Spirituality Information - Journey In The Fields Of Forever ( Part 21 )

And so, the scene outside my window triggered old memories of my childhood dream. Such strong similarities are never coincidental. Actually, nothing is ever by coincidence, but is tied by invisible strings that run across time and space to events in other places and times. As I looked at the birds gathered in the back yard around the huge oak tree,my wandering imagination may have taken over for I swore I saw a book lying under the tree.

It must be my imagination I thought, as I squinted, refocusing and,yet,it seemed so real. Reality can be different in different states of awareness. A good quantum physicist or credible scholar of philosophy would confirm that the reality experienced in dream time is as real to the dreamer as the reality one experiences during waking hours. To change reality from the dream time, all one has to do is wake up. Perhaps, for us to experience reality as it really is, we might have to wake up from being awake.

Real or not, it did appear that a book was lying under the oak tree. By this time, the birds had finished their singing and were dispersing. They were getting ready, as humans do, to face the newborn day. A few seconds later, curiosity grabbed me by the collar and led me outside, down the steps to where the oak tree stood next to the bird feeder. I reached for what I thought was the book, reminiscent of the one in my dream, only to discover it was a blue sheet of paper, probably blown there by the stormy winds of the night before.

I was about to crumple it and toss it in the garbage when I noticed some lettering on one side. I looked more carefully, squinting, since I wasn’t wearing my reading glasses. To my surprise, the words, “No Endings” were written in gold in the most beautiful script handwriting. Instinctively, I flipped the sheet over, looked on the other side, and beheld the same handwriting with the inscription, “No Beginnings.”

Surely,a neighbor must have been playing a board game with the family and a piece of paper blew out of their house, through the screen door and came to rest under my tree with the very words I had seen in a book in a dream when I was seven years old. No explanation made sense at this time. Since I’d learned long ago that not everything makes sense immediately, or sometimes ever, I went back into the house and sat for a while, attempting to analyze this strange incident.

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