my religion

Los Angeles Memorial  library was branch, across the street from L.A. High school. One day I combed the bottom fiction shelf with no particular book in mind choosing a book called "The Monday Man". As I read, it was as if I could 'feel' the book, the wife Sylvia animated more than just a character. I hitch hiked a ride on Wilshire Blvd only to be picked up by the author. I asked him what did he do, to his answer, what did he write; "The Monday Man" was his answer. My mother Rose died in my arms on Saint Patrick's Day, 2005. We had never been close. Mother had traveled the world and enjoyed TV so I had it on tuned to the news which was covering the war in Iraq. She drifted off resuming her conversation with the people only she could perceive as was her time-she was 88. As I listened she said, "Isn't there anything you can do for the boy." A day later, after she died, I found myself in an Laguna Beach anti-war rally. A hospice worker had been assigned my mother and she took on cleaning the kitchen which was not in her pay. The last woman had been cutting corners.In her bedroom, I checked in on my mother who said, "I see a dirty rag just as the woman in the kitchen had holding a dirty rag. Mother also said she was going to be made over as in a TV makeover on the other side. My first crush was my orthodox Jewish neighbor David. I had always wanted to kiss him but by my age of 15, Hollywood influences were to strong and he was, it turned out,  an arranged marriage to Holly. But I dreamt one night a dream that was definitely beyond dreaming. I saw us together kissing and I knew he was there with me in the dream. A few years later, I did kiss finally kiss him and he said, "just like the dream". I had a plane a few years ago that had to circle back to Denver so I ended up stranded for a ni8ght at the Red Robin in Burlingame. I went over to the Double Tree for breakfast thinking it would be nicer. Behind me was a hard copy book of the "Morning of the Magicians" as the restaurant had a built in library. I went home only to open a letter from my friend Wendell who is an avid reader reviewing "The morning of the Magicians". I sometimes have insomnia and I passed into a seemingly deeper level of consciousness after not having slept for a week. I awoke 'over there' in a place sharper and clearer than waking life on cliff side rung between the  cable stations of an aerial tram in my body only as I knew it at 17. I fund myself at what I now recognize as the Palm Springs aerial tram where my sister had said I had rode as a girl of 8. I had not remembered. After leaving my sister I saw "Into The Wild" in Santa Barbara only to recognize the character at the same tram. We had a shady character living next door to us that I dreampt entered my apartment one night. The next day, the neighbor on his side said to his mother, "Smokey is walking through walls again". At 10, I breached spider webs suspended between a jade plant hedge in our yard out of boredom in the afternoon hypnotized by the escaping baby spiders. I now realize this was not great behavior. 20 years my son on our same family street said out of nowhere, "that is terrible what you did to those spiders; opening those webs". my son had two past life remembrances one as Iranian, one as Egyptian. The former at 6, he relating that he was terrified of water after having to bail out of a helicopter as a soldier over a river. At 12, with a high fever, he saw that he had been one of the pyramid builders. He felt that past life community had such a hold on him, their presence had permeated waking life. At 9, a friend of ours taught him simulated flight only to tell me in earnest, "he has flown before". I had a freak out when I was 13 listening to Alan Watts just because the philosophy was too mind expansive for me. At 45, I met a woman who said that she was pretty close to Alan Watts having been on his boat. Out of nowhere she suddenly says, "you were too young, you were not yet ready for that information".