Unforgetable Dreams I have had.

 The Back Door to Religion (Early 1980s, Green Bay, Wisconsin)

While I was attending college in Green Bay, Wisconsin, I had one of the most vivid and spiritually charged dreams of my life. In it, I found myself on a pilgrimage, somewhere in India, walking across a vast field with hundreds of other seekers. We moved together in silence until we came upon a wall of rocks and were compelled to turn right, continuing our journey along its edge.

As we walked, we chanted OMMMM...—the sacred syllable resonated so powerfully in my chest that I felt like a human dynamo. The vibration shook me to my core, filling me with a strange, energizing clarity.

Along the path, I began to notice human skeletons—scattered bones lying abandoned on the ground. As I moved forward, the bones gradually took shape, assembling into recently decayed bodies seated in meditative posture. Further along, they appeared more intact, like preserved yogis in deep meditation, shriveled and ancient, as if they'd been sitting there for centuries, holding vigil against time itself.

Then, without warning, a door materialized in the wall. It wasn't made of rock—it was something else entirely. I was drawn toward it, irresistibly and stepped inside.

Within, the atmosphere shifted. The sitting figures were no longer skeletons but living beings—still gaunt, but breathing. As I continued, they appeared more youthful, more vibrant. I passed through chambers where young monks sat in silence or chatted amongst themselves, light-hearted and full of life.

Suddenly, another door burst open to the side. I was thrust into the bustling heart of India: chaotic, noisy, rich with smells and heat, just like scenes from a movie. And then I woke up—drenched in sweat—with one clear sentence repeating itself in my mind:

"You have entered religion through the back door."

Dream of Being Lord Krishna (Early 1980s, Green Bay, Wisconsin)

Around the same time during my college years in Green Bay—perhaps influenced by a Comparative Religions course I was taking—I had a dream unlike any other: I was Lord Krishna.

In the dream, my mother had abducted a child, an infant she had taken from somewhere. I was trying to convince her to return the baby, using calmness and persuasion, appealing to her heart. What stands out most vividly was the moment I decided to show her the origin of the Universe. With a swipe of my hand, like some divine film director, I projected the cosmic sequence of creation across the wall—slide after slide, each one unfolding the grand design of existence like a celestial video reel. I was not just telling her—I was revealing the nature of reality itself.

Then came the demons. They descended from above—dark, grotesque beings, each more surreal than the last. But I was not afraid. My blue-skinned body radiated power, energy coursing through me like lightning. With effortless grace, I met each demon’s form with a playful counter: those with enormous fangs I tied up like they were made of rubber; those with massive ears I twisted and wrapped over their faces, rendering them harmless.

It wasn’t a battle of violence—it was a dance of wisdom, playfulness, and divine creativity. Through it all, I felt divine. I was filled with a god-like awareness. The dream ended with that feeling still coursing through me: the power, the compassion, and the infinite lightness of being.