July 16, 2013
I’m with Papi. I remember talking with him for a long time as we walk along a dark walkway of sorts. He’s wearing a dark-brown suit. We’re deep in a conversation, the subject of which, based on my responses, is my belief in my immortal soul. I clearly recall formulating my thoughts and saying something about our cells flowing through the darkness of our blood like stars in the universe. My exact words elude me, but I point out that the odds are a million to one, actually much greater, that this incredible creation which is my body and my self is a mere “coincidence” generating consciousness. Deep in this conversation, we keep moving and end up sitting down at the end of this elevated walkway, with Papi on the edge facing me. Once again, I remember replying clearly, very lucidly, to his persistent questions, which are more like a challenge. I am really with Papi because I realize I forgot, or didn’t care to remember, how much it annoyed and angered me when he gestured dismissively at something I said he seemed to consider ridiculously naive, literally waving his hand in a repelling gesture. After he does this a few times in response to my replies, I get up and slap him hard on the right cheek. “Papi, stop it!” I cry. In response, he puffs out his cheeks, smiling at me with an oddly jocular defiance, and goes on in this strange dual vein of grilling me with questions and scoffing impatiently at my responses. Finally I sit down on his right, very conscious of our black “clothing” touching/merging in the darkness, and conclude, “Papi, how can you keep denying what I’m saying when we’re having this conversation in a dream!? Obviously, it’s all true!” He looks sideways at me and gives me that broad special Papi smile that never fades in my memory. The moment is a star of lucidity, it’s the only way I can describe it. His smile feels like the equivalent of the stars my grade school teachers used to paste on the top of my A+ papers.