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 SEVENTY-THREE

“Where am I?” wondered Max, slowly coming to with blurred vision as if he had been asleep for ages.

“In a safe place,” replied a woman’s soothing voice, “where you are welcome indeed.”

Max heard the crackling of a fire and—raising his head from the cushioned arm of a plush leather couch to find Artemisia seated smiling in an armchair beside him—immediately remembered where he was.

“I am afraid you fainted.”

“Yeah. I do that sometimes. How long was I out?”

“Not terribly long. It is still evening.”

With a bit of a jolt, Max realized he wasn’t alone on the couch. A heavy ball of fur he recognized as Fey-leh was curled up asleep and purring away on his shins.

“I have never seen Fey-leh take to anyone as quickly as she has taken to you.”

Recalling Tuesday’s tomcat, Merlin, with whom he had bonded the instant they met, Max said, “I seem to have that effect on cats.”

“I wonder why.”

“Maybe they can sense I don’t like cats.”

Artemisia, appreciating Max’s wry sense of humor, grinned disconcertingly with his mother’s mischievous grin. “Maxwallah was right.”

“About what?”

“He said you were funny.”

“Speaking of, where is he?”

“In the kitchen having a bite after his bath.”

“You have an amazing son. I’m sure you know that already. He saved my life—and taught me a lot.”

“He said exactly the same of you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Max sat up stiffly. Fey-leh, startled awake, looked at him with a dazed expression—only to crawl up into his lap and immediately fall back asleep.

“That’s not my father, is it?” he said, meaning the portrait on the wall of a man identical to his father dressed in woolen clothes standing on the prow of a sailboat.

“No, Maxwell.” Artemisia smiled painfully, then sighed. “That is not Thomas Diver. That was my husband, Maxwallah’s father, Jonah Ily-bintu.”

“Was?”

“Ten revolutions around the sun ago, he was lost in the Inland Sea while attempting to save a member of his crew who had fallen overboard. His body was never recovered.”

“A member of his … crew?”

“He was a sailor. A ship’s captain, in fact, who was twice elected governor of Aru-vato Province.”

The striking similarities between Jonah’s tragic fate and Captain Diver’s weren’t lost on Max. Artemisia’s words had sliced him like a knife, exposing his own memories of loss and grief. “I’m truly sorry, Artemisia. I had no idea.”

“Thank you for saying that.”

“It must have been devastating for Maxwallah and you to lose him.”

“It was. We were a close-knit family. It took some getting used to indeed when your father appeared barely three revolutions around the sun later.”

Max recalled Maxwallah saying that Captain Diver’s unexpected arrival had been a “shock” for him and his teacher. Now he knew why. “You don’t think your husband by any chance—”

“Traveled to your world like your father traveled to mine?”

“Yeah.”

“Sadly, no. I am quite certain he drowned. I saw him in a dream.”

“Or a nightmare.”

“Actually, having undertaken the Great Crossing, he seemed at peace. The look on his face was one I only saw when he was sailing.”

“The Great Crossing. I’ve heard that phrase before. What does it actually mean? Somehow, I don’t think it’s as simple as a synonym for dying.”

“You are perceptive. No doubt you are aware by now that a person born in our world has a twin in your world, and vice versa?”

“I’m starting to grasp that. It would seem the reciprocal relationship between the material and cosmic sectors requires this to be the case.”

“We refer to these pairings of a body and its soul as dyads.”

“Makes sense. But why would our entire families be paired the way they were?”

“Dyads cluster in familial groups to ensure the biological and energetic similarity of the dyads themselves.”

“Right. Otherwise, it would be difficult—if not impossible—for twins to actually be twins.”

“Exactly.”

Gazing into the fire, Max considered this information, which cast the trendy concepts of “soul mates” and “soul groups” in a completely different light. He had always thought such notions were just new age nonsense. “I still don’t understand what is meant by the Great Crossing,” he said finally.

“Are you sure you wish to discuss this right now on the heels of your long journey and emotional upheaval?”

“I’m sure.”

“So be it. When we die, we leave our own world and enter the Otherworld. This voyage is the Great Crossing. Upon its completion, our life essence is reabsorbed by the other half of ourselves.”

“By our twin, you mean?”

“Yes. By our twin.”

It took a moment for the radical implications of this phenomenon to penetrate Max’s swirling consciousness. “That would mean …” he began slowly and thoughtfully.

“Go on.”

“… that my father reabsorbed your husband.”

“And?”

“You reabsorbed my mother.”

Silence. Only Artemisia’s intense eyes indicated the accuracy of Max’s observations.

“That’s crazy,” he said.

“Then life is crazy.”

“I’m supposed to believe that somewhere inside you is my mother?”

“Her consciousness, yes. Her tastes. Her memories.”

“You actually remember things from my mother’s life?”

“I realize this must be hard for you, Maxwell.”

“It’s certainly not easy.”

“What can I do to make it less difficult?”

“Tell me something. Something my mother remembers.”

“I have only been able to access her memories in fragments.”

“So tell me some fragments.”

Artemisia sat up straight, closed her eyes, and took a long, slow breath. “I see … a beach. A wide beach. I—I mean, your mother was wearing an orange bathing suit.”

Into Max’s mind popped the photograph of his mother with Andrew Icarus on Misquamicut Beach he had seen in the professor’s office. Sure enough, her bathing suit had been orange. “What else?”

“I see … a metal thunderbird like the one your father rode into this world.”

“An airplane?”

“If that is the word for it. Your mother loved to fly inside it.”

“That’s incredible. She built her own plane herself.”

Artemisia reopened her eyes and smiled. “There you have it. I know it must be hard to believe. But these memories are not my own.”

“Does everyone who reabsorbs a twin have such memories?”

“Not everyone. At least not consciously. I have studied energy and consciousness most of my life, so I am better equipped than most to remember.”

“I wonder if my father has memories that belonged to Jonah.”

“It is possible—although even if he does, he may mistake them for daydreams.”

Suddenly, though sitting down, Max felt dizzy again.

“You are growing pale, Maxwell. I am afraid I have shared too much too fast.”

“I’ll be okay. I just need to breathe.”

“I am sorry to have pushed you. For so long, I have desired to share these things. And given your father’s precarious status, I felt a sense of urgency.”

“Because it’s not just my father, is it? It’s also your husband.”

Artemisia’s gaze was somehow both trenchant and compassionate. “You have a way of looking back into me,” she said at last. “I will not deny that in part—although only in part—my interest is self-interest. That said, as someone housing your mother’s soul, I desire nothing more than to see your father returned safe and sound to you and your world.”

The two broke the mutual gridlock of their stares and looked up as Maxwallah, freshly shaven with hair still damp, entered the living room wearing a red silk robe and leather slippers. “I am happy to see you awake again, Maxwell. How do you feel?”

“Somewhat … overwhelmed.”

“If you were not, I would think something was truly the matter.”

Max chuckled. The dizziness, along with the heaviness of the previous moment, seemed to be passing. “That’s one way of putting it. How are you?”

“Stuffed with mesuque. Are you hungry?”

“Starved.”

“Then let us get you a quick bath. Come, I will show you to your room.” Maxwallah extended a hand. Sensing his presence, Fey-leh opened one eye suspiciously. Max set her on the couch (which she protested with a sleepy hiss) before letting his twin help him up.

“Enjoy your bath,” said Artemisia.

Copyright © Sol Luckman. All Rights Reserved.

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