I got a role in this movie called Freeway playing this really angry, aggressive, violent young woman who believed wholeheartedly in the truth. I had such satisfaction afterward, and I thought, That's what I want to do.
2016-03-11 3:20 am
Walking down the street like a child, swinging my arms in big arcs. Here comes one of the big machines that are just like the big blue and white lego toy. It's cool, now that toys are on the street too, not just people.
My qigong has finally arrived in the mail. It's a light green fleshy leaf that comes in a cellophane package, which you chew after a meal. It tastes better and better and gets bigger and bigger in you mouth. I can't wait to tell Casey. I try a little, and pretty soon it's a big dark gray ball in my mouth about an inch in diameter.
[from google: "Qigong is an ancient Chinese health care system that integrates physical postures, breathing techniques and focused intention. The word Qigong (Chi Kung) is made up of two Chinese words. Qi is pronounced chee and is usually translated to mean the life force or vital-energy that flows through all things in the universe."]
[Meditation, then back to sleep in breathing room with blindfold.]
Sitting under a wooden table with K. She and I simultaneously remark how nice the patterns of the wood grain are on the underside of the tabletop. I get out and go outside.
In a tangle of tin roofs, I've got a laundry project started, but it seems I've gone off and left something and now it's burning. I look in the metal barrel and the oil lamp in the bottom has overheated some of the wet things, so I look for the tongs to pull hot stuff out, there they are, all bent and black and scorched. I try to manipulate them, but they flop around as if made of rubber. While trying to pile all the clothes into the barrel so I can get the laundry done, I see that my sisters have left a wet towel on the floor.
This is a roofless outdoor work area on the roof, and Neyong is out on the roof of the next house, talking to somebody. Sounds like an American, so I focus on the voice, but the man with Neyong looks like a Filipino. I look harder and the American comes into view. Looks like Kenny Rogers, but he has a pretentiously deep, resonant voice. Well dressed in expensively casual garb. They walk right past me and I try to get eye contact with the American , but he ignores me. I mentally call him an asshole and start trying to find words to describe his long, perfectily manicured, snow-white hair for my dream journal.
[LS2] [Sleeping on back with arms at sides, left thumb is touching left butt.] My left thumb is trying to move, but keeps getting snagged where it hits my butt. Over and over it tries to move but can't get past my butt as if it hasn't got enough energy to easily push past--hey--why is my left thumb trying to move anyway? Maybe it's a phantom wiggling, let me think--No, my thumb moves just fine, I have no problem moving it past the snag point at my butt, it's my real thumb. [This was a phantom wiggling.]
[LS3] She's taking a red thing out of the soup and offering it to Rose. Then she's putting the spoon in my mouth. Hey stop that, I'm trying to sleep!
[LS4] Jovie calls me and I glimpse her. "Hon! Dira na! Beer!" Is she nuts? Why is she offering me beer in the morning, when I'm still asleep?
A man keeps giving me money and when I complain it's too much, he gives me more, over $1000 cash. Then he tells me to throw away my red bike and gives me three more red bikes.
[Meditation and back to sleep in breathing room. Have to remember my new plan of action, which is to visit Stumped No More in Fiddletown, after walking to the kitchen and touching everything along the way.]
[NLOBE1 (non-lucid obe)] The blanket wrapped around me keeps getting caught on things I walk past, expecially the wire binder of a SPIRAL NOTEBOOK. I get annoyed. [Non-lucid OBE. My real body is lying in bed with a blanket wrapped around it, lying next to a spiral notebook which is on the night stand. I'm not asleep or unconscious, just listening to the inner sounds.]
[ NLOBE2] [Not asleep; pseudo-memory.] I "remember" something from the "last dream", but it takes place in a gymnasium and it involves me being slightly unpopular or annoying, untying something. I TELL MYSELF TO WRITE IT DOWN. I start to, [then woke up, realized I was dreaming of writing in this notebook with my finger, a sentence starting with "He..."]
[NLOBE3] Looking down at a dwarf and up at a TUNNEL. "The dream environment is supposed to be low." Thinking about a dream I recently transcribed from the journal in which I was in a tunnel full of breathable water with the ability to fly/swim in the "atmosphere".
[NLOBE4] Now dreaming is upstairs where Taran is sleeping. Taran says, "It never did ME any good," in a sulking tone of voice and I pull on his toes to see if they will pop. [My voice, not Taran's--my toes were jammed against the foam.]
[NLOBE6] In what used to be my office at the 65th Street house, Lake Oswego, I get down on the floor and set my bundle down where the computer table used to be. But the bundle is me. Notice the room is so much bigger now and the far end of it has old green vinyl floor tiles instead of carpet. The room is a low tunnel--I am watching myself with dual consciousness standing on my hands with my feet up against the opposite wall.
[NLOBE7] DUAL CONSCIOUSNESS. I pull on the belt of the me that's lying here in this bed. I pull the belt out a couple feet. The door opens behind the supine me and someone looks in, then closes the door. [I'm not actually wearing a belt and this room has only a blanket divider/wall/partition, not a door.]
[NLOBE9] [Lying on my left side with my left arm pinned down by my body, but my left thumb is sticking up into the air. More phantom wiggling!] There are two [actually non-existent] small paper receipts on the bed near my hand, and my thumb keeps wiggling down about four times to try to pick it up. [Woke up and realized it was not my physical thumb; it is pointing up, not down.]
[The nine NLOBEs were separated only by the time needed to write them down, put my blindfold back on, and wait about 20 seconds or so for the next one. I will now start my "physical" day, it is 8:30 am. But the last NLOBE was maybe 15 minutes ago. I realize the math doesn't work out. Due to the time lapse, the nine NLOBEs had to occupy 10 to 15 minutes each with is not how I experienced it. Conclusion: I was not in this time stream, I was in and out of it, only in it long enough to write stuff down. I was using the delayed sleep breath where I take a quick breath, blow it out quickly, then hold it out for a few seconds. Not aware of any 10-15 minutes per lapse of conscious awareness.]
[LS] "How do I send a map to myself?"
[LS] "I'm not even trying to take the main road, I'm almost out of gas." Taking the shortcut through to town past the sand and gravel place, then through vacant lots and side roads.
[LS1] Dreambody goes over to the computer, takes the cloth cover off it, and pokes the keyboard with one finger. Nothing happens. [I wake up. DUAL CONSCIOUSNESS.]
[LS2] Dreambody opens up a jar of peanut butter. There is some kind of foreign matter stuck to it, which I try to remove. Gross. [I wake up.]
Playing the guitar. "Hesitation Blues" is what I'm playing, but "Make me a Pallet on the Floor" is what I'm hearing. I start to play "Pallet". [Almost lucid. The feeling of playing the guitar was exquisite.]
[Woke up in the middle of the night with big hypnagogia.]
[Been using sleep breath between LS. This is when you breathe the same way as a sleeping child. Quick deep intake, but not sharp or too deep; with immediate quick relaxed exhale followed by holding out to the count of 4. Watch for LAPSE OUT during the count.]
[LS] [After doing the sleep breath for a while I just relaxed all over and just listened to the inner sounds. Noticed it was very bright, considering I have a blindfold on. Started to look for images, but decided only to listen in. Seconds later...] Dreambody is on the other side of the barbed wire fence. It's a nice sunny day. I'm afraid to go under the fence because I have to crawl so low. Dreambody is pulling up on the bottom strands of wire so I can crawl under. Suddenly I realize how much I do want to get under the fence, even if I get some dirt or grass on myself. I am determined to lay flat on the ground and do whatever it takes to get under the wire.
[I just got vibrations in my left thumb only. This is caused by dreambody's thumb trying to assert its independence and being pulled back. Then vibrating between the two positions. Felt like a yawn--something fighting to get out.]
[LS] ["Starting with six... back then..." I drop Taran's big pillow on the floor where I'm standing (here upstairs where I'm in bed) and dreambody walks away.
[LS] "My fingers just won't work." [Awareness of sleep paralysis. I wanted to write this down, but procrastinated too long. Then:] Dreambody is trying to write in this notebook, but in the wrong place, and he doesn't know how to write, so he just scribbles like a baby, which wakes me up. [Non-lucid OBE. He still wears that fishing hat, but how do I know that? I just do. I don't get clear visuals of him, just a blue outline as a memory of having seen him, after I wake up.]
[LS] "You take the high road and I'll take the low road." [This old Scottish song is about death AND traveling in spirit. The spirit of the dead soldier takes the "low road" and reaches home before his friend who survived the battle and has to walk home the regular way.]
[LS] Looking down the stairs. The top two stairs are broken. The wall on the landing is painted yellow. I carefully bypass the broken stairs. [Wrong time zone. At one time, the top two stairs were broken and the wall on the landing was yellow. This was a non-lucid OBE.]
[Regarding the above encounter with dreambody in which he helped the conscious mind get under the fence into the meadow. I'm still there. I still hear the sound and I'm in that mountain meadow now. I can't explain it and I don't want to explain it away. Gratitude is oozing from my body.]
[Ok why is this making water come out of my face? Because I miss my mountains. In Asia I don't go to the mountains. For five seconds I was in my mountains, looking at the dirt and dry grass at my feet and relishing the prospect of getting some of it on my body. I was really there, for five seconds. That is why the water is coming out of my face.]
[The inner sound is the wind whistling through the crack between the worlds.]
[FALSE AWAKENING.] [Taran is tossing and turning so] I'm having trouble staying asleep so I get up and head downstairs where I can hear my wife working. On the way down, I make note of the two wooden white-painted doors to the right which go to a very large, unmaintained moldy space which is unoccupied at present, but I figure former tenants might still have keys. In any case, the doors are loose and sloppy and what the heck, they don't even lock or else we have no keys ourselves.
I holler to my wife that we have to take care of getting those doors secured somehow and she agrees. She groans with annoyance to see who's driving up and coming to the door. It's that old Mr.-- Mr.-- What's his name? Mr. Marvin or something. Marvin will have to do. We let him in. He's an old fart with longish white hair and a dark trench coat. He's demonstrating an invention that involves his wearing a metal cap and holding some kind of gizmos in his hand.
He wants us to go with him someplace. I get in his car with him and he takes off like a bat out of hell. I wonder if my wife and child will follow in her car, but that doesn't seem very practical. Mr. Marvin informs me that she didn't want to go and I consider that a satisfactory response.
It's a cold bright day. He turns into a barren sandy-looking rural area, maybe near the coast somewhere. There are some trailers up here including a place he owns but he hasn't been there in a while. Mr. Marvin tries to drive his orange VW bug with no floorboards thorugh a muddy hill of sand and it's not going, so I put my feet down through the floor and help push and after about three tries, we get over the hump and he stops at his trailer.
He jumps out and starts sweeping and tidying his yard. A neighbor sneaks up on us and says HEY! in a very loud voice, but we ignore him. I wander over to the neighbor's yard and stand to the left and several feet behind the neighbor who is squatting down tinkering with something. He is ruddy and blond looking. I wonder if he minds me being there but it seems like a friendly enough neighborhood out in the sticks.
I go inside one of the trailers looking for some working plumbing so I can wash my HANDS and/or get a drink of water. There's a woman in there cleaning but she hasn't cleaned her sink much recently. It is full to the very top with dirty dishwater with bits of food floating in it. I think about trying the tap, but the drain must be clogged so I better not. I think about dipping my fingers into the dirty dishwater just a tiny bit, but I definitely don't want to do that.
Nevada City. Commercial Street. [Details forgotten.]
[Intention to return to Nevada City succeeded--even made it to Commercial Street.]
I am dismayed by how much has changed in Nevada City since my time there. I enter the Herb Shop from the back and it is completely different, has no resemblance to the original or even to the later yuppified herbless gift shop I remember. It seems to be run by a kind of hillbilly tweaker family and the young man with long blond hair who appears to own it is talking in a loud voice about further changes he intends to make. I keep walking and exit through the front door. I go left to Commercial Street.
I turn left again, and head up a hill, then wonder if the tiny rock shop shack is still there in the parking lot. I turn and look. As I suspected, it has been removed. She must have lost interest in running the shop. Then I think maybe I should look harder, so I look again, and it's there after all. So I head that way...
2016-03-15 2:00 am
I'm interested in a young woman with curly blonde hair, but she's more interested in me than I am in her [Cwahacoy] until I hear her singing in a playground to a much younger girl. She's singing my favorite old song, "This Is All I Ask". She's got it all messed up, singing it in a modern pop style which ruins the simple smooth melody, but still I suddenly find her fascinating. I ask her if she's ever heard the "Frank Sinatra" original and tell her twice that I first heard it done by Tiny Tim. She shows me a small book about six inches square by 1/4 inch thick about the career of Frank Sinatra, who the book calls "Sandy". It has a long central chapter that's trying to prove that Sandy was unemployable.
The woman comes home with me, but my mom is there watching us, so nothing much happens, but I do get a chance to squeeze the girl's bare feet, not a big thrill.
She walks with me through Salina neighborhoods to where I have to meet my dad at a city bus stop on a busy street where he will be waiting for me. She's pressuring me to "roll up some MJ" with her and I want to and it seems to be a condition of getting closer. I refuse because I'm heading off on a week or partial week outing with my dad to somewhere important and have to stay focused on that, but I suggest we indulge when I get back. My dad has been seen walking too since he's going to the same bus station but we glimpse him only briefly a few times and manage to avoid him so we can have some privacy.
Finally, it's time for me to leave her, a few blocks short of the goal, so my dad doesn't see me with her. She's obviously disappointed about the MJ thing and I almost blow it with a short peck of a grandfatherly nature but sensing I must do better, I rare back and kiss her honestly through the open window of her car. After a long passionate one, she says I kiss like I have gum in my mouth, but it's the best I can do and I hope she's not too disappointed in me. I am full of hope for our future together.
I run the last two blocks to the bus stop along the main drag. As I walk up to my dad, I am not wearing any pants, so I keep my bright green shirttails pulled down in front of my privates. When I get to my dad, I am relieved to find there's enough time for me to go inside and get changed, so I ask him for a key to the bathroom of the building we're standing in front of, so I can go inside and put on my pants. I had been afraid that I would somehow have to athletically get them on while wedged into a bus seat.
[This is one of the more prolonged experiences of Cwahacoy that I've had. The obligatory loss of her presence was by conscious choice for a change; usually she just disappears and I got to express my affection first which rarely happens in a straightforward way. Added note: Cwahacoy continues to feature more and more consciously in dreams, and in one (June or July) I remembered her singing from some previous experience. Remembering dream characters is unprecedented, breaking new ground. --ed.]
[Will meditate then back to sleep in breathing room.]
I'm having a problem with some electronic equipment and someone tells me to just call the tech support so I decide to try, though I doubt it will work based on past experience. I get a confusion of voices over the old fashioned white phone as if two different people tried to answer it and they both give up.
Then I'm in a hospital sitting but not as a patient exactly. Still trying to get bunglesome computers to work. A woman in nurse or aide's uniform wearing green pants sits next to me on my right trying to be helpful, but she's farting so much that I let her go so she can use the restroom. The computer is hopeless.
[At the end of a longer dream.]
An opponent from the past has resurfaced, a thin blonde young woman with straight hair. She's getting married or is she? The official paperwork on a sky blue clipboard--or is that a cake?--is buried in sand on a kitchen counter.
Some of us Asians are in a big open downstairs area with a cement floor [like the one where my body is asleep] when there is sudden musical fanfare and down the stairs comes a parade of children all dressed up in fancy old clothes carrying balloons and all kinds of fancy decorations. They walk down the wooden stairs one at a time, sober and slow like models. There are only four of them. The smallest is less than a year old and she is in the lead. Each girl after that is successively taller. They're dressed like 1920s flappers. The last of the four is supposed to be my son in drag since this show was put on by him, but it's my brother instead at about age 10. They stand in a line while everybody cheers the show and wonders how he threw it all together so quickly.
I'm walking across the big concrete square at Taran's school when I see a big snake getting ready to strike. I call out "Snake! Kill it, Kill it!" and the custodians start whacking it with something, but while they do, I see a much larger snake and tell them to kill it too. I wonder if the snakes are breeding in the equipment they have been getting out of storage. They are a little annoyed with me as if maybe I should just stop seeing snakes.
Back in the downstairs area with concrete floor, I'm lying or sitting on a long wooden bench and I look under the bench at a white bag that's open on the end. [I am really sleeping on a wooden bed and a big white rice sack is nearby.] Poking out of the open end of the sack is the face of a fairly large reptile. At first I assume it's a tuko lizard, but then I get to thinking, what if it's a snake?
I dump the white sack out on the floor, and sure enough, it's a tiny brontosaurus about fourteen inches long. It runs across the floor where it encounters a whole nest of lizards. Big lime green lizards that attack it. I run over to save it. I put it back in the sack to keep it safe.
I imagine Taran leading a brontosaurus around on a leash once it's gotten to be about the size of a cow. The room is full of people again. I'm sitting on a couch or long bench on the far right. Taran gets home and sits next to me. I announce to him while everyone else is listening that I have a new job for him and it is a very very important responsibility. I'm going to give him the task of raising the brontosaurus, but first there's this big buildup. I ask him if he wants to promise to be very attentive to his responsibility and never shirk his duty. I ask him in a loud voice if he wants to be rich and famous and everyone in the room is listening with such rapt attention I can't contain the tension of my delivery any longer and start laughing so hard that it wakes me up.
[Woke up vibrating pretty well, but instead of sticking with that I decided to get up and pee and write down the dream since I could remember so much. This seemed like the right move since the vibratory state is common, but dreams are one of a kind and remembering lots of them is a kind of momentum built day after day, laboriously. 5:45 am.]
Wondering what it must be like to be a slave or indentured servant working as a sailor on board an ancient ship. From high above, I see many rows and columns of men chained to benches awaiting their shift. Every few times that the ship lurches, one of them vomits.
Then as one of them, a teenage boy, I'm running up to take my place on deck at the beginning of my shift when I see the executioner getting the guillotine ready. I jokingly ask as I go past whether he's going to also use the water hose this time. Then I reconsider making sport of some poor sot's situation.
Then the intendee is brought out and I try to help him sit up because he's sitting in water and might drown. I try to relax about it and just take in his situation. He has long since lost his head and obviously has nothing left to live for. What could a man in his predicament find to do with his spare time in the brig? He can only breathe through the hole where the spinal column is, now what kind of tortured life is that? He must be looking forward to it, poor thing, losing his--losing his--losing the rest of his--hey, what is this guy doing still alive???
I'm at the top of a narrow mountain road on a flat-topped narrow ridge. Like Bull Run area or (on the way to there). Two men who are apparently in first and second place in an uphill foot race arrive at this high place in great spirits, full of energy and enthusiasm, sweating profusely and breathing hard. Behind them a long string of less energetic wanna-be's and after that the stragglers, losers and quitters. Some of the latter are turning around and walking back down the mountain, having lost all motivation to continue.
I'm in a sheet metal inverted cone which turns out to be one end of the top half of a sheet metal castle; I am in the top of a tower. The bottom half of the small castle is not apparent. The castle with me in it is being hoisted into the air and moved to another place nearby. The challenge is to keep control of the castle as it is moved so it remains stable and level, which is hard because of its size and weight.
Finally this is accomplished and I join the forest rangers in the main building which will be my new home. This is my first assignment, and I'm very nervous. The guy who's training me is short and slightly rotund with curly blond hair and bushy moustache. He changes his clothes right in front of all the other rangers including women and I groan inwardly--this is going to be one of those no-privacy situations and I'm not going to like that. My fears are confirmed when a female ranger also changes her clothes right out in the main room as if nobody else was there.
2016-03-17 3:20 am
I'm looking for something and the salesman convinces me he's found it. He uncovers a wood frame with a PINK waterbed liner. "Water bed! Naa ko'y ana gipalit diri!" ["Water bed! I have one of those and I bought it from you!"]
[The PINK liner woke me up instead of making me lucid.]
2016-03-18 4:45 am
[LS] Jovie is poking me over and over to wake me up, then she arranges my blanket and tucks me in. [She's actually asleep upstairs.]
I go into Ron's machine shop when he's not there without his knowledge or permission, so I'm nervous about being discovered intruding. Over in a semi-dark corner is a light tube, vertically disposed overhead, but far below the ceiling. Its functioning depends in some way on being filled with water. [Very vivid, near-lucid dream, but writing up later from notes.] I go over to Ron's desk and I'm preparing to eat a hard-boiled egg. With one taste I suddenly remember that I don't like boiled eggs. Now I'm in my old apartment Garp Waddidge [which is a cottage made from a separate garage in the back yard of an old house, which I rented twice when I was young.] A man outside the screen door puts a small calico cat on the screen to get my attention so I go to the door. He's somewhat taller and huskier than me, dark red thick hair and bushy moustache. He speaks in a very distinct, slow way as if to help me memorize his words: "I. am. Robert. Burns." [Unsure of last name.]
Now there's a black matte-finished Yamaha grand piano in my apartment. [One of the times I rented Garp Waddidge it was for the purpose of rebuilding and refinishing a grand piano.] I slide something back above the keys and exclaim, "It's a player piano!" as the innards are exposed. I try it and it's obviously getting plenty of air because the keys are moving, but some adjustments have to be made because the music is not coming out of it. The place is now full of old people including four little old ladies standing or sitting around in a circle. I brush past one of them.
A man says I should digitalize the piano instead of trying to fix the player mechanism. I reply that I don't want it to sound too perfect, I prefer the honky-tonk sound of an old player piano cranking out songs at top volume without trying to sound like a human touch.
[Woke up, made quick notes, very sleepy, breathing.]
[LS1] Dreambody picks up the ball point pen on the nightstand next to my head and drops it back on the table loudly.
[LS2] I pick up the pen and write "What if... by the balls..." in journal.
[LS3] I walk through the house as per plan of action but not lucid (but almost lucid.) Pass the mirror now I have a square scrambled egg patty in my hand so I go out the back door to give it to the dog.
[LS4] Right hand moves first to the left and then to the right, thrashes around, trying to get to the ball point pen to write in the journal.
[LS5] I grasp Taran's arm with my left hand [he's actually sleeping upstairs] and lift it a little saying, "Let me help you wash your elbow." [Elbows again. Why elbows for a recurring LS theme?]
[After finishing above notes I was sleepy so I closed my eyes for a second.]
[LS] Feeling the edge of the notebook pages with my right thumb. [Actually the notebook was already put away.]
2016-03-19 12:30 am
[The following dream was so intense that I was in and out of the active role, sometimes playing the main character and sometimes watching. This resulted in the sense of doubleness as if the dream was done over a number of times with variations, thus plot twists impossible to follow or describe because of not strictly following any logical timeline. I will tell it from the first person, but actually I was in and out of doing the dream action vs. watching the dream action. Most of it is just indescribable.]
I'm going to blow them up. I've got three missiles I can set off while they're sleeping and the whole house will be gone, burnt to a crisp. I've waited a long time to put them out of their misery, send them on a trip out of town, you might say. I can see it now: I go in the special room where the equipment is, and I just set it off, I let 'er rip. First all the lights go out, because the wiring melts from the radiation. It's so bright and hot, I should get outta here, but I wanna watch. The jet of fire is so bright, maybe a foot-and-a-half in diameter and white hot, shooting down into the house like liquid hell, I'm such a truculent, unforgiveable ace of evil. I'm already in hell for this, I can feel it. Finally I can't take it any more, I have to get out of here before someone sees what I'm doing. They'll assume I am in here with the others, a pile of ash.
So I sneak out, careful to wipe my fingerprints off the back doorknob as I sneak out, wiping fingerprints as fast as I can before the whole house just melts. Out the back door and through the tiny barren back yard, Albuquerque is such a wasteland of sand burrs and ant hills and dry plants that bite you when you touch them, I vault over the short concrete barricade and FLOAT DOWN GENTLY onto the desert sand below, several feet down since the house is on a hill, I try to guide my body down between the plants that sting my skin, floating down, them I'm gone.
Gotta get back there and see what's left of it, revisit the scene of the crime you know, isn't that what criminals do? Don't know why I bother, they're all dead as a doornail anyway, they never knew what hit them. I'll just sneak in the front door, the firemen are mostly gone anyway. Wiping off the fingerprints, let them think I burned with the others, a pile of greasy ashes, that's me. Hey look, it's Mom, coming out of her room upstairs in her green robe, all sleepy-headed rubbing her eyes. Hi Mom, how's it hangin', sweetheart, how's it feel to watch the fireworks? And dad? Old "proud of ya son, now ya got something to feel good about, winning the science project again" blah blah blah...
What a piece of cake that must bave been for him--and Sis--Hi Sis! You took it a little hard, didn't you? Not quite recognizable I see, but still blonde and snooty. Mom's having you show me something--what is this--you're bloated? Pregnant? Full of crap? What is it exactly?
Sis starts in explaining something after showing me her long skinny dress with flowers in a PINK background. She rattles on and on, taking me deeper and deeper into an amazingly detailed, one-word-at-a-time description of whatever legalistic mumbo jumbo happened to her, I hang onto her every word, try to memorize it [but can only hang on so long, Taran's moving around in his sleep and muttering something.]
[I'm in a hyper-energetic dream state, but awake. I try hard not to move, feeling the vibrations, sure I am going to float right out of the body, but the dream was too scary, I'm scared, unlike when I had my two recent OBEs. I try to calm down, try to just float out. I might already be out, I can't tell. Hypnagogia is super intense and vivid, but I'm looking at it through a slowly rotating disc with a jagged pattern built into it, so I can only see what's on the other side of the pattern a piece at a time as the rotation of the portal gradually reveals it. Some kind of diabolical head, I don't like it, so I change it into a white puppy dog head and then can't get rid of that or make any use of it.]
[Continue the hypnagogia for a while, still trying for an exit, but not in a very organized way. Also trying to remember details from the dream, alternating between going over the dream and trying to get out of the body. At one point I have the portal rotating two directions, part of it's going left and part is going right, what I want is to feel me rotating. Impossible to remember all the intricate multilevel detail of this high energy hypnagogia, can't describe it. Finally the vibes of the dream fade and I'm afraid I'll forget too much if I don't get up and write down what little of it I am able to describe, the best I can. It was about me and dreambody trying to merge and "take off" but the mind couldn't get with the program and it let the high energy get to it. Note also the flying/floating episode and at the end a show of PINK followed by a word-for-word account of something incomprehensible.]
My dad is moving in. My wife and I live in an apartment. I'm concerned about making it safe for him so he doesn't fall. I tell him to be sure and request any needed changes such as better lights so he can see well.
A tall thin man with red hair and moustache is having trouble getting along with people, aching for a fight, especially with black people. He has accused someone of stealing one of his tools, so the whole dream is being replayed to find out if it's true. In a workshop with several observers. He demonstrates that the big wooden box on the table is his by showing that he knows where the clasps are that hold it closed on one end. The officer in charge of the situation wonders whether there might be a problem with his engine such as illegally tight rings resulting in very high compression, so the red haired guy has to turn on the engine of his brown pickup truck. He does this and goes to stand behind the truck right where the exhaust pipe is aimed. About 8 feet behind the truck. I go over to where he is and feel around with my hand in the air till I find the exhaust stream and it is in fact exceedingly discrete and strong, obviously a Kadenacy engine Then I'm standing by the side of a rural highway watching a parade go by. A procession of ducks has arrived when [I am woken up by footsteps upstairs...]
[Back to sleep with zero expectations except to hopefully wake up on a different side of the bed, as being startled awake is a bad start on the day, so I need to spend a few seconds asleep just to reboot the machine and get a clean start. I have a lot of work to do today. Breathing.]
[LS] Looking at a list of things to be re-established [Forgot what the list said.]
[Longer sleep. Drool on pillow indicates adequate depth of sleep to ensure solid reboot.]
[Awoken by wife shouting for Taran to come home and take a bath.]
[LS] Danny (next-door neighbor and bro-in-law) is dumping garbage in our flower garden between the two houses. I resolve to tell Jovie he has to stop. [Probably a non-lucid OBE since this is right below the window where I was sleeping.]
2016-03-21 5:15 am
Jesse, the piano tuner boss' husky truck mechanic son, is a co-worker. I've seen and gazed upon a big beautiful 2-1/2 foot square block of gem quality PINK rose quartz and its partner, another block of rose quartz the size and shape of "a sarcophagus". I want badly to find these chunks again and Jesse leads the way for some reason. I wonder why. Silent companion is also along but the two of them merge and later turn into Mark, but Taran's age. The area is sandy and barren and runs along the edge of a body of water, as I remember it, but it's a real trick to get past all these houses that aren't supposed to be there. Jesse is pessimistic that we'll find the rose quartz. I am hoping it's an outcrop, but he thinks the blocks were just put there. We climb up over a rock outcrop on some little red stairs and slide down the other side on our butts.
Then I'm sitting atop an outcrop with young Mark and we're still looking for something. This time we're looking through his backpack. It's full of school books and a couple bibles, all of which I sift through, but just going through the motions because I don't expect to find what I'm looking for in schoolbooks or bibles. A man is looking at me suspiciously and I hope he doesn't think I've kidnapped Mark.
We start walking again and I remember the blocks of rose quartz I'm looking for. I wonder if the sarcophagus could be carried by a helicopter. We climb up a steep dirt bank and at the top is a man in a fishing hat [that's dreambody Limberluck's getup] and I ask him to give me a hand up the rest of the way.
[From notes; I don't remember this part:] "Please help. Try harder. Tired of waiting. Just go up. Mark tries hanging off edge. I can picture in mind the spot. Infected leg. You can't go that way. Where go thru this way." [Back to the part I remember...]
Now I am more optimistic since we're on flat level sand again and the water is nearby. I expect to find the rose quartz on top of a ridge to the left of a body of water. All barren, nothing growing, like Pyramid Lake. Now all we have to do is get through this patch of cottages and touristy shops and--Hey look there, it's "the longest boat in the world" but I question that statement: not really largest boat but maybe the largest canoe, no, rowboat. It's a little aluminum boat with about 80 feet of body added between front and back, then stuck up on a pedestal as a tourist attraction.
Wow, that one trailer over on the left is fixed up nice, like a quaint Swiss chalet.
Now we just have to get past this trailer court and there will be no more houses and then we'll find the rose quartz.
[While flossing my teeth I just realized that if silent companion = dreambody, then my goal in every dream should be to merge with silent companion, for example, by introducing myself to him, getting his name, shaking hands, etc. Which is what I did in a dream the day I had my first OBE in 35 years. Always look SC in the eyes.]
[In town all day, focusing on finding the color pink everywhere.]
Taran and I are outside a bank building in a stone- or concrete-paved pedestrian mall under a large outdoor roof, but also serving as a route from place to place. We're watching a group of maybe forty people in rows and columns wearing strange costumes including pointed black shoes, doing some sort of dance or incantation or religious thing. Taran goes WOO-HOO very loudly and I tell him to be quiet and respect their religious program. The director comes over to us, a portly white man about my age. He talks to us about something.
2016-03-24 5:00 am
Can't decide whether I have forgotten or remembered to pick up the new glasses that I got a prescription for. What I do know is that I have no money to do it.
I get back to my white-painted old apartment to find the upper shelf in the outside hall full of mail, most of it for me. Some from Ron's machine shop and some from Mack's group. Thrilled about this unexpected surprise, I go in, only to find four strange men cleaning my kitchen after what looks like a science experiment. I ask them if they're here to kidnap me and the spokesman informs me that they are part of the invention group and are here to take me to the big event as I am to play a crucial role.
[To breathing room to sleep.]
[LS1] Something about "he's not arrived yet" looking over a cityscape picturing a route through it.
[LS2] [The suction of sleep is the source of the panicky awakening. Nothing to do with breathing exercises, as I wasn't breathing much.]
[Just had a thought that for each harmonic we have a different body and the goal is then to merge all nine bodies. Added note: By now--August 6--this is dogma. --ed.]
[LS3] Just fell back into body with an intense full body twitch and breath, best ever, this is what happens when released by the suction of sleep. I slammed into the physical which knocked the breath into me (literally) and FELT both astral arms overshoot the physical arms, and sweep down in an arc through the bed and finally land back in the physical. These awakenings are what my practice has been missing lately. It builds confidence and momentum = motivation.]
[LS4] Very long LS hovering close and on both sides of the point. Finally woke with "Wasgo" or "Wazgo".
[Long dream, I specifically know that when I first woke up from it, I recalled repeating it but forgot to get out of bed, so only remember one line which is the only line I retold to myself at that time.] It's us against the zombies, after all that.
[Forgot morning meditation, so doing it now.]
[LS] "Crematorium and Observatory" [I felt this was a humorous comment on my level of motivation in getting the meditation done.]
[Going to breathing room after listening to twenty minutes of William Buhlman on Coast to Coast AM you tube.]
[NLOBE int 1-200] Looking down into an androgynous Asian face with hair dyed reddish brown: "Igloi." Immediate response in strange back of the throat comedic voice of dreambody as occupied by me: "Hogloi!" [Again, prodding and teasing as if to say, "Wow, you ARE serious about this AREN'T you??!!" (A parallel to "hogwash" was conveyed telepathically.)
[LS] Shelves of bath soap and mental debate as to whether certain brands are all made by the same manufacturer. [The usual choking for air awakening. Pretty sure this is how I come out of sleep paralysis, but still don't know for sure.]
2016-03-26 3:00 am
Awoken by wife's voice: "Hon! Hon!" [She was asleep. It was not her.]
KK and I have rented a place in a hurry and... Someone suggests we go somewhere and I grudgingly allow myself to be outside in their car. It's getting dark now, hey, did I remember to lock the apartment? I feel in my pocket and there's the key, I guess I must have. Darn it, I was busy too, why don't people just leave me alone, I hope we aren't gone too long. This driver's crazy, he's backing up real fast across two lanes of traffic onto a side street.
Wow, it's like a hay ride, no top on this car and the seats are tiered in rows as if we were sitting on bales of hay. This is fun. The foreigner [silent companion] is sitting next to me on my right and a woman [Cwahacoy] is sitting on the next tier down right in front of my feet. I really like her. She has a big poofy head of frizzy hair, hey, look, the clouds are so low, I bet I could grab one. Oops, missed, here comes another one, now I got a piece of cloud. I'll give it to her. I can't believe it's so firm. When I push on it, it squirts out of my hands like hard rubber bouncy bubbles full of air like little balloons. Wow, "Clouds have so much energy!!!"
[I wake up in a state of lucidity, want to do inductions, but this dream is precious so I force myself out of bed to write it down.]
[LS] Something is going on and from that something is ejected a six inch diameter HOT PINK ball [which should have made me lucid but instead woke me up.]
[LS] I am in my dreambody standing on the bed, wobbly. Dual consciousness. I see the dreambody as a lumpy featureless apparition.
[LS] Listening to Paul Simon's "The Boxer" and noticing all kinds of nuances of timeframe [regarding past, present, future point-of-view-- stuff not in the real song].
[Back to bed, using blindfold.]
[NLOBE] "This is the repudiation for everything." [PHANTOM WIGGLING:] From the position of my body, my dreambody's right thumb and forefinger extend to twiddle the screw thing on the back of my TV [which is really ten feet away and its back is really facing away from me where I sleep in the bed.] The intention is to open a valve, tip the TV, and pour something out through this port--then I realize it's "just an antenna port".
[NLOBE] "Guide." An old Asian man is looking at me and smiling mischievously. He puts his arms up over his head and dives for the sky.
[NLOBE] I'm wondering where my dream journals are, with some annoyance, who has taken them? Looking at a long, narrow plywood table only about fourteen inches wide and eight feet long with posters above it. Dreambody is to the left standing in front of the table with the notebooks in his hand, waving them at me, but I ignore him. I find my notebooks to the right, hidden under the table, attached somehow to the underside of the table. I recognize my handwriting.
[Dirty and exhausted, going to bed. Noisy gathering of children downstairs sounds like a leprechaun reunion.]
[Went to bed breathing.]
[LS] As dreambody I swing a sledgehammer over my head with a rush of energy [--non-lucid--then realized it was dreambody/me, not a dream, but a non-lucid OBE, a real encounter with dreambody.]
[Intense dream, details forgotten.] Joybroth and I are visiting an older mechanic fella who lives up the hill a ways. I've met him before, know him from other dreams. He's cool. We like him and want to impress him. [Added note: Some time later, I had an intense dream in which I see his home has been destroyed by earth moving equipment. --ed.]
[Lying down in breathing room, very hot and tired but not sleepy. Did some breathwalking but pretty tired...]
[NLOBE] [After the count of 80, I kept breathing, not asleep but in a lapse of awareness, when] my dreambody with me in it starts leaning foward with each exhale. Then after about three of these, it makes a very strong surge forward/up and to the left with the physical exhale, [which rouses me from the lapse.]
2016-03-29 2:30 am
We've been assigned our dorm apartments and there's three to an apartment. One of my roommates wants the bed closest to the bathroom--the bedroom/living room has three beds and looks like a motel room--he switches two big white vinyl automans that are numbered 10 and 11, but I won't put up with it, so he puts them back. I ask, "What are you willing to give up?" (To get what he wants--since he wants everything his way). Rather than sit there arguing with him, I go check out the rest of the apartment. I remark that the kitchen and dining room are "close to nature," in other words, the walls are thin in the kitchen and the dining room is just a screened-in porch, so it's gonna be cold.
I escape my roommate by going out into the building corridor and into the school Library. It's big and quiet and I'm off on one edge where an old lady librarian appears to have gone senile and not gone home from work in some years. I "realize" my dad is coming to get me and I hope I haven't kept him waiting. I take the nearest exit and he's just driving up in a VW bug, but silent companion is driving because my dad's shook up. He says something that he has to repeat because it seems inconceivable. He has just killed a man. He had woken up in his house and saw--without being seen himself--that a homeless man has broken into his house and is eating milk and cereal from a bowl sitting at the dining room table, so he snuck up behind him and beat him to death.
Now I'm in the bedroom of his house with him looking at the stuff on top of his dresser, an extensive assortment of odd stuff, asking, "Did you hit him with this? With this? With this?" Including a brown opaque plastic toy judge's gavel which is too light to hit anyone with and half of the handle is broken off.
I start going over the dream to make sure I remember all the details because I think I'm awake. I reconstruct it this way. [Maybe this explains the sense of doubleness.]
Beary, the boy from the movie about the singing bears, calls the fire station where his dad works and shouts into the phone, "Dad's gonna be killed!"
Then the scene unfolds but I'm not in it. Beary's dad (not the same one he had in the movie, but rather a middle-aged guy with blond bair) is protesting bad pay by hanging around someplace at night wearing a bra over his sweater. It's cold. [I had gone to sleep without a blanket and then slept straight through and never got it put on me.] I am empathizing with the man's plight and wake up with tears on my pillow. [Waking up in vibrational state.]
[Will go downstairs to meditate then back to bed in breathing room.]
The University. Feeling of being up on top of a magnificent hilltop overlooking the sea. I've told Jovie I'd meet her at Montgomery Wards and now I can't find it. I have a recollection of having found my way there just that day (constructed memory aka doubleness) by first going past a beautiful ornate building with gold railings. Some streets parallel the beachfront (a beachfront which I never see--I just know this) and others cross these streets heading straight toward the ocean. I want one of the cross streets since Wards is adjacent to the beach.
I go "south"--assuming the ocean and view is to the east. Then choose a street experimentally and go east. But I've run out of theme park/university and as a matter of fact, the sidewalk is now taking me to a desolate locale and plunging downward steeply toward a lonely-looking huge concrete building that is so far below me (and silent companion--an old man who's encouraging me to go this way) that I tell SC it looks like a dungeon and I don't want to make the trip back up that steep sidewalk. He says OK and hurries on down, his flip-flops flapping against the soles of his feet.
Then I go back north and encounter a woman leaving a large pickup-sized vehicle with an enclosed bed, looks kinda like an armored truck, but it's a private vehicle. She tells me she's just saying goodbye to her man as the relationship is ending. I can see her getting some mail out of a large wall full of locked post boxes about 50 feet away so I try to get her phone number in a hurry after first clumsily mentioning her husband. She corrects me and says they were just lovers. She's standing close and I can see blemishes, like small warts, on her face, and she's slightly chunky with dishwater blonde hair straight past the shoulder. I don't find her attractive, but it seems she wants to know me, but my handing her a piece of index card doesn't seem to make sense to her, so I have to explain I want her phone number quick, before her soon-to-be-ex-lover comes back. "Or I'll give you mine." She's thinking about it silently, then her man is back and putting a piece of junk mail he doesn't want in a receptacle up high on the wall. He gets in his truck and the woman silently gets in the passenger side and they leave.
Oh well, I continue on north still holding in my mind the image of the fancy building I passed before when I thought I knew how to get to Wards. Then I see a building with books in the window and get excited and go in. Odd place to put a library I think (though I don't have a definite concept of what this place is exactly). Inside is room after room of books that seem to be getting more and more foreign to my interests, so I go back outside and continue north.
Finally, there is something exciting and interesting, so surely this must be the right way. The building has a large expanse in front of it covered with poles that have colorful symbols at the top of them. The poles are only about six feet tall and the symbols are about 20 inches in diameter and are similar to astrological symbols.
I'm sitting down at a small wooden table painted red, everything here is very colorful and I don't want to forget this landmark, so I'm writing about it key words like "colors" with a magic marker on the table top itself. An attractive waitress with curly dark brown hair and dimples sees me writing on the table and goes to get a wash cloth so I start licking my fingers and wiping the ink off the table. She gets back with the wash cloth and finishes and referring to my finger rubbing, I say, "I'm helping." She has a good sense of humor and sits down. She actively hints around about sharing phone numbers with an opennness opposite to the blonde woman I'd just met. I've already told her my name is Buddy when she calls me that, but I wish I'd told her my name was Luther. She's Cwahacoy, I enjoy her company a lot, and want more of her, but the scene is fading. She seems to like me and keeps asking about me as if to help me stay focused [but I wake up in bed and realize I had at one time started to get up to pee and get a drink of water, but never made it and had this dream instead. The sense of loss every time I have to leave Cwahacoy is INTENSE.]2016-03-30 5:30 am
[Went to bed at 8:30 pm and slept nine straight hours without waking up. This new trend is amazing and unexpected result of the practice; especially meditation, I guess, has interrupted my age-old routine of peeing all the time like once an hour whether I need to or not.]
Doug D. and I are finally going to build an air engine together. I am honored and humbled since he is a busy, important, self-taught engineer and a social power to be reckoned with, whereas I'm just a loafer with nothing better to do than to research an alternative energy source my whole life.
Doug brings some supplies, mostly food, including nice cheese, and we set up shop in a basement garage of a big old wooden house in Lawrence. It's not our house and we are intruders, but the owners live upstairs and we don't expect to be disturbed. However, it is nerve-wracking to work in secret like this.
Doug has to go to work, which leaves me to try and carry out his plans, which include wiring and testing our air/steam engine. I get the wiring done by sticking the two wires in an outlet, forgetting to use the nice plug that Doug has brought. The engine appears to show some potential, but it flips a breaker. I investigate the breaker panel, but about four switches are in the middle position, so I don't want to flip the wrong one.
This part is the most lucid, but confusing. I have the two wires and one is already stuck in the wall, but the other I hold by its insulation. I am deeply involved with this wire in some way. I have to remember it's live, and not touch the end. I turn off the breaker that supplies it and learn that it takes several seconds for the current to gradually stop flowing through it.
I'm afraid we're going to be discovered and start going through the cupboard removing the food that Doug bought, and trying to put things back the way we found them. Doug shows up with his brown and gold SUV and I tell him about my test. I say I realize that one usually uses a plug to plug things in.
Doug has caught my paranoia and we notice that to make things worse, the couple that lives upstairs are arguing about something. I'm worried they might have had a major appliance stop working on them, and we fear a visit since the breaker panel is where we are. Doug keeps putting his SUV in different places, hoping it won't be noticed so we can try and get our supplies moved out. It's daytime.
Doug's SUV is now parked out front and across the street from the house. We're trying to get to it when the couple and another couple exit the house on their way to somewhere. Doug and I hide in a big planter box inside the screened-in front porch, but our vantage point is from across the street where the SUV is. [Dual consciousness.] We're aware that they could see us where we lie on top of the dirt in the planter box, but if we lie perfectly still, maybe they won't notice us.
The man has dark hair and the woman is loud and fat, giggling a lot. Laughing so hard she has to lie down on the front steps.
[LS] rolling rolling but not working not enough momentum so reverse direction and really really spins that thing get some traction and go! [At which point, my head falls to my chest and I wake up--another non-lucid OBE--non-lucid separation rollout.]
2016-03-31 3:00 am
[Woke up about an hour ago from the dream below, and while trying to remember details of the dream...]
[LS] As dreambody I throw a pillow at the ceiling with two hands, which wakes me up.
[The dream was long and confusing, very emotional.]
I just saw that nice blond kid from school and now he's dead and I blame myself. We're in this big concrete building with wide open spaces and no windows. Call it the Astral Mental Institution. How it happened is still being disputed because nobody's talking. There's more than one version. Some say there was a struggle over a gun with a hair trigger. Lousy gun any way you look at it. Some say... well, people will say anything. I guess I'll be in this place for a long time, I can feel it in the way they say my name... "Bud." Like a lifetime is to follow of their saying my name to me, trying to get me under control after what happened, but I'm destined for this place and this is my home, I am the mascot of this place, many years from now.
She had come to me, the girl with the white hair, Joe's ex. Isn't her hair just so blonde? She saw it, she started to say and then she split, wouldn't be pinned down on it. This place does that to people, it makes us act crazy. That poor kid is dead because I talked. Several of the inmates are from my piano tuning class at W. I. Tech--still can't bring myself to call it "wit". Like Fred over there, the nurse type with the head of curls dishwater blond and dark circles around his eyes. And Hugh--remember Hugh Leary? Who could forget him. He's gone. They couldn't control me when that kid got shot, it couldn't have happened to a nicer person and it had to be my fault, me and my big mouth.
[The details of this dream are slurred together--I couldn't get it sorted out before I went back to sleep--but here's how it ended:]
And poor Taran has to be here with me, watching me pace the corridors, sleepless. There he is now. Hey Buddy, let me lie down on one of your mattresses there on the floor, you look so lonely. Wow look at you, eating your vegetables like a good boy... hey not so fast, chew your food, lima beans have to be chewed well--stop shoving handfuls of succotash into your mouth like that--chew--Usapa! Usapa! Oh Christ, he's been changed into something else by this place, he's a little demon poor thing, now he's shooting into the air in his pajamas-- [Woken up and shaken, buzzing, grossed out and scared. An unpleasant dream with many confusing details forgotten.]
[Mostly forgotten.] I got on the freeway by mistake and figure what the heck, I might as well go to work since that's the direction I'm heading. The freeway goes up very steeply, almost vertically, so I am terrified, but I give it everything I got, and make it over the top. Briefly take to the air, then land...
2016-04-01 3:00 am
I'm up on a roof dropping things on a guy down below who verbally chastises me and then hits me with rocks. The roof I'm on keeps getting smaller and smaller and the building more wobbly till I'm scooting around on my butt so I won't fall off, then it's the size of a doghouse and I just get down. I start hitting my friend with old sticks of wood and he doesn't like that either.
[At one point I woke up from a dream and remembered not to move so the vibrations were strong. I decided to look at images, so was able to make the spiral clearly and then by looking through it, it elongated into a tunnel. There was a sort of sheath over the first part of it, looked like a decorative grillwork. Forgot to push into the tunnel and went to sleep.]
[LS1] I'm downstairs and I'm touching the red chair because I expected to find it under the mirror where it always is, so I'm going to put it there. [This is a non-lucid OBE. Going to the mirror and chair is step one of my plan of action.]
[LS2] Outside bedroom window there is a red light floating. [Non-lucid OBE. In my last lucid OBE, I floated out the window to this exact spot, passing a big iron pipe painted red.]
2016-04-03 2:15 am
[Long dream, no continuous plot I can remember, includes] a spaceship taking off, my planning to use two comedians as the crew, an old book I plan to copy illegally even if by hand, which contains a section on awareness on page 344, [etc. memory of it is very poor.]
[Went downstairs to sleep longer in breathing room. Was going to do meditation first, but was vibrating from waking out of a dream state, so lay down to meditate and went to sleep. Awakened several times and focused on paying attention to the vibrations and listening to the sounds. This doesn't sound like much, but it helped a lot and motivated me because I woke with lots of energy...]
2016-04-05 1:20 am
With my dad visiting an industrial facility in a very flat place. A set of buildings in a row correspond to another set of buildings in another row, and one large air compressor had at one time been connected to a certain pipe coresponding to it in the other row of buildings, but the connection has now been broken. This was a Neal compressor at one time. We are trying to not let on that we know about this, but the two rows of buildings are far enough apart that it's hard to tell which pipe on the far end had once been connected to the compressor. We notice more and more the working presence of an older man in NICE SHOES who seems to be some sort of security guard, or plain clothes police. I realize our looking around has drawn their attention and I finally stop trying to act innocent and meet his gaze. He says he's noticed that we seem to take an interest in the compressor. I explain what we're trying to figure out and we go to the man's office nearby. My dad gets a case of the giggles from suppressed nervousness due to trying to act inconspicuous too long. The man says the compressor was decommissioned about March 1971. Trying to act casual, I try to keep him engaged conversationally and hope my dad's explosion of giggles doesn't hurt my chances of getting some information.
[Added note: This dream didn't really get my attention at the time but going to find Bob Neal and get him to show me his compressor is part of my plan of action. The nice shoes should have got to me, since Neal was a shoemaker his whole life, besides inventing a compressor. --ed.]
Traveling on a highway next to a high cliff around Glenwood Springs. With silent companion in his car, but I'm driving. The roads are dry and clear. Then he's driving and we go further/higher into the mountains, and the roads are not clear. Then we're walking on a trail covered with snow also next to a steep drop off. Afraid I will step through the snow and there will be nothing there but air.
Arriving at a facility where the snow removers' association is meeting. Members of high status are demonstrating arts and crafts like BOOT REPAIR with contact cement. I get to try this, but using a special foam tape. I spread contact cement all over the top of the tape, then it buckles up all ruined because I hadn't realized the tape was two-sided, no cement is needed. Some ladies help clean up. Nerdy loud fella is talking about some higher-ups in the organization by their first name, comparing their virtues, referring to them by their first names repeatedly in a way that makes it seem he's name dropping. [The name "Bob Neal" for example? Missed it again.]
[To bed upstairs for awakenings.]
[LS/NLOBE] I'm climbing carefully, deliberately up the stairs and Taran is coming down at the same time. As I pass him, I carefully examine his face and the shape of his head.
[After transcribing from my dream journal... Noting small successes which includes recording them in detail in a dream journal is not a matter of obligation nor is it a matter of positive thinking. It is a matter of literally building a dream body out of my own energy. What I do and think builds a body. A body of what? Mental stillness or mental chatter? Boring disappointing forgotten dreams not worth writing down or enthusiasm, confidence and hope? Whatever I do with my energy embodies itself as a nonphysical me. Time to meditate.]
2016-04-06 1:00 am
Breeze has entrusted me with the caretaking of the place he's caretaking so he can go away. There are four horses to feed. Unfortunately I forgot all about the horses for quite some time. I suddenly remember about them and rush to check on their stalls in the FOUR CORNERS of the large open area where I live. The first one is dead. The next one appears dead also, but I can't accept this, so I try to give it some water, and sure enough, it comes back to life. The next two are also very thirsty to a critical degree, but giving them water appears to give them the desire to live.
Now to feed them. I scoop up a bunch of odd, bone-shaped things out of a plastic bag, then realize they are dog biscuits. I call myself an idiot and look again. There is a larger plastic bag, it must be horse food. I get a scoop and scoop up some horse food, but realize it had several kernels of dry rice in the bottom of it, so I throw it away as I don't want to feed them the wrong thing by accident as it might blow up their stomachs.
[I am awakened by something and decide to not move and try induction instead of getting up to pee. I am able to cause some non-descript hypnagogic patterns to revolve slowly and to swing toward and away from me, but can't keep it swinging long enough. I decide to try going back to the same dream.]
I have returned to the scene of the crime and the head of the dead horse is still in its stall, but not the rest of it. I plan to get all my stuff out of there and escape before I'm discovered. I quickly evaluate objects on the FOUR walls of the room as to their importance, deciding whether or not to take each object as I come to it.
2016-04-07 12:30 am
Communicating with MW who owns a pet adoption agency. I say that I want to open a pet adoption agency too, but I have no orphaned pets, so I decided to sell the pets' owners to finance the whole operation.
A friend calls somebody and asks her if she'll put on a pie contest with her yellow pudding pie. She agrees to do it. She gives me one of her pies and I eat 3/4 of it, claiming that it was not possible to eat less. [Woke up and went back to sleep and dreamed about the same color/consistency food.]
Yellow pudding fruit with red ball inside the size of an egg yolk.
[Lying down breathing room.]
[NLOBE] Just heard myself exhale from the perspective of the dream body.
At night in a vacant lot near a suburban sidewalk. S. Boyce is overseeing a secret attempt to bury and unbury something of interest. I'm concerned with not leaving any evidence behind so wondering what to do with some tiny pieces of PINK plastic in my hand, dozens of broken off little tabs. SB says not to worry about that, so I throw the little pink tabs on the ground.
Riding my bike to the University Library planning to go down a series of steep, terraced shelves, but decide against it. I have a very small book bag, large enough for one book. The bag has a PINK strap.
[Dreamed about Cwahacoy. Forgot the particulars but wrote a poem while meditating.]
Cwahacoy (The Longing)
Sometime I will see youand it will be the perfect sight.Sometime I will touch your handor your hair or your face,and it will be the perfect touch.Sometime I will lose a tear for missing you,but only one,because it will be the perfect tear.
[Was on back but kept waking up with choking panic, so turned over onto left side.]
[LS1] My left arm is stroking the fur of an animal sleeping next to my abdomen. The motion is relatively fast vs. a relaxed petting motion. [Woke up and realized it was dreambody's left arm that was moving.]
[LS2] Trying to pick up short pieces of wire on the floor a few feet from the bed. Can't do it so I pick up a big wad of wire instead. [Again this is dreambody--non-lucid OBE-next to bed.]
[LS3] Picking up one of my shoes which are next to the bed. [Dreambody.]
[LS5] Trying over and over to say the word "stubborn" but can't pronounce it.
[Continuing motionless in bed despite hunger and urge to pee.]
[LS6] A young man reclining on air a few feet from the bed looks up at me and says, "Unsa diay, Buddy?" in perfect accent. [I slip back under LS and:] My voice: "O-o?" [I slip back under:] Taran's voice: "I know who spilled." [Pause.] "Yama." [Yaya + mama?] As dreambody, I was bending over a heavy ceramic urn about 2-1/2 feet tall, pulling up on a lip at top of it, trying to pick it up enough to rotate it in place. [When I woke up, my left hand was pushing up with fingers on a lip of the desktop next to the bed.]
[LS7] Child's voice: "Wheeee!" I'm rocking back and forth inside the physical but above it.
[LS8] I'm across the room from the bed standing by a drafting table trying to write on a yellow pad of paper. [The table and paper don't exist but my dream journal is right next to me on a child's study desk.] I realized I'm in my dreambody and accept this as the reason I can't write on the pad, but then I assume I'm awake. [Deeper than the previous LS, more realistic, longer, and after that I fell asleep.]
Trying to get my stereo to play, but something's wrong with it.
Later, I try again and I see where the front is abraded and coming apart from the right side. So this is major damage, obviously it has been dropped and I was not told. I go outside to confront Taran and his friends about this. They're playing in the backyard American style: lawn, fence, sandbox, etc. and I try to decide whether Taran is avoiding me or just busy playing and not wanting to be interrupted. I do not interrupt, but go back inside the garage/shop where my activities are centered. I experience major confusion trying to get anything to work right. I put on a CD and the radio plays. I push a button on the tape player on left, then notice two buttons pushed on the tape player on right. I put a CD on and it's three CDs so I have to pry two of them off. I put a little CD in and it turns into a big CD floppy, blue and white. Why is Frank Sinatra playing? I didn't put on any Frank Sinatra, what is this?
I give up to do what I'm supposed to be doing. I go over to the other side of the garage and start sorting through parts I've taken off an air machine that I was lucky enough to find and procure. I wrap tape around the ends of a dirty old tube unit with nipples on the ends. One piece at a time, this is gonna take forever. Where's the other piece like this, there's supposed to be two of them. Should be sitting right here on the floor, with these other parts, should be easy to see.
I try to go past the machine with its big cast iron orange air pump and it's in the way, I have to duck around it which is annoying. Why did I have to put it right here in the way, it's too big to move. I start sobbing from the realization that I want this thing out of here completely, I never want to see it again, I want nothing more to do with it. Maybe my dad will help me get rid of it.
I imagine my friend from high school J. Rhaes walking up to it and putting his hand on the suction inlet and having his hand get stuck there, maybe the flesh would get sucked right off the bones, the suction is so strong. Hey dude don't put your ear up to that hole unless you wanna be deafened. There is real power in this machine, it is not to be trifled with. It will turn your insides into your outsides. [I fight my way out of the dream swimming against the suction of sleep.]
[Wife came downstairs so I went back upstairs, to sleep longer till 7:30. More awakenings, all accompanied by buzzy sensations. Consistently energetic and yet jumbled up and disoriented/disjointed. No coherence or continuity. Tried rolling out etc. Once I noticed dreambody climbing out but only vaguely. Woke up feeling encouraged and energetic, a good long session with lots of vivid hypnagogia.]
Watching a dream documentary about two men. At the climax (where they are arrested) the screen goes suddenly black, dramatically divided into two halves by a bright fine line of yellow light vertically down the center. Everything before this is inaccessible to memory. The final scene I watch from above as the two men are executed on a sandy field by being shot, which I remember vaguely, then in full living color I remember their little blond boy being shot last. The bullet makes him fly several feet and where he lands he whimpers and starts rotating in the sand, his face and longish straight blond hair partially buried in the deep loose sand at one point. I wonder if this is really a documentary or acting. [I wake up shaken by the sight and realize I have woken up smoothly without moving or opening my eyes, and I am vibrating so I calm down and will myself to forget the dream and try to rotate out, but nothing works. I had forgot to put on my blindfold, which is annoying, since I felt I could have gotten out. Still I practice visualizing walking down the stairs to the red chair under the mirror which is my plan of action.]
[I just got a strong feeling that there is only one technique I need to practice and that is hypnagogia. I've been shown time and again that I'm good at it and I just need to try harder to go through it into the next phase while I'm in it. Just read on MR forum a new trick--when in images, try to TOUCH something. Adding one sense after another should wake up the astral body ie merge the dream body with the conscious body or mindbody.]
2016-04-15 11:33 am
[Reasons I am not doing anything
1. lazy about getting up to record dreams2. believing lies of the voice of idiossification: "that dream's boring", "that dream's too long, it will take an hour to write it down when you could be dreaming instead."3. focused on typing existing dream journals--tired of looking at the dang things, too much like work4. obsessed with politics on facebook (what will I do after I save this parallel universe...)5. summer vacation so giving extra time to kids.]
2016-04-16 6:00 am
I spot a little fella who I think might be a good candidate for taking over the air car website. A very nerdy little/young man with dark hair, round head, and big glasses. I'm in Grass Valley on Joerschke Drive on a patch of grass near the coop. I want to know if this kid is hip, so I spot a piece of fennel on the grass and give him some to see if he knows what it is. We're lying on the grass inside a small tent. The fennel looks like ginger root. I give him some and eat some myself. He wants more and I keep finding more in my hand. He doesn't know what it is, so I overpronounce it for him. "Fen-nel." Joe C. shows up and I give him some too. The kid wants to know where to get some and I tell him the health food store or the food coop over on the other side of that building over there in the strip mall parking lot. I start to notice I'm in a vibratory state, and I wonder if I ate too much fennel.
[The dream morphs through changes forgotten into this:] Dreambody as me (a sexy senior citizen) is sitting on a high stool looking down at a woman wearing a PINK halter top who is sitting on a lower chair. The old man says, "and now for something fun!" He tells the girl she is very beautiful and she smiles and blushes. [This PINK woke me up instead of making me lucid. I had been in town earlier doing pink-spotting as an exercise for hours while shopping etc.]
[Shortly after going to bed. Plan is to carefully watch the going to sleep process in detail vs. any specific induction.]
[LS lying on back] [Experienced strong hypnagogic twitch of the head, jerking first to the left and then to the right, which woke me up. I recalled having just seen a very bright, small, focused flash of white light slightly to the left and heard the words, "Just stuffed full of fun."]
8:00 am I have my special stainless steel compressed air tank delivered to my room full of air, but something is wrong. there seems to be an unexpected breeze in the room, as if there was a large leak in the tank. I look carefully at the flange joint where the cap seals on the end. I thought it used an O-Ring, bolt pressure won't change a thing, and it can't come loose by itself. Sure enough, there's a small gap where the cap end is not sealing the tank. I can feel the air hitting my face. There's only one explanation: the bolt broke. This is very dangerous, it's gonna get worse and things could start flying around. Wow look at that gap now. Hey if I stand right in the path of the escaping jet of air it practically lifts me up off my feet and pushes me up against the wall of the room. I gotta tell somebody about this.
I go into the next room and get silent companion and bring him back, explaining what has happened. When we arrive in the room, the entire tank has split open along its length and one half is laying on the floor. I am surprised its wall is two inches thick. I look at the metal where it's broken, seeing that the tank wall is made of alternating layers of dark and light metal. I see SC running his fingers along a place where the metal ripped and warn him to be careful because it's sharp. I realize I'm now completely finished with air cars and will never try again.
[LS] I'm holding in my hand a clear plastic hose that branches into several hoses. The hoses are pumping out white paint, whitewashing everything in sight, and the source of the paint appears to be my hand.
2016-04-22 3:45 am
[NLOBE] I'm sitting at a row of consoles like internet cafe. There are three consoles to my left and to the left of that is a refrigerator. Dreambody gets something out of the refrigerator and walks out behind me.
[Meditation in breathing room, then back to sleep upstairs with blindfold.]
[Woke up with both hands vibrating unmistakably. Could actually feel them oscillating between two positions. Felt afraid and told myself to calm down. Didn't feel exactly like electric shock because frequency too slow. Lay still and paid attention to the sensation for awhile, feeling it get stronger then weaker then stronger etc. Thought maybe I could separate so tried to stretch out but nothing happened. Looked up and in and immediately saw hypnagogic images. Moved into spiral tunnel but went to sleep.]
Looking at a kinetic sculpture about 1-1/2 feet high by 2 feet long. It has a 3-inch-diameter thing in front that rotates into the ground.
Then I look at a similar sculpture made of fabric, yellowish with little pattern pictures repeated all over it, Asian pattern. It appears to jump or twitch when air rushes in to fill it in different places. I realize it's a frog.
I look around. Like others, I am sitting alone at a small table, no food or drink. I stand up and walk around. It's a museum of contemplation. The small sculptures are everywhere. They are so beautiful I start to sob in ecstasy.
[Woke up with both hands vibrating and decided to go back to that dream/place/state. Again looked up and in and waited for the intended dizziness, but went back to sleep instead.]
In a bright apartment where I live with KK, waiting for her to come home. The anticipation of her arrival is so intense I start sobbing in ecstasy.
[The following dream has a jumbled time frame including possible pseudo-memories and spontaneously constructed past events. Add to that my imperfect memory of it and all I can do is to do my best.]
I'm describing recent past experiences to Jovie (silent companion) and about three other unidentifiables. I tell her about these things:
I go to a distant place on a long wintery highway, a straight shot to the west about 200 miles. I go there on a lark, almost as an act of rebellion or to get out of the house. At the end of the journey are some very old inventions including a wooden air car which is refueled by setting it down bodily on its refill pipe. Just as interesting to me is a blue spherical object now in my pocket about one inch in diameter, which I was lucky to find. And surprised it actually existed although they had told me they had it.
Then I'm talking to Taran (silent companion), telling him and experiencing simultaneously the lightness of being that enables me to fly. I'm walking outside Inday Fe's house, a middle-class house on a hill, and as I walk across the lawn, I start to float and at one point I feel my spirit really soar. Inside the house I eat some purple lumps of a gel substance which gives me the magical power of flight. I notice the gel is stuck to bits of trash in a fairly clean ashtray (translucent royal blue), but what the heck, the ash tray is fairly clean and no one's going to call the police if I eat out of it.
I reassure Taran that I can in fact fly and tell him that when I first found out that I would get to marry his mother, I must have flown up into the air at least 30 feet.
I begin to mildly question whether one would have to be asleep in order to fly, or whether it's really possible to fly in reality. I assure myself that I really can fly, and notice that my arms are vibrating.
[I wake up and the vibrations and sounds are clear, especially in my arms. I have not been spending enough time carving my intentions into stone, as it took quite a while before I stopped fiddling with the sensations up and down and tried induction which of course didn't work and I was not wearing my sleeping mask.]
2016-04-25 7:00 am
[Following a night of little sleep after being threatened with a knife by a bro-in-law.] I'm a prisoner of Don M. in his house. [His "house" being his state of mind. D.M. is an unsociable friend who committed suicide about 15 or 20 years ago; I dream about him often]. I've escaped before and I'll do it again. I'm gathering the few things I need, pretending to be cooperative and pretending to like it there, pretending I'm just tidying up, but in reality I'm placing my things together by the other door so all I have to do is pick up my stuff and walk out. Things like my gray file case that has my name written on it in magic marker. But Don sees my pile of stuff and remarks cynically, something like, "Going someplace?" I continue to fantasize about splitting. I know what I'll do. I'll write my goodbye note on my white bedsheet in huge letters with magic marker. That should get his attention.
2016-04-26 4:45 am
Hiking with silent companions who have turned around and gone back, leaving me lagging behind. I am trying to remember the path and the place where the trail heads down from the plateau I am on.
[Slept too much.]
Walking through a very narrow room with some people in it. A woman is sitting on the floor in a kneeling or meditative posture, her back to me. As her back is naked, I assume her front is also, so as I walk past her on her left, I look down and see her face, her breasts, and back to her face. She gives me good eye contact and I like her. She has an honest face. Short reddish brown hair... [...I have the impression of thinking about the woman in the dream all night while asleep. Cwahacoy.]
2016-04-27 1:00 am
[Got attacked tonight by the same bro-in-law. Hit me with a piece of wood the size of a baseball bat...]
[Still sitting in chair after long attempted meditation.]
[LS] Someone empties a container of brown liquid diarrhea on a light-colored floor that's sloped, and it runs uphill to me. I wonder why any liquid would run uphill.
I'm at D. Levy's house waiting for him to return from a work project. He arrives with about ten people who are from a different company. He's been working with them all day and now we will entertain them at his house. One notable member of their party is a woman with a see-through blouse and bouncy breasts. One of my ex-girlfriends is talking to me. She has told me that it's the last day of our relationship, she's breaking up with me again. I say something, forget what; and her response seems to indicate that I am not single. I remind her I can do what I want because I am single, and I laugh loudly.
[The girl with the blouse is the same one who was Cwahacoy in the dream last night. Same short reddish-brown hair and plain but interesting face.]
[Headache for three days. Only break from that was last night with excess adrenalin pumping.]
[Highly hypnagogic all night, extremely energized and have had no caffeine for one or two days.]
1:00 - 5:30 pm
[Lay down to breathe, slept a lot with no plan to do so nor any sense of the passage of time. Many awakenings and vibes. Overcast day so not too hot to sleep.]
[NLOBE] I'm walking up to my bed in the breathing room with my arms full of pillows. I see that I am already lying in the bed. Intensely chaotic energy but not clear or lucid.
2016-04-28 2:10 am
[Long dream with loosely attached episodes.]
Driving down a steep mountain slope but with OBE consciousness--seen from above--no awareness of being in a car-- I am amazed almost to the point of lucidity that my [well-known dream] environment has been destroyed. Places on my dream map are being pulverized by earth-moving equipment. The road is supposed to go to a place where there are crystal mines, and right in the elbow of that last curve is supposed to be that old mechanic fellow who I like to visit, but it's dust and mud with something ominous rising up from the center of where his shack used to be. [See dream about this person 3/28/2016. He must be one of my favorite guides, an aspect of me.]
Arriving at a derelict row of numbered doors covered with mental graffitti my silent companion is Taran. He has trouble finding what I'm looking for while I try to remember into existence what that is. He's opening a locker and there's a dark green canvas shoulder bag, so I look inside and Lo! Yanyan got us the mj after all, even though he got his father to nearly kill me one night ago. This surprises me. The change is there too, a stack of bills neatly rubber-banded together. We'd better get out of here, those guys behind us saw what was in this bag.
We're hiding in a kind of cellar or a motel room accessible only by a hole in the ceiling, and unfortunately a man in the ceiling hole with a shiny gun shaped like a staple gun is going to shoot Taran if I don't turn over the bag. This is obviously a setup. Behind him, another guy holds a similar weapon and behind him, another, so much as I should like to keep my $687 minus whatever YanYan used for the mj, I don't want my little boy to get shot, so I tell them to take it...
On a mountain ridge, a man has run his pickup truck off the road and it's in danger of plummeting right off the mountain. It rights itself somehow, but is still sunk deep down into a shoulder of loose material like a large gully full of dried flowers. I imagine it will be hard to pick up the pickup and put it back on the road.
Next to the road is the gully and next to that is a dike or ridge of solid stone and dust and next to that is air, a steep cliff down to nothing. The gully is more like a gorge, extremely deep, with walls sometimes close together so you can wedge yourself in between them with nothing below you going down forever. Some of the silent companions I'm with are playing this dangerous game, so I join them, but then I look down and get scared, and scuttle back to where it's safe, making some remark about how I should pay attention to where I put my body.
[Lying down in breathing room. Headache. Hot.]
[LS] [Sounds.] I'm down the road where GaGa lives, but the house I'm visiting is Darwin's. I beg to be released from my body, pleading and sobbing.
2016-04-30 12:30 am
[LS] [When we went to bed about two hours ago, Taran decided he wanted to trade places with me instead of sleeping between his mama and me, as he has always done.] Dreambody at head of bed, where I should be sleeping: "Better?" [I woke with a hypnagogic jerk and asked myself what just happened.]
[Woke up disappointed at the poor results of dreaming, but what the heck, I have a cold and I need sleep. ...And feel more strongly than ever that getting too much sleep is deleterious to the practice bacause I am not motivated to lie down during the day and get the many awakenings I need to build confidence in the dream bodies' existence. I had a short hypnagogic practice last night when I first lay down or shortly thereafter with good results, but I am not giving this method the emphasis it deserves since it is the one thing I'm good at. I need to pay attention again when I wake up in the night like I was doing when I had my OBEs. I want to give up my facebook habit and start working on my new website a lot more. I felt an extreme resistance to getting up and writing down my dreams last night so maybe "writing 100 times" is not the method for me. Maybe not because I resent mindless programming. I could be spending that time generating real experiences by breathing. I am getting more and more interested in the fact that I can make vibes happen and the sounds. I always feel vibes when waking out of a dream. I don't want to get over focused on them, but I do want to develop a set routine to do whenever I feel vibes. Maybe I should just stop all inductions and make my new website instead. This is what worked before due to my contrary nature regarding motivation. While I wrote Part 1 of Meetings of Possible Ways, I became extremely motivated to finish it so I could start focusing on practices, which I refused to begin till I finished Part 1.]
[This would work for the following reason. I have time to be at the computer since it's started raining and I can't exercise much because of my little accident. It's my nature (see "contrary motivation") to change hobbies every three months. By working with who I am instead of trying to turn into Astralman by guilt-tripping religiosity, I'll get more done and regenerate enthusiasm by not frustrating myself or feeling guilty. Learn from past mistakes when I continued a practice "because I had to" instead of going ahead and living in waves which is my normal mode of existence. Learn from the greatest lesson of my life and stop trying to force change on myself. Incorporate this learning into the work and the book instead of trying to deny it.]
[Spent the day at a couple of social events trying to "practice mindfulness" a.k.a. be-here-now without "grasping or aversion" (as per dream yoga book).]
A man lurking across the street from our communal home in a quiet middle-class neighborhood is the father of somebody in the commune. Then he's in the kitchen cleaning up--obviously he's hungry, trying to earn a meal. I open a round tubular cardboard box--like a Quaker Oats box--and it's full of fresh toast that somebody just made and didn't eat. I repeat over and over, now why would somebody make all this toast and then not eat it? I take a handful of warm toast out of the carton and split it into two piles, one for him and one for me, then take one from his pile and add it to mine before handing him his pile of toast. He says thanks.
With Taran, I'm looking into some technical questions about what the Catholic Church will or will not allow. The man has a beard and glasses and wears a white shirt and sits in a chair like the one we have with a writing table attached to the right arm. The man is dipping a cigarette into a vivid green liquid. In response to one of Taran's questions, he says, "The field supervisor could answer that one." I am extremely annoyed at this bureaucratic runaround and don't like being shuffled from desk to desk over simple questions. I know Taran's fears are groundless, but I think someone should just give him a straight answer. I am getting ready to say, "This is why I don't like the Catholic Church" [when I wake up.]
Silent companion and I have been standing in line to get tickets to go to a movie, but when we get to the window, we are told that tickets are not being sold because there is a problem with prostitution going on inside the theater. We go to a gas station on a motorcycle and I pay for gas with a $20 bill, but am told I'll have to wait for the change. Silent companion goes to a friend's house and I stay across the street spying on him to see who his friend is. It's winter and I try to hide behind the trunk of a small leafless tree. Then I look in a canal and everything has changed into a multi-color hallucination. Someone is rescuing someone else by swimming across the canal with them. All is strange, weird, disproportionate. Plot disappears into images, such as a small wooden toy (penguin?) that's rotating in my visual field. [OBE rotation/entry this wakes me up.]
[Two dreams forgotten. Woke in strong vibrations with sounds.]
[Remember to touch something when in hypnagogic state, and remember to try focusing on hypnagogia as if it were the only technique I need. 1. see images. 2. go through images 3. touch something 4. taste something 5. hear something 6. imagine something and that should be plenty.]
[Go into spiral tunnel and try to run hands along walls of tunnel. (--Added note May 7: Finally remembered to try this last night. Easy, but when trying to smell the dankness of the earthen tunnel I fell asleep. Still have a cold so hard to imagine smelling anything.)]
2016-05-04 5:30 am
Walking with KK/silent companion. The structure to our left is a long, continuous white-painted, enclosed, tunnel-like thing. When we get to the part occupied by Terra, it seems a shame to not say hi, so we knock on the door and she lets us in. The man with her, who we know, has a very unwelcoming look on his face, but since he is pissing me off with his unfriendly warning glare, I decide to break him down by reminding him we are friends. So I shake his hand and start chattering at him and he melts a little.
Everybody takes off down the tunnel or someplace and I try to follow a little later. It's like a long parked train with the seats taken out. I get to an end of a car or a junction point where I can go straight, left, or right. A slender woman is standing there waiting for me. She has fairly short curly light brown hair. I wonder what to do next, but when I grok the presence of Cwahacoy, I know what to do. I start kissing the beautiful girl, what else?
2016-05-05 6:00 pm
[Lying down breathing room.]
[Wife is painting right outside window, talking to herself and singing...]
[LS1] Wife on my left getting help at the pharmacy but I'm chomping at the bit, it's taking forever. An assistant pharmacist approaches me at the counter and says, "Can I push something through?" [i.e. speed things up for me personally.] I say, "Yeah, one..." but I can't remember what I wanted one of. Some kind of long snakey ropey thing? [Woke up.]
[LS2] Trying to say, "Taran. Taran," but paralyzed. Shift to non-physical and able to say, "You wanna go to..." but then thinking of how to suggest we go to the half of the basketball court where I am not under threat by the bro-in-law who owns it, [when I woke up.]
[NLOBE] [While breathing.] I remember to focus on hypnagogic images. Briefly see the spiral, but ignore it and move to an indistinct PINK blotch. Remember to move into it, but it's turned into the face of a nun.
Me-2: "How do you move into a pink nun?" Me-1: "It doesn't matter what it is. If it's a pink nun, just move into the pink nun."
I move into the nun and it becomes a PINK tunnel opening. I try to grab the edges of the opening and pull myself through. I get a strong hypnagogic twitch which wakes me up.
[Just ate and will now go to bed early to wake up at 5:30 am and take Taran to his basketball clinic.]
[Sometime during the night I woke up and kept eyes closed and looked for the spiral and saw it immediately, effortlessly, very high resolution. I looked at it and immediately fell asleep. Realized today that this is my thing. This is instant results for me, and it was given to me for this purpose on a bona fide vision quest where I did in fact stalk my own death like a proper shaman. The spiral elongates into a tunnel, so I have to move into it, and not worry about getting to the other end, but instead touch the walls of the tunnel, smell, hear, etc.]
[After waking from this dream, I tried to memorize it for a few seconds, then looked at the spiral and immediately fell asleep. I kept revisiting parts of this dream for the next three hours of sleep, none of which helps me remember it now. The theme is "Not up to the task."]
Out on some lonely highway, cold snowless winter, JDM as silent companion and I walk into a real estate office hoping to get hired.
A flashy, arrogant dude who is less than four feet tall talks to us. He has bright red hair combed straight up, and a large ring with a transparent yellow stone. He acts like a big shot yuppie and I keep mouthing off to him, thinking, "If this mouthing off doesn't help me get hired, then I don't want to work for him," because I figure to work for this smartass, I would have to be a smartass too, the two of us would never get along any other way. The dwarf steps out and one of his co-workers confides in us that, "He ruined my daughter's life." I feel a surge of self-righteous contempt for the psychopathic loudmouth clown and say something that displays this, and lo: it was a trick. The dwarf steps out from behind a post and he was listening to the whole thing. He says something to the effect that he might hire my quiet friend, but he has his doubts about me.
We stick around and I try to make myself useful, but the rest of this episode is forgotten.
Then I'm trying to describe the experience to someone later [after waking and going back to sleep] and the person hopes I will go to work for someone else, but not someone who has a light-colored ring.
Then I revisit the office itself, but not comfortable there. A woman is in charge and seems to pity me. I can't decide what I should be doing and I feel very insecure. I look at my reflection and I see I have huge white-framed plastic glasses on. I wonder how I could have been so tacky and why I thought anyone would hire me and/or like me if they had to look at me wearing those monstrous glasses.
I go out the back door into an enclosed lawn with two medium-tall trees and dry grass. I look up into one of the trees, which seems to grow taller as I look at it, and shoot a squirt gun full of lemon juice at the branches, which so effortlessly reach for the sky. The tiny squirt gun has no oomph and the stream of liquid only goes up about three feet, not reaching the nearly vertical branches of the tree. I wonder what the lemon juice is supposed to be able to do for the trees.
[To bed, will focus on moving into the tunnel, adding touch and hearing instead of smell. Focus on not moving when waking up, getting up immediately to record dreams, or else never mind the dream and go back to sleep without moving while in vibrational state using spiral/tunnel. Focus on recognizing paralysis such as the choking panic when waking after only a few seconds of sleep. Look for PINK, know I'm dreaming. Look for HANDS. Remember to ignore the voice of idiossification trying to say it's all boring and useless.]
[Detailed dream forgotten instantly except that after being forced out of dream by voices outside, I quickly went back into dream state and watched some public service announcement types of visions with the Glenwood Springs swimming pool as background. Up above the pool from the main street bridge where the park is. Bizarrely annoying... I decided to look at spiral and it appeared in pieces, at angles, in color, in ultra-high resolution. And rotating spontaneously. Other hypnagogia available on request...]
2016-05-08 1:20 am
[Going to bed.]
[NLOBE] Woman's voice--exact words forgotten--indicates we should get on with it, whatever I need is going to be worth seeking out, and I will be helped. [Sometime before or right after this I recall actually asking for help from anyone who is bigger and better than me "because I don't know how". I was conscious at this point. I think the hypnagogic voice came after that?]
"Who'll pay for my X-rays?"
Talking to Mama about something, I forget what. Later she has had to get her eyes taken out for testing and put back in. Not a routine matter. I'm at a clinic, but no one will help me. It's more like a living room staffed by a bunch of vindictive young whiners and creeps playing status-conscious gossipy melodrama games and they've decided to ignore me for some reason. I sit around for a long time feeling angry and self-pity and hate, then finally as I'm on my way out the door, a young man decides to go ahead and help me after all. I'm slightly encouraged and we clear off a place on a desk for a scale so the eyes can be weighed.
The situation is this: her eyes have been photographed as I explain to someone later, but the doctor who can do a diagnosis won't look at the photos until the paper has been cut and skotch-taped to some marbles.
I walk through a cold, snowy night to the hospital where Mama is staying. To get into the place where she is being kept--some sort of mental health wing--I will have to slide on my feet down a driveway coated with a sheet of ice covered by two feet of snow. I know of a young man who tried this and was critically injured. I'm standing on the flat roof, and the driveway goes down from there to street level below. I imagine what it will be like to be critically injured. I decide I don't care.
I go in and start going through large deep drawers on the entrance porch for what I'm looking for. A woman is trying to help me. Obviously I'm looking in the wrong drawer, there's nothing in here but red-and-white striped pajamas. Nothing makes any sense. I wake up. [It's Mothers Day.]
This dream was organized into a variety of frameworks including a musical production and a flashback. Its characters didn't include me as far as I recall. Most of it is too weird to remember. Main character seems to be a silent sad professor at a dinner table. It's not known at first that he's a professor, just seems a derelict. He's a silent guest at a dinner in a large dark room, a warehouse full of shelves whose presence is felt, not seen.
During the musical number, actors such as Brad Pitt [Added note: probably me, as I recently had a dream where I met myself but mistook self for Brad Pitt. --ed.] interrupt the sad song with single spoken lines, comments on their personal life as they go through cardboard boxes full of meaningful personal items. The boxes are lined up around the perimeter of the room. The sad song is going along and an actor pulls something out of his box, makes a one-line comment about it in step with the music, and the audience (me) cries. The song continues and the next actor does the same thing.
Then a narrator fills in some of the derelict's history. I learn he is a professor. Some things are acted out. The professor has very short hair and looks like a mental patient or burned-out alcoholic. In the flashback, he looks the same, but has a short white goatee and a young androgynous family member with curly dark hair who is lost to him, resulting in his sadness.
Then the dream plot devolves into a jumble of symbolism involving a monstrous-sized snake about three feet in deameter and longer than the room. The people in the room are handling and stroking the snake or trying to carry it.
[A long dream forgotten concludes thus:] My boss is big, masculine, fair and gentle. He isn't my boss yet, but myself and others are interacting in some way in a place where he's in charge. Finally he amazes me by saying to me something like, "Could you use $22 an hour?" I am overwhelmed with gratitude and easily accept, with confidence.
He instructs me to start getting rid of useless junk, including two flags. One is an American flag. They have been in storage, with the cloth flag securely wrapped around the pole. He instructs me to gently insert them in the incinerator, which is a metal tube disposed semi-vertically. It's about a foot in diameter and its open end is about the level of my chest, and it disappears into the floor.
[...the boss is a master or teacher who is "bigger and better" as I requested yesterday. He demonstrates that I can get the needed shift only if I first incinerate, gently, the political soapboxing on facebook that my mind engages in a few hours a day, during which time I'm unavailable for practices, and the dualistic, good-vs-evil images absorbed during this time undo any practices that I do have time for. PS, today is election day in the Asian country where I live, so let this day be remembered as the first day I posted only one thing on facebook in months, with that post not being overtly political or whiny.]
In the mall and have to pee but don't want to take my purchase in with me, so need a place to hide it. I go into a branch off the main corridor leading to the restroom that is undecorated and unused, just bare concrete with a little trash on the ground. I take another branch off this and this branch continues in a spriral configuration of turns as the passage narrows and finally ends. I'm surprised there's no door at the end, but that just means no one will have a reason to come here. I set my small paper bag on the floor at the very end. What's inside is oval and white, about the size of an ostrich egg. I go back and just one turn away from the main corridor, I see a kind of cubbyhole with a raised platform and an opening apparently closed permanently with a very old sheet of dark, discolored wood.
Staring at the door apparently causes me to go through it, as I am now in another spiralling passage through concrete. But this one is compounded, with one spiral and then another whole spiral branching off of that. The package is forgotten, but not the sense of purpose as I cautiously imagine going around and around a spiral, then taking a branch off of it, telling myself to always go left or always go right so I don't get lost. But how do I get out? Just do the opposite. I suddenly doubt my ability to remember which way I've been going, and exit to a sunny resort hotel in a glass building where people are lounging around in multi-tiered colorful plastic architecture. Nikola Tesla is there as a very old man, but a gay couple jogging around the area bumps into him. One of these approaches me. He is stocky with kinky curly white blond hair, wearing a bright yellow jogging outfit. Suntanned. He is talking on a largish, squat, bright neon yellow-green cell phone, and I wonder if this movie is supposed to be set in the 1990s with such a fat cell phone appearing in it as a prop.
He seems to have read my mind, because he tosses the phone to me, but instead of hurtling towards me, it just floats gently in the air, suspended by some kind of force field that it generates. We toss it back and forth for a while, but no matter how hard you throw it, it just floats in slow motion, so it's easy to catch. But what I really want... is some cheese! But it's so expensive...
I'm driving on a country road and stop at the nearby cheese stand. The big blonde girl who works there, dressed as a Swiss dairy maid, comes out to my convertible with a small plate that has five slices of cheese on it for me to sample. I notice the cheese is sitting in an oily liquid, which I think is tacky, so I take only the top three and wolf them down. It's delicious, very cheesy. I realize the liquid is natural with this kind of cheese and I regret not having taken it all. The girl has a sour look on her face and I wonder if she has to consume all the uneaten samples.
2016-05-10 12:15 am
In the high school for the annual taxation with my parents. It's night and although we're inside the school with its circular corridors [my weird high school built in the 1970s when architects and high school teachers were all stoned], it seems dark inside too. I'm walking alone in the circular path past an endless line of people standing in line facing me. I see a flash of light reflect from round wire-frame glasses and it's my dad standing in the line, though I don't recall his ever wearing round glasses. I stop and talk to him. He's disgruntled about the amount of the annual bleeding, over $175 this time. My mom joins us, but I don't see her (silent companion).
[As barking dogs disturb my sleep as well as loud conversations from the packing house where they are uncelebrating after election day, the dream morphs into a careful attempt to...] Stay calm and choose the plates. We need lots, but not big ones. They are upside-down in short stacks, so I am aware there are two, no three different patterns of the plates being chosen. Near-lucid. Confusion but careful calm about whose house I'm in, it's dark and what am I doing in my bigoted bro-in-law's house? Stay calm, stay calm...good practice. [ADDED NOTE: This was a premonitional dream. About 1:00 pm two girls came upstairs to ask to borrow some SMALL PLATES for a picnic they're having.]
[Today I learned to think of my attackers as very serious and angry ballerinas in pink tutus. It helped a lot to keep me uninvolved emotionally as they keep popping into my mind unwanted...]
[Don't know the dream context, but I was expected to come up with something jolly. This was so objectionable to me that I woke up with a jolt and ripped the mask off my face. Hahaha, that's what I get for praying for self-improvement.]
On a hilltop house renovation site where a bunch of us are, most details forgotten. I find myself in a clear plastic object the shape of a space capsule like the ones that used to drop astronauts into the ocean after a mission. This one is like a tent or air mattress, soft thick vinyl plastic and semi-full of air with me inside. My capsule is teetering on the edge of the site and there is a straight drop down 20 to 30 feet down to an intermediate terrace carved into the side of the hill. I know the fall will happen and I intend to land in the branches of a tree below me and slightly to my left.
[More trouble from next door, omitted.]
Looking out through a screen door from a screened-in area, some people are approaching me. They are evil ghosts. One looks straight at me [and I wake up terrified, refuse to get up to write down dream, sleep/unconsciousness is too precious and rare tonight.]
On the front lawn there are two squiggle babies running across the lawn to escape being trodden under foot, and there are others running the other way, but I can't pay attention to all of them. Human children are playing and carelessly stepping on them, which is tantmount to murder, and I find it very upsetting. I shout, "Be careful, they're just babies!" but it doesn't do any good. The children, who I don't actually see, keep stepping on the squiggle babies, which start out about 8 inches tall, but get shorter each time they're disturbed.
Near a paved two-lane road in a forest, I crawl through a small opening into a small cave and wait for the zombies to go by. [Part of this dream was written down, either scripted or recorded during the dream itself. Details forgotten.]
I'm leaving, moving out, not coming back. Leaving on a jet plane. My bags are packed, I'm ready to go. Except for three pillows, now what am I going to do with those? Looking at the clock I see my plane leaves in 20 minutes. Still enough time to sit down and write something up. Let's see, what will I say. Hmmmm... WHAT DID THE CLOCK SAY??!! Oh no, I blew it, the plane leaves in a little over 15 minutes and here I sit in my apartment, I haven't even left for the airport yet. What am I gonna do with those three pillows, I can't believe this is happening. This flight is important. Important! How could I waste this opportunity?
I'm lying down on the floor on my stomach trying to push the stupid out of my body... out, out, out, get out stupid... [I wake up. Obviously a non-lucid OBE smarmed by emotional issues.]
Someone has taken the ball and I'm determined to get it back. This takes me from room to room and from floor to floor and from nook to cranny and from melodrama to melodrama in a big, unpainted, ramshackle wooden tenement that is ready to fall down. The deviousness and treachery of the inhabitant who has made off with the ball is unbelievable. [Long detailed dream, details forgot. Fiesta last night ended with close gunshots from an undiscoverable source. Added note: I had food poisoning but didn't realize it till later that day or the next day --ed.]
[Spent the morning clearing the yard, organizing trash/compost and burning trash. Headache now. Moved breathing bed upstairs since we now have a ceiling up there, it's not so hot and also have curtains on the side where it's hot in the afternoon. Will lie down try to cure headache without medicine. Just drank my 1/2 decaff but can't function or think, too tired.]
[NLOBE] Watching part of myself put another part of myself to sleep. This was done by pushing the 3ness body into a substance similar to fog, but solid yet yielding like a marshmallow cloud.
2016-05-22 4:15 am
I'm taking a shower in a long trough made from a short concrete wall running the length of the room. I'm halfway down and the other showers aren't being used because it's the end of the day and the shower room is almost closed. I put my T-shirt on prematurely and have to take it back off to wash my upper torso. I leave the water off while soaping up, wondering if my conservatism will be appreciated if noticed. When finished, I walk out into the hall carrying a soap dish in one hand and something else in the other. The two young men planning to clean the shower room are outside waiting for me to finish. One asks why I'm taking the stuff and I say, "Mine." He points out that the other thing is not mine and asks if I'm bringing it right back.
Walking down the corridor to my room, I see all the dorm rooms are now open and the pairs of roommates standing and sitting around in the hall close to their doors. This makes me nervous socially as it's not my idea of how to spend the evening. I get to my room and see the door is open which I think is odd, but the light's off in the first two rooms I walk through. Finally arrive in my room proper and start putting my things away, then notice my roommate, a wispy Vietnamese girl with short hair, sullen or somber looking. She has closed the door much to my relief and is laying on her bed on left side of long room on her stomach. Ignoring me, watching TV, bad reception, news show. I briefly consider being annoyed at the lack of privacy, but I think the girl is interesting and remind myself not to develop an instant crush on her.
While I putter around putting my towel and things away, she has turned the volume off on the TV and is watching another smaller TV at the other end of her bed. She surprises me by speaking, mentioning that something horrible will be done to the turtle in the show. I agree, self-conscious about being too agreeable as she seems too smart to be fooled by boring seduction antics. She nervously tries to say a Tagalog sentence and I am surprised to find that I am able to correct her grammar. My correction is something like "Maghuwasay ko sa bottle," but I correct my last two words: "...sa botilya." I wonder if this is really Tagalog or Visayan. I assume it's about cleaning the bottle, but not sure as I don't actually speak Tagalog. [Dictionary-Visayan: huwasay = large axe; "I'm giving the axe to the bottle." This could be a reference to not drinking much anymore since I drank a little bit almost nightly for a while and no longer do.]
I've had to take several months off school and I'm confident I can just join in the math class I've missed without a problem. It's in Room 255 and it's called "Reverse _____ with _____ variables." I let the other students sit down first so I don't take anybody's desk. I notice on one edge of the room, three empty desks are on a sloped floor and I don't want to sit there. I finally choose a seat, but a student (silent companion) stares at me fixedly with raised eyebrows as if to say, "Can I help you? Because you don't belong here." I mumble something about the name of the class I'm supposed to be taking, but it's hard to even remember the name of the subject. I see the number 255 on the wall, but no other indication I'm in the right place. [Someone wakes me up.]
[food poisoning, lying down]
Traveling on a steep rocky road, mountain to the left, cliff drops off to the right, river to the right of that, I demonstrate the ability to fold my legs up cross-legged. [I don't meditate this way.] I glide down the steeply sloped road without touching it. Dual consciousness, doing it while watching it.
In Nevada City, there's a man flying around in a big plastic airplane that hovers and maneuvers all over the place, able to move in such a slow and controlled way that it can appear to stick to the sides of buildings. [Near lucidity.] Very bright and good show. [Woke up feeling happy but still have food poisoning, still dizzy, diarrhea, etc. Semi-delirious for third day in a row, barely able to eat, the smell of fried food or fish or pork is gross, mostly eating fruit, oatmeal, and tuna sandwich. Hypnagogia easy to generate but somewhat flashy, tattered, disorganized, annoying, dizzy. Only practice lately is breathing when not busy doing something else and repeating the word "dream" as I go to sleep.]
[The next dream has no sense of time. No plot, just disjointed episodes.]
A young woman has given me an old moldy little house at the farm in Maduao. I am ecstatic because it's mine all mine. I am really happy and I want to put on my new red shoes and go work on the farm. At first I think there's NO TIME--almost dark--but I glance at the clock and see it's only 3:00 pm. I have one of my new red shoes on, and I grab the other one as well as Taran's red shoes and run upstairs. I sit sideways, feet up, in a gold upholstered chair--old and dirty with long strands of black hair from a former occupant stuck to the upholstery--ecstatically chowing down on swiss cheese and sourdough bread, carefully telling myself to not let the food touch the dirty chair since I'm balancing the sandwich on my knee as I make it.
Downstairs where we have no ceiling yet, I'm practicing breathing and on the inhale if I flap my hands a little, I'm able to easily float to the ceiling and by taking further sips of air to top off my already full lungs, able to stay there (feels the same as floating on water--keeping lungs fully expanded while continuing to breathe, i.e. not holding the breath just to keep lungs expanded.) Upon exhale I float back down. Jovie comes home and I demonstrate my ability to her. [Almost lucid. Woke up almost healthy.]
[Also during recent illness the attack has become my DEFAULT THOUGHT despite much sincere effort to prevent this. What's needed is a new default thought--"death as an advisor" has me working on my new website "in case I'm dying" which has kept me sane during the four days of dizziness, hallucinatory disjointed thinking, etc., while I had food poisoning...]
On a crew responsible for getting a roof clipped into place. It's a flat, one-piece light weight roof on a featureless rectangular building with blue carpet on the walls. The perimeter of the roof has thousands of metal tabs that are supposed to be bent down to hold the roof in place, but many are bent down prematurely, preventing the roof from slipping into place. At one particularly lucid moment, I run into the building, and using the momentum of my body and the traction of the blue carpeted walls, I run up the wall all the way to the top. Later I try this and it's not as easy because I worry about what to grab onto when I get to the top.
[Also dreamed about] a whirlygig one-man helicopter, but it was broken. [Forgot details.]
[Taking two nights off from the practice to drink wine and watch movies.][LS] "When the doorknob becomes a decoration." [(re: spiritual materialism.) The spurious notion of spiritual progress can easily creep into the practice. This can be guarded against by purposely keeping one foot in the physical world so that the physical world doesn't slap you when you least expect it in order to bring you back to consciousness. The goal is to develop a skill and win a game, not to buy into the perceived need to change into a different, better, cleaner, less sinful person. Our unique configuration is what gives us our personality...]
Sitting in a small rustic meeting room lined with crude wooden benches. Only a few people are there. There are no walls. The leader sits down in front and center, but facing away from the benches. [It's the woman I knew at the hot springs who saw the same aura I saw.] She drives it away. The whole thing is a moving vehicle.
In the High School, but it's pretty deserted. I have to pee and go to the next room to do it. I start peeing, then realize I have no toilet, so I grab a SPIRAL NOTEBOOK [like what I'm writing in right now] and hold it under the stream. I wake up to find it's raining very hard, but I don't have to pee. [Dreams and non-lucid OBEs about my dream journal are common.]
[... Practice is reduced to breathing and dreaming, haven't meditated formally in weeks.]
[Just lay down and focused on stopping the internal dialog while definitely not trying to go to sleep--a birthday party next door is noisy anough to be annoying if I cared about noise, which I don't--and instead to focus on the new MR revelation: "All reality is the phase and solid waking reality is just a more stable experience made that way by the physical senses." I quickly had two experiences but it's getting hard to classify them as either LS or NLOBE because there is often no longer any lapse or transition so "sleep" is the wrong description and there is some question as to the importance of "lucidity" or "knowing you're dreaming." I like MR's apparently new phrasing of lucidity "knowing you're asleep" vs. "knowing you're dreaming." Anyway, I'll try to call these "phase experiences" and see if I can dig it.]
[PE1] A static image of P Huyett (a dead friend) in a great tan colored cape, stylized, a painting rather than a photographic looking image, and the sneaking suspicion this is a communication from her.
[PE2] Someone on my left hands me three important slips of paper and someone on my right grabs them before I get a chance to. This is upsetting, but then I realize it's dreambody trying to get my attention and I "wake up", not that I was asleep.
[...Wake up 6:45 am after sleeping 9 hours in the exact same position, no pee breaks, nothing. No awakenings. Couldn't go back to sleep. Had the impression that the various dreams about the machine shop and the woman boss took up all the night unabated. Major adjustments taking place under the surface. Stuff the conscious mind could never accomplish.]
Using a small arroyo to hide in. Jumping into it with the aid of a pole (skinned tree) which I use by placing the end in the bottom of the ditch which is about ten feet deep and 10 feet wide. Than sliding clumsily down the pole quickly while managing to control it so it remains vertical. This skill is very enjoyable [like flying]. I find an easy way out of the canal. No water in it, sandy. Getting dark. Spooky dream, hiding from some threat.
Climbing mountains inside wooden tunnels with Joseph C., Cwahocoy, and her boyfriend. At first with Joseph. Sliding backwards up a road embankment on my butt, backwards because I'm afraid of heights [in the dream] and won't turn my back on the air between me and the bottom of the canyon a mile below. In a wooden tunnel I ask Joseph if we're close to his land...
They go on an uphill walk with us. We're resting and Joseph is toying with a seismograph showing how to move the needle up and down as it grazes the coil to generate a reading. Then it has a reel-to-reel tape. The recorder belongs to the couple, but Joseph has a blank tape with him, which he gives them and winds into their tape reel after sloppily twisting it on to splice it to the reel.
Then we're riding a cart up the hill and I notice the small trail has become almost vertical. Someone says this is where we climb. We have to carry the cart. We are clinging together in a single cluster sand climbing as if one person with the cart strapped to our butts. In the end, I'm carrying the cart along with it wedged onto my butt...
[Back to bed 5:00 am.]
[Seen from above:] I'm in a shiny little black pickup and Mr. Murray is in his usual tan pickup. We are both backing across a big parking lot at high speed toward two parking spaces that are close to each other. Then we are on the sidewalk outside the mall and we connect (but not visually): "Hey is that really you? Long time no see"--etc.
[All the above dreams are symbolized OBEs. Well so are all dreams, period, but these symbols are kinda transparent. Long tunnels/trajectories/vehicles, climbing up and down, four people climbing, weighed down by their vehicles which they have to carry, then merging into one climbing body...]
"The City of Bridges"
I have to move again, and I'm grateful for all the practice I've had because although it will be hard, it won't be impossible. Still, carting one box at a time through town with a hand truck seems like the hard way to do things, but what else is new. Doing things the hard way is my middle name.
So my companion (SC) is a young man who has his own hand truck, a nerdy teenager with whom I soon merge. I imagine I will have to make many laborious trips across town like this with a heavy backpack, and a handtruck carting one box at a time. I imagine telling my dad about my predicament, but then he'd want to interfere by making it easy for me with his car. I arrive at the on ramp of a bridge. Not many cars, but I think it will be easier if I pick up the box in my arms and run across the street.
I'm offered a ride by three portly old snooty middle class women wearing long fuzzy coats in a very small bright/dark BLUE car [yes THAT blue--I have switched from pink as a dream cue to dark blue, the deep royal blue I see on my closed eyelids more often than any other color]. I sit in the back seat. They get to where they're going and the driver tries to fit into an impossibly small parking spot the length of the car itself by first backing through the spot all the way onto the wide sunny sidewalk. They are in a quandary about how to pay for something because they have only brought $100 bills. The driver talks them into leaving their things in the car, because she has window covers so the inside of the car will be less unbearably hot sitting in the sun.
I jump out and continue looking for my destination, but I no longer carry a load--it's forgotten. Having just done this recently it seems the way should be clear. But everything is so confusing. The big stone or concrete buildings are nearly deserted, it's bright and sunny, but I can't seem to remember what I was supposed to do. I enter a building experimentally, thinking maybe what I seek is on the other side of the building, so I could just make my way through the building to the other side. I go into a room, but I'm scolded by children who tell me to not walk on the floor, it's a special floor. I have to walk on it to get back out of the small dead-end room. Back out in the lobby a nice man with curly gray hair is more helpful but his instructions are impossible to remember.
Back outside, I look from a vantage point down upon a vista of bridges arriving at my general location from across a large body of sea water. There are highway bridges for cars, single track railroad bridges, bridges that go up and own like a roller coaster. A truly surreal landscape. I imagine what would happen if I were to go over these bridges, and can't imagine the result being the one I want. The place I want to go or the way I want to go lingers just out of reach of my groping mind. I just can't quite remember.
Returning my focus to the campus of concrete buildings, I mull over what someone just told me--the agency I'm looking for only takes $9.80 as the fee out of the travel package price for where I'm going. I think this seems quite reasonable. I spot the man with curly gray hair when I look into the window of a building, by looking through conveniently positioned apertures in various walls and divisions within the building.
Finally I approach a certain building with lots of signs and yellow tape roping off areas. This whole area is obviously under construciton. Exact words ring in my head to the effect that we are certainly open for business although it may appear that we are not. I head toward the building's entrance thinking they have been hidden within this construction zone for so long that they've stopped bothering to put up signs to guide people to their office. I wonder how they manage to stay in business. I decide to search the building until I find them.
"The Blind Dog Helps"
Along with SC as JonJon (a 7-year-old cousin of my son), I've been made a policeman, but our first experience will be as security guards at the park. We arrive on a sunny day at the park and proceed onto the vast flat expanse of treeless grass. I am excited about my new-found authority and envision running from group of people to group of people looking for trouble and hoping someone starts a fight or something.
JonJon stops at the first group of kids to play with them and I keep going. I end up close to a small stadium, my role as security guard forgotten. I briefly watch an inebriated man with a microphone speaking to a sub-audience off to the side about the acceptableness of drinking a little, even in public.
I'm happy to encounter my favorite actor, Steve Buscemi, who is here to train me and show me my duties. But he says that first he wants to introduce me to my greatest admirer. To do this, he leads me up the concrete bleachers in the hot sun, stopping partway up to lift his leg and fart at great length. He's wearing blue jeans and a shirt with wild patterns in shades of green.
We find ourselves inside the office apartment of a middle-aged woman with short blonde hair wearing a drab, gray-blue-colored business suit. She seems friendly but serious, the no-nonsense type. She seems fairly attractive despite being middle-aged, since I am now beyond middle-aged. She goes into another room and Steve mentions how very busy she is. [Pretty sure this is Hillary Clinton--my mental version of her--but not recognized as such. At this time I was spending hours each day campaigning against her on FB.]
Going through her trash, I find some papers in my handwriting. I decide this is OK under the circumstances, although it means someone's been going through my trash or taking something from my desk, but OK because she's my greatest admirer. Looking closely at one of the two papers, it seems I'd been trying to research the etymology of the name "Mark".
The woman breezes back into the room, unapologetic about multi-tasking while I am visiting her, my greatest admirer. She opens a thick paperback book with a soft light blue cover to a page and shows it to me, explaining that she and I had briefly corresponded by email at one time. I look at the section she indicated in the book and recall vaguely the long-past emailings. Having to do with my guruship in some way, i.e. me as a spiritual authority figure, a pretense held up by my writings on the internet, but not a belief about me that is deeply held by those few people who actually know me. While I study the book, which is written by either her or I, she disappears again.
JonJon has caught up with me again as SC. We're watching the woman's dogs, both tan, short-hair dogs, short but stout. One keeps jumping up into a RED METAL CHAIR to lie on the cool steel. [These chairs were once popular patio chairs before plastic chairs were made.] Then one dog grabs the leg of the heavy chair with long curved claws and starts to laboriously drag it across the floor, which I find fascinating.
Even more interesting, the other dog, who is blind, grabs the other leg of the chair [these chairs only have two legs and no back legs, just a welded tubular U-shaped leg that gives the chair the ability to rock/flex slightly due to the U's flexibility]. The blind dog grabs the other leg in its teeth and together the two dogs pull the chair around on the wood floor. I laugh loudly, in one voice, and then less spontaneously in another voice, wondering if I've got the right laugh for a spiritual authority, and if so, hoping the woman heard me from wherever she is.
I loudly announce, "The blind dog helps!" [and wake up.]
[Notice the annoying tendency to wake up when I should become lucid. But this is more than just "waking up when I should become lucid." Because waking up and becoming lucid are the same thing: remembering who I am. The trick is to remember who I am and carrying that lucidity deeper into the dream instead of out of the dream back to the physical dream.]
[Maybe it's hard to become lucid since I no longer believe I am the stream of memories I'm supposed to invoke. I now believe I am awareness at large and the stream of memories is of no importance.]
[My first planned act in my Plan of Action upon finding myself lucid or OOB is to go to the red chair downstairs. The chair is canvas on a round tubular steel frame. NOT A BAD dream approximation. This is very encouraging.]
[LS] A dreary graveside scene, inchoherent dialog between the people gathered there and the spirit of the deceased. Woken by thunder, real or dreamed.
[Above: I did a complete meditation session for the first time in weeks, but lying down with mask. Only one LS.]
[I completely lost my knack for getting to vibrations by breathing, due to having a cold, now have to start over. MATIW: MORE AIR THAN I WANT.]
We are under attack. The leader and I and one other man (SC) hide under a drafting table in a well-lit but sparse office, and wait for the end. I envision the enemy coming in, finding us cornered, and running his sword through the others and into me. I am behind them, closest to the wall. The leader's beautiful grownup daughter comes in and starts chattering to him as if nothing is happening. I think, good, let her be the bait. She will draw them in and we'll get this over with.
She's gone but we've been found. He's right outside the room. I see a long table I can hide under and have more mobility, as I've decided to defend myself in hopes of not being skewered. I crawl out and head for the other table, but too late. The enemy enters, his long sword drawn. He sees me and advances quickly, but I use Aikido [a form of self-defense designed to not hurt anyone or even piss them off] and the scene vanishes.
A chef has made himself a snack: a large oblong plate of fettuccini with a big dollop of sour cream at one end to gild the lily. I take it from him unapologetically and eat it myself, caring not what anyone thinks. I eat it with my hands, slopping it all over myself and the floor. Let them hold me in contempt. I just don't care.
Convoluted attempts to get back to the right scenic lake by going back to a 4-way intersecting path and taking the correct branch.
Once I end up at the wrong place as evidenced by scrawled messages on walls indicating that "If you're not so-and-so, you're in the wrong place." I see so-and-so and his family, and quickly go back the way I came. The place I'm looking for is beautiful and serene. Many details forgotten.
In Lawrence, where people live in big old wooden houses with old trees in the yard. I live next door to D. Green and her sister. Their front yard is too shady for a garden so I say OK then, let's tear up my front yard and everybody can have a garden. Within seconds, my whole yard is torn up and crawling with neighbors; everybody now has a small garden plot of their own.
Trying to cultivate what's left, my little section, I'm concerned that my soil seems to be infested with some fairly large creature that has several translucent legs like a squid. I chop one to pieces with my trowel. Then I get more analytical about it and carefully uncover one without damaging it. It turns out to be a "such-and-such rat". I call some people over to look at it. It's low and long, about 10" long, 3" wide and only about 1-1/2" high. It wears a wool hat and coat like an old fashioned civil war uniform. It has the face of a rat and looks unhappy. It can barely walk, only crawling slowly on rubbery stumpy legs. It's kind of a cross between a tarantula, an octopus, and a rat.
Now I'm not so sure I want to be a gardener any more.
[Too many mosquitoes. Back to reading. But first let me say that what practice misses most is 1) many awakenings--LS due to breathing sessions--2) many awakenings in night and early a.m. At some point I stopped trying to not move or open eyes upon awakening. I find I often awaken while moving or just after moving. More focus on waking up slowly is needed. Daily breathing sessions needed. School starts in a few days so will have less activity in the house. Will now look at RB book till dinner. I like what he says about stopping internal dialog since he doesn't call it "meditation".]
"The Awakening of Limberluck"
Lying in a sleeping bag on the carpeted floor of a familiar unfurnished apartment. Rubbing crotch but undecided as to whether to get serious about it. I keep telling myself to go in to the bathroom and finish it off, but not deeply interested. There's a page ripped out of a magazine sitting on a nearby window ledge, so I pick it up and look at it. It shows a painting of an abstract mass of yellowish fog with four naked men in it standing in a circle. I don't like it. I turn it over and more of the same. At this point...
[I wake up and I am flying. I am awake and flying over a rough non-descript surface of dark grayness. This continues for some time. Tried going to red chair but nothing came of it.]
[At some point I moved to the other bed.]
Lying in bed laughing uncontrollably. Almost sobbing convulsively. No context, no plot, no place. Very close to lucid.
Arriving in Nevada City in a place where an older woman is in charge and there is a room where people can generally sleep if they have no place, just a small room with some filing cabinets or something where the floor is occupied by a big piece of foam and some blankets. Before entering the room, I arrive at the Crossroads Room. [This is the little room in our house in Albuquerque which was tiny but led to three other rooms, where I used to conduct Wierry Clan meetings when I was in the sixth grade.] The room to the right is where I'm going, but when I fumble with my backpack, a tall lightweight faded red [PINK] plastic spinning top falls out of the pack, lands upright on its tip and starts spinning from its own momentum. I find this amazing. I grab my flashlight and shine the light into some holes in the top part of the top and look at the light patterns this makes on the walls. This is underwhelming...
[Lying down for direct inductions.]
[LS1] Realized my right hand was dangling over the edge of the mattress so I put it back up so it would be supported. Several seconds later...] Right hand is a few inches in the air using scissors [oops not physical!]
[Above session was lying on back with face mask and two pillows. Trying to relax and get to lead blanket stage as per MPE. I didn't quite go to sleep, very hot.]
[At bed time last night, I lay down with my elbow propped up on the mattress after slapping the mattress several times with my palm to memorize the sensation, then tactilizing it while holding physical arm still. Soon I fell asleep for just a second...]
[LS] Right arm swings a ping pong paddle in a sharp backhand stroke. [This woke me up and I had a hard time for a second getting to realize that this was a non-physical action. It was totally real. Not a "dream".]
[...Woke up, moved a little, stopped. Vibes. Tried induction. Red chair, mirror, nothing. Rolling out, nothing. Started to fade into sleep. Realized I'd had three strong phantom twitches of left shoulder. Start trying flailing and begging for help getting out. Finally got up to pee and record dream. All had faded but when I sat down it all came back to me.]
Moving again. Found a place in Kansas for only $150/month and this is the last time I'm ever going to move. I swear I am so sick of moving. Moving moving moving. I'll be carrying stuff to the truck all night. What a drudgery. Maybe we should pack the truck, then sleep, then drive when we wake up. Otherwise I will be too sleepy to drive.
[Taran rolls over in his sleep and kicks me awake.]
Right outside the Library where the big stone steps went down before. The steps down have been blasted out and replaced with steps up constituting a pyramid. Upon investigation I see the pyramid itself appears to be covered with fatigue stress cracks as if it too had been blasted.
Seeing certain shapes and then trying to recreate them.
I'm homeless and have taken up residence on a steep slope below a tiny road and above a river. I hear what sounds like a very loud motor bike stop just above me on the road, and I jump up. It's getting dark. A man is walking down the slope towards me. I grab a crowbar and start towards him, tapping rocks with the bar to call attention to it. I call out something friendly like, "Good evening," or "Nice night," about three times, waiitng for him to start the inevitable conversation about what the hell I'm doing camping out on some stranger's property. He doesn't say much, but heads over toward a big house a little ways down from me down on the flat area by the river. He's there a short time, and then heads over toward me. He says that "old round head" doesn't mind if I stay there but he doesn't want me to call him either. I notice that the man talking has a huge, perfectly round head. He mentions the name of the man, who by now I have to assume is the owner of the property I'm squatting on: "Al Shar-pone". I grab my little notebook [the real one I use for shopping lists etc.] and write down what the man just told me so I won't forget. When I finish writing, I look up and start straightening up my things in the house where I'm staying--it's now a modern house, not a pile of gravel on a steep slope.
[Encouraging, and the plot/feeling mirrored a dream I had just before my first real OBE this year, with me being in someone else's property, meeting them in a friendly way, marvelling in gratitude about how friendly and helpful they turned out to be, etc. This is all about the merging of the various dream bodies, each of which has different talents, and when they merge (share awareness) the resulting dream body becomes lucid.]
[Also the dream started with a noise and an intruder like an episode of sleep paralysis. I was going to meet the intruder with a big crowbar, but decided to call out to him in a friendly way in case he was not a threat. Indicating near lucidity, the ability to think things through and change an attitude vs. having strictly kneejerk reactions. Most or all non-lucid dreams are about merging with my parts to make a lucid whole, if this practice is on my mind when I go to sleep.]
[...lost track of the various awakenings, couldn't count them, but somehow on the last one I kinda knew the awakening was coming and anticipated it...]
[NLOBE] I or my dreambody was walking with arms stiffly by my sides [(like I am when lying on back, with arms at sides, elbows slightly bent).]
[Another little dream in a later sequence made a box of crackers the symbol of my displaced awareness and had taken the box and placed it in the middle of the floor for me to look at. [If I ever feel hungry at night and thus can't sleep, I get up and eat crackers, and then I can sleep.]
[NLOBE] I'm in the park at night (Salina) and a somewhat reality-challenged man appears to my left between some small trees and bushes. There's something anomalous about him. Then a little later, I'm on the other side of the trees and I see a man there. I realize they are both the same person.
[NLOBE] words re: mass programming and propaganda. In regards to political junk I was posting on facebook.]
2016-06-22 4:00 am
Cwahacoy is at work at a cafe. I'm dropped off there by young Oklahoma evangelist David B. [who I haven't seen since I was 18] but in dream he's called "Old Brown Joe" or something similar to that. He surreptitiously places a stack of something that looks like a stack of play money inside on the door ledge above the main door and leaves quickly without saying anything (silent companion, giving me some space with HER).
We try to guess why he's being so nice, since he and I are in competition for Alex'a. I'm drinking a small cup of hot chocolate, chewing on the marshmallows. She refers to the time Old Joe had threatened suicide over her, and I try to remember this, but can't imagine this gregarious, charismatic individual doing any such thing, except I'm aware he also has a crush on her and it's understandable if this drove him crazy.
Through the debate on what the stack of paper is and what it's for, I am painfully aware that the time spent in her presence is more important than what we are doing--it doesn't matter what we are doing or talking about. Mostly we are sitting together wondering what to do with the folded papers, which change size and shape and material throughout. I'm aware that they are folded into fourths, so since the object seems to be to correctly count them, I say we should just count all sheets in the stack and divide by four. This is rejected by the security guard (silent companion), because then it would take four times longer to count the stack. The dream ends while I'm trying to recall Old Joe's suicide threat, but can't dredge up the memory.
[Plenty of dream cues missed, should have gone lucid. I've had a dozen or two lucid dreams over the years, but in recent months have always woken up at the same time as becoming lucid.]
4:00 am[NLOBE] My dreambody and I are on a sidewalk, and the distance between us is measured by a fallen, long-dead tree lying next to the sidewalk. It's about 20 feet long.
[NLOBE] I'm wandering across a wide busy street and a road construction worker near an open manhole is trying to tell me something. But I can't get what he's saying, something is making me deaf. So I glance across the street, and my wife is sitting on a bench with other people on both sides of her, giving me a disapproving glare, and she mouths something and jabs over her shoulder with her thumb. I wonder for a second what that's supposed to mean, then decide she probably wants me to get out of the street.
[Tried to listen to binaural beats but timing was bad, had to put Taran to sleep instead. Let him listen to the beats, where I'd been lying on the extra bed. It put him to sleep in five minutes. He woke up a few minutes later and we moved to the main bed. In the morning he told me about a dream he had, where he could fly and stick to walls. It is very rare for him to report a dream, though I ask him regularly to try and remember them. He told me about this one spontaneously, he was excited about it.]
[Went to bed, lying on back with head propped up so I will go to sleep slowly and stay close. Looked at images etc. It's starting to come back. But have to get out of bed to record dreams. Have to make myself.]
Living with a group of people. Amang [nickname for a deaf-mute] has red hair, looks like Andy from the pizza place, has received a letter stating that he has a money prize to collect, but he's upset because the money is not in the letter. I am trying to help him, and finally I think to look in the envelope. There is a certificate of winnings and a return envelope inside the envelope that Amang had opened. I show them to him and he's very happy. He is able to read and speak which surprises me. I rationalize [instead of becoming lucid] that some deaf people can learn to talk. Amang's real name, I learn, is something long and ostentatious. I memorized and repeated it [but didn't force myself to get up and write it down so now it's forgotten.] I decide to help Amang somehow with my own funds till his ship comes in, and I worry that I will be living on nothing till that happens.
[This has been a most unusual evening so far after watching Tom Campbell videos two nights in a row regarding the unnecessariness of getting hung up in technique. Like last night, tonight I lay down and immediately went into a sort of hypnagogic ecstasy but unlike last night I did not quickly get bored with it. Because I accepted everything as-is, stopped pressuring myself to succeed at it so it wasn't stressful? I watched mostly half-formed images for a long time. Lying on back, head propped up, unconcerned if Taran was rolling over on me or not, and neither trying to go to sleep nor do inductions, but instead in a way not believing in the importance of inductions. I think when they say skip the hypnagogic, they are missing an opportunity because it's a good way to meditate since the images disappear if you lose focus or start talking to yourslf. The images weren't that strong, but I watched them for a long time till I eventually went to sleep after an hour or two. This became timeless after a while. But I did not fall asleep into a complete sleep of darkness--it's Friday night so I can sleep as long as I want in the morning--but rather I had some awareness the whole time which morphed into a long, detailed dream that seemed to grow directly out of the timeless state or vestigial awareness. In other words, I seemed to have continuous awareness for the past six hours. The part of the dream I can remember was an episode of a much longer dream that I remember having, but do not remember one detail. Then after I woke up, I started going over the details of the dream before getting up to write it down, and ended up rehashing the dream for what seemed like hours while going in and out of a dream state in which I thought several times that I was here at my notebook recording the dream, but that finally ended as I forced myself to wake up and really write it down.]
Even though I'd quit my job at the Postal Center and gone off on my own, I wanted to visit Mr. Murray, my former boss, one night, so I set off on foot to do so, wearing socks but no shoes [which failed to make me lucid], as I walked across the parking lot in the dark. There was a BLUE neon sign in the window [the color I was mainly focusing on during hypnagogic phase; also the color of my dreambody when I see him in a little sleep as a neon blue outline], and I realize that Mr. Murray has given up the Postal Center and started a new business in the same location. It's some sort of small-time financial service. Mr. Murray is sitting near the front window, so I see him through the window as I head for the front door.
Once inside, we have an extended heart-to-heart talk and I don't waste much time getting to the point: I miss my job and want it back [again]. This is no problem, and as I'd hoped, he is enthusiastic about the idea. He and Mrs. Murray (vaguely played by the wrong woman) inform me that they've turned their house into an apartment house or boarding house, and I also don't waste much time suggesting that I move in with them. Again no problem.
This leads to an outburst of emotion on my part which I express in specific words which I memorized in the dream by repeating them to myself without becoming 100% lucid. Something like "I miss you guys so much and I am so grateful for your loyalty and love." I am doing most of the talking throughout. I am also shown a floor plan of the new business which morphs into the boarding house and away from the storefront in the strip mall. Then I "realize" that the huge Postal Center they'd had in their garage at home [not really but true in the dream] has become my apartment.
Now shifted locale to their house, I admire their player piano which is refinished dark-stained oak.
Upstairs [where we sleep] wife's using the computer but it's really dragging, sounds are in slow motion, and finally it just blinks out. Her brother Danny who rarely if ever comes upstairs [but two days ago carried a plant up for her, to my surprise] came up to look at the computer which I mentally questioned since I know more about computers than he does.
[NLOBE] From my lying down on my back position, I aim a fierce kick at the head of someone sitting across a campfire from me. This wakes me up and I realize it was my dreambody aiming at my thick head. Awareness very physical from the point-of-view of the dreambody. Physical body did not move in my opinion, despite the flying kick.
2016-06-27 12:01 am
An orange cat walks past a tiger several times and the tiger ignores him. I wonder why the tiger ignores me also. Someone says "Watch this." On the last time past the tiger, the tiger calmly walks up to the cat. The cat freezes, with sure knowledge that its life is over, and just waits to be eaten. The tiger carefully puts the cat's whole head in its mouth, clamps its mouth shut on the cat's head, and waits for the cat to die.
KK is watching something similar on TV at Breeze's house and I tell her, "Watch this." I stand next to Breeze and wait for him to pass me the pipe. I recall he has recently railed against people not bringing their own. I go back to KK, who has her own joint, and I resolve not to beg for Breeze to share. [I quit many years ago. Still dream about it in regards to altered states of consciousness and the craving for them. I don't like the way it wipes out the ability to have a coherent dream life.]
[Tiger is my power animal since a shamanic journey period in the early 1990s, so this is a dream cue. Seems to be about merging with my various dream bodies, in my opinion. But then most dreams seem to be about this, when this is what I am focused on.]
[Going back to bed, will again repeat the mantra "dream" while going back to sleep.]
[I'm getting rushes of strong tingles up and down my spine, but it's not "the vibrations". This is due to excitement because I just had my first phase experience since March 10, ending a long dry spell of 3-1/2 months that was partly brought on by a physical assault in a public place on April 26. This experience, the physical pain associated with it, and emotions it stamped into me which were hard to control, interrupted my momentum in what had been a steady devoted practice, but I managed to gradually hobble something back together.]
[The dream grew out of a forgotten episode in which I was] choosing amongst a variety of young women [which is all I remember about this part.]
This is the University environment [and my age--60--also doesn't come up, but] there's a subtle undercurrent of my being older.
She's Cwahacoy but with a twist.
She appears layered in clothes--coat, scarf, dark green tights, lots of clothes. Plush. She's small and cute. Auburn hair and a few light freckles. [Looks similar to the actress RW.] I'm in a holding area like a school cafeteria with the feeling of throngs of people , but when she appears in the crowd and our eyes meet, nothing else exists. The sight of her rivets my attention [and the result is a long detailed dream.]
She asks me to take her bag--a small suitcase--to her apartment, and I slavishly agree. I would jump at the chance to do anything she asked. Yet there's something wild and unpredictable in her, I just don't know what it is... yet.
The inside walls of the building are old painted concrete, like my elementary school. The walls are very light whitish yellow and there's something beat-up looking about them. I turn right and I'm faced with an escalator made of old yellowish beat-up concrete steps. I think this is the strangest thing I've ever seen, I just stand there and stare speechless at the beat-up, painted concrete steps moving up to the next floor. A middle-aged woman with the look of a schoolteacher--tall with dark brown hair in a permanent--comes down the escalator [never mind that it's an "up" escalator] to help me. She explains that you use it the same as a normal escalator, so don't worry about what it's made of.
So I get on it and my knees are kinda shaky, then finally toward the top, I realize what's really wrong with it: there are no handrails. This will never do, I get very wobbly and I'm sure I'm gonna fall off, so I jump off to the left. Stairs happen to be there, which I climb three at a time till I'm at the top.
Finding myself at her apartment, I can't help but notice the address on the mailbox outside is "#3333 Connections" which is a big thrill, since I consider the number three to be all about connections. According to information I read on the mailboxes out front, the manager's apartment number is #576 and I make a mental note to see if there are any vacancies. I go in a front door, across a bright, empty front room. This is a very clean but old big house made into apartments. The floor is dark brown wood, walls are ivory colored, there's a wooden stairway on the back wall and the doorway into her apartment is on the ground floor under the stairway.
In the apartment, her roommate is gone, but her roommate's boyfriend is there. He's tall with longish blond hair and dressed like a Californian in some sort of lacy frilly new age garb. He's quiet and macho and getting ready to go out. He calls out from the other room that he isn't in the mood to talk. "That's cool," I reply, wondering if I sounded cool and casually self-confident when I said it. This is the last I see of him. I'm alone now. Unlike the stark, empty, bright, wooden entryway inside the building's front door, the apartment is plush, somewhat dark, soft, big, and cluttered. It's not really dark, but the light is muted and the windows are covered with heavy drapes.
The apartment is neither clean nor dirty; just cluttered, very full feeling. The feeling is of heaviness, softness, muted thud vs. sharp echo. Like herself, her apartment is draped and clothed everywhere. Everything seems old, antique, musty. There is a mysterious sensation of reality being abnormally real, as if the walls and floor are alive with the character of the place. Amongst the clutter, I find a place to plop the suitcase down. The sense of a Christmas tree never taken down kinda getting in my face and making it hard to see as I open the suitcase and start going through her things with intense curiosity. Opening the suitcase under the Christmas tree, with great excitement.
I wonder why I am going through her things since we've just met and snooping wasn't part of the assignment, so I start taking everything out and putting it in neat piles on surrounding soft chairs, to make it look like I thought that this was what I was supposed to do; this will give me an excuse for seeing everything in her suitcase. Her clothes are neatly folded and are compressed into tight creases as if they'd been folded for decades and will now have permanent lines in them where they'd been folded.
In amongst the clothes is a folded newspaper section, and when turned up the right way, an article is visible which chills my blood. It's about her, and something horrible that was done to her as a child. I read it in furtive glances, but never quite get the whole gist of the story, just the horror it conveys. I feel I am prying, seeing something I wasn't supposed to see, and now I'm in the quandary of where to put the secret news article since I've obviously unpacked her whole suitcase without permission. I decide to place the newspaper on top of a stack of clothes and just act innocent like I hadn't seen it at all.
And then who should appear but herself! I am so happy to see her perfect face. She's tired and I can see she's containing a feeling of crankiness on my account, as well as mutely surprised to find me lingering in her apartment.
This was preceded by an attempt on my part to leave the place. I recall walking out through the empty front room and looking back in to memorize all the details as I leave, so I can find my way back. [This thought apparently put me back inside.]
Then I'm in there in this darkish, cluttered, soft plush old ancient scary place, worried that maybe I've gone over the line by still being there, but I am vastly reassured when she gets on her knees, assumes a position which makes her intentions obvious and says, "I need to ask you a favor." I am instantly ready to comply. I can't help but notice her butt bones have worn through the skin in two round raw patches about the size of dimes. This upsets my equilibrium and makes me afraid I won't be able to perform up to her expectation. I get a good start, but it's not easy because I start thinking about the ominous news article and her secret past, her hidden wounds.
Then she turns around and my blood freezes. She is something else, something that might have been human at one time, but has been distorted and maimed and turned into a monster, or it could be a ghost possessing her. The thing is white, rubbery, hairless, and bigger than me. I am absolutely scared out of my mind. I'm sitting on a couch or chair and the thing is right in my face, writhing in my lap, coming after me, and very strong. The eyes hold no intelligence, just the passion to eat human energy. The mouth is a shapeless slit, the nose just two holes. The head is a foot tall and flexible like a mask made of white rubber. It takes all my strength to keep it away from my face. I am horrified that my cute little friend is filled with this monster, something she can't control, it must be hell to be her. I wish there was some way I could help her to be rid of this demon...
And it's her again. I am so relieved.
We get out of there quick and now she's dressed in white and multi-color pastel spandex gym clothes. She's showing me her work, a research project in a small, pure white gymnasium laboratory. It's bright. She looks exactly like the actress RW now. I'm so happy to see her back to herself and she's enjoying in her super serious way showing me what she's interested in.
She has invented a high bar where you do pull-ups, and there are two metal cuffs attached to the top of the bar which are strain gauges. You put your hands in them and as you pull yourself up, it measures the effort that you're putting into it. She explains this in exact words [which I forget except the word "effort"]. [Note: as a child I was afraid of all social contact, especially team sports, but I could do ten or more pullups and I could climb the rope to the ceiling effortlessly, which was five times more than the athletes--who were always making fun of me--could do. I was as mystified by this as they were. As I type this, I think it's a message like: "Find the OBE technique that is easiest for you, so that the smallest effort produces results."]
So she's demonstrating this device, pulling her body up and down, and I'm watching her with great zeal, eating up the sight of her, when suddenly we merge! Everything goes dark and I'm going up, up, up, straight up very fast! I am totally lucid, I know I am having an out-of-body experience, I'm phasing and my dry spell is over! I am shooting up faster and faster, vibrating more and more till my cheeks are shaking, literally flapping in the wind. I see nothing but black and white static like a TV set between stations, but moving. I keep saying to myself how extremely real and physical this experience is. I carefully monitor the increase in intensity of the vibrations, making a mental note to remember and appreciate that I have once again experienced truly intense vibrations [which I have only experienced once before, many years ago].
This is so exciting I forget all about my plan of action, and then I wake up back in her apartment again, fully aware that I had just had an OBE, [but not aware that I am dreaming. This is a non-lucid false awakening.]
I wake up lying on her floor, but it's not the same place visually. It's a much brighter place, it has sunlight coming in and not cluttered with overstuffed antiques and heavy fabrics. Tile floor, nothing soft here, all hard edges. This whole room is in shades of light PINK. I am fiddling with a PINK plastic cat and then I stand up and see a real cat--strangely coarse hair, black and white--then I wonder if the plastic cat somehow turned into a real cat, and I look back and see next to the ironing board, the plastic cat is still there. SHE shows up [as SC, I don't see her], again surprised to find me there, I start to tell her about my OBE [and wake up. Consider trying to go back in but I'm not wearing my dark mask and I don't want to forget any details of the long dream, so I go over it all and get up to write it down].
[I had established pink as a dream cue for months and recently decided to change it to blue because I got tired of seeing so much pink every time I went to town. Had some interesting instances of pink in dreams and obviously still am, but so far it has not triggered lucidity.]
[Just remembered a NLOBE but can't place when it happened. Very recently. At the time I felt it was the most intense hypnagogic twitch ever. I think it was both of my legs or both of my arms, can't recall. This must happen all the time but not remembered.]
2016-06-28 6:00 pm
[Something kept bugging me and I had to look up the actress RW on wikipedia. I'm a former numerology nut and up till now, I've ever been able to find but one celebrity (Tammy Wynette) who had the same numbers as me: 371. Well you guessed it: Laura Jeanne Reese Witherspoon (birth name) is a 371. And an Aries like me. So... another ESP dream. I am fairly ecstatic. Not that I take movie star crushes seriously, but I did fall in love with this actress on first sight, many years ago. Her energy is really something, to me personally. We vibe together somehow.]
[More to the point, I have found (without ever expecting to find it) that developing the ability to be aware during sleep is a matter of merging with a dream body or bodies. My last OBE before this one, I thought I was awake in bed when someone else started to roll out of my body! This seemed wrong at first, but I quickly got with the program, merged with the rolling entity, and left my body consciously. Additionally, the many non-lucid OBEs I've had in the past few months tend to be about me and a dream body batting awareness back and forth between us. Dual consciousness, etc.]
[This 371 thing is highly motivating, and the ?unaccidental choice of RW as Cwahacoy shouldn't surprise me but it's not like I've ever dreamed about her before. The point though is that whether numerology is valid or not, we do have the same numbers and we're both Aries. So in terms of merging... get it? The number 371 is very rare amongst celebrities because we're so weird and intense...]