ones, is what people always say. But it’s not that bad. In fact, it seems like he’s controlling it. Perhaps he’s meditating. He’s dreaming about space. My favorite thing. In fact, his dreams are something like my own. They’re very geometric, but it’s really about meaning. Then I see the ship.
Oh, he has a ship. That is quite surprising. Then his thoughts come into focus. In his mind he says “I am the passenger.” That is interesting, and somehow alarming, because that’s exactly how I feel about the places where I go. I feel my flight instinct kick in, but I manage to calm down. I check to see if there’s a gate, but there isn’t one. But that’s ok, I’m going to stay. This is intriguing possibly. What does he mean?
I can understand the woman now. She’s asking him about a trip. Is he all prepared to go? And he is saying that he is, but he doesn’t let her know that he is worried. It’s about the ship. He is not a driver. But he must drive the ship. He has a theory about that. And I think that he is right. He cannot drive the ship. He has to let it drive itself. He is the passenger. He has to let go of control, and be one with his desire, then his will can be the driver. It is just like the device. His ship and my device are very similar. And I’m not a driver either.
I am a passenger. I am his passenger. I have been in many people. Watching and observing. But I like to take control. Just a little bit. It’s interesting. It’s a bit like backseat driving, but in a subtle way. It doesn’t work as well to simply say to people where they ought to go or how they ought to get there. No one likes a back seat driver. But you can encourage them to dare to take a route or go off in some manner that they secretly desire. If you are too pushy, then they get upset, and then you feel like you are sick. They try to shut you out and that makes you feel much worse. Then you really need the gate, and even when you make it out, you feel hung over for a while.
This guy has made himself a ship and his wife has helped him out. She’s some kind of a mechanic. He drew up the plans and she helped assemble it. It’s a lot like the device. It’s metaphysical, but it looks like a space rocket with an art deco design. It’s very beautiful. It’s set up in their basement, but it’s also in his dreams. She isn’t going with him, and I wonder why she can’t. Perhaps she can’t receive it in her dream? I think she has the mind for it, but not the inclination. Clearly, he has both. Which makes me think I may have stumbled on a fellow traveler. But where exactly is he going? Maybe he’s looking for a gate?
He pulls the windshield visor down and lifts the flap up on the mirror on its back. He looks a bit like how I think that I might look when I’m his age. He’s staring into his own eyes, but I feel like he is looking right at me.
“I’m here,” he says to her. And she frowns at him. “What do you mean,” she asks? “I’m here!” he says emphatically. “I’m here inside of me.” And I know that he is right. But I move through space, not time. So I feel that he is also wrong. This all confuses me. She says, “Tell him, Quick!” He says “It doesn’t work that way.” And I don’t understand, but my flight impulse is very strong and I see the gate again. He tries to hold me back, and if he really wanted to, then probably he could. But I make it through the gate.
***
I wake up in the body of a dog. He’s running in a field. The dreaming of a dog can be very entertaining. But I play it cool in there and don’t pay much attention. Instead I take the time to think. I’ve never traveled through the temporal fields. I’ve always traveled through the space ways. So if that was myself that I was in, was it an older version of myself that exists in parallel? Or was I wrong about the mind, and about the gate?
I studied the Geometric Calculus of Mind at Ontos University. And I understand that the application of such science to the Society of Mind Theory, in concert with some specific Metaphysics. That’s what made the device a possibility. But none of that would matter, if it weren’t for my condition. I am genetically predisposed to memetic network transport; I have the right stuff for traveling. But unlike others, I am not an agent. I am a self-indulgent mental tourist. And as such, I am considered absolutely useless to anyone that matters in the ruling of the world. In fact, I only barely matter to myself.
There is the possibility that the guy could have been a Clone Bot. But why and how would it be older? And why would it be me? No, I think I may have missed something in temporal physics class. But if I did time travel, I don’t know how I did, or if I could again.
What could he not tell me? Wouldn’t it be weird if I were just his dream?
The dog runs around. I feel its excitement. Dogs have a strong sense of freedom that comes to them from moving. I indulge in the feeling.
