TSOAT Dreams: The first one: TSOAT Dreams, #1

By Wilbert Dela Cruz

The sum of a thousand dreams, believes, anyone can write a story, mathematically though, not all stories can be written, like the series of stories that are about to be written on this one, for instance, can only be inscribed, in dreams, because there are some dreams, we are only meant to borrow.  And so, I too would like to borrow you attention, to investigate with me, the innermost depths of the human heart, where dreams are born, and where destiny calls out to those, who dares to make their dreams, into a reality.    Through this novel series, the journey will dive into the many different streams of love; how love endures through adversities, how the heart learns to sow the right seed, and how one becomes stronger when they are weak—to reap a better tomorrow from the days that has yet to be realized, and through it,  how one can rise from the ashes of his broken dreams.  This is a love story—a story that speaks of love, not as the mean to an end, but as the light that lit his new beginning.    

  

These books are a coming of age stories, focusing on the fortune and the misfortune of a very young kid, name J—de, and how his lost became the very same road, that paved, his way back to where his heart has always been.  This is a journey about love, building a home, growing as a family, and the friendships he got to treasure in his heart.  This is about faith, and how his faith enabled him to see the unseen, and how he uncovered the impossible things in life, as a mere matter of waking up outside the boundaries of the human soul, and to dwell into the promises, in the Holy Spirit.  In his dreams: He had a chance to add them all up, to the sum, that had led him to one place: Home

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wilbert Dela Cruz
• Release date: Jun 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637324868

Book preview

TSOAT-Dreams:

THE FIRST ONE

Wilbert Evangelista Dela Cruz

Copyright © 2020 Wilbert E. Dela Cruz

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-63732-487-5

Anyone can write a story, although, not all stories can be written; a story like this one, for instance, can only be inscribed in dreams

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

INTRODUCTION

Our story begins, the same, as to how all the other beautiful stories usually begin, inside an empty page, dampened by a deadening sort of void, a wind blows and suddenly, here it comes, life unfolding from within the very first word, like a seed germinating from a still, small, voice.  I mean, come on! Who else would’ve thought such a life, in a voice that was so small and so soft, anyone could have just as easily missed it. . . Except, of course, I didn’t, and I heard it all, right down to the tiniest of its flicker, a few milliseconds later, grew into a thunderous spark, and when it was already deemed, inescapable, exploded out onto this magnificent blaze, and somewhere within the midst, she was there, surrounded by a radiance, I have never seen, before, and hmmm! She was looking straight at me . . . The girl of my dreams. Is that you? was all I could say, but I knew then how I will never be the same, again. Believe me, when I say, there was no one right word to classify her but as simply beyond comparable and brilliantly beautiful in every possible way, and I could not help myself, but imagine; how she reminds me of a candle from a birthday cake. I mean, she can certainly make everything about my life, lit perfectly and amazing, and aah! just like your everyday ordinary candle, one second, she was right there, and the next, poof! She was gone—just like magic. How can anyone else ever justify the full significance of that and her being gone? I could certainly never again bear the thought, I had to do something or else, which I did instantaneously, and soon enough after, I found myself staring face-to-face with a different, kind of reality. Okay, I’m not trying to be funny here, and I certainly do not want to be a comedian or anything; but just the same, allow me to explain to you, the punch line: As it turned out, I was never the one sleeping or even asleep somewhere, nor was I ever the master of my dreams. Like I said earlier, somewhere within the blaze, I was beguiled, and it had never occurred to me that the girl of my dreams was, in reality, a dreamer of mine, in that, I was merely the one, looking in.

I hope I didn’t confuse you, although sometimes you’ve got to admit that is pretty much how life generally works, and at other times, life has never been about the rules but whether there was ever, even one to begin with.  Sometimes, the greatest life that comes to a dreamer, has nothing, at all, to do with his dreams, or on dreaming them, but everything points to how he eventually wakes up from out of them.

Chapter 1

The Voice

And the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept, and he took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh instead thereof; And the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto the man.~ Genesis 11:21–22 ~

"A w! Can anyone else, look, as beautiful as you are, at this moment? " was the words that have captivated my mind ever since I was four years old, and now, I can’t believe, it is going to officially happen.   She is going to be mine, my best friend in the whole world   .   .   . is going to be my wife!

Hi there, have you ever met a happy man? I am not talking about a man who can easily transfix a great big grin on his face and can laugh out loud like the best of them. No, that would be, too easy for anyone to fake, but I want to rather, introduce you to a man, who can personify, happiness within its fullest essence, born through the brim of his eyes, even his face would have had no choice but to yield infallibly to it.  If your answer is a big NO, then allow me to introduce you to such a man; but unfortunately, the only way I could make that happen is by guiding you into one of his little stories . . .

In the beginning, there was a man. He was the greatest of all men because he was the very first one . . . The first to have ever seen love to its finest moment and to have ever breathed life onto its most uncharted glory. One day, this man was led into a deep sleep, and from that sleep, he became the very first dreamer, and if you are also a dreamer just as I am, you may have also heard of his story as he, one day, awakened from his, and into a new world where his dreams became the beginning of the rest of his life.

I must say, I too woke up one day hearing the most stunning voice I have ever heard, and believe me, when I say, I was floating as if I was in heaven.

Good morning, handsome.

Wow! You seem to be in an especially good mood, today. What is going on, and what is that?

You mean these, right? Hmmm! I am sorry, Hun—honey! I can explain . . .ump! Yeah—okay—you see; I could not keep my eyes shut last night, and . . . I thought about, you know, . . . writing something, and so I kind of went through your drawer, over there, and I found these instead, and the funny things was, I just could not seem to put them down—but wait, Did you write these?

That! No—I mean, yes, I mean, maybe I did, but not really.

What . . . did you or you didn’t?

Will you believe me if I were to just say I may have jotted down a few things, and if you consider that, like writing, then I guess it’s up to you, but I considered them as nothing more than a self-seeking intervention.

Wow—Hmmm! An intervention, you say—from what exactly?

From you!

Hey—now, what do you mean?

Okay, sorry, that may have sounded wrong.  I guess I needed an outlet to express just how much, you have truly inspired me, and I felt like, I had to do something, you know? It is mostly about what happened last week and because of that ring on your finger, there and our special moments under the moon, remember? And how happy we were, and believe me, I have never felt as happy as I was at that very moment. It was like the hungriest I’ve ever been for love, and I wanted more of it, and when I slept right beside you, my mind was even hungrier than I was, and I suppose, it had a buffet-full of happy thoughts, and my dreams, ate it all up, and there you go, I wrote them down, in that

Hmmm! Really? So, you don’t mind if . . .

Of course not, and besides, I wrote it for you.

In that case . . . I might as well read them out loud.

A wise man once told me a secret, but you know me with secrets, and so here goes: the wise man was my dad, and regarding his secret,  . . . well, he said it had something to do with love that is so extraordinary, it gave birth to the whole idea of dreams as we know of it.

Hmmm! I guess you weren’t just kidding when you said you wrote this for me, huh?

Well, that’s the idea.

Ummm! You’re so funny, and that’s why I love you so much.

It was not exactly the same kind of love we have all grown accustomed to reading about in books or get to watch on the televisions. Oh no, not at all. This one puts love into the driver’s seat, and this time around, love gets to wear the mask of the seeker. That is not even the good part. The design, he said, was so idyllic, it expanded far beyond the heart’s silent whimper; but it was completely summed up from a lost belief that speaks of love, not as the means to discover our destiny as such but as the mere starting point as to where destiny itself gets reborn into a million pieces. I didn’t quite get what he meant by all of that, at first, but I thought it sounded quite remarkable nonetheless, and I may have also argued with the old man and insisted upon my—own, interpretation: It’s just simple mathematics, Dad. And as far as the whole equation goes, this is where I take you to such a moment and onto such a young man’s heart desperately crying for interventions. This, I believe, is his story and the journey that will hopefully lead him to the one true love he almost forgot he always had.

"I’ve read up to this part already, earlier, and I must say—Hun, you got me intrigued. I liked it, but . . ."

"But . . . what is up with the but . . .?"

Well, in the beginning, I truly felt as if you were talking to me directly, and then I lost you.

You lost me?

Uh-huh! I mean, I practically know everything about you—your mannerism and the way you talk—and as I was reading them, your voice somehow, sounded a little bit different.

Honey, you’re the one reading, not me. How can my voice change?

Well, you said you wrote it for me, didn’t you? So, while I was reading, I was also trying to imagine them in my head as if you were the one reading. I mean, listen to these.

—Intertwined, explicitly beneath the mantle of the full moon, our story shines upon a young man. Instantly, I was drawn to his eyes. They were just too frantic looking and heavy and, as for his body language, too disorganized to hold himself together.  In—fact, he was wobbling all over the place, in the middle of the courtyard, just about midway across one of those garden-style bridge décor thingies, you know, the kind with a bridge that hovers vertically over a beautiful pond, that one. A few seconds later, he became oblivious to the world around him the moment he focused upon a couple that had just walked in. Well, his eyes became so attached to the girl, as he also mumbled some random queries into the wind, and then collapsed suddenly onto the pond. He fell into a deep sleep, coincidently shattering all glimpses of himself in me . . .

See there, that’s not you—you don’t talk like that, and wait! I do not understand. So, what you are telling me is, there is this guy, and he somehow collapsed and incidentally fell asleep, and then he became you? You should’ve just said he was you in the first place.

But I wasn’t him in the beginning.

What? So, who was he then, and why?

Okay, okay, honey! Those are great questions, but for now, just think of him, or me, whichever, as someone who fell asleep, and he’s trying to tell you who he is and where he thinks, he might be and everything that he was seeing inside.

Okay then . . .

—A large amount of time had come to pass, and honestly, I am still lost from all form of proverbial things. All that I can conceive was waking up, and there was absolutely nothing. Distraught by the thought of being trapped on this indiscernible cocoon, I yelled frantically as loud as I could carry them, but only to no avail. There were no drafts of any other sound, not even the slightest hint of an echo bouncing about, and absolutely no other flickering of any sort of life. The bottom line is, there is a good chance I may be talking to you as a dead man . . . or perhaps I may still be with the living, heavens forbid, but just detached from a certain point of connection. But wait, I know, hmmm! That is, it—I may as well be blind. Oh no, but then, why can’t I remember anything, and why do I have this feeling as if someone else is in here? The mere idea of which entraps me further in and confuses me because what I fear most of all is also the one thing that gives me hope . . . I do not like the whole idea of being, alone.

Surprisingly, just as I finished considering my last thoughts, random parts of the darkness started lighting up, and I can almost feel the warm breeze coming in and out, like a vacuum. Then, there was a voice, and there I was, thinking, I did not say a thing. The voices were very daunting, and they may be more than a couple of them, while there was this one, which reminded me of a train, coming to a great halt. It’s weird, I know, but I could not help but think, there was something else inside the light, like a picture.

What name shall I call thee? Aah! Yes, I shall call thee, dandelion! When the voice said the word dandelion, a light sped away and returned, like a bonfire, and a flower appeared before my eyes, but also instantly disappearing quietly into the blackness. And you, a winged pillar! And you there, a butterfly! Oh! Yes . . . yes . . . that is a butterfly, it is so beautiful. I was born alone, wearing only a smile as I lifted thy veil of immortality. What is this? "Is that what I think it is . . .? That is love, it is—isn’t it? I was sent here alone with the purest intentions." The sight was a bucketful of tulips and roses; they were almost too beautiful to watch, and then the voices stopped and did not speak again until very much later.

Well, I’m not exactly sure how much later I waited, but there was a point where I might’ve as well begged, and then finally, I don’t understand why all of you are here, especially you. A new voice came as an alternative, and it was quite particular in mannerism, and it struck me like a nail that’s consistently being tapped inward on top of my forehead as if the voice was taunting me somehow. It’s you, I remember you, and you were in the car, too—where I was—Yeah! I remember.

I do not know what or who it was, but I sensed a great surge of emotions that could only resemble the same cold breeze I’d felt a little while ago. I was angry, I was scared, I was curious, I don’t know what to do, but I do remember thinking, "What! Who do you remember exactly . . .? Was it me? Do you know me? Are you talking to me? Where are you, who are you, and who am I? Please tell me who I am and what car are you talking about? Is there a car here? Where? Show it to me, please.

Even the whole thinking part was kind of weird because I can no longer differentiate, thinking from talking, and for the most part, I couldn’t tell whether it was truly me what was talking or if it was someone else and considering where I was, there was no other way of knowing, for sure. So slowly but surely, the voices became more and more unpredictable.

Mommmmmm, Dadddddd, where are you?

Wait, please, don’t go.

What?

There you are, Dad, but it’s so cold, and I don’t think I can do it. I’m going to drown for sure.

But not today.

Who said that? The voice uttered one last thing, before its echo, overshadowed the void.

Now, that, the sound of the last voice mirrored exactly what was on my mind, that was you, right? That was you, right? Then, there were two voices, which sounded almost, the same. No . . . No? The voice started mimicking every other word I thought of, but then, he did not, anymore . . . So, that was me? one of the voices answered, No, it’s me. Another answered as if he too wanted to join the party. I can speak because I am, at that instant, I remember feeling, chills—running down my veins. I was scared in the same way that I was curious, and so I told my mind to think bolder things. Who are you then? "I am you? The voice said but with a little more conviction, and sure enough, just as he said it, something finally felt right to me, so, I might have also believed him. He was me, but then he was not . . . "I am not you. My name is Eric. No, I am John. My name is Paul. I am Joe, and I am Charles Deville. It is Vladimir here? No, my name is Henry . . . Henry Everlast is my name. This is Roy. Hey, I am Gilbert."

Then the darkness was flooded by thousands of lights—running, and moving about, to a certain rhythm like the ticktock-ticking of the clock, a whole sixty seconds, maybe, tap, tap, tap, and each one spoke, claiming to be who they say they were, and each one transcends exclusively with its own—frame of definitive timbre and personality. I am Adam . . . I am Lamech. My name is Cain. I am Peter. I am Mark. Call me Anthony. I am Oliver. This is Clarence at your service. Hey, I am Kobe. I am Chan. I am Javier. I am Joshua. I am Luke.

"I’m Alvin. I am Arnold. My name is Dennis. Hey, I am Don. I am Jon—Jon. I am Marlon. I am Ralph. I am Will. This is Julio, and Jesse is my name . . ." It went on and on to the point where I was left aside to bear with a heavy burden, alone. I saw myself being reflected a dying bird, angry for being hungry because I came late for the early breakfast, exasperated and groggy but very much starving for any spiritual intervention, and the voices fed my mind with questions, and each question was too addictive. I had to listen in, to every word. I was one of them, or was I . . . all of them? Yeah, I think I was them, I am. It was exhausting. My emotions changed like the weather, shifting from one person to the next, whereas each one speaks with his exclusive bags filled with emptiness. I’ve never felt so helpless and lost like that, and so there I was—clueless, concerning my own void, and suddenly, I had to deal with thousands more of them, while each is just as personal as my own, ever was.

Hello, could somebody answer me?

Please, no, no, not again, I thought.

I’m just right here. I’ve been here waiting for you.

I was just going to say that . . .

What?

What are you doing?  Get out of my head.

What?

—There was a huge moment, where I may have completely lost it because as for whatever the reason was, I felt a storm was coming. And sure enough, there was this loud whooshing sound that sounded long but simply got thinner as it grew nearer. I turned to the voices for guidance, but all I could hear were the noises. I got scared once again because I had nowhere else to go, and the worst part yet, I had nowhere to hide, and at the same time, I was still trying to figure out what it was that might be coming, and the darkness never felt as dark as I waited and waited and waited.

The noise then multiplied into two Bang-bang! Imagine my surprise when I heard them. It was like firecrackers banging the sky on a Fourth of July celebrations, except I could feel them inside me, and they were grumbling like thousand, hungry, drummer boys, hyper and so vicious and lucid to the point that I can almost anticipate another pair coming . . . to something else entirely different in tune, somewhat like a hammering sound, sounding like trouncing at something, I was familiar with; a sequence, Thug-thug! Thug-thug. And during all of this, every time there was a banging, a wave of other floodlights followed.  Each bursting out of nowhere, perpetuating in a way like how a movie projection would light up the sky.  It was like watching a million upon millions of movies all happening at once, in a three-dimensional format, nonetheless.  The definition of the