Did you ever have a waking dream somewhere between awake and asleep, or maybe a dream or nightmare that was so real that you felt all that was in the dream or you were not really dreaming? You felt all the pain, stress, joy, sadness—all the human emotions that were part of that dream? Strange dreams that made no sense at all or some making some sense to you or to others you told?
Did you consider that maybe you were given that dream so you could learn from it or didn’t give it much thought? Have you ever thought that maybe your dreams, especially the more of a waking dream, the more detailed and vivid of your dreams, were maybe your past lives’ experiences intruding on this life or what you should do in the future in this life? Maybe there was a message in your dreams that you were to not only learn from but are also there to tell you to take or not take certain actions?
These are the stories of the Dream Man, the last member of his Tibetan clan who like his relatives before him, hears the dreams of sentient beings and influences them to put the dreamers on their Karma’s path.
|Product dimensions:||6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.24(d)|
Read an Excerpt
The Book of Waking Dreams
Stories of the Dream Man
By Gerald L. Kovacich
AuthorHouseCopyright © 2015 Gerald L. Kovacich
All rights reserved.
HISTORY OF THE DREAM MAN
In the Void
What happens when we die is the greatest mystery of mysteries. Prior to being born, the Dream Man found that he, like other spirits or souls, remain alive, awaiting reincarnation in a place he called the Void.
"Where am I?" the child asked in the stillness of the dark.
"You are in the Void," said the Voice gently, almost in a whisper.
"What is the Void?" asked the child.
"It is the place of rest for souls between lives."
"I can't see. Why can't I see?"
"Because you have no eyes," replied the Voice.
"Why can't I feel anything?" the child asked.
"Because you are in spirit only and without physical substance," the Voice said.
"What will become of me?" asked the child.
"You will be reborn," said the Voice.
"Reborn? You mean I was born before?" the child asked.
"Yes," said the Voice, "many times."
"When will I be reborn?" asked the child.
"When your time has come," the Voice answered.
"What is the purpose of being reborn?"
The Voice answered, "For your soul to continue to learn and to give love."
"I don't understand," said the child.
"You ask many questions," the voice replied.
"I'm sorry," the child said, "is that wrong?"
"No, it is not wrong, it shows that you want to learn. That is a good sign," the Voice answered with a tone that comes between a laugh and a smile. "You will be returning soon, be patient," said the Voice.
"Who will I be?" the child asked.
The Voice said, "You will be known as the Dream Man. Enough talk. Meditate as your time for rebirth is coming soon and you will have a special task to perform upon rebirth."
"What special task?" asked the child.
"Now you are asking too many questions. Meditate as your time is near," answered the Voice.
Introduction to the Dream Man
Some special people are destined to be a vessel of others' dreams, whether they like it or not. The person called the "Dream Man" is one such unique person.
The old man sat up in bed as if propelled by a powerful, unseen force; being jolted from his sleep, and again feeling hot, again dripping in sweat, his heart beating so loud and fast, he swore he could hear it echoing off the walls of his cave. "Not again! Not again!" he cried out but no one was there to hear him. "I will soon go mad if this does not stop!" he yelled to no one. "Why can't I just sleep? Why must I dream, dream such dreams, waking dreams, nightmares worst of all? This makes no sense to me!" And yet, he knew his denial was false. He knew what they meant.
The old man called them "waking dreams" because they were so vivid, so real, he felt all that he dreamt – the pain, the stress, everything – as if he was not dreaming and yet he knew he was not really awake either, maybe in that in-between state. What bothered him the most though was that these dreams were not his, they came from some unknown place and yet, they always found him.
Suddenly, he heard the Voice say, "Because". Was that voice part of a dream? It sounded familiar. Yes, he knew he had heard it before but could not remember when, where or was he yet dreaming? No, not just a voice, but a voice that seemed to come from within and yet, a voice that boomed so loud as if it were coming from the walls of his cave itself. A familiar voice that came to him. One that he has heard as far back as he can remember. He heard it time and time and time again.
Please God, Lord Buddha, or whoever or whatever you are! Please let me die, let me die now," said the old man. "All those I loved are long gone, and I am left behind. I am so old, so tired. Please, please take me now, let me finally sleep, sleep without dreaming."
"No!" the Voice answered. "No, not until you have learned. Not until you complete your life – complete what you are here to do."
"I don't understand," said the old man.
"You will! Someday you will. Look within yourself. You know what you must do; you always knew what you must do and you also know why!" the Voice replied becoming somewhat irritated since the old man had been complaining for over 300 years.
The old man did know, at least he always felt he knew why he was here. Why he drew breath, but he grew selfish as he grew old. He neglected the work. He neglected his reason for being, for being in this life, in this time, but then again, he always fought his destiny.
Everything he had done in his life up to now was what he had to do to reach this final stage, this final experience in learning and not only learning but practicing what he had learned so that he could move on to the next life. For if he did not learn and practice what he had learned, he would not move on in the next life but move backward once again, as he had done thousands of times before when he fought his destiny, his Karma. Fought it to his last breath. He knew he must collect, interpret and send back thoughts, dreams, decide to influence or not influence the Karma of others.
He was raised in Western Tibet by a devout Buddhist mother. He came from a family of waking dreamers who for centuries collected, interpreted and shared their dreams' interpretations with all who were destined to learn from their interpretations, their dream influences. But he thought he was different. He wanted to be different, but only different from his family. He wanted to be like everyone else. He wanted to be ordinary so he fought the receipt of waking dreams. He fought them for several centuries but to no avail. They came and they came often, especially after the death of his mother.
He knew he had to do what his inner voice told him to do as he had no choice; he was the instrument commanded by some power beyond his comprehension. Finally, he surrendered to that unknown power. He could no longer ignore his destiny, his reason for being.
So, he collected the dreams of others. He then did what that inner voice in his waking dream state told him to do. He did so every day, at all hours of the day and night. He complied with his inner voice, hoping the dreams would stop and his life could stop, but he hated his waking dreams state and every day wished it would end forever.
His waking dreams state continued and he believed it would continue until humans no longer dreamed, until they no longer needed their dreams to lead them on their path in this life; until they were able to learn to listen, to interpret their own dreams and surrender to their dreams so that their dreams could guide them on the right path, to take the Middle Way of their lives; the path of Tao, all without his help.
But he also held out hope that eventually someone else would take his place so his mind – no, his very soul – could finally be at peace. So he continued in his waking dreams state as he entered his third century of life, at least his current life.
And Then There Was One
One of the Dream Man's worst memories was what he had been told to him by his mother when he was very young, and yet he also perceived the story of the last days of his ancestors. It was about his birth, their deaths and the destruction of his clan, leaving only him and his mother, and then only him.
It was Spring when it was about to turn into that time of calving of the yaks. His great-grandfather sat on a small rise, outside his yurt, meditating and enjoying the sun's wonderful bounty of its rays shining down on his old bones and warming them better than any winter yurt fires ever could; watching his pregnant granddaughter and his clan members working in the fields. It was one of Tibet's glorious days of pure air, pure water in the streams, the barley grasses of the plains were waving in the soft, body-caressing, warm summer breeze. It sounded what he thought the ocean waves would sound like although he had never actually heard them as Western Tibet is located far from any ocean.
In the far horizon stood those magnificent Himalayas crowned by that grand goddess of them all – Mt Everest or Chomolungma (Holy Mother) as they called her; the barley bending in the breeze as if bowing to the Holy Mother so far away.
There was a peace that could only be known by a man at peace in this world of suffering. A silence broken only by the wind in the barley fields, the song of birds, and the noise of the yaks grazing in the fields and also broken on occasion by the laughter and yelling of his clan members, their children, tending the herds with their large mastiffs occasionally barking out a command to wolves waiting in the hills, telling them to stay away.
Surely if there was a Nirvana on earth, this was it, he thought. Then he heard it, slowly at first, then growing louder, the sounds of yelling, of machines moving, grinding Mother Earth. As it grew louder, he saw them coming, coming like a plague of locusts, eating everything in their sight, but in this case it was the tracks of men-carriers, of tanks grinding to death the yaks, the barley; and then the shooting started from these riding and walking locusts. Plowing through the fields, slaughtering everything they could see, be it yak, barley plant, dogs, and worst of all, his clan.
The old man sat there in shock, not able to move except the movement of tears dripping down his face which flowed like the river before him. He sat that way for what seemed days, although it was less than a few minutes. He had not been able to move, not even fathom what happened. He was in shock, total horrible shock. He turned and vomited until there was nothing left to vomit.
Then he stood up and screamed as only a human soul tortured and in shock could scream. The scream that comes from way within, the place usually protected where the body tries to defend itself from the horrors of the suffering on this earth. He screamed to the gods who certainly heard him as his tortuous screams echoed throughout the plains. He screamed to the Holy Mother too. He ran to stop them but he too was cut down by the machines of death. They ground through them, never stopping, ever-destroying, moving on until they were over the far horizon.
When they were gone and silence returned to the fields followed only by the noise and the movement of the vultures – those beasts that were Nature's way of cleaning up the messes made by humans. However, there was also another movement, and then a scream. It was not the bullet wound that had grazed her head rendering her initially unconscious that caused her to scream, but the screams of one soon to be become a mother. The screams of a woman giving birth which at the same time, woke her from her unconscious state as if Nature was saying, now is no time to sleep, now is the time to replenish the cycle of human life. To give birth to a special one to carry on the clan's heritage, their gift to other humans.
And so, he was born, the one called the Dream Man. It was his Karma to be born now and to carry on the work alongside his mother as she was the only clan member left alive besides him to carry on using the gift, or at times the curse, bestowed upon them. The gift of waking dreams and their ability to interpret those dreams. She taught him the ways of the Dream Clan; taught him to carry on the work of the clan, endowed with those special, precise gifts that were to be used to help humans who suffered or who had strayed from their Karma path. She knew she would soon die and at the appointed time, after she taught him all she knew, she did die.
Then the wolf pack descended from the mountains, but instead of devouring her and the Dream Man, they left her to the vultures as was the clan tradition for human remains to be devoured by vultures thus giving them life through the nourishment of their bodies. After all, what did it matter? For they knew their souls would be long departed and either still in the Void or being reincarnated once again.
The Alpha female wolf took care as did her pack to guide the boy to their mountain lair. There he would learn the ways of the wolves, and their insight into Nature which would be part of his life and his sense of life forever. Together with his knowledge from past lives and that passed on by his mother made him the most unique of all his clan and also the most powerful in collecting, interpreting dreams and using his unique skills and power to guide the humans to their Karma.CHAPTER 2
STORIES OF THE COLLECTED DREAMS OF THE DREAM MAN
The Lesson of the Fish
Very seldom do humans realize that other life forms also suffer at the hands of we humans. We think of them as beings, as things without feelings. One man learned this lesson and he learned it well, with the help of the Dream Man.
He loved to fish, loved to fish since his dad first took him fishing at age seven, more than sixty years ago. Now retired on a small lake, he loved to fish in the quiet of the morning, the solitude and peace of fishing alone on that small lake in a boat he made himself so many years ago. He called it his way of Zen Meditation, but the Dream Man called it a waking dream.
As he was thinking of what he may have done in his previous lives to deserve such a wonderful life, suddenly there was a jolt on the line that jarred him from his thoughts. Yes, he had hooked a fish, one of thousands he had caught over the decades, and he knew it was a nice one.
As he reeled in the fish and got it to the boat, with the help of the Dream Man, he was suddenly transported into the body of that fish. He became the fish with all the horror of being suddenly jabbed in the side of the mouth with a hook. He felt the sudden shock and quiver of his body as if struck by a thousand volts of electricity. He felt the pain, the total, heart-rendering, unbelievable feeling of being tortured, that he was going to die; die now as he was being pulled into the boat in sheer panic and unable to breath. He was suffocating to death.
He felt the pain of his total bodyweight being lifted by the hook, ripping apart his mouth, leaving a gaping hole and then yanked with brute force onto the bottom of the boat. He laid there floundering, trying to get back to that only life force he ever knew, the water. He tried so hard but his trying hastened his dying, slowed his trying as did his breathing and then suddenly, taking his last gasp, he died.
Immediately, the fisherman was slammed back into his own body. He sat there in his boat looking at the fish in total disbelief. He immediately knew what he must do. He grabbed the fish and placed it in the water, moving it back and forth so that the fish's gills and lungs could do the work of bringing oxygen back into the fish.
He then saw the gills of the fish moving in a normal rhythm and as he let go, the fish slowly swam away. At the same time, he felt a profound sense of gut-wrenching sadness for what he had done thousands of times before and what he had almost done again. He had never felt that way before in his entire life. No, not even when his wife had died. Nothing, nothing could match that strange, sudden sick-to-his-stomach feeling that overwhelmed him, bringing tears that would not stop flowing down his cheeks as he vomited the side of his boat.
He placed his fishing pole in the bottom of the boat, drove his boat to the shore, and walked away never to fish again, never to eat fish again.
As he has gotten older, he has thought of that day more than a decade ago this month. When he did, the tears again began to flow as he sits in his favorite chair at peace as never before, and overwhelmed with tears but this time, of happiness.
The Dream Man smiled for being able to bring peace to one more sentient being.
What Goes Around, Comes Around
Sometimes, a person must suffer and get to the lowest level of existence before their true path of life can be found. On very rare occasions, it simultaneously happens to two people. This waking dream was just such an occasion that caused the Dream Man to get involved. Actually, he didn't know if this was really a dream or if he was receiving a prayer from her. He thought, that's all he needs, all these dreams and if he begins to hear other's prayers he will surely go crazy.
She started on him again, complaining about this and that, constantly, it seems almost 24/7, never letting up. She never stopped telling her son what a loser he was, why didn't he have a job? Telling him to get out and leave her in peace.
The old woman had reason to want him gone. Since she was crippled and in a wheelchair, she often needed help, but with his help came his yelling, his physical abuse as if it were all her fault he was a loser. In addition, there was his big mouth to feed at her expense.
The woman prayed each night for it to stop, for him to stop, for him to leave and yes, she confessed, she wished he would feel her pain and know what it was like for her to continue to live beyond her time.
She prayed and prayed often, not reserving prayers to the nighttime. She prayed, and prayed and prayed so much that her prayers consumed much of her day and night. Praying that he would know her life, either that or one of them would die and die now! Then she began having dreams and in those dreams, her prayers were answered. The dreams were so real, she felt the joy of them. She looked forward to sleeping and continued to have that recurring dream.
One day she awoke and her knees didn't hurt, the arthritis pains seemed to be gone. She tried walking, and to her great surprise, she could walk, walk slowly, but still she could walk without the support of a walker. She was so giddy, so joyful, she thought her heart would burst from the excitement.
Excerpted from The Book of Waking Dreams by Gerald L. Kovacich. Copyright © 2015 Gerald L. Kovacich. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
I History of the Dream Man, 1,
II Stories of the Collected Dreams of the Dream Man, 13,
III The End is Near, 75,
IV Final Comments, 81,
About the Author, 83,