Do I Know You?

I had a dream last night of a past life, not my own past life, but that of an older man from the past who lived in a shack near a mountain top. It was a rustic-looking shack. Not weather-beaten, or dirty, or shabby. But it suited him. Every day, he sat in a chair outside his front door so he could talk to anyone who passed by. A man who had very little, but he gave everything he had to others if they were in need. I think it was a dream, I’m not sure of anything at this moment. It seemed so real, but at the same time, it felt weird and wonderful. I felt as if I were floating in the air, not too high, just enough so that my feet were not touching the ground, as if I were walking on a cloud. I felt a calmness I had never felt before.

He never thought about keeping things for himself. He needed so little in life to find happiness. He just wanted to make things better for everyone around him. The only thing he asked of the villagers was to pass his kindness forward to others in the same way he had done for them. If somebody needed food, he would tell them to pick what they needed from his garden behind his shack, which grew an endless supply of vegetables and fruits. The villagers were amazed at the older man’s green thumb, even though they had never seen him in his garden. He explained to them not to take more than they needed because that would have been selfish.

“There is always a lesson to learn,” he told them.

If someone needed a chair to sit on while he told one of his tales, he would build one for them out of the wood he found in the forest nearby, just like the chair he sits in outside his front door. He loved telling the stories his mother had passed on to him about kindness and being honest with his neighbors. I knew that I had never been to his home before, but he greeted me like an old friend as I approached his dwelling.

“Do I know you?” I asked calmly.

The older man had salt-and-pepper hair that reached his shoulders, a bushy gray beard, blue eyes, and bushy eyebrows, and was probably in his 60s. I was twenty-one years old and just starting my life. He asked me if I wanted a chair to sit on and join him for a tale. I felt like I had done this many times before, but I had not. I knew where the chair was, but I don’t know how I knew this. I walked to the edge of the shack, turned the corner to my left, and carried back a chair just like his and sat facing him.

People would come to his small cabin to sit and listen to his stories about kindness and the importance of caring for others. He always told his tales with excitement and humor. But most of all, he said, “Always tell the truth; there is nothing more important than telling the truth.”

As more townsfolk stopped by each day, he built more chairs so they had a place to sit. The villagers worked hard to care for their families and deserved a moment to sit, relax, and enjoy each other's company.

One day, there were so many people stopping by that he asked them to go into the forest and collect fallen tree limbs so he could teach them all how to build a chair. One for themselves, and one for an elderly neighbor, so they would have a place to rest their tired feet. This taught the townsfolk that giving to others without asking for anything in return is a selfless act of kindness.

Many strangers came through town after the word about this older man started to spread. Everyone wanted to talk to him. They felt a sense of inner peace after speaking with him. One of the strangers was a writer. A man who loved to tell others of his journeys as he walked from town to town. Not all of his stories were truthful. Most of them he liked to, let's say, fabricate on the truth somewhat. Because of the goodness he saw in this older man, he would make up stories about him.

He told a fable about the older man, explaining how he could create things simply by wanting them to happen, and how gifts appeared in the villagers' homes because he wished them to do so. He could stop wars, he could stop hatred, and he could prevent evil things from happening because once somebody met him, they thought only of good, and they didn't want to show animosity towards others in his presence.

Over time, the stories about him became more eccentric, recounting how he could create miracles. These stories spread quickly throughout the town and beyond its borders. Suddenly, people began believing in these stories, but none of them were true—the only truth was the goodness that emanated from this man. The writer meant no harm by the stories he created; he was a storyteller. And why he chose the title he did, he doesn’t know why; it just popped into his head one day, just as his stories did.

The writer compiled all his stories about the older man, wrote them down in a book, and titled it the Bible. And in this Bible, stories that he made up about this man, but were based on a truth, a truth that this man was kind, caring, giving, and this is what he had hoped humankind would become. However, some people didn't share the same belief in goodness as this older man did; they began to use his ideals of goodness to create hatred and wars over the years and centuries.

However, the people who believed these stories contained in the Bible started gathering in large congregations to honor him. Some followed the Bible as if it were the only way to live life. However, the man who spoke to these large crowds was spreading lies to get the people to follow him in the name of this older man and to steal their money. Then, others who began telling their version of what they believed these stories meant, which contradicted the man speaking to these enormous gatherings, started a war over the difference in their beliefs.

“My truth is the only truth,” said the man speaking to the masses.

Over the years, decades, and centuries, numerous versions of these stories and beliefs have emerged. Although these stories are not entirely true, they originated from a deep-seated truth of kindness that has evolved into many different beliefs.

But on the night I had this dream, it didn't feel like a dream at all. It felt real, sitting and talking to this older man. He told me throughout his entire life that all he wanted to do was spread kindness to everyone he met. Even though we came into existence at different times, hundreds of years apart, we didn't feel strange talking to each other. He felt like an old friend, and when he put his hand on my shoulder, I felt a calmness that I had never experienced before, and I felt safe sitting next to him.

I explained to him why I couldn't believe in the man that everybody calls God, because of what it has manifested itself into over the centuries: hate, wars, evil, lies, and criminal activities in his name. I knew there could not be a person or a being named God.

He told me he had never asked anyone for money, and he had never asked anyone to gather in masses to honor him.

“I like to tell stories to the people who come to my home,” he said.

I conveyed to him how people gather in buildings every Sunday and put money in a tray in his name. So many people in these religious organizations are becoming very wealthy because they are spreading lies that exist in this book called the Bible.

“Do you have a son?” I asked.

“No, I have been single all my life,” he replied with a chuckle.

I told him the story from the Bible about Jesus being born to a woman named Mary, who was married to Joseph.

“I would never have relations with a married woman,” he added.

Before it was time for me to go home, he told me that if anyone was spreading rumors about him, the first thing to know was that his name was not God; it’s Michael. I smiled.

“I was named after my father. But if there were a God, that would be my mother, because she taught me to do good. All I have to do in life is be kind, honest, caring, and truthful with my fellow human beings. She taught me that we are all created equal; we were all put on this earth for a reason, and that reason is to do good, not to create hate or start wars. It is my duty, as a man, to be kind to everyone I meet,” Michael told me.

I sat quietly in front of him, not being able to speak. I was in awe of his words. I wondered for a moment if he was the son I asked about, and his mother was god. But that can’t be because I am not a religious man, I don’t believe. Then I thought for a moment, but I do believe in Michael. A tear came to my eye.

I shared with him all the horrible things that have happened in my lifetime, which is why I could never believe the stories in the Bible, because they are more unbelievable than the science fiction books I read. I told him that I did not understand how people know that science fiction books are not factual, but they believe the stories they read in the Bible as fact, when those stories are more unbelievable than a science fiction novel. He smiled. I knew while I was sitting in front of his shack with him, we were from different times, but it didn’t seem to matter. I understood him, and he understood me.

“Who are you?” Michael asked.

“What do you mean, who am I?” I uttered.

“Who are you?" he asked again, caringly.

“What do you want to know about me?” I asked hesitantly.

“Tell me who you are? You came here for a reason,” Michael replied softly.

I felt safe telling him. I knew he wouldn’t judge me.

“I’m gay,” I said as tears entered my eyes.

“What does that mean?” he asked inquisitively.

“I am a homosexual,” I answered.

“What does that mean?” he smiled at me.

“I like men,” I smiled back at him.

“So do I,” he chuckled. I couldn’t help but chuckle along with him.

“No, I mean I like to have sex with men. I am attracted to men,” I added.

He looked puzzled.

“That’s nice,” he stated, still looking a little puzzled.

“I like to have sex with men,” I said again.

“I understand! Do you love any of these men?” he asked so caringly.

I was quiet for a moment before speaking again.

“Yes, yes, I do. His name is Nathaniel,” I said as my heart beat a little faster.

“Does he love you, too?” Michael said with a grin.

“Yes, he does,” I uttered.

“Do you still have sex with other men?” he asked inquisitively.

“No, just Nathaniel,” I stated happily.

“That’s good. You should only give your body to one person.” Michael smiled with a devilish grin.

“But there is no harm in having fun on your way to finding that one person,” he chuckled.

“Have you told anyone that you love, Nathaniel?” Michael asked.

“No,” I replied sadly.

“Why?” Michael wondered.

“Because people hate us and want to hurt us for being in love,” I added.

“Why would anyone want to hurt you for loving someone?” Michael asked.

“Because they say it’s not natural,” I added.

“It is the most natural thing in the universe to love someone. Love, kindness, compassion, respect, honesty, and understanding toward others are all innate qualities that we possess. Your brain doesn’t choose who you fall in love with; your heart does. When your heart skips a few extra beats when you look into someone's eyes, that is the first sign of love. It doesn’t matter if it’s a man or a woman, only your heart knows, and your heart will tell you. So don’t worry about what other people think. Just continue to be an honest, loving, and caring person. Be yourself, you're perfect as you are,” Michael stated with an enormous smile on his face. I returned his smile.

I told him that I think it's almost time for me to wake up. He smiled as if he knew this already.

“I'm not sure how I know this, but it feels like it's getting to be early in the morning when the sun rises, and that's my favorite time of day,” I told him.

I didn’t want to wake up because I wanted to talk with Michael for a little bit longer, but I knew my time was up.

“I hope I wake with the wonderful feeling that I am experiencing sitting here talking with you, Michael,” I uttered happily.

“You will,” he replied.

“So this is a dream?” I asked.

“No, this is real. You came to visit me, and I am so glad you did. I have wanted to meet you for a long time, but some people take longer than others to find their way to my home,” he said with the largest smile I have ever seen.

He told me to be on my way. As I walked down the path towards the sunrise over the mountains in front of me, when the sun hit me sharply in the eyes, I was about to wake up with the most calming feeling I had ever experienced in my entire life.

“Am I going to remember every part of this dream, like it happened?” I thought to myself.

“Yes, yes, you are. And remember, this is not a dream,” I heard Michael's voice ring out from behind me.

“What if I want to talk with you again?” I asked Michael.

“Just talk, I’m always here. You don’t have to go to a special building, and you don’t have to give any money. Just talk to me. I will always hear you, Joshua,” Michael said softly.

“You know my name,” I replied, surprised.

“Yes, Joshua. I told you, I have been waiting for a long time for you to visit me,” Michael responded.

As I walked down the path towards the mountain's edge, I could see the sun peering over its peak. The light hadn't quite hit me in the eyes yet; it was hovering around me like a shimmering light. I turned back one more time to say goodbye to Michael, and as I did, he waved to me one last time, opened his front door, and went inside. I turned around to look into the bright sunlight. The sun hit me in my eyes, and I slowly woke, lying in my bed as the sun came through the corner of the curtains where it meets the window, and the sun was hitting me in the eyes like it does every morning. I could feel Nathaniel lying next to me. I woke up calmer than I think I have ever been in my entire life. I had a big smile on my face. A chuckle came out of me, and the first words that came into my head were, “Thank you, Michael.”

I don’t know if I was imagining Michael’s voice or not. But, as I sat on the edge of my bed, wiping the sleep out of my eyes, I heard him say, “It’s okay to be who you are. You are perfect, Mom said so.”

“Thank you, Michael,” I uttered one more time. “And say hello to your Mom for me.”