Reader’s note: On July 3, my friend Steph messaged me telling me to read Bringers of the Dawn by Barbara Marciniak, a book about the Pleiadians. Steph was insistent I read it, and based on the mind-blowing books she’s had me read in the past, I knew I’d indulge.
Another note: Dave is my best friend who died in a tragic accident October 17, 2010. Steph was dating Dave at the time.
Wow, Steph! I read the preface to Bringers of the Dawn (is that the title?) right before I fell asleep last night and I spent a week with Dave in my "dreams." So many of the guys from our crew got together to hang and we were all talking with Dave about his return (though, we weren't sure how long it would last). P Rob, Toman, Hammill, Darrin were there, and so were Dave's parents.
I spent a lot of time bonding and talking with Dave. It felt so awesome for both of us to hang out again, though we both acknowledged that we’re never really apart. The last thing I remember was asking him what death was like and did he remember. He smiled and said, "I don't remember, man," but with moist eyeballs and joy on his face, it was obvious that he felt something amazing towards death--that he was definitely having a beautiful time. . .
Naked and at the speed of light, I zoom down some intergalactic highway. I soar past planets, stars, solar systems, galaxies, galactic clusters, the universe. It’s so colourful: blues, greens, reds, whites, yellows, purples, indigos, every colour you can imagine and more. Explosions and contractions, life and death, beginnings and ends. Space flies past me and I fly through space, and despite travelling at the speed of light with my skin exposed, I’m comfortable . . .
Standing in the hallway of the hospital in China that my father works at, I look into a room to see a black man in a red and white polo suffocating a patient by pressing a pillow over the patient’s face. The patient squirms before his leg gives one last protesting kick and the black man locks eyes with mine. My hairs stand on end. The man pulls a gun and I sprint down the hallway. . .
