The morning of Tuesday, October 3, 2017 I entered a dream immersed in a puzzle-like game. I called it “Blue Hunter.” It was a kind of child’s game but all of the players were adults. The game was played in rounds. Each round, you were assigned one of four colors:
Depending on your assigned color for that round, you had certain rules you had to adhere to and goals you were trying to accomplish. Certain colors, particularly blue, chased down other colors similar to the game of tag. The other colors were trying to get somewhere and the blue individuals would try to stop them.
It wasn’t as straightforward as tag though. You could only navigate certain ways depending on your assigned color, similar to Pac-Man being able to navigate off-screen through a passage that the ghosts can’t enter, or a mouse darting into a hole where a cat can’t follow.
One of the key landmarks in the game was a square-shaped single-story building. I would enter through a door and find myself on the top landing of a staircase, and I could descend underground. The stairs were arranged such that there were 4 landings and 4 flights of stairs between one floor and the next. In other words, if you descended 4 flights of stairs, you would find yourself directly below where you started, like this:
Depending on your color you could get off on a certain floor or continue farther down:
- Green could exit the stairwell only on every other floor.
- Yellow was completely blocked off from using the stairs. However, other nooks and passageways exclusive to yellow let you move about the playing field.
- Red was very restricted, especially as the rounds progressed. Many paths were blocked off to you and there was a sense of danger about that color, like you were being especially hunted. Individuals of this color often hid themselves away behind red doors, which were exclusively for them to use. I remember a childhood friend was oftentimes “red” and if he found me on “his” floor he would be angry.
I would have loved to remember all the rules. It was an amazingly well designed set of rules with a seemingly perfect balance between all the colors. With a fair playing field, it became very competitive and was at times aggressive. There was some wrestling and also a use of weapons intrinsic to the game. Nothing was permanently fatal or anything. We just kept resetting and starting a new round like a video game.
While this game was novel and interesting, it wasn’t the point of the dream. Its purpose was to point me to something else. These dreams I receive seem to reveal something new to me, but packaged in a way that I can understand and grasp. God humbly meets us at our level of understanding, such as when Jesus taught about the kingdom of heaven using parables about farming. My childhood was rampant with hours spent playing video games, and so it seems Christ was meeting me where I was.
Eventually I solved the puzzle, navigating through the maze in the right order, and arriving at a final room. In it were many individuals I recognized from my personal life. One of them wasn’t playing with us (to my knowledge) but he told me a couple words: “mism” and “mimism.” I never heard these words before but I shot awake from that dream and knew in my heart what it meant.
A mism is the name for the “spiral-like” episodes I had at MysteryLand (explained in my story) where I spiraled into what seemed to be a deeper level of consciousness. More specifically, mism is the name for entering into the state, and mimism is the exiting of that state.
These two words, in their uniqueness (I couldn’t find them in any human language) also fall in line with the belief I have of an angelic, divine language as one in which there is a word or phrase for everything, such that confusion doesn’t ensue, as happens all too often with human languages.
While I experienced misms and their eventual mimism repeatedly at MysteryLand, under the influence of drugs, I always felt my visions there came from something deeper, not from my body’s physiological reaction to LSD.
Mism sans LSD & Five Dimensions
“I announce to you what is guessed at in all the phenomena of your world. You see the corn of wheat shrivel and break open and die, but you expect a crop. I tell you of the Springtime of which all springtimes speak. I tell you of the world for which this world groans and toward which it strains. I tell you that beyond the awful borders imposed by time and space and contingency, there lies what you seek. I announce to you life instead of mere existence, freedom instead of frustration, justice instead of compensation. For I announce to you redemption.”—Thomas Howard, Christ the Tiger: A Postscript to Dogma
Almost a year prior to this dream, I had a dream the early morning of Tuesday, November 29, 2016 where I experienced a mism just as vividly as at MysteryLand. No drugs involved. I shot awake around 4AM to capture as much as possible about the experience. This experience in the dream helped me recall how the misms went down at MysteryLand.
The misms always started when I had some deep, introspective thought. I remember saying, “Wait a minute,” or, “Hold on,” to hush those around so I could think without interruption. I’d start going into deeper thought, deeper than I’d ever thought. The deepest thought, really, that my little human brain is capable of.
The mism begins when a sudden gelling of many unanswered questions in my mind come together, by the grace of wisdom, to answer each other and to complete the last puzzle piece in my mind. A new direction for reality sets in where I am more aware of God and his mysteries. The now-former perspective of reality peacefully resolves because a deeper understanding of divinity has been attained, by God’s grace.
It’s as if I’ve become more aware of what lies beyond the four dimensions of space and time, and it’s time that the current chapter closes. I am ready to embark on a new springtime, a refocused path in my life where my former self, in a sense, has died. While I remain along the same string of reality, I become visually aware of a fifth dimension: what I like to call the dimension of contingency, which is defined as “a future event or circumstance which is possible but cannot be predicted with certainty” (New Oxford American Dictionary).
God gave us free will, and therefore contingency (possible different futures) must exist. We move about in our three-dimensional space but we, in our physical confinement within that space, are continually jettisoned “forward” in the fourth dimension, namely time. The “direction” of the push (time) is the fifth dimension of contingency, in which we make certain choices and it reshapes reality. I air-quote “forward” and “direction” because they are analogies. It’s really mind-bending to think about dimensions beyond the first three, so spatial terms like “forward” and “direction” help in conveying the relationship of the dimensions with one another.
I say all this because the apparent shift in direction of reality is where the spiraling starts. The fabric of all contingencies are layered adjacent to each other in a spiral pattern. It’s as if my mind and spirit are flying through infinitely different contingencies, as if each contingency was its own little hair-like barb of a bird’s feather.
The mimism—the exiting of this spiraling—is experienced as a deceleration that settles on a new contingency, which was always different from the one I came from. The longer that I traveled through the spiral the more that reality changed. The contingencies became more and more refined too, as if I was approaching a more perfect reality; a better existence was being realized by more perfect decisions, which led to more ideal contingencies.
The former and new realities always plopped me in the same exact position in space. Spiritually though, I feel I had aged significantly, and that’s a good thing, like a secret pipe in Super Mario Bros where you jump ahead several levels instantly. Although in some MysteryLand misms, I was able to see glimpses of realities that headed in the opposite spiritual direction, towards the dystopia of a hell-like existence.
At MysteryLand, The misms stopped when I was interrupted from thinking by others, hit a wall in my reasoning, or when I had to make a decision (set out on a contingency). Not that I think I would have kept moving to ever higher realities had I not been interrupted, but rather that the very interruption is exactly what was to occur in that new contingency, like hitting the ground running.
The different contingencies never betrayed the laws of time. For example, let’s say that, an hour ago, I chose not to write this article and instead watch funny cat videos for an hour. That decision would have led to a different reality than my current reality. In both of these realities though, they end with me, an hour later, sitting at my computer. Those are two different realities, each realized by their own unique contingency, which is like a string by which space and time “travels.” Again, “travel” is an analogy; my choice to “travel” along a particular contingency does not necessarily mean I will physically travel in three-dimensional space. Even inaction is a choice. At every point are making decisions, so we infinitely move through different contingencies.
By grace, in a mism I am able to visually see and experience the shift from a former reality to a new reality, much more profoundly than simply reminiscing on my day yesterday. My senses are completely suspended from the former reality as I spiritually and emotionally graduate to a new reality.
I’ll offer a couple analogies as I try to wrap my head around this experience more fully.
The contingencies are like threads of the same piece of fabric. At times, contingencies may overlap, but if you look at the entire length of a single thread of reality, it always exists as a unique thread, just as your life and all of your decisions form a unique thread through the fabric of time and space.
The misms seem to accelerate my path by sending me on a new thread headed more directly for Christ, while mysteriously retaining the history of my former thread.
The idea of jumping into a new reality or traversing a new thread also makes me think of our lives as traversing a tree. The tree splits into many branches, symbolic of the many decisions we must make in life.
In the case of MysteryLand, I see the misms as divine intervention; God saw me rotting away, not bearing any fruit as a dying, dead-end branch, and he carefully cut me from the dying tree, and grafted (attached) me onto the stub of a healthy tree to bring me new life. Over a few months, the health of the new tree purged away my old lifestyle and brought me new life.
It reminds me of Saint Paul’s letter to the Romans. Here he speaks of Gentiles (wild olive shoots) being included in God’s salvation in place of fallen away Israelites (cultivated/natural olive shoots). Nonetheless, the analogy of grafting as a means to provide new life is powerful.
[…] if the root is holy, so are the branches. But if some of the branches were broken off, and you, a wild olive shoot, were grafted in their place to share the richness of the olive tree, do not boast over the branches. If you do boast, remember it is not you that support the root, but the root that supports you. You will say, “Branches were broken off so that I might be grafted in.” That is true. They were broken off because of their unbelief, but you stand fast only through faith. So do not become proud, but stand in awe. For if God did not spare the natural branches, neither will he spare you. Note then the kindness and the severity of God: severity toward those who have fallen, but God’s kindness to you, provided you continue in his kindness; otherwise you too will be cut off. And even the others, if they do not persist in their unbelief, will be grafted in, for God has the power to graft them in again. For if you have been cut from what is by nature a wild olive tree, and grafted, contrary to nature, into a cultivated olive tree, how much more will these natural branches be grafted back into their own olive tree.—Rom 11:16-24, RSV-2CE
There are many warnings not to persist in unbelief. I am sure that if I were to fall back into unbelief and turn away from him until the bitter end despite all his grace, it would be my ultimate doom, and he’d justly cast me off this new tree. I would deserve it.
God, through infinite love, however, has helped my unbelief and he wants to work through me to help others in their faith. He wants me, and everyone, to bear fruit in his name on our branches of life. And may we not boast of our fruits, but realize they are only made possible through the root, our God.