The Book of Daniel and the Mystery of the Resurrection Machine

by Holloway, Daniel;

  The next morning I told my wife about the dream and she, by no surprise, downplayed the event. Resentful of her condescending tone, I thus became all the more steadfast in trying for her approval and/or, at least, a two-way conversation. As it became obvious that I wouldn’t quit talking about it however, she too, like so many others in my life, shied away from the subject altogether.

  Wonderful. How is it that they can talk about God at church on Sunday, but somehow my spiritual experiences are taboo? Besides, even if it was just a dumb dream, why can’t we at least talk and have some fun with the subject? Oh, I get it; that would be outside of our religious programming. God forbid we do anything outside those chains. That makes sense to me. In the end, the dogmatism was enough to make me pull my hair out.

  Ironically, the realism of the occurrence had only strengthened my belief that there was something real, something more tangible beyond what I would see in this world and beyond the status quo of God and church as I’d been raised. I was already in rebellion against my social and religious programming and this only made things worse. Indeed it only reinforced and somehow connected the lessons of the little old man.

  However, the more that I latched on to the possibility that a real world existed beyond the routines of this life, that perhaps heaven wasn’t just something to talk about on Sunday, the more I also became alienated in this world. Indeed it became increasingly difficult to cope with the normalities in which everyone else seemed satisfied.

  I recalled a verse in 2 Timothy that rang true to the pretense I saw within the social cliques of society, to those who spoke of God, those who went to church, and those who considered themselves righteous, yet ultimately showed enmity toward the subject and reality of heaven when it became uncomfortable:

  “Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof:”

  The more I embraced the miracle of the little old man and the vision of the portal, likewise the less I doubted my own insanity and instead suspected the sleep of those around me. At one point I evaluated my increasing self-confidence as either a form of narcissism, self-delusion or, perhaps—spot on. Between all that, life, God, and whatever, had simply thrown too many things my way to be mere coincidence. Either way, it was quite the predicament to realize that either I was crazy or perhaps the rest of the world was, but at least my search was narrowed to one of those two. No doubt this brought a certain amount of comfort.

  Little did I know however, that life would take another bizarre and unexpected turn, one that would dwarf the occurrence with the little old man, the endless images, and even my dream of the portal. Three years had transpired since that dream and, like all things, we move on to what is in front of us. I had to work, I had to eat, and I had to make money to pay the bills. Yet I was still stuck with the nightly visions of circles, grids and faces from another time.

  As usual I awoke around 2:30 to 3:00 a.m., unable to sleep. It was then that I arose to either draw, design, invent or just listen to my favorite music. It was peaceful at that time of morning, and I loved the quiet. I found solace in song; I had immersed myself in music since my collision with the little old man, saturating the mind with the meaning of the lyrics, the count, and the beat of its rhythm. The wave-patterns intertwined with the matrix of who I was and myself into them. I melded into the music almost as though we were one.

  On one such unsuspecting Friday night, I sat upon the food bar and mended my favorite hunting shirt. I had taken the liberty to prep my clothes for the upcoming deer season, checking tabs, sewing the numerous rips and tears that inevitably occur while romping through the woods. My garment was old and tattered; it had seen years of service and certainly was in need of retirement.

  Familiarity however, is always the issue. It is hard to part ways with that which we are accustomed, but ultimately the time comes for all things of this earth to pass. Letting go is always easier said than done; but in this case, I was stubborn and made the maintenance, determined to get just one more season out of those skins.

  I was wide awake, listening to my favorite CDs while I worked. The kitchen island was located just in front of the sink and stove area. This was the counter upon which I sat while I sewed; the radio to my right, my bedroom to my left at the far end of the house. I had closed the door to the bedrooms so as not to wake my wife and daughter and lowered the volume as well.

  At the moment I was listening to a song by Enya, the words:

  Close to home feeling so far away…

  As I walk the room…

  There before me a shadow…

  I adored that song as much now as ever, but now the beat began to change. It suddenly slowed without explanation. The radio itself was plugged into the wall-socket, thus dead batteries were not an explanation. Rather however, something was slowing down in me; yes, time changed. Within my mind, time itself was coming to a crawl. Did it speed up, or did it slow down? Honestly, it’s hard to say and I know not which…

  From another world

  Where no other can follow…

  Carry me to my own

  To where I can cross over…

  I failed to catch the irony then between those words and what happened next, though I would certainly make the connection later. Suddenly, I was jolted from the daydream of those tunes by a sharp pain deep within my chest. The severity of it shocked me as it was quite unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.

  I immediately straightened from my semi-slouched position, quickly pressing my forearms to my chest, thus dropping the shirt, needle and thread with which I was sewing. Much to my horror the pain did not subside, but in only mere seconds had completely sapped my strength. My breath became short and laborious; my arms frogged as well—all the iconic symptoms of a heart attack.

  …It hurt and it hurt quickly. I knew in that moment what it was, as do all who have felt its pain. I didn’t need to be told what was happening, yet in an instant I was powerless to do anything to change the outcome. I tried in desperation to turn toward the bedroom where my wife lay sleeping. I tried to yell for help but the pain was simply too stunning. Somehow I hoped for help in those fleeting moments, but I was overcome with the spasm of this attack on my heart.

  I knew this was it—that fast, I could not breathe and I could not speak. I could not move further. I knew this was my end, and I must say that it was surreal beyond words. I knew even then however, that no one would hear me fall and that there would be no rescue: that they would find me dead in the morning. Ironically it was hopeless, yet somehow, hopeful beyond what you might imagine; the feeling I was feeling was somehow—amazing.

  Within only a moment however, I was falling uncontrollably, forward off the counter toward the floor. I was blacking out, yet there remained one last bit of information that I would recall before my consciousness ceased. My eyes made contact with the rotary clock on the old stove. It showed 3:27a.m. and was changing at that exact moment to 3:28.

  Each new minute on the clock took about 3 seconds to rotate into place, but I only managed to see it half way between the 7 and 8. It was the last thing I remembered of this world, the last image I saw: a flicker of something, a swift gasp, blackness and . . . out, through the top of the house and into space, far, far above the Earth, traveling as speed I never knew was possible and with a freedom I never knew existed.

  Yet in that same moment as the body and being I had known till then collapsed and surely died, within the same instant, someone else came to life. Indeed as one part of my being fell from the counter, shed with no more value than a single leaf that falls from a tree, another somehow awakened anew. It was not me who ascended, yet somehow a new part of the same person. I remembered something pleasant and something present—a new man who was free of an old garment, an old body.

  With great speed and no will of my own, I now ascended to the heights above the Earth, far beyond the atmosphere. As this occurred, a menagerie of colors illuminated my path: blues, purples, greens, yellows and reds came and went. My visi
on was at first focused upward towards the stars beyond and so this continued until well within the blackness of space.

  But then, after only a few brief moments, sudden stillness; my spirit stopped. I was in complete awe of this new state of existence yet somehow still at home within this unbelievable feeling. It was then that my view began to rotate from the heavens and back toward Earth.

  There my new being hung suspended, viewing this third rock from the sun, a planet that had till then been my home of 27 years. It was as if this new man was bidding a final farewell. From there though, I remembered nothing of what was. Silent, still within, I stared at a place that I barely even recognized.

  I could recall nothing, neither my family nor friends nor self as I had once known them. I knew not my name as Daniel, nor any of his life and times. As a butterfly that emerges from its drab cocoon only to show its beautiful colors, I too shed the cares and worries of life that was before. I was disconnected from that world now, as I too saw colors, now a deep luminescent red around me.

  After only several seconds of this peaceful viewing, this new bodiless self, turned again to the great abyss of space. It was then that came an explosion of speed, unparalleled speed, -beyond anything that one can possibly imagine, as I rocketed into the boundless expanse, beyond this solar system, ever faster until even the speed of light was dwarfed. It was as the tachyonic particle, only far faster.

  It was traveling as the speed of memory, the velocity of an imagination come to life. I had instantly gone from being the atom to the Adam, the micro to the macro, the mere mind of a man, to the mind of this entire universe. It was the speed of becoming everything within these boundaries of the physical.

  In this I began to see, to become, lives, countless lives from the past. Like billions of streaming videos at the same time, they all came into the vision as memories. And though disconnected from them physically, I yet became their consciousness. It is inexplicable to my mind now to explain how to feel and to understand all those beings, all those moments through which I passed, all at the same time. There were so many humans, so many countless creatures of all shapes and sizes and from around the universe—not only humans, but everything from every planet that ever was.

  As this occurred my being ballooned in every direction and with ever-increasing speed. I no longer traveled in a single direction, but increasingly in all directions at the same time. I was becoming one with everything I saw and through which I passed. In this I remember the deaths of every conscious creature. Why I cannot say, but the deaths, their moment of passing, are what I recall the most. There is no way to list the countless trillions of these beings coming and going from all directions as was I.

  A French soldier: The cold shown my breath. To my left and right, long ranks, a long bowed line of men that disappeared into the fog that rose from the field. We advanced up the incline of that open plain. Nearing its crest we could hear the muffled tromp of our enemy as well; our forces hidden from one another but by the morning haze and crest of the hill.

  Bayonets fixed, we readied for the onslaught, ours and theirs that approached, separated now, surely by mere yards. The suspense, the helpless terror of the imminent destruction that was about to happen. It was bizarre as I could feel through the ground the massed footsteps of both parties, us and them. Yet it was nonetheless sudden and surprising. There, for a fleeting moment, a micro-second, everyone paused; time stood still. I remember the length of their coats, better for the cold than ours.

  By command and instinct we all lunged, our lines and theirs, crashing into a desperate struggle for survival—this a tragedy of the human condition. The fight, the training: parry, thrust. The panic, the madness. I can remember my own final moments: I fired from the hip into a soldier only five feet away and then plunged my bayonet into the man to his right only to immediately feel the bayonet of a Russian deeply within my own ribcage. I can remember the shock of being all three men at the same time. I could feel their fear, but not their pain. I knew and lived those moments, that event on the battlefield, mentally, not physically. I was there . . . I was there. . .

  I slowly fell to my knees and then to the ground as the fighting continued around me. He gasp for air, holding both hands on the hole in the side of my chest. I laid there, a dying stare, face to face, only inches from the dead man who killed me. Both our eyes, wide open in death, white, foamy blood still running from his mouth and nose. The shock of knowing that I was dead in both their forms—then—nothing.

  The boy lying in the fence row: I played within the edge of the woods next to the field. I could see the farm house a hundred yards away. I saw my father approaching. He was hunting, his shotgun at the low ready, barrel pointed downward and to his left. I hid within the grasses of the row just beside a post.

  The mind of a child: I giggled in anticipation of surprising by beloved father. Now only feet away I sprang from my concealment mimicking the roar a lion. He didn’t mean to; it was an accident. I startled him. The gun fired, and that’s all I remember; and now I remember being the father.

  The father: the utter horror of realizing I just killed my son. In that moment my universe stopped; my existence plunged into the hell of blackness, my whole life and sanity ruined within but a moment...All I was trying to do was bring home food for my family…wha, what have I done? The extreme guilt, the madness, the horror were beyond words. Glimpses of the screaming mother, the other children staring in shock and disbelief of what had happened. Then -nothing.

  The little girl who watched as her family was murdered with spear and jagged-daggers: It was a village, somewhere: I could hear yelling and screaming all around. Suddenly I was jerked by the arm and flung through the air, thrown into the fire of my home as it burned. I remember spinning into the flames, the shearing pain of burning alive. I tried to stand, then—nothing. Yet only in my mind did I feel this.

  A man, drowning, trapped under the log: under the ledge; tangled and running out of air. Panic and the feeling of cold water as it flooded my lungs—then, nothing

  Falling from the tree, the shock of having lost my grip….the crunch of my neck as it broke—then nothing.

  The lion came from nowhere. A fleeting “wha…” before its teeth plunged—then nothing.

  The lion too as it heard loud pops and felt the hot stab of bullets passing through my body . . . it was always my body, no matter the creature.

  The whimpering torture of the dog being beaten…

  the wreck

  the miserable disease

  the murder

  the plane in its uncontrolled descent before crashing

  freezing

  scared

  alone

  footsteps -fear

  -fear

  -fear

  Countless tortures and abuses of both adults and children. I will not mention them. The worst part was the hatred I felt from within mankind, -the evil that lurks within this species above all others, an evil that before I did not know existed.

  Do you know how many people I have been? How many times I broke the rules of this world’s nature? How many times I rebelled against its restrictions? How many times I have been poor and destitute, a prostitute, a beggar, a thief? I was them all: one who had nothing, one who had everything… And what of the down trodden and handicapped, all in all, the lost in who we are, never knowing something greater, handicapped in our minds. I was rich, I was broken, I was black, and white, eastern and Indian; every mix and every creature from everywhere.

  I did everything in all those peoples: the do-s and the don’ts, the rights and the wrongs, the faithful and taboo. Who was I but all? I was drum and did drugs, the good and the bad, the loved and the hated, accepted or not.

  Not all of the visions were devoid of pleasure, fun and good, yet the positive was so outweighed by the ultimate horror of death that all things suffer in this dimension. What struck me most about this collective mind was its never-ending search for permanence, eternity and glory without succ
ess.

  Yet through the experience of suffering and death in and as these innumerable creatures throughout this universe, I never once felt the physical pain of anything but always the inner suffering: the realization of mortality, the termination of this life, and that it was about to end in those moments. It was the collective mind of this world, God in His first form. I was connected to them all emotionally (at least to a degree yet disconnected physically as though watching through a movie.

  Then, oddly, out of the madness of dying in these countless forms came a moment of complete stillness—an early-man, covered about the midsection in a rough cut fur. I stood upon the edge of a cliff overlooking a beautiful valley. It was springtime and there was a slight breeze that I saw within the movement of the grass and leaves. I scanned to see what I could see. This man, in him, my spirit, was unusually still. It was a special moment among so many that I saw and became.

  I’m not sure what it was, but perhaps the grandiose view. It was as if suddenly, I, as that person, briefly entered into a higher state of mind. In it I knew something greater, something bigger than just myself. I entered into peace. I became assured, beyond words, that there was something beyond this daily life-and-death struggle, something beyond the survival-mode in which I lived. I loved that moment. I loved it and somehow knew who I was. It was a wonderful feeling that had a special significance.

  At this point even the galaxies sped by as mere flickers of light. The velocity was such that my mind began to expand, not in one direction, but all directions. My consciousness was becoming one with the whole of this physical universe; and in the same capacity that it takes no time for a thought to travel from one side of our brain to another, so was my new brain becoming all within this dimension. I was seeing all things, I was becoming all things, here—the past and the present of every occurrence within our dark universe.