This is an important and timely question explored in the highly acclaimed spiritual novel, SNOOZE: A STORY OF AWAKENING, winner of the 2015 National Indie Excellence Award for New Age Fiction.
Written with young adult and young-at-heart readers in mind, SNOOZE further proved its literary merit by being selected as a 2016 Readers’ Favorite International Book Award Finalist in the Young Adult-Coming of Age category and receiving an Honorable Mention in the 2014 Beach Book Festival Prize competition in the General Fiction category.

Now for the first time ever, this epic visionary tale is being officially serialized—in both readable and audible formats.

You’re invited to join—either with eyes or ears—Max Diver, a.k.a. “Snooze,” along the razor’s edge of a quest to rescue his astronaut father from a fate stranger than death in the exotic, perilous Otherworld of sleep.

This inspiring tale interweaves a plethora of paranormal and metaphysical subjects, from Bigfoot and enlightenment to the Loch Ness Monster and time travel via the Bermuda Triangle.

In her review of SNOOZE published in INDIE SHAMAN Magazine, June Kent had this to say about what she described as “superlative fiction”: “Engrossing, entertaining and occasionally humorous, SNOOZE also takes a look at a wide range of subjects including levitation, telepathy, lucid dreaming, spirit animals, parallel universes and shamanic-like journeying, giving a wide range of information effortlessly absorbed as you enjoy the story as well as much food for thought.”

If you’d like your own downloadable review copy to share your thoughts via Amazon, Goodreads and elsewhere, read details and contact the author with your request.

Naturally, your generous review would be greatly appreciated even if you simply enjoy the full text now being presented on this blog and numerous podcast platforms. Keep in mind that paperback and ebook versions are for sale. A complimentary online version is also available for your reading pleasure.

IMPORTANT: Be sure to follow Snooze 2 Awaken and/or Sol Luckman Uncensored for alerts as new chapters of the 84 in total that make up Max’s extraordinary story become available.

Sweet dreams!

SNOOZE: A STORY OF AWAKENING

By Sol Luckman

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

Maxwallah was seated next to the freshly kindling fire staring pensively at a black feather he was twirling by the quill between his thumb and forefinger. When Max stirred and stretched, his twin said, “Someone is up early.”

“Someone else is, too.”

Judging by the twilight, dawn was still half an hour away. Seeing his breath while yawning, Max sat up and warmed his hands over the licking flames. “Where did you get that feather?”

“It woke me up.”

“Come again?”

“It landed on my face while I slept. When I opened my eyes, the raven who gave it to me was gone.”

“I thought ravens keep to their roosts at night.”

“They usually do. That is what I find so intriguing.”

“Maybe it’s a sign.”

“It is undoubtedly a sign. But how to interpret it?”

Max stared at the feather only to realize it was the same type as those used to fletch his twin’s arrows. “Well, ravens fly,” he yawned.

“What of it?”

“Maybe it’s time for us to fly—the coop, I mean.”

“As in, move on?”

“Yeah. Like, today.”

“I was thinking the same thing. I have taught you everything I had to teach—and you are clearly ready to complete your initiation.”

“If I decide to.”

“Of course.”

With the fire beginning to blaze, Maxwallah added several large pieces of wood.

“What exactly is … to be gained from completing one’s initiation?”

“What is to be gained from anything? It is ultimately up to the experiencer to glean benefit from the experience, is it not?”

“The love you make matches the love you take.”

“Beautiful sentiment.”

“It’s not original. It’s from an old Beatles song.”

“Beatles?”

“A famous group of musicians back in the day.”

“They seem very wise. In a similar vein, completing one’s initiation is an ongoing process that does not end—but only begins—with a ceremony. I think of it in paradoxical terms, as I do of life, as a process of completing a never-ending process.”

“So what’s the point if the process never completes?”

“Your Beatles said it perfectly well.”

“To cultivate love?”

“Yes. Love is the energy of creation. It accelerates the evolution of our consciousness and the flowering of our potential, allowing us to become creators in our own right in the mold of Great Spirit.”

“Wait a second. Are you saying the energy I’ve been using to do all these miraculous things is just … love?”

Maxwallah laughed. “Just love? Love is the font of everything: the Cave of Origins, the Way of All Things, the Circle of Life. Love is the primary energy of creation. Great Spirit himself is love in its purest form.”

Max recalled the biblical statement, often repeated cryptically by his Aunt Nadine, who seemed to understand it about as well as he did, that God is love. Now, for the first time, he glimpsed what this phrase actually meant. “But why can love be so destructive? I mean, I wiped out a jork with love.”

“Creation and destruction are two sides of the same coin, Maxwell. Without one, there cannot be the other. We see this teaching throughout nature’s workings: in birth, death, and rebirth. Consider your Reciprocal Theory.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“It is not ours to judge the Way of All Things—but to follow it until we master it.”

“Is that what happens when we complete the Circle of Life—we master the Way of All Things?”

“We acquire a level of mastery. You might say we take a step closer to becoming Great Spirit—and in so doing, become that much more involved in carrying out his work.”

“What is Great Spirit’s work?”

“To shine a light for all those seeking to return to the wholeness of being that is love.”

As if on cue, the sun crested the tops of the pines. Its intense rays shined directly in their eyes, temporarily blinding them. Squinting and blinking, they both chuckled at the serendipity. “Great Spirit moves in synchronistic ways,” observed Maxwallah.

As his eyes adjusted, Max took in the state of the tower. It looked like a warzone: ash-covered and blackened from the burning of the shelter, with jork and human bloodstains on the paving stones. “Speaking of moving, I think we’d better shake a leg.”

“I agree. Let us start by getting you properly attired. Off with your poncho!”

“But it’s cold!”

“All the more reason for you to remove your poncho. You will be warm again in no time.”

Max sighed and did as directed. The morning air was definitely bracing on his exposed skin, but it also made him feel alive and invigorated. Reaching in his pack, Maxwallah handed his twin his new hide shirt.

“Thanks. This is very kind of you.”

“You are welcome, my brother.”

Smelling fresh leather, Max slid the shirt over his head. It fit snugly but well—and the sleeves were just the right length. “Wow. You could be a tailor.”

“Thank you. But I do not have the patience to be a tailor.”

“Maxwallah, you have more patience than anyone I know. How do I look?”

“Get up so I can see.”

Max stood up and spun around like a runway model. The shirt felt light yet warm—and very durable. Maxwallah nodded approvingly. “Now put this on,” he said, handing Max his sword in its scabbard attached to a leather belt.

Max threaded the belt through the loops in his jeans and tied it in front. “How do I look now?”

“Like a dashing young Heywah warrior.”

“You mean I look like you?”

“Yes.” Maxwallah winked. “Just not as handsome.”

“Maybe someday you can teach me how to use this sword. Right now it’s decoration only.”

“I would be honored.”

Getting to his feet, Maxwallah placed the raven feather in the inside pocket of his poncho. “When I have the chance, I will use your arrowhead and this feather to make a special arrow to commemorate our meeting.”

“Like the Hanged Man.”

“Pardon me?”

“The Hanged Man card. Where I first saw you just before you appeared in my dream. From the Tarot.”

“Tarot?”

“Look who’s repeating my statement as a question now.”

“Sorry. So much about your world is new to me. What is Tarot?”

“A system of divination in the form of a card deck.”

Maxwallah let his twin’s words sink in. “My picture is on a Tarot card?”

“Yeah. Holding an arrow.”

“How very strange.”

“You’re preaching to the choir. Some ancient person carved my face on a statue.”

“Our face.”

“Whatever. Are you ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

“You mean leave Muru-amah?”

“Yeah.”

“Almost. But first, I need to prepare some breakfast. It would be foolish to undertake the crossing of the Red Mountains on an empty stomach.”

“Good idea. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Where are you going?”

“To sit on the moon.”

“Keep an eye out for predators.”

“Don’t worry.”

Max did his business behind the lane of cherry trees. Afterward, he hurried on through the brisk autumn morning, occasionally passing Sasquatches who nodded respectfully, until he arrived at the Pyramid of the Moon.

Two young Sasquatches appeared to be guarding Rolling Boulder’s grave from scavengers. Max politely exchanged nods and, with a cautious look around, began climbing the steps.

He could feel the pyramid’s energy vibrating his molecules well before he reached the apex. By the time he sat down on the topmost platform gazing out over the Inland Sea at the wall of wildfire smoke in the distance, he was positively buzzing.

The lunar energy of the Pyramid of the Moon greatly amplified his own energy. Before he even had time to think about what he was doing, surrendering with love to an inner directive, he heard his innate tone in his mind.

It came unsummoned, naturally, like a rose blossoming at the appointed moment—and it rang louder and louder as the Cave of Origins appeared and the lines of resonance grew like tree roots inside him.

Allowing the energy to pool in his palm, rather than projecting it outward, he was able to “spread” it like lotion—enveloping his body in a shimmering, translucent membrane that reminded him of a caul around a newborn.

Fully enclosed by the energy at last and looking out through it as if from inside a rainbow, he thought, “Up.” And up he went.

He didn’t exactly get airborne before landing with a gentle thud where he started. Actually, he only levitated a few inches. Still, it was enough to realize this was how to go about flying.

Copyright © Sol Luckman. All Rights Reserved.

Introducing Sol Luckman’s new visionary novel, CALI THE DESTROYER. Learn about the single most censored story in the history of the human race—and why it matters today.