Oliver Benjamin
CHAPTER 36
According to Hindu mythology, the reality we know is only a single
dream of Brahma, the creator god. Each cycle of the universe is just
one night in his immortal life. Therefore, we are all just the tiniest
elements of his subconscious, playing our random little roles and
then disappearing just as rapidly as we emerged. But as dreams are
not separate from the dreamer, we are at once the briefest player in
the dream, and at the same time, the dreamer himself. So the goal of
the practicing Hindu has always been to realize the Atmanin oneself,
that is, the part of ourselves that is Brahma—the part of us which is
the entire universe. The part of us that lives on after our appearance
is over. The part of us that was never even born.
I was dreaming, I believe, while I was in that Indian hospital. I
was dreaming about my Atman. And this is what I dreamed: That my
Atman was not in my society, or my standing within that society, nor
was it in my possessions, it was not even in my beloved shoes. And
my Atman was not even in my friends or the woman I loved with all
my molecules. Nor was my Atman in my mind or my ego or my body
or my memories. My Atman was in none of those things. Because my
Atman was in all of those things—all of them put together. To take
away one element would be to take away part of my self.
So I listened to my Atman. And there was no longer any static. I
hadn’t figured out how to turn it off. I’d figured out how to tune it.
And then, quite suddenly, there was cacophony again.
“Oh Jake! You’re all right! You’re all right!” My mom hugged
me.
“Jakey-boy! Put ‘er there!” said Dad, extending his palm. I
shook it. I tried to make sense of all the light and loudness.
The doctor spoke, “Welcome back Mr. Rippy. You were in a mild
coma. It seems that you were shot in an artery and lost a lot of blood.
Luckily, there was no permanent damage.”
“How long have I been out?” I said groggily.
“You were in and out of consciousness for about a week. We will
have to hold you here for another week to make sure that you’re
completely all right.”
“Now, Jake,” said my mother, “I don’t know what kind of
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