Here’s a weird one. I was a little disturbed when I remembered it. I say it was a dream but, in my memory, it actually happened. I was there. Except that I don’t believe these things are real. Through my accident, I’ve learned that the brain, especially when damaged, is a hard worker but is a liar and will make things up just to have something to say. We could all benefit to be a little more suspicious.

The dream:

I was alone with someone, someone who looked strikingly like the Catholic Jesus: Nordic with a blonde beard and blond cascading hair. We were alone, floating if seemed, surrounded by a light shade of blue. He – it was a he – held out new arms and legs for me. I looked closely and they seemed real enough, but not bloody. Instead, dreaming, I saw them as furniture parts. Just tinker- toys to snap together. He said that if I would take these new appendages that I could be like new. Meaningful for me since my cycling accident.

I whooped it up and did a little dance. “I’ll take ’em.” I smiled.

There’s always a catch.

“First,” he said, “you have to die, and then I’ll make you well again. You can see your family again when they die.”

With no hesitation whatsoever, I declined. “Ah, heck. I’ll just stick it out with these beat up legs and live with the pain.” It was unbearable for me to leave my family after they spent a summer in the hospital reviving me.


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