In My Mind's Eye, I Have Died

In My Mind’s Eye, I Have Died

Copyright 2013 by
Bill Rayburn

It finally happened. After 52 years of sleeping and dreaming; after 52 years of giving my mind the free-range atmosphere of dreamland and letting it roam wherever it desired; after 52 years of playing Bruce Willis and never running out of bullets and never getting killed, no matter how overmatched I appeared to be; after 52 years I bought the farm.

I died in a dream last night for the very first time. I’d been close before. Many times. But every time I’d awaken before the final bell, my final bell, tolled. Falling from the sky, only to bolt awake bathed in sweat just before impact. Chased by vague, hazy, unidentified demons, only to snap to a sitting position with a full-body shiver from crown to sole, juuuust before they caught me.

But last night, I bought the proverbial farm. Including the barn, the acreage, the hog slop, the chickens, the horses, even the cats and dogs.
And I was absolutely cognizant as it happened. I only awoke once my brain went dark and I was dead. I literally could sense that sensation.

The logistics: I was shot in the head with a semi-automatic rifle. No booming cannon sound; a soft thwittt, then a subtle thud, like shooting into a melon, and the bullet went into my head. Here is where the actual dying gets kind of interesting.
It was a young black man who shot me. (Analysis for another time) He thought I was a cop. As I lay there, I felt like part of my brain was still functioning. Then, in horror, I realized I was trying to play dead so he would think the one bullet finished me. But my right eye opened and rolled up at him, involuntarily. I could see him. I could see my eye movement register on his face, in his small brain. Like a green signal light to a car, he saw that and pumped one more thwittt into my head, and my last feeling or thought was, “So this is what it’s like.” Then everything went silent and black. I was dead.

Then I awoke.

Stunned.

I’d been undefeated in my dreams, the 1972 Miami Dolphins of the subconscious; indefatigable, unvanquishable,and unconquerable. I was literally ‘William the Conqueror’ in my subconscious for 52 years; indestructible.

Then, of course, I had to analyze this life-altering scene. Was allowing myself to finally expire in my own mind a simple acquiescence of the soul to the obvious, final destination we all face? Was it more than that, more in the moment, portentous even? Have I given up the fight on some level, fathoms deep in my being, and this was simply the first signal of such surrender? Why now? Why, at this point in my life, would my mind tell me I’m dead?

This is a time when I wish I could be void of reflective thought. To be non-analytical. To let the dream flow over me and beyond like most if not all other dreams have. It is what it is, right? Only a dream. My subconscious frolicking at recess, freed momentarily from the restrictions of the classroom, or my conscious life. Every night it’s allowed out into the schoolyard for a game of kickball or handball or tetherball, or maybe some harmless gossip.

Or murder.