Premonitions of a Lucid Dreamer

By Peter Saucier

In the title story, an archaeologists returns to the ancient Mayan city of Caracol in Belize, drawn by the power of lucid dreams, those in which the person is self-conscious and aware during the dream. He discovers a living ghost of a Mayan girl saved from sacrifice by a Jaguar God, and now must confront a bizarre tribe of Indian looters and return her parent's bones to their ancient grave.
In "Flesh of the Gods," a self-styled mycologist travels to Mexico in 1956 to become the first white man to experience psilocybin Mexicana, the magic mushrooms of the indigenous Mazateca. On his subsequent trip he is joined by two chemists: one the designer of LSD, seeking to replicate the mushroom chemical, the other a secret operative for the CIA, in search for a mind controlling substances. The influx of western drug seekers with vain agendas proves devastating to the Mexican village where they come from.
"In the Valley of Decision" takes place on the Caribbean island of Dominica during its turbulent independence from Britain in 1980. An American yacht captain becomes an unwitting smuggler in an overthrow involving a group of conspirators including greed soldiers bent on drug money and the cold-blooded Dreads, renegade Rastafarians whose fate is controlled as much by traditional magic as the police trying to stop them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Saucier
• Release date: Sep 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005273132

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Premonitions of a Lucid Dreamer

Peter Saucier

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2020 by Peter Saucier

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

First ebook edition March 2020

Editing by Emily Krempholtz

Design by Brent Spears

Facebook Author page @ fb.me/petercsaucier

Contents

Premonitions of a Lucid Dreamer

Flesh of the Gods

In the Valley of Decision

About the Author

Premonitions of a

Lucid Dreamer

1

An ancient pyramid rose out of the dense jungle, its angular limestone walls and carved steps illuminated in the light of a quarter moon. Voices whispered in the damp night air, and cries sounded from the temples and tombs of the acropolis, behind dark gaping doorways, down hidden halls. The hard face of the structure, with only the previous blemish of mold within the cracks of stone, was marred with dark spots and splashes running down the length of the steps.

It was blood.

Moans and curses melded with a rising wind and rumble of thunder. Cracks of lightning split the horizon, and the canopy of giant ceiba and mahogany trees swayed, wildly tossing their limbs and scattering birds with their fleeing cries. The storm created a vortex of scouring wind and rain, lashing the jungle and washing the dark matter from the pyramid; it quickly blew through and the bruised clouds broke, allowing moonlight to filter down and give definition to the plaza hemmed by temples. A small figure wrapped in a shawl moved across the short grass. It was a girl, only a pale face visible under the ruffled fabric draping her head, with eyes that flashed gold and green.

It was at this point Loren knew he was dreaming. The realization was at once exhilarating and frightening, and when she turned those eyes on him, their illumination and intensity froze him in place where a moment before he was certain of fleeing. Her words came without speaking, a little girl’s voice tempered with the maturity of a woman, a telepathic message he could clearly hear, like a hum of energy.

There is place where our elders rest. The spring is sacred; none may enter. He heard the sound of water dripping. Return what was taken. This is my wish. In the distance, a jaguar growled, and she turned to the sound not in fear, but in welcome, extending an arm to it. A premonition of threat seeped into his mind, like the beast moving toward the girl across the plaza grounds. The Sky Palace pyramid of Caana stood brooding in the intermittent moonlight, the acropolis appearing recently deserted, waiting for the long-vanished Mayans to return.

The jaguar grew nearer within a golden glow, and though still far away, Loren was terrified of the thing that exuded impossible patterns and colors, while the throaty rumble of its breathing instinctively said to any human, Run or die. Massive shoulders rippled with muscle and its head was an angular wedge of mottled black and orange markings, its face a prism of diamond jade and gold eyes and a hanging jaw of glistening fangs.

Fear seized Loren and his only thought was of escaping from the danger. Now he fled into the surrounding jungle, immediately submerged in the dark tangle of tropical night. He briefly thought of climbing a tree for protection before he remembered that cats were expert climbers. As he spun in confusion, trying to decide which way to run, he remarkably began to rise through the treetops into the night sky, his body floating weightlessly up to see the quarter moon breaking above glowing clouds and the faint stars winking far beyond. As frightening as this was sublime, he still knew he was dreaming, could sense himself without, while seeing the dream within.

He woke at daybreak, the dream still vivid as he made coffee and went out to the front porch to watch the sunrise. Thick brown hair hung around his eyes, and he felt the three-day beard on his face, wondering if a shower would clarify the meaning of the dream. The pyramid had been the Sky Palace in the Mayan Archaeological Park of Caracol, Belize, where he had studied and excavated for several seasons with the University of Central Florida project. The girl appeared to be a native, but he had never seen her before, and the cries of the unseen people and the vision of the jaguar escaped explanation in the light of morning.

He was apprehensive in placing the dream in the same context as several others he’d had over the years, two of which were forever seared in his memory: in the early morning hours of September 11, 2001, he had a vision of war in the Middle East, centered on the faces of injured and dying children, and when he learned one of the masterminds of the attack had been a pediatrician, he shuddered at the connection; another dream when he’d been camping on the Continental Divide in Colorado was of a small plane crashing in the trees, exploding in flames, and the next morning upon returning over Loveland Pass, he found emergency crews fighting a fire where a plane had slammed into the mountainside the night before.

The Cape Coral bungalow where Loren was living now had glass slat windows and hurricane shutters, the surrounding fields stretching away to woods of pine and eucalyptus. He fell into familiar thoughts of Eva, and the surprising premonition he had before she left for the other Mayan city of Tikal. They were friends while attending the university, where the Caracol Project was initiated. She was a native Belizean, with dark features and a family-oriented personality, and she used their common field of archaeology to form an academic bond, then with very little effort, a romantic one. They lived in his apartment not far from campus. His graduate work would take him to Belize, hers to Guatemala. On the night prior to leaving for their respective journeys, they lay in bed holding each other.

I’d love to get a house and settle down. We’re always moving. She hesitated briefly, noticing Loren stiffen. Guess we could wait until our field work is completed. She knew that his love for her was genuine and that he was completely honest with her. But was he honest with himself? He shied away from commitment, and had a deep introspective side that he kept to himself, especially concerning the strange dreams he claimed to have.

Yeah, there’s no hurry, he said, but inside he wondered why he felt defensive every time she tried to move toward a more stable relationship. He loved her deeply, yet something inside created an obstacle to growing closer. He had often been a loner, but when it came to the few women he became involved with, he gave his heart and soul to them and treated them well. But then the premonitions began, and the dreams started confusing him, mixing with daily life and altering reality in a negative way.

He kissed her forehead as she breathed deeply back into sleep. Something kept him from joining her in slumber, and he propped his head up with his arm and watched her intently. The quarter moon’s light shone through the windows, and the wind blew through oak and magnolia trees, carrying the bark of a dog from down the street. He felt intensely alive and aware of every facet of his life, and some unknown extra sense entered him, allowing him to examine the truth of things he had not been aware of. He marveled at Eva’s dark hair and tanned skin, her full lips and wide hips beneath the sheets, and in gazing at her, second by second, somehow entered her mind, feeling what she felt, empathetic yet separate.

He suddenly shuddered. She was going to have a child, he was certain. When and where, and the last question—with whom—he was not sure, and it shocked him when the more he stared at her sleeping form, the more he realized it was true. He slipped quietly out of bed and sat out on the porch, the moonlight sifting down in moving shafts through the windy trees. Did she mean to get pregnant to force him into a family life, one he wasn’t ready for and could not afford? Or would it be another man, signaling the end of their relationship?

He brooded in a stew of his own concoction, until a stray cat he was familiar with appeared on the porch and rubbed up to him. It cheered him to pet it, easing his mind, and when it scooted off, he was left with a sense of resetting his thoughts and feelings. Maybe she did want a child, but she wasn’t pregnant, and she hadn’t hidden anything from him. Then a creeping suspicion grew that the premonition itself was caused by paranoia, and was no more than a falsity or bending of something other than the truth. What were dreams, except snatches of visions and experiences recorded in the subconscious, then recalled in random order and questionable significance? He went back inside, got back into bed and wrapped an arm around Eva. She settled against him, but as she fell back asleep her face tightened with tension.

The next few weeks they spent in Central America, separated by a rain forest and the Maya Mountains, and though the distance between Tikal and Caracol was not great, they were apart for extended periods. He remembered his premonition of her, and his anxiety of their last night together returned the same day he called her from Belmopan while picking up supplies.

I was wondering when you would call, she said. Missed you. How’s it going there?

Good. I’m working overtime on a new trench in the B Group complex, classic era... He was hedging, and didn’t answer her question directly.

What’s the problem, Loren?

Nothing... His voice trailed off.

Something about a child of mine?

He was speechless.

Eva laughed in her soft, chiding tone. She paused a moment then continued, Our last night together? When you came back to bed you woke me up, as you fell asleep. I felt this energy surge from you, and I saw your vision of a child. I don’t know what it meant, only that you saw it.

I can’t believe it. You’re right. And I don’t know what it meant either. I’m glad you know, Eva. I should have told you sooner.

I know you’ve had issues with your dreams, Loren, and I’m worried about them. They could mean something different than you think they do.

I’m getting that feeling, too.

Don’t wait so long to tell me next time, okay? Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together.

How do you put up with me?

I love you, remember?

He returned to Florida for a week to attend meetings about the project and moved out of the apartment in Orlando to a bungalow in Cape Coral owned by Alton Jeffries, his old philosophy instructor from UCF. Loren’s beliefs were a blend of Atheism and Agnosticism, with a dash of Altruism thrown in to soothe the modern consciousness of First World guilt, with its inability to solve Third World overpopulation, poverty, and corrupting wars. He dismissed Christianity, Judaism, Islam, and Buddhism as opium of the masses, though the communists that first supported that view were worse than all of it combined.

Then he had the dream of Caracol, the girl, and the jaguar, and figured a philosopher was as good as anyone to talk about it with. Jeffries’ home was a ranch-style brick house, backing up to the brown, mile-wide Caloosahatchee River, which separated Ft. Myers from Cape Coral. He greeted him at the door, the seventy-year-old stately and jovial, with a gray ponytail and keen, sharp eyes. They sat in the backyard, draped with mossy oaks and edged by azaleas and rose bushes.

How’s the bungalow, you all settled in?

Yeah, it’s great. Much quieter than Orlando.

So what’s troubling you?

You always assume something’s bothering me, Alton, and you’re always right. Loren took the offered glass of Pellegrino water with a slice of lime, sipping it. Since I’ve been back from Belize, I’ve had strange dreams...nonsensical, but ones unlike any I’ve ever had before...and the oddest thing is during the last one, I was aware I was dreaming while it was occurring.

It’s called lucid dreaming, Jeffries said. Not that uncommon, but most people experiencing them aren’t aware of it at the time. Some consider it a special gift, and say one can learn to control them, and perhaps learn from them... Jeffries looked away, remembering. There were studies that stated controlling the dreams could lead one to change one’s lifestyle or behavior, and perhaps even see the future.

Didn’t you do some experiments trying to visualize ancient cultures?

Yes, in my younger days at UCLA, but I never had the type of dreams you’re describing. I tried some of the psilocybin that was coming out of indigenous areas of Mexico to see if there could be a connection that might span a generation of different people, to a similar knowledge shared by the experience...

Magic mushrooms.

Jeffries nodded, reminiscing with a regretful smile. It was a fascinating psychoactive trip, full of brilliant hallucinations and deeply empathetic emotions, and you could sense what the ancients felt when they ingested them, but in the end, revealed nothing.

The one last night was incredible, when I first realized I was in a dream. At the end of it, I was floating high above the ground, Loren said.

Jeffries smiled with a glint in his eye. Then you reached what is known as the ‘astral plane,’ where the spirit flies. Some think this a midway point between the physical world and a spiritual heaven.

Loren grunted. You know my stance on religion...

Of course! Jeffries laughed, then grew serious again. Were you afraid?

Not at first. I found it stimulating, even exhilarating. He rose and paced across the stone patio, admiring the view of the river beyond the oaks. One thing did scare me last night, he hesitated, then continued, fear in his recalling. A strange jaguar, stalking the ruins, and a native girl talked of a holy place...said something that was taken must be returned. Like a warning.

Jeffries rose, joining him, putting a hand on his shoulder. A threat, Loren?

It could be, if it’s a premonition like some of the old ones I had.

Perhaps the meaning will become clearer when you return to Caracol, Jeffries said.

You mean, getting closer to the source of the dream may help explain it?

Theoretically, Jeffries said.

Loren laughed wistfully. Guess I’ll find out.

Belize City was a mixture of dingy slums and colonial elegance on the edge of the Caribbean Sea, no building over two stories tall due to frequent hurricanes, a fact which caused them to move the capital to Belmopan, further inland. The town was bisected by Hallover Creek, with the wealthier citizens on the north side along Princess Margaret Boulevard, and the poorer ones in the southern section of Old Town, crowded with Garifuna descendants of the east Caribbean, Central American immigrants, and indigenous Mayan natives. The streets were potholed, bordered by broken sidewalks, dilapidated houses, and shops, and telephone poles leaned precariously under the weight of sagging lines. The crowds were jostling, joking, and arguing, and loitering youths and panhandlers targeted tourists just off the San Pedro Island water taxi. Loren walked around, waiting for a rental car, and came to a corner where a young native girl, colorfully dressed in traditional Mayan attire, complete with an intricately embroidered skirt of red and yellow, a turquoise blouse, and a head scarf, was selling shell necklaces and charms from a small cart. She was short, with a dark, moon-shaped face, her straight black hair tied behind her head in a knot.

Hello, he said. Let’s see that necklace.

It’s made of snail shells, from Caracol. You should know that, right? He stopped in mid-reply, surprised, and she smiled. I could tell you worked there, she said. Your khaki pants and work shirt, tucked into your belt.

You’re very perceptive. The site might have gotten its name from the snail, or the winding roads that sometimes curl around themselves. How much for the necklace?

Ten dollars, BZ. He paid her, then she asked if he wanted her to put it on. He nodded, leaning over. She draped it over his head, and clasped it around his neck. It comes from our ancient city, where the elders dwell, a place that is holy.

He put a hand on her shoulder, alarmed by the language so similar to what he heard in the dream. Why do you say that?

Because it’s true, she said quietly. You’ve heard that before? You may hear it again, bone digger. She moved the cart down the street, looking at him over her shoulder.

He made his way up the Western Highway in the rented jeep, the green coastal plain much like southern Florida, but less developed, more lush with palms, flowering hibiscus, and verdant grassy fields. The sun fell behind the Maya Mountains, and he took the Forest Reserve road up to Caracol, a trip that would take hours over a rough, rock-strewn track. Before the crimson light vanished from the cloud-striped sky, he stopped and shut the motor off, got out, and watched a tarantula cross the muddy road. He sat down on some grass along the road, smoking a thin cigar, and as the night approached, images came to him again of the jungle, the animals, and the ancients who built the temples. The dark was complete now, and lying on the side of the road, he watched the stars come out. According to the Mayans, the Milky Way showed the ancient path to Xibalba, where caves led to the underworld, the place of sacred tombs. He stretched out beside the road, conjuring the images of a place he had studied for so long.

The dim moonlight was occluded by a low layer of opaque clouds that hovered above a steep canyon; the dense canopy of the jungle stood silhouetted against the sky. Loren was rooted like a plant, observing the night wavering in a hidden energy which could not be seen, only felt. A break in the clouds revealed a star shining with an intermittent pulse of light, which was visible through the reaching boughs of the forest. A myriad of sounds came to him in successive waves: a howler monkey huffing in the distance, birds flitting in the brush, a snake slithering along the ground, after the birds. Then came the steady rustle of footsteps through the thicket, and the girl in the shawl came toward him, halting twenty paces away. The star broke free of the clouds, and he now knew it was Venus. The girl’s golden-jade eyes flashed at him, and she raised an arm to him, beckoning, then departed. He followed her for a long time, to a gaping mouth of darkness that appeared in the mountainside. It was a cave. She turned to him.

The ground is sacred, as is the water that springs from it. This time he heard her words as she was speaking in front of him.

Who are you?

The place of the elders has been disturbed. Return what was taken. This is my wish.

She melted into the woods, and he turned to the dark recess in the mountain. Just as he thought to enter, he heard the low rumble of a growl issue from it.

He woke, shivering and damp with night dew, then froze at the sight of the tarantula perched on his chest. He gasped, then gently flicked it off, remembering they were harmless. He must have been more tired than he realized from the flight and road trip. He crawled inside the jeep to sleep. In the morning, he continued over the washboard road, winding along the mountainside and climbing the plateau to a height of three thousand feet. Palms and giant ferns gave way to sub-tropical hardwoods and pines, and the last miles to the site were paved. He always had a reverent attitude toward ruins of any kind, but Caracol, one of the largest Mayan complexes known, bore a heavy respect and awe whenever he returned.

Thick high-canopy jungle surrounded the site, but cleared lawn spread out along the causeways and between three plaza groups surrounding the central acropolis. He parked at the visitor center, seeing the shape of the ancient city in the distance, wondering again how they survived time, when so much else had not. The main pyramid of Caana, topped by three temples and four palace rooms, was called the Sky Palace, and at 136 feet high, was still the one of the highest man-made structures in Belize. The wide stairway at the base was made of steps a foot high and deep, which bisected the larger tiered slabs of the structure. The middle of the pyramid was a terrace of short pillars and benches where people congregated, then a narrower stairway ascended to the top, where a small courtyard was bordered by three temples forming smaller, separate pyramids of their own. He walked up to it and sat on the first step, looking back east to the morning sun. This was where the first dream had taken place.

The sky was partly cloudy and a moist wind made the trees and plants speak in groans and swishes. In the morning light, the dream snatched at his consciousness, teasing his sensibilities, mocking his scientific approach to all things actual and those unseen. The ancient people came from the lowlands to this higher place, to join the ruler K’an the First, allied with Tikal, to live in fear and reverence of the priests, who could name or call any to be sacrificed on the altar of the temple. Loren saw those ancients evolving into modern-day people, severed from the old customs yet enslaved to similar powers, all with the intention of keeping them subservient and fearing for their lives. Decades ago, in Guatemala, the government had slaughtered up to 200,000 Mayans, and the native immigrants, who never forgot, still drifted into Belize across the porous tropical border.

He walked across the grass to Plaza A, where in the Temple of the Wooden Lintel, the interior sapodilla wood beams had been carbon-dated to the year 50 AD. Between the temple and the tree line was an 8’x40’ trench, where a couple of students carefully worked with trowels and brushes. One was Amelia, a young woman from Florida who knew him. Hey Loren. Didn’t expect you so soon.

I was ‘called back,’ so to speak. What are you finding?

Pottery shards, ornaments, some utensils…

Listen, have you heard anything about a new cave discovery in the area, or something that might be a tomb?

No, nothing within the park boundaries. She stood and wiped the sweat from her forehead, then stepped over the stringed stakes, to drink from a water bottle. How long are you— She stopped, staring at his necklace. Where did you get that? She pointed.

A street vendor in Belize City.

Come with me to the field lab. I need to show you something. They walked a short distance to the archaeological camp and an open sided structure, covered with corrugated roofing, that served as the lab. Amelia went to a table with a several boxes on it, and she rummaged through one, then pulled a string necklace from it. "I found this yesterday. Snail