A Dream Response

 Just before going to sleep last night, I was kind of fixating on how difficult it is to die, in the sense that for most of us this will entail a gradual struggle, a losing battle, wherein we must suffer and simply wait for the Herculean struggle of the body to be overcome. It is not difficult to see the sense in the idea of planning one's own demise via some self-administered euthanasia. Then again, we may not necessarily know that the time has actually come--that is, one may unexpectedly revive and even return to good health. 

Having dispensed with these thoughts, I then turned my mind to what would follow when death finally came. It seems quite likely that I will die alone, so I began to wonder how long it would be before someone found my corpse. And then what might be done? It seems like an awful bother to the living to have to deal with arranging things and disposing of the corpse. The well planned death again comes to mind. You will find me at such and such a day and hour, lying atop a plastic sheet on the kitchen floor. Don't be alarmed. 

Bedtime stories. 

Well, when I went to sleep, I had a long dream (or what seemed long). I was moving into my old childhood house, a place that has always been very dear to me--but it was more than the house I remember, really. It was much larger, palatial. In any case, I was coming home. Everyone was there, sort of observing the move--my brother, my parents, the children, my loved ones--and arrangements were being made for me to continue some sort of familiar work, but I would be utilizing an advanced new connectivity. 'Everyone is connected again and forever,' someone in the dream told me. 'You will be connected to everyone.' I worried a bit about handling all these matters, about accomplishing the move smoothly, but was consistently reassured that everything was in place and taken care of. I was excited about settling in, about exploring the old/new house, about beginning in this new place with all these new tools. 'And there's more,' someone else, who was standing with two other men, said. 'There's much, much more, which we will bring to you in about a week.' 

There was more, which, as happens with dreams, has swiftly drifted away, but I awoke feeling peaceful and encouraged, looking forward to both the end and the beginning.