His dream was shattered by the harsh clang of the cell door. Opening his eyes, the man on the top bunk was aware of the receding footsteps of the night guard. The darkness outside the tiny, barred window gave no clue to the hour. Only that it was still night.
Beneath him, the bed jostled gently as someone sat on the bunk below.
Coming quickly to wakefulness, he lay listening. Who was his new cellmate? Should he speak now or feign sleep until daylight? He knew that actual sleep would be impossible until he knew the nature of the man below. To hell with it.
“Hey there,” he said in a low voice. A brief silence followed.
“Hello,” a wary voice answered. “I am Jacques. And you?”
“I am Claude.”
“Pleased to meet you Claude. I am sorry if my arrival woke you.”
“Ah, so am I! I was dreaming of the most wonderful place.”
The bed shifted again. Jacques stood up, his head a dim gray blob in the darkness to Claude’s left.
“Claude, do you have a lamp?” asked Jacques. He spoke in an odd, detached voice.
“I have but a single candle. The guard lights it for me in the evening but once I blow it out, I must wait for morning to see again.”
“Oh,” said Jacques, sitting back down again. “I have a cigarette and I wished to share it with you.”
Claude smiled in the darkness, relaxing slightly.
“Thank-you Jacques. We will smoke together when morning comes. For now all I can suggest is sleep.”
“Is that your escape, Claude? Sleep?”
“No,” sighed Claude. “Dreaming is my escape.”
Several minutes passed. “Goodnight,” Claude whispered softly, thinking perhaps his new acquaintance might have gone to sleep.
“Do you love to dream?” Jacques whispered back.
“Ah yes. Sometimes those places seem more real than this accursed cage.”
“Aren’t they?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean don’t you ever wake up in your dreams?
“Wake up from my dreams?”
“No. I mean waking up IN the dream.”
“Oh, I know what you mean! Yes! There are times when I suddenly realize that I am dreaming. When that happens I can make the dream become whatever I wish.”
“And what do you do when this happens?”
“I fly! Always I go outside and I fly through the air.” Claude was smiling now, his head filling with the memories.
“That is real freedom isn’t it?”
“Oh yes. There is no better freedom. I only wish I could experience it whenever I want.”
“But you can, Claude.”
“What do you mean?”
“How do you wake up in your dreams?”
“Well,” said Claude, thinking, remembering, “Usually it begins when I notice something is not right. The last time, there was an iron latch on a door that I knew should have a wooden knob. This causes me to ask myself whether I might be dreaming. Then I test things. I see if I can float or make something appear in my hand. If this happens, I know I am dreaming. I know I can fly.”
“Well my friend, here is a little clue. If you find yourself asking whether a place or a thing is real, that means it is not.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that true reality is readily apparent. Ask yourself if this is real now. Are you dreaming you are in a prison cell or are you really here?”
“Ahh. Yes, I am afraid this place is all too real.”
“Okay, so you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I will try to remember that in my dreams.”
“Good. It will truly help. Now Claude, do you know what the next step is?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I am talking about the layers. What you call real now may be just a dream to someone who is more truly conscious.”
“What?”
“I mean that you can wake up from this dream that most people think is real. The great mystics call it Awakening with a capital “A”.”
“Now you are talking like a crazy man.”
“No! I am serious. If you can wake up from this dream, you will have power over it. Just like you can in your dreams. Then you will be able to really fly!”
Claude sighed to himself. His hopes of finally having an intelligent conversation fading. His new companion was just as crazy as the last one. Outside the window, the first pale rays of dawn crept into the sky. He sighed again
“Okay, Jacques. Whatever you say.”
Sitting up, he swung his legs over the edge of the bunk. “Soon the guard will be here with our breakfast. Then we will smoke that cigarette of yours.” He leapt to the floor, wincing from the chill of the cold stone on his bare feet.
He turned to face his new cellmate. “Jacques?”
The bottom bunk was empty.
He was alone in the cell.
“What’s wrong dear? A bad dream?”
“Sort of, I guess,” mumbled Jacques, sitting up in the bed. “I was in a prison or something.”
“Well you’re free now,” murmured his wife, putting a warm, soft arm around him. “Now lay back down and go to sleep.”