Dreams Lost and Found
by Scott Weisman
Copyright (c) 1989-1995

The beach sure is empty today, Simon thought.  He looked around and noticed it
was more than empty, it was actually deserted; he had a commanding view of the
whole bay, the day was spectacularly clear and bright, and he couldn't see any
human forms, or even signs of habitation in his field of vision.  How odd,
especially for a summer weekend.  He looked down at his towel and saw some
binoculars, had a bright idea, and picked them up to see if he could find
someone using them.  He scanned the entire vista and didn't see a soul, not
even a stray animal or moving automobile.  This was now getting a little
frightening, but was compounded because he realized he didn't know how he got
here himself.  He thought, probed, searched, used all the memory recall
techniques he learned in college, and couldn't find an answer.  Perturbed and
disturbed, he decided to take a swim, figuring it would relax him.

The water was beautiful, at such a precise temperature that he didn't even
feel it when he went in, and so clear that he was confused even more.
California is known for many things, but clear ocean water isn't one of them.
Still, he felt relaxed, and assured himself that a solution to his problem
would be forthcoming immediately.  He was, after all, an optimist.  The waves
were low and calm, perfect for sunbathing in, so he turned on his back and let
the sun warm his body for a few minutes to clear his thoughts.  When he woke
what seemed only a few minutes later, he stood and noticed that he was beet red.

"How can this be?" he exclaimed to no one in particular.  He was now supremely
paranoid, tense, and nervous from the massive amounts of adrenaline his heart
was pumping through his body.  The only way he saw to calm down was to swim,
and swim hard.  He swam the crawl stroke, pushing his body hard to the point
his muscles ached from the effort, away from the shore, and forgot about the
sunburn.  He didn't notice how far he had gone when an even stranger sensation
overtook him.  Now he was falling, and accelerating at an increasing rate.  He
looked up and could see the ocean's edge far above him, but in front of, behind,
and below him was nothingness.  "Oh great," he thought, "I swam off the edge of
the world," and then let out a massive, piercing, bone-chilling cream, that
seemed to disturb the fabric of space itself, sending ripples out in all
directions.

It was only then that the realization came.  A number of things contributed to
it; what he was seeing really didn't have any basis in experience, and now he
stopped trying to convince himself that it did.  Objects were now readily
fading in and out of existence, and color took on the properties of solid
forms, but what finally gave the whole charade away was the falling.  Simon
was asleep and in a dream, his own dream, and falling was a common sensation
in dreams, and coupled with the unarguably bizarre situation he was in, the
conclusion was unavoidable.  Simon found the sensations curious, and an
awareness of external reality was inextricably linked to the reality he was
experiencing.

With this newfound piece of knowledge,he decided to change things around. After
all, it's not everyday that someone gets to play supreme being of his own
personal world.  The hell he was experiencing around him convulsed, and gasped,
and disappeared into nothingness.  In its place, was a vast primordial expanse,
with nothing but space and stars in every direction, a contemplative place in
contrast to what preceded it, to think about what to do next.  This didn't take
long, and slowly a bustling city scene formed around him, with him in the midst
of an urban downtowm around him.  Besides the usual petrochemical and
multinational conglomerates that were present, and which he made disappear with
wave of the hand in a fit of environmental correctness, was one diminutive
corporate headquarters.  The name of the company it housed, situated proudly
above the entrance way, was Dream, Inc.  He walked in.

Inside was a tremendous atrium, that looked bigger than the whole building as
viewed from outside.  He walked deliberately to the receptionist, who was
extraordinarily beautiful, but a quick look around the lobby informed him that
everyone here, from employees to board members, to visitors, were all
beautiful beyond description, as was the building itself.  "Excuse me," he
said, "but could you tell me a little about the company please?"

"Why, certainly," she replied so soothingly and reassuringly, that he felt as
if he could spend the rest of his life right there listening and acting upon
every word she uttered.  He shook himself out of this delusion by reminding
himself that everyone there could satisfy the same yearnings.  "At Dream, Inc.
we have your's and the future's interests in mind.  We make the stuff that
dreams are made of, and our world-reknowned research and development staff is
hard at work to constantly improve the quality of our product."

"Wow, that sounds totally fascinating, but I'm really here for a different
purpose.  I'd like to see the Lost and Found."

Surprisingly, a tremendous frown took over her whole face.  She even looked a
bit angry.  This caused Simon to jump back in fright.  "I'm sorry," she said
curtly, "but the Lost and Found is not accessable to the public."

"Oh," he said back to her, feigning disappointment, "then I guess I'll be going
now."

"That would be best."

Simon walked to the door, made a subtle gesture with his eyes, and walked back
to the receptionist.  "Good morning, Roberta," he called her, for that was her
name, "how are you today?"  Now he had on the garb of one of their top-notch
scientists, complete with I.D. tag and pocket protector.

"Just fine, Simon.  The Lost and Found is all yours today.  No other
appointments have been made."

"That's just great, and please see that it stays that way."

"Of course,"  she smiled back at him and added, "you'll be sorry."  He laughed
and was on his way.  It's good to be the king, he thought to himself.

Although there was a large bank of elevators, the one directly in front of him
openned smartly, well before he reached it, and waited patiently for him, the
only person to board it.  As soon as he stepped inside, the doors snapped shut.
A quick look at the panel revealed that the button labeled "Lost and Found" had
already been selected.  Barely an instant had passed, and the doors openned
again.  Simon thought someone had pushed a button to get in, but he waited and
no one showed up and the door would not close.  A peek outside revealed that he
was indeed on the floor he selected, and he walked out.  The elevator let him
out at the end of a long, narrow hallway, with only one door in it at the very
opposite end.

As he walked to the door, which he took to be his destination, he saw many
warnings, growing more numerous, prominent and alarming as the distance between
him and the door narrowed.

DANGER!
This is a restricted area
hazardous and highly classified reseach is performed here
and we cannot assume responsibility
for any unauthorized personnel.

Considering the nature and urgency of the signs, Simon expected elaborate and
equally numerous measures to be taken to prevent any breach of security. There
were none.  It was almost as if the signs were there to tempt any would be
straggler who happenned into the area.  The door had the numerous expected
devices, including locks, card slots, and cameras, but none were functioning,
and the door was slightly ajar.  Oh well, he thought and went in.

Inside was a meticulously clean and brightly illuminated white room.  There was
no discernible light source, and it was almost as if the entire were room was
enveloped in a white-hot glow.  In front of him was a white wardrobe, large
enough to walk into with several feet of depth, whose typical use would be to
store, well, a wardrobe.  The wardrobe almost blended in with the white of the
rest of the room, except that its glow was a bit softer, with a rougher
surface, and also it was covered with multi-colored graffiti, some very short
pieces, along with one or two lengthy tomes (for graffiti, that is).  The
graffiti was surrounding the printed words, "Lost and Found."  It seemed to
describe, in one way or another, many peoples' experiences in the "Lost and
Found."

He laughed at the detail.  The was definitely what he was looking for.  He
slowly pulled the doors out and looked inside.  "What is this?"  Inside were
the typical contents of any wardrobe.  Racks and racks of clothes.  Nice
clothes.  Armani, Hugo Boss.  But, it was a large wardrobe, that appeared to
have much more depth inside than he could tell from the outside. He walked
inside, and the aisle just kept going, and going, and going, until without
even noticing that the clothes faded into a beach scene.  He was on the
boardwalk bordering the beach walking onto a sidewalk that went into the beach.
After walking on that for a while, he saw the sidewalk blend directly into the
sand, initially graded and packed, and finally wavy and soft, like the sand is
after a typically natural day.

This was getting pretty good he thought to himself, and then just kepting
walking into the water, which was just like the water he was swimming prior to
this.  Clear and calm, he walked right in, to a depth of ten feet, when the
blackness enveloped him.  This sure felt like a movie, he thought, and once
the blackness was complete, the stars faded in.  "Oooh," was all he could
utter, and then he mused to himself, "Zen.  Without it my life would be
everything," then walked on stars to his final destination.  The stars mutated
into swirling, colored flashes of energy.  This is what he really came for.
He saw them all; all his dreams were here.  This was the stuff that dreams are
made of.

He followewd one flash around and focused on it.  The flash hesitated and
stopped for a moment, while all the other swirls withdrew to a point further
away than the object of interest, giving the effect of being in a completely
empty sphere.  The effect was odd,  with the flash appearing to think for a
moment, trying to decide what to do next, as it danced in place, pulsated, and
then exploded in countless tendrils that spread out in all directions from that
point, formed a sphere around him, and then converged on the opposite side, at
once obscuring his view of the flashes, and fading into a scene, much like
fancy movie special effects, to fill his vision and take up the whole of his
surroundings.

A horse materialized out of the nothingness beneath him, and his clothes became
armor.  There was a grand and magnificent castle off in the distance, the likes
of which he had seen only in a picture.  Visions of Camelot ran through his
head, when he noticed he was holding a lance.  He was a knight, and there was
another knight waiting at the far end of the field.  This is a joust.  The
audience is silent and the air tense with anticipation.  "What am I doing
here?" was all he had time to think when the cry came.

"Charge!" and his pondering was interupted midstream.  It was a good question
though.  Simon was troubled because he he could not recall ever having any
such dream as this.  Castles, knights, and royal courts were not his forte.

Without thinking he kicked horse, and the two horses reared and ran toward each
other at an exhilirating pace.  The audience went wild and cheered on the two
knights, but Simon was scared; he had an inkling that a joust was to the death.
Maddening in his pursuit of the other knight, they grew ever closer, moving
slowly up and down to the rythmic pulse of the horses' frenzied gallop.  He
didn't like this dream, even if it was his.  Without knowing why or how,
horses, castle, audience, and field disappeared in the reverse manner in which
they appeared.  A small spot appeared just beneath him, got slowly brighter,
and then exploded in all directions, one thing led to another, and he found
himself back in the Lost and Found.  He spent some time looking for a dream to
explore, so he wouldn't fall into something unpleasant like the last one.  His
eyes caught hold of another dream, something less savage, and it, like the
first one, did the same routine, and revealed a completely different scene.

"I could actually get bored of this," he sighed, as he examined this new dream.
The setting was futuristic, but vaguely familiar.  He was sitting in a chair in
the middle of a large circular room.  In front of him was a large window or
view screen.  All around him were people manning various stations.  Oddly
enough, he felt as if he knew the people quite well, though he couldn't place
them.  Then he turned around.  There was a set of double elevator doors and a
large prominent plaque on the wall beside it.  The plaque read "U. S. S.
Enterprise" and had attitude and elevation drawings of the very familiar
starship on it.

"This is too much," he mused, "maybe I was a little hasty in my judgement."
He looked at the viewscreen again and saw that the ship was fast approaching a
planet.  The man at the navigator's station (Mr. Sulu!) turned around and said,
"Approaching Gamma Iotia IV, Captain."  Mr. Sulu waited for instructions, but
Simon was temporarily lost in thought.  Mr. Sulu shrugged, and turned back to
attend to his duties, giving a knowing nudge to the man next to him. (Mr.
Checkov!)  "Did you know that the father of psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freudski,
who was a Russian, by the way, talked about the very problems our kepten seems
to be experiencing?"  "Is that so, Pavel?" Sulu rolled his eyes, as he always
did, when Checkov pulled these stunts.  Simon smiled, and ignored the slight
aimed in his direction; it was irrelevant.

It was partly a result of the dream itself.  It was such an old dream of his,
the dream of a young child, that he felt as if he were really only daydreaming,
except that this was no reverie, and it was too lifelike and real to be
anything but.  Even more so, it was the name of the planet that struck him.
It was somehow familiar, and he went searching through his memory to find where
he heard it before.  Fortunately, he didn't seem to be suffering from "tip of
the tongue" syndrome, as he frequently did out there.  At last it came to him
and he smiled, "Boy, this is going to be good."

"Assume standard orbit, Mr. Sulu," he chimed, reciting the words he knew so
well.  Mr. Sulu already had, or they would have been primordial soup by now.
"Remind me to give you a commendation when we return to Earth for fast and
independent thinking."  Mr. Sulu then put a notch by what looked like a dozen
other notches, on his console.  "I wonder if the real Kirk was like this?" he
thought.

All the while, the smile was getting bigger and bigger, until at last he
couldn't hold it in any longer.  Simon started laughing, uncontrollably.  In
between the laughs, some words managed to come out.  "Any of you...guys...ever
play...Fizzbin?!"  He was hysterical now.  No one got it except for him, of
course, which he knew, and which made it all seem even funnier.  He calmed
down in order to go further with the dream, which he liked so far and which he
could genuinely trace down.  But someone on the bridge was laughing as well.
It can't be, he thought, but it's true!  He looked over at the station where it
was coming from.  The laughing then ceased, but the culprit had given his
location away.  At the science station was what he took to be Mr. Spock (!)
with his back turned towards him, only it wasn't Mr. Spock, who he always
imagined to be taller than the man he saw.

He slowly stood up to his full height, which was not statuesque at all.  Then,
even slower, and with great deliberation, he turned around, in such a way that
his face turned last after the rest of his body.  It was Simon, grinning!  Not
a diabolical grin, or even with any hint of malice present, but certainly
mischeivious and quite playful.  He winked at Simon, and now the poor crew was
utterly confused, which was perfectly understandable, but so was he.  They
probably thought it was par for the course.  Another weekly episode to plod
through, with quirky plot lines, and scientific implausibilites galore, but
they didn't expect their "Kirk" to be that way too.  He was a leader, with a
penchant for getting women and destroying computers, but to have "Spock"
metamorphize without cause or explanation into a clone of the captain was a
tad out of even their extraordinary experience.

"If you dream it," the second Simon began, with the implication that Simon
should complete the thought.  "It will come," he whispered, so that his double
wouldn't be able to hear, and then added, "No beach to walk on..." and this
dream too, ended, though it faded out slowly, unlike the first.  "Simon"
looked displeased and upset at this unexpected turn of events.  The rest of the
crew was clueless.  Simon was learning.  This time he knew where he wanted to
go, and bypassed the Lost and Found entirely.

At the same time the Enterprise dissolved, a large meadow materialized.  Off in
the distance a boy was somersaulting down a hill and what looked like his
grandmother was looking on and encouraging him.  They were both laughing and
singing like there was no tomorrow.  Soon they disappeared and he was alone
once again.  Simon let out a scream of frustration and futility.  He yelled to
the world, "What's going on?!  What am I supposed to do next?  And why the hell
do I not feel more satisfied about myself if these are my dreams?"  After all,
finding the Dreams Lost and Found is about the ultimate accomplishment anyone
could achieve.

A gentle wind picked up and rustled the leaves on the tree that just took root
and started growing right behind him as he sat down, to provide shade and a
back rest to lean on.  He couldn't fathom the reasons wwhy or how, but he was
actually tired.  I'm in a dream and I'm tired! he exclaimed.  He tried to
fight it, pondering the paradoxes raised by the implications of dreaming
within  a dream.  Would he find a Lost and Found there?  If he did, what then?
If anything, the questions and thoughts made him even more tired.  His eyelids
grew heavy and his mind slowed to the point he collapsed in complete rapture
under the tree.

He woke up relaxed and rested what seemed a little while later.  The potential
paradoxes were forgotten as mere whimsical musings because his mind blanked as
he went to sleep, probably to prevent such a situation.  Who knows, but the
mind is a fragile thing, and this might be enough to make even the most
heartless soulless individual irreversibly insane.  He couldn't tell for sure
how much time had passed though, since the sun had stayed in exactly the same
position the entire time, about an hour before sunset, with the rise of the
full moon following it.  It was an overlooked detail and he forgot.  With a
flick of his wrist, it moved on its inexorable journey west as if it were
always that way, and was never stopped to begin with.

The wind started to pick up a bit to the point of being a brisk breeze. The
shadows around sunset are always long and tapered, but now they started moving
in rhythm to the changing beat and direction of the wind.  The effect was
especially odd when a small whirlwind would form in the vicinity of a shadow,
literally moving it around and back on itself, until it actually broke free,
and continued until the whirl dissipated.  Then, ever so gently the shadow
would come back, dancing to the rhythms of the universe.  Eventually, the wind
picked up, and a whirl followed Simon around wherever he went, his shadow
moving in a circle about ten feet in diameter.  Every time the head of the
shadow would pass through him, which is the only way to describe it, a slight
moan would rise and subside, which Simon assumed was due solely to the wind.
However, he noticed the whirl continued to go around him while everywhere else
it had ceased.  It changed into a low howl, going wah-wah like a jazz trumpet
being muted, and shifted once again to a kind of ha-ha, a laugh.  The wind
picked up speed but remained at the same intensity level, so once a second
laugh became a continuous laugh.  Hahahahaha it went on and on, and wherever
Simon moved, since he wasn't in any way motionless while this effect
increased, it would follow.

The shadow/wind phenomena moved away to directly in front of Simon, still
moving about itself in a large circle.  Everywhere else the wind slowly
subsided, but this wave, which was the only way to describe it, kept going, and
getting faster and faster.  As it did this, it kept closing in on itself, until
it seemed like it would implode.  The laugh would cycle from high to low and
back again.  Finally, when it seemed that the vortex couldn't get any smaller,
the whole thing collapsed in on itself with a tremendous whoosh and the
deathly black shadow turned to a blindingly irredescent orb.  Finally the orb
expanded and took shape as if it were filling a mold.  It was obvious the
light was taking the shape of a human, one with remarkably similar features
and build to Simon.  An exact likeness of him, with the same cocky stance and
self-assured smile, was staring at him.  The whole process, though lengthy in
description, took a matter of moments.

He looked through me and said matter-of-factly, "Hello Simon."