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

PART FOUR: REUNIONS

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

Artemisia placed her hand on Max’s shoulder and, smiling while staring deeply into his eyes, said, “I see myself in you.”

Not knowing what else to do, feeling on the cusp of losing his moorings in sanity, he completed the circuit and replied with a faraway voice tainted with self-conscious irony, “I see myself in you.”

For someone of above average intelligence, Max thought, he had a way of being extremely dumb. Given that Maxwallah was his twin, it should have been screamingly obvious their mothers had to be twins as well.

Turning to Maxwallah, Max said in a surprised voice that indicated his level of discombobulation, “I thought you said Artemisia was your teacher.”

“She is my teacher.”

“But she’s also your mother. Why on earth don’t you call her ‘Mom’ or something of the sort?”

Maxwallah grinned and Artemisia laughed. It was the first time Max had ever heard his mother’s laughter—yet, outrageously, it wasn’t even his mother.

“I respect the wisdom teachings that have been passed down from the Heywah,” said Maxwallah. “An apprentice always refers to his medicine teacher as such—even if the teacher is his mother.”

“But you called her your mother in your story about riding a horse as a child.”

“She was not my teacher then.”

Max simultaneously became aware of two things that made his already dizzy head spin faster. For starters, he had been speaking in perfect Tay-wo with his hosts without even realizing it.

And to make matters more surreal, a large bobcat—complete with a spotted brown coat, long whiskers, and gray-tufted ears—was rubbing up against his leg. “Do not be frightened,” said Artemisia. “Fey-leh is as tame as a lamb.”

“What should I do?” asked Max, staring down apprehensively at the oversized housecat that seemed to have found a new friend in him.

“Pet her, of course. Between the ears.”

Max reached down and, hoping Fey-ley wouldn’t go rogue and bite off one of his fingers, scratched her head gently. She closed her eyes and leaned her full weight against his boot while purring loudly. “She likes you,” observed Maxwallah.

“She probably thinks I’m you.”

“If only that were true. Fey-leh has never cared for me ever since I accidently stepped on her tail when she was a kitten.”

“Come,” said Artemisia. “Both of you could use a hot bath after your long journey—which I am eager to hear all about. In the meantime, I will help Mardah finish preparing dinner.”

“What are we having?” asked Maxwallah.

“Mesuque.”

“Excellent. My favorite.”

“What’s mesuque?” asked a hungry Max.

“Shellfish stew served over rice,” replied Artemisia.

“Sounds fantastic.”

Max was dimly aware of other humans busy on the premises. On their arrival, an older man had quietly led Aru-melo off toward what he imagined from its outline was a stable.

Another, oddly familiar young man (though not familiar enough to place in the unsettling aftermath of Max’s arrival) with a tan, hardworking face had passed them on the porch with a polite nod before shutting the wooden front gate.

Everyone’s clothes, from Artemisia’s long blue dress to the men’s dark woolen jackets and pants, had a decidedly medieval flair at odds with Maxwallah’s (and for that matter, Max’s own) more tribal look. As he was ushered inside, he wondered if his and his twin’s clothes were a throwback, an homage to Heywah culture that was intended to be part of their training.

Fey-leh trotted along just ahead—proudly welcoming him to her home—as the door closed behind him and he attempted to take in the warm, bright, aromatic interior.

He stood gazing around a foyer of sorts interconnecting the primary parts of the vast house with its burnt sienna floor tiles, white plaster walls, glowing stone lamps, and high reciprocal ceilings held up by raw timber framing.

To his left, a slightly ajar door led to a hallway. Just ahead, he perceived cooking smells from what must have been the kitchen. And to his right, a high archway granted access to a huge living room with a kiva fireplace, comfortable-looking leather couches and armchairs, and a thick wool rug with elaborate geometric designs.

But that wasn’t all. There was also a framed oil painting of considerable size hanging on the wall beside the kiva. On the verge of disbelief, Max was drawn to it like the proverbial moth to the flame. It was a lifelike portrait of his father!

Shaking all over in front of it, the light from the fire flickering in his face, he experienced his second emotional dislocation in a matter of minutes. First, his mother had practically come back from the grave. And now, his missing father was suddenly larger than life in front of him. “I … must … be … dreaming,” he stammered.

The combined effect of these shocks to his system, like a devastating one-two punch delivered by a prize fighter, was simply too much for Max.

Overwhelmed, heart racing and cheeks flushing, he suddenly felt extremely lightheaded—and was only vaguely aware of swooning like a kite with no wind into Artemisia’s sage-scented arms.

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.