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 EIGHTY-TWO

Max was up and over the waterfall in seconds—heart racing as he left the Ily-bintu and the Inland Sea far behind. From high above the earth, he could track his trajectory through a raging, semicircular wildfire walling off Blue Lake with acres and acres of burning wilderness.

Billowing up from the forest in sooty clouds, the smoke would have been, by itself, a nearly insurmountable obstacle to anyone approaching on foot. Meanwhile, the fire—arranged like concentric moats of neon lava flows through the woods—made such passage unthinkable.

Max figured it would be wise to stay low and as close as possible to water, so he swooped down and sailed like a heron up the Loud River between the forest’s overhanging, semitropical boughs.

Fortunately, the river ran more or less straight, which meant he could max out his speed. Before long, having pierced columns of smoke that made his eyes sting, he shot through an aperture in the trees above a second, smaller waterfall.

Suddenly, he was practically skimming along Blue Lake’s rippling surface. The expansive body of indigo water was hemmed in on three sides by fire and smoke. Directly ahead, the fourth side was an imposing cliff with a single dark spot high in its face like the eye of a Cyclops: Captain Diver’s cave.

The mixture of emotions Max experienced was almost too much to process. On the one hand, he was overjoyed to have made it—seemingly against all odds—this far. But on the other, he knew he might very well be too late.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tremendous bubbling and frothing below. Before he could react, an enormous dinosaur head atop a serpentine neck erupted upwards and nearly bit him in half with its gigantic, snapping jaws. “Jesus!” he screamed while trying to pull up short.

The effect was similar to slamming on the brakes. Like a car crashing, he spun round and round, only to plunge deep into the chilly water of the lake.

To catch a glimpse of a plesiosaurus in a Scottish loch from a comfortable distance was the romantic ideal. To find oneself floundering while being hunted by one was realism at its most ironic.

Adding insult to injury, there was so much ash from the wildfire turning the water nearly black Max had no idea which way was up. The panicked breath he had managed to take before going under had already been forcefully expelled.

This was a diver’s worst nightmare: to be disoriented underwater while running out of air. He basically had one chance to get to the surface—or he would drown.

His own pale glow couldn’t penetrate the darkness, so he made a light in his palm. Even this was unable to clarify his orientation, though it revealed something that did: his sand dollar choker had come unclasped and was sinking into the depths.

If he had had the breath, he would have laughed … or cried. Or both. Once again, it seemed that his mother’s watchful spirit was guiding him—this time indicating up by showing him down.

The Hanged Man often asks for a sacrifice in exchange for his wisdom. For years Max had pondered this enigmatic line from the Tarot. Little did he realize, until now, that his sacrifice had already been made—almost two decades ago.

His mother, like sand through his fingers, was the sacrifice. She had given herself, willingly, to make space for him to become his own explorer while she encouraged his development behind the scenes.

Just as the dolphin was his, the sand dollar had been her animal “medicine.” She was a “test.” Literally. For those who could pass it, she offered the life-changing potential of sacrificial beauty.

“Thank you,” he mouthed while watching the choker vanish.

He could sense the water dragon sensing him and approaching fast, but he was faster. Before it could reach him, he surged up through the surface and splashed water everywhere like a real and true dolphin.

The size of a submarine, the plesiosaurus broke the plane of the water seconds later, whipping its sinuous neck upward as its teeth snapped once again on thin air. Its prey had eluded it—and reluctantly, it slunk in monstrous coils back into the deep.

Two Sasquatches were standing guard, rocks in hands, just outside the cave where Max landed still dripping. There was a narrow path worn into the cliff they must have used to enter and exit—a tricky business in the best of circumstances, but downright perilous when being hounded by a dinosaur.

A male and female pair, the Sasquatches introduced themselves telepathically as Creek Jumper and Meadow.

“My father,” said Max. “Is he still alive?”

“That depends on the Umbodi’s definition,” replied Meadow while stepping aside to allow Max to enter the cave.

His light was still shining in his palm. He used it like a flashlight to navigate in the dark. He didn’t have to go very far. The silvery figure staring into nothingness he encountered propped against the cave’s rear wall was indeed shocking.

Nearly hairless, Captain Diver had tremendously aged in time-space. Closer to a hundred than forty, he was a shriveled caricature of himself wrapped to the flaccid neck in a wool blanket.

“Dad?” Max’s voice trembled in the stillness of the cave. “Can you hear me?”

There was no response. Simultaneously thrilled and horrified, Max attempted to touch his father. His hand passed straight through his chest—as if Captain Diver were merely a holographic projection.

“Thomas Diver is going silver,” said Creek Jumper. “Soon he will be reabsorbed.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“What will the Umbodi do?” asked Meadow.

“Give me a second. I’m working on it.”

Quieting his mind and meticulously following the protocol for directing the energy, Max was finally able, with considerable difficulty, to make contact. He touched the waxy skin of his father’s forehead while imagining himself breathing life into his ancient body.

Captain Diver suddenly gasped and blinked. Max smelled the familiar scent of Old Spice and burst into a torrent of tears. His father was back from the void. But whether he could actually be restored was debatable.

“Do you know who I am?” asked Max, kneeling and staring through his own into his father’s bleary eyes.

“Yes. You are Max,” replied an old man’s shaky voice. “But who am I?”

Max had to choke back another round of sobbing. This was the man who had piloted the Space Shuttle—and now he probably couldn’t tie his boots. “You’re my father, Captain Thomas Diver.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Let’s get you out of here.”

Max picked up his father like a child, blanket and all, and carried him to the cave’s opening. Both father and son squinted into the brightness even as a dense cloud of smoke wafted by.

Creek Jumper and Meadow joined them. The water dragon, drawn to the energy, craning its long neck upward, was on all four flippers straddling the path at the bottom of the cliff.

“Thanks for looking after my father,” said Max.

“The Umbodi is most welcome,” replied Creek Jumper. “It was an honor.”

“Fly now,” urged Meadow, sniffing with her sensitive pug-nose. “The wind is changing.”

Maybe it was. There was a vaguely different aspect to the air. Max’s heart felt lighter and his father appeared more alert. “This is going to seem … weird,” Max cautioned, enveloping himself and the Captain with a membrane of energy before lifting off.

“What’s weird about it?” croaked Captain Diver, wispy hair fluttering in the breeze. “I’ve flown all my life.”

“You’re beginning to remember!”

This time Max made sure to stay well above the water dragon’s reach. Realizing its prey was eluding it again, the jander bellowed, then flopped and splashed angrily back into the lake.

“I always loved to fly,” reminisced a smiling, nearly toothless Captain Diver. “How I’ve missed it.”

Copyright © Sol Luckman. All Rights Reserved.

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