Growing up, they always told me you could see your future in your dreams. Unfortunately, they never said which dreams were meaningful, and which ones you’re supposed to ignore.
The other night, I fell asleep and communicated with my old friend Lenny, whom I hadn’t seen since we were both 7. Here’s what we talked about:
L: Hey Chuck, nice pants!
C: They’re just khakis, but Lenny! How’ve you been?
L: Well, khakis are a big improvement from those sweatpants that made your ass look like you were trying to sneak a dodgeball out of gym class.
Actually, I’ve been dead.
C: What did you say about my ass?
L: Hey, what are you, deaf? I said I was dead.
C: Oh yeah.
L: Christ! You’re still no smarter.
C: What do you mean dead? You’re the same age as me.
L: Age doesn’t matter to a Topeka-bound Greyhound, my friend.
C: OK, then how come you’re talking?
L: Well, I’m not really dead. No one really dies. I’m just on the other end of a black hole.
C: Huh?
L: Sheesh! This story is really getting tiresome. OK. Here’s what happens. When you “die,” your soul gets vacuumed up into the nearest black hole and goes into Universe No. 2.
C: Universe No. 2? You mean this isn’t it?
L: No, we have plenty of other universes. There are 137 to be exact. Your soul just keeps getting sucked up black holes when you die.
C: How do you know that if you’re only in No. 2?
L: Well, when you get to the second universe, you’re born with all the knowledge you accumulated during the first life, plus a new understanding of the ways of being.
C: So what about religion?
L: Actually, most of the pious people are pretty upset when they get to No. 2. But after a few lives, they calm down. Hey, you’ve got 137 to get through. A lot of people, I noticed, get pretty uptight about their first life, thinking it’s the only one. After that, though, most people chill out.
C: Most people?
L: Yeah, most. Of course, there are still some wing nuts out there. There isn’t any money or real power in any of the other universes, so organized religion can’t really get off the ground.
C: No money or power, eh? What’s it like, then?
L: Well, there’s no money or power here because all 136 of the other universes have pretty simple objectives to them. Like here, all of life is a series of Ping-Pong games. Then there’s the bowling universe, the skee ball universe, et cetera.
C: Wait a second. All existence is a series of games?
L: See, now you’ve got it. You first universe-ers are awfully slow.
C: Why games?
L: Well, when you enter the second universe, you learn that being, as it were, is supposed to be fun. Either you have fun or you miss out. Of course, there are some general guidelines – you can’t just hit your opponent with a mallet in the croquet universe – but generally it’s all for enjoyment. Nobody keeps score, and there are no giant boards to the side with a bunch of numbers indicating who goes to the next universe and who goes somewhere else. Everyone plays, dies and plays again.
C: But what if you don’t really like a certain activity?
L: Hey, no one says you have to participate. You can just lie down for seven or eight decades, or you can always commit suicide.
C: Suicide?
L: Sure! I know it sounds kind of drastic, but if you can’t find any people with whom you enjoy playing, and the game doesn’t really interest you, getting out may be the best thing for you. Like I said, no one really dies, they just move on.
C: What about crime? What do you do with stuff that isn’t covered in the rules of a particular sport? What if somebody wants to go on a killing spree?
L: Oh, man! Here we go with this one again. OK, first of all, it’s completely impractical. For instance, in the tennis universe, where are you going to put the bodies? On a tennis court? People are playing on those. Besides, most people know that killing someone doesn’t have any real benefit. You’re both going to die and meet up again in the next realm anyway.
And for the few psychos out there … well, after a few lives, most people realize there will always be guys with a screw or two loose around, no matter what. Then, we just ignore them. A few of them actually get better.
After a while, it begins to work out that those who are bent on killing wind up slaying the very people who are bent on suicide. There is such balance in nature.
C: That’s a lot to digest. How are you able to learn so much when you get to No. 2?
L: Actually what happens is you receive an implant of what looks like a giant computer chip at the back of your head. Actually, it resembles a hatchet.
C: Really! What about people who die of hatchet blows to the head the first time around?
L: In fact, that’s the only time you repeat a life. In that case, you come back as another person. That accounts for the really eerie deja vu feelings some people have. Not the everyday “wasn’t I hear before” stuff, but the really spooky stuff of legends. If you meet any of those people, you can safely assume they’ve been through severe head wounds.
C: How come they wait until the second life to let you know about all of this?
L: Well, it appears to be some sort of inconsistency in the core atom. That answers the question of who, or more precisely, what “they” is, too.
C: I didn’t ask that one.
L: I know, but just listen. Chuck, you haven’t changed. Just let conversations run their course! I certainly hope you aren’t going into the communications field.
C: I, uh …
L: Oh well, at least you have 136 more chances. Anyway, “they” is the core atom, which was found inside one of the pockets in the billiards world. It controls everything, but it’s not perfect. But who said perfection was what we’re after?
C: Is that why we don’t have a game, here, either?
L: Ah, but you do have a game, but most of you aren’t really adept at figuring out what it is. That’s not surprising, given that most of you don’t know how to play the game, either.
C: So? What is it?
L: It’s the game of love. That’s all No. 1 is. All you have to do on your side of the black holes is to love one another. All the other stuff is extraneous.
Plus, it’s the same game in No. 137, too. Only it’s better then, because everyone one knows what they’re doing.
C: So all the war, greed, aggression, tension, worry, hate, malice, depression …
L: … is all pointless.
It was at then that I heard the query, “Will you still be seeing much of your wife when she isn’t seeing any of your hair? Ask our operators at 1-800-HAIR-LOSS.”
Ah, thank God for alarm-clock radios!

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