Dream Quest: A Seeker’s Guide to Finding the Purpose of Being

By Justan Mann PhD

Dream Quest reveals a series of vivid lucid dreams that foretell the future and delve into the nature of being. The dreams happened as described, although they are presented within the context of a fictionalized trek that is set on the slopes of New Hampshire’s Mount Major. Alexander and his companions Verity and Futura eventually find refuge from the night’s chill within Madame Leonedria’s grotto. Therein, his dreams about the future, human nature, and reality are discussed in depth. Alexander felt both cursed and blessed by these remarkable events, for the gift that allowed him to find a metaphysical path to God’s door slowly began consuming his mind. Indeed, the condition that sparked his visions degenerated Alexander’s brain, and his memories are now fading. However, the experiences were recorded long ago, and they leave a message that might change your life. This is far more than a book about spirituality or morality. This is a quest for purpose.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Mar 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781483480800

Book preview

discovery.

Chapter 1

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The Past is Prologue

F utura appreciated having been invited to participate in the hike, although it was proving more burdensome than anticipated. Nonetheless, her efforts were handsomely rewarded. Fall’s vibrant graces spread far and wide with a wealth of splendid hues pleasing her eyes and crisp air filling her lungs. The climb had become surreal, something beyond the physical. As the muscles in her legs throbbed, Futura relished in the moment, finding the journey up and down the slopes of New Hampshire’s Mount Major far more spiritual than physical. She gazed in awe at the rippling surface of nearby Lake Winnipesaukee reflecting the sun in a spectacular array of shimmering light. It was a sublime vista.

As Futura and her two companions headed up the trail, she wanted to tell them how enthralled she was by the experience. Alas, she could not speak, although her hearing was very acute. Sign language allowed her some expressive communion, assuming others could grasp her meaning. Yet she was bringing up the rear of the tiny convoy and was well out of sight. It seemed rude to capture her companions’ attention via whistling. That was her usual means of saying, pay attention, but nature’s chorus need not be so harshly disturbed. A dreary happenstance of fate deprived Futura of speech at inception. Medical experts said the malady was related to a genetically induced deviation in her phonetic articulatory loop. She found the explanations tedious and unnecessary because various environmental toxins had made chromosomal anomalies commonplace in her community.

There were no regrets. Futura trooped through childhood, adolescence, and adulthood, eventually making her mark as a gifted scholar at Oxford’s Institute of Temporal Dynamics. She became the quintessential historian and a widely published author. She basked in the praise of those in the know. She was fulfilled and happy. Her vocal incapacity had one drawback: some people tended to ignore her. However, her present companions, Verity and Alexander, were tolerably attentive. In fact, they had even learned sign language. Futura found it endearing, happy evidence that true friends would do what they must to commune.

Still, it was a lonely existence. Furthermore, she was far from her native soil and timeline, albeit within an increasingly desolate and searing environment. No hikes along bucolic trails had been possible in the dead lands surrounding British Columbia’s Prince George for hundreds of years. However, its 576 meter elevation made it immune from the rising seas relentless incursions into coastal regions. Safe havens were at a premium for Futura and her kindred, and most opted for cooled air, shaded abodes, and artificial settings. To hazard a casual walk through nature was to risk health and life. Nevertheless, home is where the heart is. She especially missed her mother. When Futura was a child, her mother would brush Futura’s hair one hundred times each night and sing beautiful songs while doing so. The melodies became locked in Futura’s mind, their echoes providing comfort on lonely days.

The tiny caravan soon stopped in an opening adjacent to a small, fast-running brook. The pleasant refrain provided a welcome accompaniment to the songbirds’ chorus. As a swift dragonfly gently rested upon a rock that broke the stream’s surface, Futura marveled at the insect’s intricate wings and iridescent metallic sheen. There was no such life where she lived. She smiled, thankful for the sight. The scene was a visual ode to joy, a singular moment of rapture.

Futura sat on a lichen-covered boulder to rest and to bathe in the warm sunlight. Yes, the climb was a test, but the surrounding scenery was worth the journey. Her light blue athletic pants and matching fleece pullover had resisted the increasing chill. Still, the sun’s rays were a welcome addendum. She closed her eyes to focus on the sounds, marveling at nature’s chorus. Was there a pattern in the disparate sounds? She wondered if the babbling water and chirping birds were in harmony. Her musings were quickly distracted.

Are you sure this is the right place? Alexander whined, trying to catch his breath. His face was blotched red, and perspiration penetrated his coal-black sweat suit and dripped off his shaggy head and face. He was a stout 37 year-old who was far more comfortable hefting large objects than trekking up and down mountain slopes. Yet he was definitely not a non athletic roly-poly. Hidden beneath Alexander’s ample portage was an extremely powerful body, forged by years of heavy weightlifting and exercise. Dieting, on the other hand, was clearly not his forte.

Futura found Alexander petty and crude at times. He could also become overly emotional, which made a poor bedfellow to an essentially confrontational nature. However, it was clear that he appreciated and deeply valued her friendship, as he made countless efforts to curry Futura’s favor. She recalled her 32nd birthday party, a time of too much wine and celebration. When his eyes and hers became locked, as was the way with lovers, she felt her heart race. He was also intuitive and intelligent, which was what drew Futura to him. Alexander could read her work with understanding. In fact, he was one of the few who could accept her contention that the arrow of time did not always fly in one direction.

"Yes, mon ami, Verity is positive this place it is, Verity said as she carefully surveyed the area. Madame Leonedria has to be close by. She could not have moved the cave, not the one she lives in. Verity is certain her home is near this tree beside the petite brook, yet she cannot find it. C’est un impossible! Perhaps we should climb over the ridge."

Alexander shook his head while wiping away sweat from his forehead with a small towel. No eff’n way! he grumbled. No more climbing. I swear to God we’ve been over every damn inch of this mountain!

You cannot find anything good if you give up so easily, Verity replied. She turned to Futura and signed, Futura, are you so tired as this fat one?

Futura chuckled and shook her head. It was obvious that Alexander wanted Verity with a passion, yet Verity was ever elusive. She was a diminutive beauty, graced by curly raven hair, a deep tan, and classical Mediterranean facial features. She wore a red spandex jumpsuit and tight beige jacket that emphasized a curvaceous figure. It was an attribute Verity flaunted with gusto, a flame to all moths.

Alexander glanced at Futura and smiled. He understood that she possessed a depth of thought that few could imagine. He found that beautiful mind more than ample compensation for her verbal deficit. Nonetheless, he often pondered about the compensatory neural substrates that sustained her insights. To Alexander, the biomechanics underpinning thought were just as important as thought itself. He believed that all things had a rationalistic basis, and he was setting out to prove that point in his dissertation project. Alexander would demonstrate exactly how communication literally changed people’s minds. He thus studied the neurosciences in a depth that few could manage, including medical doctors. There were discernible reasons for all things, if one looked.

Alexander turned to Verity and sighed. How did I ever let you talk me into this? The whole idea is ridiculous when I think about it.

Why is it ridiculous to seek the good counsel? Verity shot back. Futura, she feels and loves the nature, does she not? You ask for the direction and purpose in life, and Verity needs advice from the wisest person she has ever known.

But from an old gypsy lady who sells trinkets and fortunes on a mountainside? Alexander gasped as he sucked in some deep breaths. Good Lord, I can hardly breathe.

Look at you! You sweat like the pig, Verity sneered.

Pigs don’t sweat, Alexander scoffed. Horses sweat.

Yes, but you are much fatter than the horse, Verity said. "Mount Major, she is not so tall! She is just 545 meters. Yet you cannot manage even this! C’est un shameful, Alexander. Verity says this because your friend she is, but you must lose the weight."

Futura laughed, ever amused by her friends nearly constant bickering. They loved each other, but Alexander and Verity would never be lovers given their differences. Alexander was staid and focused. Verity was effervescent and capricious. They shared passion and fiery dispositions, but that worked against bridging their differences.

As for herself, Futura welcomed Alexander’s affections, as evidenced by his letters and the occasional flowers he brought her. His was a kind soul, despite the coarseness and occasional flashes of anger. Yet Futura wasn’t sure she liked Alexander enough to break her usual reticence. To Futura, there was an ideal. Sex and love were two different things. She believed that one of the objects of life was to discover where they merged, where the plural becomes the singular. She sensed Alexander held the same view. However, Verity was drawn to any bright light that caught her eye. Ah, but Futura was happy with their shared friendship and valued it greatly.

Alexander flashed a wry grin and continued his squabbling. No friend would ask a fat man to clamber all over a damn mountain, he exclaimed. This pack I’m carrying sure as hell doesn’t help! The thing must weigh over fifty pounds. I’m ditching it for a while.

Verity chuckled. Ah, but Verity also has the pack back! And Futura, she, too, has the pack. This is no problem for us because we are in fine condition.

"You call those wimpy things backpacks? Alexander said. They’re less than half the size of mine."

And you are over twice the size of Verity and Futura together. Now stop the whining and let Verity think. Why cannot the cave we find?

Alexander heaved the bulky pack off his shoulder and set it on the ground. With a heavy sigh, he shrugged his well-muscled shoulders and rolled them backward and forward, relieved of a vexing burden. Driven by curiosity, he bent over and opened the backpack to examine its contents.

I should have watched you fill this miserable thing, he growled as he shook his head. Food! I’m carting cans, bottles, and fruit up a goddamn mountain. And I’m bringing them to a person who doesn’t seem to exist!

Oh, Madame Leonedria most certainly exists, Verity insisted. "We talked for hours on a day like this. When we find her, you will cherish the journey. Of this, Verity is sure. Plus, it is simply savoir faire to bring her the supplies. After all, she is too old to carry heavy bags up the slopes."

Alexander rolled his eyes before sealing the heavy backpack. He knew it was pointless to argue with Verity. He looked at Futura and asked, Are you doing okay?

Futura nodded, pleased that Alexander was always attentive to her needs. She could read lips, mouth words, and hear, but signing was far more precise. Indeed, she always signed when expressing herself, especially in present company, as Alexander and Verity were both able to quickly discern her intended meaning.

I am tired, Futura deftly signed. This hike is much harder than anticipated. But I am very glad we’re here. What a beautiful place!

Agreed, Alexander replied. If one has to be lost, this is the place to be. Of course, if we knew what the hell we were looking for it would help.

Most people allowed Futura to disappear into the background due to her affliction. They only paid lip service to her welfare, and she had few true friends. Life was much different where she was born and raised. There, kith and kin had surrounded her with love and attention. They easily communed with Futura, and she grew strong of mind and body. It was also a safe home, albeit far more cloistered and restrictive than she liked. Curiosity and education soon lured her from the nest and into Oxford’s prestigious halls. Yet she was to go even further afield, for Futura had sailed onto the seas of time and space. Her family had begged her to stay home, but she was on a mission. Futura would examine how relatively minor past actions shaped massive changes in the future. Hers was a flight into history’s making, one that required years of careful planning, training, and special permits. Such intrusions inevitably produce ripples, although some cases were deemed to be existential necessities. To be sure, the book you are reading would not exist if the mission was eschewed.

The technical and monetary cost of manipulating the time-space continuum was horrendous, and the bickering between the Temporal Governors and scholars left all involved at odds. However, several historical records indicated a temporal intrusion had definitely taken place involving Futura, and thus causality became the essential issue. The mission was reluctantly approved, with a temporal transition of 1,052 years taking mere seconds. Yet things didn’t go exactly as planned. It was one thing to examine the past from a distant perspective, but quite another to immerse yourself within it. Suitable records and a manufactured biography had been meticulously prepared, and Futura’s own abilities swiftly earned the praise of employers and her fellow academics. Sadly, Futura soon found herself within lonely scholarly contexts that were difficult at best. This was anticipated, but not the mind numbingly tedious barriers that stood between her and her mission.

Futura’s life became consigned to an unending series of research fellowships instead of a proper job, with her focus being the University of New Hampshire. After all, this was where the incursion took place according to the available records. Oh, the powers that be at UNH knew she was top of the class. She dazzled them with papers, insights, and theories. But how could she teach? Two attempts to do so earned very poor student evaluations. Alas, youth was often more intolerant than many surmised. Hence, Futura’s peers and superiors paid her little mind. She couldn’t truly become one of the anointed. Yet her name was prominent when department heads boasted to deans about how many papers their staff produced. In fact, her publishing record led Futura to precisely where she wanted to be, the intended focus of her historical assignment. All had been planned for her to be with Alexander, Verity, and you the reader. This was the optimal time and place.

Futura glanced over at Alexander, having to squint her eyes in the blinding sun. Alexander truly cared about her, an unanticipated happenstance. They met during a tempestuous interdepartmental conference. The subject was mass lectures versus small class settings. Futura noted Alexander was strident in defending small classes, even to the point of rudeness; he found her attractive and brilliant. Thus began a friendship bordering on passion. Alexander visited Futura’s tiny cubicle for long communions, patiently striving to learn and understand sign language. Yes, he loved her after a fashion. She mused about the future should Alexander forsake his futile quest for Verity. Perhaps he is the one, she thought, although she knew the Temporal Governors would not approve.

Alexander’s huffing and puffing pulled Futura from her thoughts. Look, I asked for your help in finding answers to questions about God, existence, and all of that, he conceded to a barely interested Verity. I took your word that this person we’re looking for is wise beyond all others. But we’ve spent hours searching, and I can barely move. Please, let’s just call it a day.

"To find anything worth having, one must spend the time and effort, mon ami, Verity chided while waving a dismissive gesture toward Alexander. She pointed to herself. Verity, she comes to this mountain many times. Only once has she come upon Madame Leonedria. But this one occasion, it was enough to change Verity’s entire life! It allowed her to see in the new perspectives."

Alexander raised his arms in frustration. Sometimes, I can barely understand your perspectives because they shift with the wind. What’s true today might be false tomorrow. It all depends on how you feel or whom you’re talking with. Verity, this Leonedria woman is an itinerant, a gypsy! For all we know she’s gone or dead.

She cannot die, Verity insisted.

Anything that lives can die! Alexander scoffed. Now let’s go back to the car! The sun is getting low. Believe me, the middle of September isn’t a good time to spend a night on the slopes. We don’t have a tent, and descending in the dark can be dangerous. Look, we have to head back.

Futura knew Alexander was absolutely correct, at least about the current situation. He grew up in rural New Hampshire and was well acquainted with nature’s vagaries. Conversely, Futura was raised in a protected subterranean environment, albeit highly artificial. There were no trees, bugs, or animals. Nor was there the threat of freezing to death or falling off a slope. She stood and stared at Verity. She hoped Verity would see the sense in what Alexander was saying. Instead, she detected complete desperation in Verity’s countenance. This was something she had seldom seen. It was disturbing.

We cannot leave! Verity cried. We will not leave! Verity must find Madame Leonedria for her own reasons. But what is wrong? This is most definitely the right place. Verity knows this is the place! Madame Leonedria, where are you? she shouted. "Please! We must see you! Respondez, s’il vous plait." Tears rapidly filled her eyes.

Futura walked over to Verity and held her hand. Alexander hovered over them and placed a hand on Verity’s shoulder.

There’s no need to get upset, he softly intoned. We’ll try again in a couple of—

Verity angrily shoved Alexander’s hand away. No, no, no! We must find her now! Her eyes were wild and frantic. MADAME, PLEASE! WE HAVE THE FOOD AND THE—

Don’t be yelling like that, Alexander said. Someone might think we’re—

What does Verity care about what the people think? Verity angrily interjected. She fought back tears, but they flowed nonetheless. If we do not find her, then Verity is … she is …

Futura looked into Verity’s frantic face and softy massaged her shoulders, offering what comfort she could. She knew Verity was fundamentally unstable, but she was a needed element in what the historical records indicated would transpire.

Alexander was perplexed. He was clumsy, not knowing what to do or say. Oh, damn, please don’t cry! he implored. We’re all tired and overwrought. But it’ll be all right. He gently grasped Verity’s hand. We’ll go back home, and try again in—

Do not p-p-patronize Verity! Verity yelled. And let go of her hand! Oh, Verity has s-s-searched and searched for Madame so many times. For seven years she carried the food and money up this mountain. And for seven years she has only the tears to show. Yet let me tell you, Madame Leonedria is here! We talked! We talked for much time in her cave. Verity knows Madame is here.

Of course she is, Alexander said, knowing how volatile Verity could become. Maybe we just picked the wrong time of year to find her.

Or perhaps ‘we’ didn’t, someone said, causing the trio to turn around. A matronly older woman was hobbling toward the small group assisted by a tall, richly carved walking stick. Her voice was strong and clear, far more so than her seventy-year-old apparent age might have indicated.

Chapter 2

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She Who Knows

F utura was shocked. She pondered how this elderly woman could so abruptly enter the clearing without having been noticed. It seemed she just appeared. But how? That issue aside, Futura knew Madame Leonedria was supposed to become involved in the unfolding events. That is what the records recovered from the Mount Lebanon Cemetery indicated would happen. She studied the old lady, with some of her former peers at Oxford contending that Madame Leonedria was a transtemporal being. A few scholars even believed her to have been involved in events stretching back for millennia.

The woman carried a large ornate handbag and wore a long, colorful dress. Futura thought the gaudily hued panels and trim were as much Mexican in style as they were gypsy. Her delicately embroidered floral-pattern blouse was covered with a tightly crocheted blue shawl that came down to the waist. A red scarf tied tightly over her white hair completed the attire. She wore a wealth of jewelry—dangling earrings, necklaces, and bracelets—that caught the declining sunlight.

Yes, she might indeed be a gypsy, Futura thought. Then Futura suddenly sensed something very odd. She discerned the old woman could comprehend her thoughts somehow. The woman smiled at her, a warm and knowing grin that seemed to melt the years from her face.

Very pleased to meet you, Futura, she said while hobbling up and briefly taking her hand. Yes, you are the future looking back. Thus the silence you’re blessed with. The writer thought he was being very clever to include you and your mission. It was an ideal means of exposition that could change a dialogue into—

Madame? Madame Leonedria? Verity interjected, her words more hopeful than sure.

You scared the hell out of me, Alexander exclaimed. Where did you come from?

Don’t we all come from the same place? Madame Leonedria replied. Oh, but I’ve been here for some time. Please forgive me for startling you, sir. I thought it unlikely that I could surprise people who were calling my name.

She reached into her ample purse and rummaged about, then finally pulled out a simple clay pipe. It was of obvious antiquity and humble design.

Could I interest you in this fine clay pipe? she asked. It was made by an Onagunga shaman over six hundred years ago. He was a progenitor of the wise and noble sachem Passaconaway. Like you, he enjoyed vision quests. This pipe gave him some limited service in achieving that end. Please feel its fine texture. Perhaps you can imagine some of the thoughts of its former user.

Alexander took the pipe and examined it closely, swearing he could feel its heat and detect the faint smell of marijuana in the bowl. This might make a fine keepsake, he thought, and pondered how much it would cost.

No, this is not right, Verity said while shaking her head. No, no, no, no! You cannot be Madame Leonedria!

Yet you can be Verity, the woman replied.

But you are too young, Verity insisted. "The white hair, bright dress, bags, and voice, they are almost the same. Yet the face, she is much younger. C’est un impossible!"

Such linear thinking, my dear, Madame Leonedria said with a smile. You should have changed enough since our last meeting to avoid that pitfall. What was, is, and will be are defined by our perspectives and not our appearances. Perhaps you’ve not been communing with Futura enough. But still, it’s nice seeing you, as it will be when I’m older and you’re younger. Madame Leonedria turned to Alexander. Now you, sir, I sense you’re a highly educated man, or at least that’s what you would have me say.

I would? Alexander replied, taking his attention from the pipe.

But of course, Madame Leonedria said. "After all, you’re writing these lines. Well, you think you are. For some reason, you want the reader to understand that you’ve studied most of the ancient philosophers. Oh, and you’ve also read many of the modern theorists, not that you find the moderns very illuminating. Please don’t have me list them. That tedium comes from your ego and not my thought. And yes, you studied the Bible and many other religious texts. Alas, you’ve failed to find much solace in these efforts. Then came a turn toward science and a long search into the physical processes sustaining thought. You garnered advanced degrees along the way and have written much.

Despite all you’ve learned, you now realize how little you know. Some might find this the first tiny step toward wisdom. Yet you’re not even sure who you are anymore! Yes, you’re as bewildered as my dear Verity. Furthermore, you’re as lost as some of those who are reading these lines. You search here and there for life’s purpose and meaning, and how best to spend your remaining time and energy. Sadly, we’re only granted a precious few moments to discover life’s great mysteries, and your moments are running out.

There’s no doubt about that, Alexander sadly said. I’ve squandered decades. Now the corporeal ‘me’ is slip-sliding away.

Though you are young and powerful in this fantasy, Madame Leonedria said. She gently touched Alexander’s face. I know how tired you truly are, dear child. I understand how difficult it is for you to craft these lines. All things follow a path, be it direct or not. You began this trek as stardust that had found a sentient form. It was dust that coalesced to give rise to the thoughts from which it came. For many years the insights garnered along your path have eluded description. Now this sublime task calls to you one last time.

Alexander furrowed his brow in confusion. Look, we just came up Mount Major to—

Oh, that’s just a plot device, Madame Leonedria interrupted with a dismissive wave. In fact, you had forsaken this trek. You were unsure how to tell a story that is beyond your capacity to express, yet you’ve always had the arrogance to commit these words to paper. She gently chuckled. It’s as if they could perpetuate some sublime insight you’ve stumbled upon. Child, to have ever been is to always be from one perspective or another, written words or not. However, you’re plagued by doubts and are forever unsure. Let’s hope those with us can discern what is meaningful from what is shallow conjecture. Now, let us get back to the business at hand. If you don’t like the pipe, perhaps this crystal is of more interest. Just a moment now.

Madame Leonedria busily searched through her bag and Futura pondered why Verity looked so confused and desperate. From Futura’s perspective, everything was history. Only time, space, and location dictated what was past, present, and future. Everything Madame Leonedria said made perfect sense.