I got two hours of sleep last night, because I woke up from this dream and had to make it a story before I forgot it. This is the most emotionally powerful dream I've had in forever, and I think the message is extremely important to consider.

Zombies or God


“Which 'end-of-the-world' scenario interests you more: zombies or God?” Chase was always asking us questions like that. He loved hearing our discussion on matters like this. It was late Friday night—or rather, early Saturday morning—and the little party of the four of us was still going strong. Myself, Chase, Chris, and Tyler all hung out as much as we could. Chris I knew from college, and Tyler from my own job, and Chase worked with Chris, which is how I had met him a couple years ago. We were young and about as care-free as any normal 20-something American working for minimum wage or so, and we were just kicking back as we regularly did, over at Chris' place.

Chase was short and stocky, and often wore a red hoodie, his scraggly beard jutting out from the tightly-drawn hood. You wouldn't expect the sort of presence of mind or warmth or insight to come from a man who half the time looked about as dirty as a transient, but Chase had keen observations all the way around. When we first met, all he did was ask me a few simple questions about who I was, and I quickly found myself telling him who I really was, what I wanted out of life, what my dreams were, my hopes and fears, and he took it all in graciously, hardly saying anything about himself. I got the impression from that first encounter that he already saw me as a close friend and confidante before his first word to me. Every time I was with Chase, no matter what troubles were on my mind before just seemed to dissolve, as he provided me a way to just be calm in the here and now, to appreciate this specific moment in time and nothing else. I would later see him approach new people in much the same way as his first encounter with me, always with a kind word and an inquisitive mind, always looking to learn from someone else's perspective.

But he could also be defiant. My god, was he defiant! I mean, Chase challenged everything. Anytime there was a rule or law or just someone behaving in a way that didn't make sense to him, Chase challenged it with a fearless, relentless vehemence. It didn't matter if it was scientific or religious or political or what—nothing was off the table to turn on its head and suggest that we might be looking at it all wrong. He wanted to make everyone around him take nothing for granted, to consider what it was we were really seeing or feeling or thinking about the world we shared. It led to a lot of problems, but he always seemed to solve them just as easily as he started them. Sometimes, all he needed to do was give a single, simple phrase to a store manager or police officer, and the problem resolved immediately. But it was almost always done with a careful kindness. Only twice did I ever see him become legitimately upset and really lay into someone. Both times, he disappeared for a few days. Maybe he was still so worked up that he didn't want to hurt anyone else. Maybe he was punishing himself, or feeling morose. Heck, for all I knew of this enigmatic man, he could have flown to Las Vegas for a weekend to take his mind off whatever had sparked that fury inside him...but somehow I doubt that last scenario.

For the most part, though, Chase just seemed to embody a simple warmth and compassion that suggested that everything was as it should be, and whatever problems we had would be okay in the end. And like so many kids our age, in our current generation of abundance, we liked to discuss a layman's philosophy when we weren't gaming, drinking, watching movies, or just laughing our asses off at each other. So it wasn't too out of the ordinary by this point for Chase to draw a question like that out of the blue at 2 in the morning on a Saturday: What apocalyptic scenario would interest us more—zombies or God's judgment?

We talked it over for just a minute, but the discussion quickly went off into a tangent of zombie movies. Chris knew a 24-hour video store, so we decided to have a small marathon of cheap zombie flicks to make us laugh. It was time for another beer run, anyway, so Chris, Tyler, and myself piled into Chris' beat up old hatchback, with Chase saying he wanted to stay behind and take a quick nap.

As we ran our errands in the quiet of the night, we brought back Chase's last question to us. I have to confess, even though I consider myself a de facto Atheist, I would have to go with God's judgment day as more interesting. It might seem counter-intuitive, but if I could see such glaring evidence of the existence of God, it would spark a whole new sense of curiosity and wonder in me. I know a lot of Atheists and other non-Christians in our culture turn away from the Christian Church anymore because of what they see and experience from many Christians: the right-wing Evangelicals who, by pop media's portrayal, are sanctimonious, hypocritical, judgmental, and cruel, talking only of God's love and acceptance if you fit a certain rigid, incredulous list of criteria. And yes, I agree that this sort of behavior is extremely unethical and flies in the face of so much of the philosophy meted out by the Bible, but that's not why I turned Atheist, because that's leaving the Church due to the behavior of its constituency instead of because of the message itself. I simply saw no evidence to believe in the existence of any such deity. If I still believed, I could find groups of Christians or any other religion who were fair-minded, loving and accepting of everyone—I've met several religious people in my life who fit this bill. I just see no reason to believe in the spiritual or metaphysical without strong evidence. So seeing God's Judgment Day suddenly happen would certainly instill me with a new-found awe that would make me want to learn and explore so much more.

When we got back, Chase was laying stretched out on Chris' bed, back propped up against a wall, hands clasped in his lap and eyes closed. We tried waking him for a minute before we realized that he wasn't breathing. Then things got serious all too fast. There was a lot of yelling and panic around Chase's lifeless body before the sirens and flashing lights signaled the arrival of the ambulance—I don't even remember who dialed it in. We came to learn later that morning that Chase, 28 years old and otherwise in perfect health, had died of a brain aneurysm in the 30-minute window while we were on our beer and movie run. I was beyond heartbroken; I felt like part of me was shattered and gone.

In the haze of the weeks that followed, that last question Chase asked of us kept haunting me. Why had he chosen that one question? He usually didn't weigh in until long after he had absorbed our own input. Now we would never know for sure. Did he ask a more macabre question like that because he saw his own looming death on the horizon? Was he worried about our culture's collective zeitgeist towards spirituality vs. a commercial take on the end of the world? Was he trying to say that too many followers of religion or ideology were as mindless as zombies already, so it wouldn't make a difference? Was it just coincidence that something brought that one question to his mind to ask us in his final hour of life?

What would Chase's answer have been to his own question? Knowing him as I did, I imagine he'd say something like, “Why not both at once? And for good measure, throw in Cthulhu and the Flying Spaghetti Monster and big friggen mutant ostriches with unicorn horns, glitter in their wings, and wearing aviator sunglasses as they attack people!” Chase was like that. Defiant of the norms, creatively trying to challenge what we considered to be the status quo, and able to make someone else smile while he did so.

*******

Skip about a year ahead. My sister took me to a dinner with friends of hers. They were players in the art circles she hung out in herself, and she didn't want to show up alone, since everyone else there will be in couples and she was single at the time. The house was lovely and well-appointed, looking from the exterior to be a rather typical Better Homes home in a slightly upscale suburban neighborhood. When my sister and I entered, everyone else was already there. Among the myriad of paintings and general décor you might expect from a middle-class art enthusiast—you know, where it's just a little off-the-wall, like Pier 1 on a mild acid trip, enough to express individuality with a hint of whimsy but not so far out as to run people off—there was also a noticeable collection of religious decorations about. A crucifix on the mantle, a psalm above the kitchen door, a candle imprinted with the Virgin Mary in the bathroom. Three people were already in deep conversation with one another, and it was easy to pick up on the tenseness of the voices as their talk wafted over to us, the three discussing certain attributes of their respective religious beliefs—one Catholic, one Jewish, and one Episcopalian. Why these people of culture were already breaking one of the biggest rules of polite dinner conversation was beyond me, but I looked at my sister. She must have seen the alarm in my eyes, because she responded with a desperate look pleading me to behave and just go along with it. I relented for the time, but being a gay Atheist, I had a habit of leaning into a defensive mode. The religious ones, while discussing their faiths, made a few light jabs at each other and themselves to try to lighten the mood, but the discomfort lying just underneath was still palpable.

We were soon offered glasses of wine as the topic shifted to some brief introductions and then to local theater, but a tenseness still seemed to permeate the air as we talked (myself saying very little) and eventually were sat at the table. As the Episcopalian man sat next to his wife, their hushed voices wafted over to me, and I was able to catch what must have been an argument between the two of them they might have had on the drive over. “Let's just make it through dinner, please,” the wife pleaded in a whisper, hoping her voice would be drowned out by the other conversations still taking place as we readied ourselves to eat.

Maybe it was the wine (though I doubt it), but something took hold of me to stand up after everyone had sat. “I just wanted to say thank you,” I began, words pouring out of my mouth in a steady stream that seemed to catch everyone by surprise, given how quiet I had been up until then. “This is a lovely home, and I want to thank all of you for working to make me feel welcome. Isn't it a remarkable thing, this time we have together? This very moment, standing in its own unique manner, which none of us will ever experience ever again?”

It was Chase. Chase's words and attitude seemingly hijacking my own mouth and making me speak like this. I don't know what brought him to mind in that very moment, but I didn't fight it. No one seemed to know what to make of that last statement, so I continued. “I also wanted to say that I love each and every one of you, even though I don't really know most of you that well...at least not yet. I want to really know you guys, but I have to confess that you're making it difficult. I know you all expected to come to this dinner and have a reasonably pleasant time, talking about arts and culture and other safe topics so you don't end up offending each other, but why stay in the shallow end of the pool? We want to know each other, but we're afraid of anyone knowing us too well, so we all tentatively scratch just at each other's surfaces out of some mutual fear disguised as respect.

“And I get it, or at least I can understand it to a degree. It's scary letting someone else in. It's scary trusting someone that much, because what if they betray that trust? But would you all honestly come here out of friendship if you couldn't trust one another? I mean, take you two.” I turned to the Episcopalian couple, who suddenly looked like a pair of deer caught in headlights. “You guys obviously are trying to hide some argument you had between the two of you recently, perhaps in the car ride over here. And I know that it's considered very bad form to air dirty laundry in public, but what if this place was a haven? What if everyone else here simply accepted both of you, completely as you each are, without judgment and with perfect love? Would it feel easier to open up and get this all off your chests, to seek some sort of refuge in the confidence of us, your dearest friends? Perhaps we might be able to mediate whatever happened, and you would leave far happier than you arrived. Wouldn't that be worth it? And what's really stopping us from being those people other than our own fears and self-doubts?

“We have to stop judging each other. That's it, really—just accept one another with compassion and stop saying that we ought to be this or that.” I was finding my voice, becoming more confident the more and more I spoke, and everyone was too transfixed to stop me now. I continued, “And we won't stop judging each other until we cast off these self-imposed labels where we strut around wearing ideas or other traits on our sleeves as if we were just the embodiment of a political or demographic survey. We need to stop using religion or other ideologies as a weapon just because we've turned the quest for objective truth into a zero-sum game of social status, as if we're always on the lookout for someone we can point out as 'wrong' to our being 'right.'

“That's not how objective truth works. Truth just is what it is and it doesn't give a crap about your ego. If we're wanting to seek out objective truth, then just come to a table ready to listen more than speak. I'll give my ideas and you give your ideas and we discuss them civilly and then we part, hopefully with each of us being a little bit closer to the goal. No ego involved.

“I want to see each of you for who you really are, because no matter where you're at today, you can be better tomorrow, and if there is anything—anything—I can do to help you get there, I want to provide it for you. But you have to be willing to open up to grow and get the most out of life. It's not that hard, really: we just be kind and loving to each other and help each other as much as we can, without beating around the bush.” I paused, realizing consciously just how heavily I was breathing by the end of this impromptu tirade, taking in the watering eyes and dropped jaws around me as I touched my cheek to feel a single tear stained upon it, and finally added, “That's it, I guess. I just want this dinner to be as special and unique as the point in time in which it takes place. I wanted to remind us all about making things matter. Again, I love you all.”

I sat down, and it was several seconds before someone else spoke. I was able to really learn names and the true people behind them, instead of just knowing them as the Jewish Man, the Catholic Woman, and so forth. I got to know Tom, Michael, D'Angelo, Stephanie, Brianne, Samantha, and of course my sister exceedingly well that night. I don't think that scenario was enough to convince me of any sort of otherworldly forces at play, but it did make me passionately curious about others around me, a lesson Chase had taught me through the way he had lived.

I thought back to that last question Chase had asked me and my friends a year prior, and what he might have meant by it, if anything more than the obvious. Maybe he meant that the end of the world would come either as all of us being so complacent and complicit that we become zombies who merely exist instead of live versus an ending of the opposite effect, wherein we lose control to our emotions so easily that we allow dogmatic ideology to serve as a catalyst to annihilate one another in nuclear fallout. Maybe he was just trying to tell us to live more openly and lovingly to combat either scenario from manifesting itself. Or maybe he was just a charming, enigmatic sociopath. I don't know. But I feel more love now because of him, and that can't be a bad thing.