On the
Astral Plain last night, I encountered my dead brother. I was lucid, and said
that I was dreaming, as I usually say to people when I’m lucid in the Astral.
He shrugged it off, as they usually do also. So I had to tell him. I told him, “You
died, Jacob. We lost you.”
No reaction.
Then I held him close to me (we were sat down) and I wept a bunch of good ole’
tears. When I felt myself wakening, he disappeared into wherever the Astral
Plain leads to. Beyond immortality, if you ask me. Anyway, I held the place
that he had vacated, the place he was just residing in, and I wept some more.
His parent appeared, my Dad and my Step Mum, and they were busy searching for
him all over the dreamscape. “Jacob!” they shouted. “Jacob, where are you?” But
he had gone. My grief was exceptional, but the burden of a parent’s grief was
too much to bear, so I decided to wake myself up and escape the pain. It felt
majestic, in a way. The best part of it all was holding him when he wasn’t
there. I’d helden the empty space he’d once occupied, the special place in my
soul he left behind, and before that had happened, I hadn’t even been aware
that I was grieving.
Holding empty
space. Where he used to be. I miss ya’, bro’.
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