UNWORLDING JOURNAL YEAR ONE (excerpts)

     Part Two of Unworlding

Don't remove this line.

AUGUST 26, 2016 to SEPTEMBER 4, 2016

Being an idiot is no box of chocolates.

      --Winston Groom, Forrest Gump (the book)

2016-08-26

6:45 - 7:20 pm

[Breathwalking.]

9:30 pm

[To bed. Hope to remember not to move on awakening. New plan of action will be on my mind in coming days. For now, it's this--go visit Bob Neal. Everything else on my first two plans of action is done. So Bob Neal.]

[Will use "dream" mantra counting from 300 back to zero: "300 dream 299 dream 298 dream... " etc. Will look for ROYAL BLUE. Will deepen by breathing and touching the ground with my hands. Will touch and taste anything that grows. Eat anything. Jump, run, fly, do somersaults in the air.]

9:52 pm

[Went to sleep very fast breathing--hypnagogic twitch then:]

[NLOBE] In the same position as my physical body, lying on left side, but in a shallow hole in the ground, I find a pretty PINK taro root and then I find more and more of them. Then it seems this hole is a trash hole and I find a glass jar I'd bought Jovie that she must have thrown out when the cover got ruined. I think I'll have to tell her about all this taro root (gabi) and with the thumb of my right hand I try to hook onto the opening of the glass jar because it's in perfect condition and could still be used for something. [I woke up wiggling my right thumb and checked to see if it was a physical wiggle or not. Seems to be. Guides are jokers. I had ignored an insistent voice telling me to include PINK above when I wrote BLUE as an intended dream cue. So they showed me some pink immediately for ignoring them, knowing that I still haven't lucidly noticed pink in a dream after trying for months and looking at pink whenever I went to town to the point where I want to puke when I see it again.]

2016-08-27

[Woke up in vibes and watched counter-rotating static marks in a circular pattern much larger than my visual field so I could only see the top 1/4 of the pattern.]

6:50 - 8:10 breathwalking

[While at birthday dinner I had some LS but no dreams. I did come away with the knowledge I should be going to the Library in my next OBE and once there, I can go straight to the Bob Neal section and take the Down elevator to the past. I am excited to do this.]

2016-08-28 1:45 am

I take my rat on an adventure. The rat looks like a guineau pig, but has long, sharp teeth. Along with SC who is a young woman. In an old Victorian house we go down a long hallway opening doors and looking inside. Inside each room is a scene of ferociousness. In the last one is a scene of ferocious dogs going round and round inside a small room acting ferocious. This scares the rat and he bites my hand. I have to pry his mouth open laboriously to get his long sharp teeth out of my flesh. Then I open the door again and see that the scene of large vicious dogs is made of cardboard figures, not real dogs at all.

[Mouse is one of my guides, obviously. First met him decades ago. Long story. He knows what's going on behind the scenes, he knows what underlies things. He is sevenness, true knowing.]

7:35 am

[Woken by Taran shouting... will try to go to the Library a.k.a. Akashik Record to look up Bob Neal the inventor of the magic air engine. Probably can't do anything because I'm wide awake now and the puppy is upstairs making noise. But dry runs are always good practice.]

9:00 am

[I've been in a nearly timeless state, not asleep at any time. It seemed like 30 minutes or less, but the clock tells me I was under the mask for almost 90 minutes.]

[Another amazing lesson in what happens if you try harder and the timing is right. This was also a shamanic journey, which I didn't know at the time, on the theme, "Don't be disturbed: end of conversation; only you can disturb yourself," and its corollary, "Whatever energy you don't waste on resentment, when you could be disturbed, but decide not to be, becomes available for easily accomplishing what would otherwise have been exceedingly improbable feats."]

[I decided to ignore all noises, the dog rooting around in the trash, etc., because my practice is not the job of Nitpicker and Potwatcher; they belong outside in the garden doing physical tasks as perfectly and efficiently as they care to. Sweeping the floor, helping my wife with the housework, etc. My practice is about getting results and I am too old to waste a lot of time quibbling with my perfectionistic parts about how others should be behaving. So let's get to it.]

[As the gravity transient blanket started to unroll onto my head, the feeling of immobility was getting pretty uncomfortable. I didn't have a problem with swallowing because I didn't fight it, I just swallowed occasionally which had no effect on my progress that I could tell. When you consciously resist the fact that saliva is trickling in your mouth, then it's very distracting. I have learned to get around this by keeping my lips lightly closed, my lower jaw slightly hanging so the teeth don't clench, and pretending my tongue has suction cup abilities on top and bottom. With the top of my tongue glued to the top of my mouth and the bottom of my tongue glued to the bottom of my mouth, there is little bare skin inside the mouth for saliva to trickle on, and this does the trick. The slight tension in the tongue is not a problem, because we need to keep the internal dialog slightly active during this process in order to not fall asleep. The tension in the tongue helps keep the mind from going off to the deep end of sleep too fast, because it reminds the body of self-talk.]

[Unfortunately it's now mid-afternoon and the rest of this will be bits of what I can recall, and not all in the right order.]

[At one point I felt the discomfort of lying on my back totally immobile was more of a distraction than anything, as I am not particularly focused on trying to achieve conscious sleep paralysis. I'm interested in finding that wide-awake-mind state where the body is asleep. I did achieve something like this and maybe exactly like this. I think I've done it before, for example, the totally timeless state I experienced in November where I had dreams of a snake, etc. But that was at bedtime, not in the morning when I was alert. Anyway, I decided that the gravity blanket had done its job and I was way less physically awake than I had been when I started, yet my mind was still in no danger of falling asleep. I rolled over on my right side after a quick stretch to knock out the distraction of feeling locked into distracting rigidity, then immediately went right back into the body asleep or total immobility and after that I was perfectly comfortable and for the most part unaware of my body.]

[I had at least three solid wiggles of non-physical body parts which I tried to memorize, but by now that's all I can say about that. This was quite delicious as I have found that these mergings with dream bodies are the forerunner to the real thing. It means I am building up to something. These phantom wigglings give me confidence about the next coming big event, the next phase experience that I will have.]

[I got real vibrations, noticeable but not too intense, in my left forearm. I found that by ignoring the vibrations and continuing to do whatever I was doing when they started, they did not go away. But if I tried to amplify them, they would be cut short. For a long time before that, I was strongly hearing the inner sounds.]

[At one point I felt so strongly phasey that I thought I should proceed with my plan of action instead of just watching images endlessly. I was having a strong hypnagogic session, seeing changing full-color images continuously, such as a wild cat of some kind, etc. So as soon as I decided to explore the Library, I found myself immediately seeing a holographic full-size image of my friend J. Rhaes to the left of me in a library setting, and I said, "No, not the J. Rhaes section." Then I saw someone else and I said, "No, not that section." I reaffirmed my intention to go to the Bob Neal section and suddenly an elevator appeared in front of me. I moved into it and I don't know what happened, I don't think I went to sleep but maybe just couldn't hold the vision.]

[While re-reading this I remembered clearly the onset of hypnagogia, which might have been when I rolled over on my side. The images were big, full-screen, but dark. Clear and crisp, but shadow shapes without detail. But clean-edged. At first I passed between two cut-out shapes of stepped pyramids, not realistic, because the steps were too large, but clean and smooth. These gradually changed into real mountains and scenery, the specifics of which I don't recall.]

[I was not out of body at this point, just testing the depth of the state and what I could do. I maintained a detached, dry run attitude at all times. I had amazing hypnagogic abilities. I found it was natural and spontaneous to describe briefly what I was seeing and that this would accentuate the condition, as long as adequate space was left between comments. BM calls this the Perceiver and Interpreter interplay and it's something I would never have figured out for myself. When I told MPE to try this, because he was complaining that he couldn't OBE as often since he gave up caffeine, he started changing his countdown from 300 to zero and instead of counting breaths, he started counting heartbeats. So the space between verbalizations was much smaller and he stopped going to sleep between numbers, and his OBE frequency went back up to normal. He actually thanked me by name on one of his videos, so I am happy about this acknowledgment.]

[But the point is, internal dialog has to be kept barely alive and you have to balance how alive it is kept. That seems to be a key ingredient in "mind awake, body asleep". The proportion of silence-to-comment has to be kept right and adjusted according to your state of mind. In this case, this morning I was not sleepy at all so it didn't matter that much, but I found myself commenting spontaneously and noticed that it didn't hurt a thing. FK said the same thing many times; he wasn't a meditator and didn't feel that stopping the internal dialog completely was as important as others were making it out to be.]

[I have to reimpress that this 90 minutes was 90 busy minutes, I was not asleep during any part of it. It's just that what you do in a seriously altered state is very hard to remember if you don't write it down immediately. And during the experience, I literally recall being aware of everything, yet at times not quite aware of how seriously altered I was, compared to waking conscious mind reality. The strangest thing about these phenomena to get used to, at first, is how normal, real, and physical you feel when your physical body is asleep or nearly asleep. Which proves my point about our having several bodies, with the physical being only one of them. It just plain feels perfectly real to have a body, it doesn't matter which one. Feeling bodily and feeling reality are the same thing.]

[Recalled something else. This something else is hard to describe. Early on, maybe right after rolling over onto my side, I had some sort of hump to go over. There was fear involved. It was fear of going crazy. Worse than that, it came with all the trappings of the fear of going crazy: What will people think, This is so self-destructive of me, Why don't I have a career and forget this nonsense, Who is ever going to listen to me again, What if psychiatry is right and crazy is bad, etc. etc. I had to sincerely accept all these (bogus) consequences of going further, with full awareness. I did this and fear---the voice of idiossification--had been lying: all hell did not break loose, I did not go crazy. I just got clear-headed and able to watch images pretty much as long as I wanted. Once over that one real scary bump, I felt perfectly normal. But I really was afraid.]

[Recalled something else. At one point, maybe the first thing that happened when I rolled over on my side was that I went into a free-floating state of mind. The same as daydreaming, but more controlled. I recognized this as a usable condition from MR, FK, RAM, FA etc. I kept a leash on it just short enough that I would not fall asleep and it did lead to the next thing.]

2016-08-29

I'm watching an airplane take off, a medium-size passenger jet--but it encounters a problem right away and crash lands in some sand dunes in a sparsely populated small town with one or two buildings. I watch in excitement, afraid it's gonna crash (it does) and then afraid its fuel line will rupture (it does) and jet fuel squirts and sprays, but there is no fire. The pilot gets out and staggers away. I go to the people at the Gas Station next to where it crashed and they tell me it was Jayme flying, which explains everything, since he's the local drunk where I live. He was an unqualified pilot trying to deliver the plane somewhere without authorization, maybe thje janitor at the hangar.

Then in contrast, a local inventor [this is Stumped-No-More] flies his own plane competently. He hovers the multicolored plastic contraption, giving me time to climb aboard. I can sense he's worried when I grab a strut and pull myself up so I can clamber aboard, but I'm not worried, because I'm good at PULL-UPS. He lands shortly, banking at the same time he lands while entering a wooded area between small trees and quickly stopping in front of the gas pump. He's told by the attendant (SC) that the gas hasn't been delivered yet, so we're about to walk away, but then we're informed that there's a little gas left and it's pretty clean, so the inventor stops to test it by putting his finger in it. It's only an inch deep in the open rectangular container, but it does look clean.

9:15 am

[Still hearing the inner sounds.]

"New Eyes"

Jovie (SC) is painting the living room PINK. The antique house is small with a square little living room. [It's the house where I once got a player piano, an abandoned farm house in Kansas, as antique as the piano that was in it, built from limestone blocks. I was 16 and I wanted to do my second player piano rebuilding job so bad that I could hardly sleep for thinking about player pianos.] I'm afraid that Jovie is going to get PINK paint on the piano and then I see that she already has. I tell her, "Don't get paint on the piano," and she scoffs at the notion that she would ever do such a thing. I tell her she already did, and she scoffs more.

I start to get angry, but then realize our money problems are over: we can sell the piano and go into the piano reconditioning business, fixing up old pianos and selling them. I ask her if she wants to make some money and she grunts something unpleasant. I'm really excited now and I want to help her by giving her work to do so she can make money. I continue to egg her on: "Wanna make money? You do, don't you?" I grab a paint brush and start painting the piano PINK, starting at the top. I notice that I didn't bother to clean it, repair loose veneer, or disassemble it, but I'm excited about my new plan.

She finally says she wants to know the plan, so I tell her we'll buy old upright pianos, rebuild and refinish them, and sell them cheap with no warranty. She scoffs at this, especially the part about no warranty. I'm making good progress on painting the piano PINK, but realize I'm really making a bad mistake, putting the cart before the horse, by not disassembling it first. It will look sloppy and the paint will glue the parts together so it can't be disassembled in the future. So I go to look for a screwdriver to take the case apart properly, and tell Jovie, "Well, OK, we could give them a three-month warranty, but only on my work," and she scoffs at this.

I get back to the piano with my tool and see that I have gotten a kitchen knife instead of a screw driver; now how can I remove screws with this? I go back to the other side of the room to look for a screwdriver, and there's my beautiful niece Inday. I start to mumble something about the knife-and-screwdriver confusion, but she transfixes me with her big round eyes. [Inday in real life is one of the few nieces who actually has chinky eyes, not round.] She's looking me right straight in the eyes, smiling winsomely, coquettishly, flirtatiously, which is uncharacteristic of her [in real life she's very shy, her smile and laugh seem nervous, and she doesn't flirt with me as far as I know.] She speaks indistinctly, something about her Aunt Bebing. I stop talking and give her my full attention. I clearly hear the phrase, "New Eyes" in English, and as I try to figure out what this means and how to respond, I see the bathroom door to my right and go that way.

I'm in an outdoor bathroom with no roof. The sky is cloudy and somewhat dark, looks like Kansas weather on the way. The bathroom is crude, just a dirt floor with a toilet hole in the far end. The room is L-shaped with the toilet hole at the back of the short leg of the L, and the door at the end of the long leg of the L. I'm getting ready to pee when I hear a strange BREATHING SOUND. It's a loud, unearthly, eerie and spooky sound of labored, wheezy breathing. Extremely labored breathing. I listen to three or four of these ghostly breaths which seem to come from all around in the air, and then, Oh well, gotta pee.

There's a big white plastic pipe leading from the bottom of the hole to somewhere underground. That sound is freaking me out. Just as I start to pee in the hole, something long and brown starts to poke out of the hole, so I divert my stream because--it's--it's--it's my brown dog Lila's nose! So that's what the sound was! A wet, brown dog, obviously suffering from excruciating discomfort to say the least, laboriously squeezes its body out into the open air through the 4 inch diameter pipe, an inch at a time. I'm trying to decide whether to keep peeing on the dirt floor or stop the stream out of respect for the dog, who might be scared into going back in the pipe. The dog's too big to be Lila, but the same brown color. Finally he's all the way out. I try to decide whether to call him Smudge or Smudgely.

[Smudgely's job is to teach me how to recognize dream cues. How to get "new eyes". This dream was her work, it was her birth or entrance into my soul retinue. This dream was solid non-stop dream cues. (Later decided Smudgely was the little dog "Ho" that had died recenlty, a close friend of mine who lived next door.]

[I woke up convinced that only I am truly aware in my world. My body, my mind, and my world are the same thing. Only by interacting with someone do they become conscious in my world, but only partially so, and the proof is that we would always describe any shared event differently. We don't live together in consensus reality; we live alone in individual realities which sometimes intersect. Nobody has the slightest idea what someone else's world is really like. Everybody's world is literally custom-made and everything that happens is literally a dream one is dreaming alone.]

3:15 pm

[NLOBE] I'm holding a pen in my fist tightly like a child and pushing hard as I draw with it a daisy flower with square petals, then on top of that I draw round petals going over and over the circumference lines crudely. I feel I am making something of great artistic appeal.

2016-08-31

[Went to sleep very slowly, finally rolled over instead of lying on back. Long, detailed, vivid, intense dream about JDM. Woke up lucidly in the middle, tried to roll out, went back to dream. Now, after two hours, many details are forgotten.]

Visiting JDM and his older brother Randy at their dormitory room. This is a reddish-brown-colored, roughish wood-walled maze of symmetricaloid hallways and offshoots from a central commons area. All the apartments are numbered, but many numbers have been replaced with different numbers as evidenced by extra nail holes where former number plates have been removed from doors. After being in the apartment for some time, I decide to smoke a cigarette somewhat self-consciously, and finally, after thinking about it for a long time, I realize that with their doors and windows closed, the smoke is going to leave a stale smell for a long time. So I tell JDM I will take it outside to finish smoking. As I leave out the door, Randy calls out to "Watch the heat," and I wonder if he means close the door to keep the heat in, or close the door to keep the heat out. When I'm ready to go back inside, I've wandered and can't find the apartment again. I recall seeing the number "169" on the door, but now I can't find it. I search cul-de-sac after cul-de-sac, each with two or three apartment doors at the end facing odd angles, all numbered randomly and sloppily, and having been obviously renumbered at times past.

Students are milling about. I am sure I have been tricked somehow, because I've looked everywhere twice and can't find the way back. SC asks if he can help, and I express my frustration. I find myself back in the apartment with JDM. Randy's bed is now vacant of body, but his spirit is still lying in the bed invisible. [I just learned yesterday in another online search for childhood friend JDM that his brother is dead.]

Looking at Randy's bed it seems like the blankets are still crumpled around his form, but as if he was invisible. I see a big cockroach come out of a crumpled blanket.

I try to talk JDM into going out to the town and trying to find one of those photo booth vending machines. I tell him I want a picture of the two of us together. I laboriously write "picture" on a shopping list.

[hypnagogic] Robin Williams in that funny elf hat thing pumping energy to me from his 3rd eye through a self-sustaining pipe made from dixie cups chained together.

2016-09-01 3:22 am

[This is the eleventh anniversary of my living in the Philippines. I moved here on September 1, 2005.]

[Limberluck is featured in the next dream.]

"We don't brag about people too much."

In SW Portland at dusk, I'm looking to spend my last dollar on something fried, stuffed, and tubular. I walk to a certain spot and think about what I could find, and the vendor appears with his cart. I ask if he has any without the sugar on the outside and he suggests the guy who sells nuts down the street, but that's too expensive. I ask him how much one costs while I fiddle with my last dollar bill and last penny, hands in pockets, and he says, "$2.01."

"I don't have that much," I say automatically, but then I find a dollar bill in each pocket and pay the $2.01 even thought he'd already changed it to $1.60 while I was fiddling.

I go back the way I came. I can hear the sound of steam boiling over. A VW bug is disabled at a cockeyed angle parked on the sidewalk on the right, steam shooting out of a loose radiator cap on its rear door. I give the cap a twist and keep going.

Breeze shows up as well as A. Heaton and a friend of hers. It's dark and raining and we're heading up a sloped parking lot, empty, no cars. Breeze says, "Why don't we take Tenth Street," and I figure that's where we are. The two women have become one man, SC.

Using a small rut of earth sliced out of the pavement running along the middle of the road as a place to set my pole as I vault up the hill carefree, pole vault after pole vault. I hear an old soul song, "We don't brag about people... too much." [The sound turns into my alarm clock. Time to meditate.]

5:30 am

Visiting a friend who lives at the Stockton House. My friend's child has been kidnapped. I'm sitting on the front porch at night. A huge brilliant orange TIGER the size of a teenage rhinocerous walks up the porch steps and flops over on its side right at my feet. I rub Tiger's belly with my right foot. I consider being afraid, but decide, Why bother, anyway, if I act afraid it might be worse.

The basketball team "Tigers" shows up in their ORANGE jerseys and sneak up onto the porch where they sit as far as they can get from Tiger. They are giving Tiger pensive looks and not speaking. I suggest they leave as quietly as possible before they get eaten. I suggest they not act afraid if they want to escape with their lives.

2016-09-02 3:00 am

I'm trying to be off by myself as I'm not in the mood to play, but the game organizing is taken over by Danny for a change, and for a change he's said my name and included me, so I feel I must now play so he will not be unrewarded for his consideration. He lists who will be on which side and everybody runs down the little concrete bleachers to join the game across the way.

When I get to the arena, Mark is standing there looking schlumpfy and lethargic with his mouth hanging open, so I tell him to get with the program since we're on the same team. This interaction seems to energize him.

The object of the game is to collect as many as possible of the objects that are randomly scattered along the edges of the oval track. We are to not pick up the books, they are just the rules of the game for players' reference. We find several boxes of garden-size black trash bags and I start loading my arms with them. Other players rush up to do the same.

I live in a very large tent with the people of my village. The sleeping area consists of rows of mattresses up on boxes covered with white sheets. The floor is covered with white plastic sheeting also, because the lights are kept off till sleeping time, and the white ground shows SNAKES better. I've been replacing worn-out shower mechanisms, so I start working on another one.

3:30 am

[Meditation in chair outside on terrace, "dream" mantra, sleepy.]

[NLOBE1] A white cat crosses under my chair from behind and right diagonally. When it reaches my feet [I wake up in my chair.]

[NLOBE2] Aware of my body in the chair, I'm looking at it from the front.

[NLOBE3] Writing in my dream journal.

[NLOBE4] Writing in dream journal, "She had some time off up through about January."

[NLOBE5] Small puppy crosses from ahead right diagonally to my chair, whining. [I wake up when it reaches my feet.]

3:45 am

[Forty-five minute meditation went by like 10-15 minutes. Back to sleep in extra bed with mask. "Dream" mantra. Putting journal and flashlight on the little table next to the bed.]

[NLOBE1] Daytime, SS crosses the garden in front of me from left to right. When she gets to directly in front of me [I wake up].

[NLOBE2] Writing in my journal.

[NLOBE3] Walking around in Frau Pates' ex-schoolhouse residence. Lights are on dimly. Where is my dream journal?

[NLOBE4] At G. Mall Davao, I come across myself standing at the elevator and walk across from the right to go behind myself and start banging on a big pipe with a monkey wrench to get my attention.

[NLOBE5] "Are you below 200,000 pesos?" I walk past the men's room to the ladies' room where Jovie is taking a shower and call in to her, "Are you below 200,000 pesos? There's a lot to live for." [See next dream.]

5:40 pm

"I'm going to live"

Just before the big event, I'm taking the vegetable steamer apart by removing the bolts that hold the layers together. Then I go in the other room and a woman is bossing me, so I go back. I see the vegetable steamer will be needed shortly, why did I even take it apart? I hurry to reassemble it, trying to remember which parts went where. I hope I didn't lose all the bolts. When I went back, someone I didn't like [comedian Russell Brand, who I do actually like] was in the way where I wanted to work, so I hung back till he left and then went back to work reassembling. Where does this little strut go? Oh yeah, it allows the top canopy to hang out over the front like the canopy hanging out over the table. I try to place my SPECIAL limberjack on a little shelf attached to the steamer, but the little shelf is too crowded with knick-knacks.

A part is lost, so I leave the convention building and head to the back of the property to the Machine Shop to see if my friend can make a new one for me. When I go inside, an old Chinese man is having an argument with his two Chinese friends, and sulking after a heated exchange. He's wearing a red floor-length robe. I see it's a Chinese laundry right now since my friend isn't here running the Machine Shop, so I head back.

Back at the main building, outside in back, BRUCE Willis is dead and we're trying to keep him that way, me and SC, because we need his body for something. But it's been several days, after some procrastination, and when I accidentally bump his body where it's balanced precariously on the concrete circle, it falls inside the circle all bent over on itself on a deep pile of dry leaves. I kinda wish we hadn't killed him. He looks really bad, crumpled up like that, starting to rot. The others are grossed out.

Then I think I see him twitch. I did, I did, I did see him twitch! He's alive! I shout to the others, "He's alive! He's alive!" The body is twitching and thrashing all over the place on the pile of dead leaves, and suddenly Bruce Willis jumps up onto the circular concrete wall, raises his fists triumphantly into the air, and shouts, "I'm going to live!" He has a couple false teeth in front that discolored differently than the real ones while he was dead.

I plop down on the far side of the concrete circle with my cheeks resting between my fists in a gesture of defeat. Bruce walks up behind me and puts his big strong hand over my clenched right fist. He shows me mental pictures of a book with a BLUE binding and explains that he had to learn to speak Australian [symbolic of telepathic communication] while he was dead. He communicates silently that he is not angry at me.

10:00 pm

[Just finished reading through recent journal entries. Intent: if in a dream, go to a fix-it shop for my whinebox off-switch; if OBE, go to the Library and take the Down elevator to the past when I get to the Bob Neal section. Very sleepy.]

2016-09-03 3:30 am

[Meditation.]

3:57 am

[LS] Actor George Clooney points at me: "Await dangers and practice discipline."

2016-09-04

[The following took place in a locale of grandiose architecture, one of my favorite places to dream. No modern houses, ticky-tacky houses, or strip malls here, everything is very old-fashioned to say the least. In contrast to a comment I made about Grandiose City on Jan. 18, this dream conspicuously lacks the slightest hint of pavement or sidewalk.]

[Before bed, I read through a lot of the previous chapters of my journal and read my last OBE, several times over. Have felt something coming on today, a buildup of sixness which is the harmonic of awareness that my lucidity vehicle lacks in general most of the time. When 6ness builds--appreciation, gratitude, passion, etc.--watch out!]

"Smudgely's First Hurrah"

I'm trying to get back to Joybroth's apartment but can't remember which one is his. I'm in a short, white, funky old beat up apartment house corridor, bright white painted walls and ceiling, single story, wood, and ahead of me is a door leading outside, closed only by a screen door, letting in a lot of light.

I lean on a door to my left, and it pops open, revealing an interior with lots of deep BLUE color, but it's the wrong apartment. A middle-aged woman and her young daughter are inside; we don't recognize each other. I continue down the corridor and find myself inside an apartment on the right with Joybroth and his wife (SC). I'm interacting with Joybroth when SC suddenly makes herself visible. She's wearing jeans, she's shorter and thinner than I imagined, and something about the way she moves draws my attention to her disabled hip which she wants to get replaced.

[This is Stumped-No-More grabbing my attention. This scene morphs into the following dream:]

I'm being interviewed in regards to serving as a ninong in some capacity [wedding sponsor, baptism sponsor--like a godfather or helper officially recognized by family tradition] in an upper-story office. The interviewer is an ageless man in a button-down shirt with short, wispy, thin white hair, who has an orange glow to his skin. The form we're filling out asks for my "Ninong Number" which I am quite sure is 544, so we write that at the top of the form. The man is with a service club [similar to Kiwanis Club, like Mr. Murray and his successor Jim Brant were involved in. The interviewer is obviously Stumped-No-More, which I didn't realize at the time. Amelia was there observing quietly, but only briefly noticed her; still a young woman with long, dark hair.]

We've just gotten to one final question on the form and it seems it should be a simple matter to finish and move on to the next thing, but unfortunately, I choose this moment to have a wet fart. So I excuse myself, embarrassed because there's a girl in the room. I tell the interviewer I'll be right back, and I go outside to look for a bathroom so I can clean my underwear before things get smeary.

Outside is a strange and deeply interesting mixture of highly textured and detailed architectures which all convey the mood of the day, which is grandiosity: run-down, beat-up, old/recycled; there is not a new or modern building in sight. Every building I see, the mud under my feet, the overcast sky, and the light glowing out of it--everything radiates a strong mood of ancient underlying grandiosity in spite of the mundane events.

The rough, dark ground is like frozen mud dotted with fascinating buildings from a variety of time periods and European cultures. The closest building which I'm passing on my right is a large, dark building made of big, dark red--color of dried blood--porous bricks or carved red lava made to look like large, rounded bricks a foot long and ten inches tall --architecture of a bygone era where imagination was as important as utility. [This building reminds me of "the Castle", an abandoned high school in Sioux City, Iowa that used to stimulate my imagination when I lived there.] The windows and doors are all gaping holes, not a trace of glass or wood in any of the holes. I somehow know that this building is a gigantic dressing room which a diabolical police force uses as a shower and dressing room. I don't want to go in there, even though the facilities are exactly what I'm looking for; I would not care for the company.

Just past the building is a neighborhood of depressing hovels made from old pieces of rusty roofing tin, scraps of rotten plywood, sun-bleached plastic tarps--a typical Philippines squatters' area. I don't want to go there either, so I turn around and again walk past the big, dark red building. This time it's on my left. It's about three stories tall and there doesn't seem to be anyone around, so as I get to the end of the building, I decide it's worth the risk, there don't appear to be any macho militaristic creeps around at the moment, and it does have the facilities that I need.

Once inside, it's one big maze of tiny toilet rooms leading from one to another with no common corridor. I walk through several, trying to get deep enough in to increase my chances of not being disturbed. I'm surprised by all the privacy doors, as I would have expected a big common area full of showers, for all the macho dudes to shower together in. Then I notice that the privacy doors appear to be stuck open, not used. I finally select one of the rooms [and this appears to complete the requirements of the quest, as the ablutions were not the point and the plot completely skips over to a new plot:]

I leave the small room and walk into a large, high-ceilinged, long and wide open room, and there is Mr. Murray's successor, Jim Brant! [Mr. Murray announced in a recent dream that he had failed and was through trying to help me, which was a big motivator because I hated to lose him.]

Mr. Brant looks exactly as I remember him: glasses, thick white hair, 5' 1" tall, button-down shirt, slacks, a little stocky, chipper and friendly [with the serious undertone of someone who considers himself to be overburdened and underappreciated but normally tries to not let on.] He's doing something with someone else. I'm very surprised and happy to see him, it's been years. I walk up to him with a big grin to surprise him. He glances at me briefly, but doesn't seem to recognize me, so I look in a mirror and no wonder. I have a hood over my head and a dark BLUE knitted scarf over the bottom of my face [merging with 3ness body--this is the dark cloth I wear as a crude sleeping mask, just a long cloth wrapped around my head.]

I strip the visual barriers from my face and go back to Mr. Brant, and now he recognizes me. With a matter-of-fact, business-as-usual attitude, he enlists my aid transporting a playground toy. It's an all-metal swinging device, all black. A tall central pole has several heavy chains attached to a top pivot with handles at the bottom of the chains. Several children will grab the handles and start running in a circle around the pole, and if they run fast enough and don't bump into each other and no one lets go, they will all be able to fly up into the air and go WHEE at the same time. I grab the black pole while pinning one of the swinging handles under my hand, because it was swinging around hitting me in the face. Which is what it would do to kids using it who don't know what they're doing, or who are not coordinated well enough to use the toy.

[The symbology in the above is exquisite. My conscious mind could never have come up with a tenth of that much meaning in a simple symbol. It's about the different dream bodies cooperating to merge with each other into a single flying event, and how well they can fly if they do work together, vs. what will happen if they don't.]

The big black swing contraption is not easy to carry, but we manage to get it out of the building and into the back of my dark gray pickup. I wonder if Mr. Brant notices that I no longer have my red truck.

I head off to the right. I suddenly remember I have an interview to finish. [Truck, JB, and playground toy are all forgotten as I] walk around looking for the administration building where I was before. All the buildings are equally fascinating, and as before, I'm on a large flat area of frozen dark-colored mud under a solidly overcast sky. The buildings are of a glowingly orangish-yellow stone/brickwork and each one shines with a personality of its own. No two buildings are alike, and they are not set too close to each other. I enjoy staring at them, wondering what one could do in a building like that.

I take a left and the generally yellow/orange architecture, in a dark field of disturbed, dark-colored hard or frozen mud, changes instantly into a beautiful light grayish-blue. The last yellow thing I see is the rear wheel of the contraption I am taking a left in, with the turn of the flat dirt road. I look back because the invisible 3- or 4-wheeled bicycle I'm pedaling seems to have one irregularly high wheel in back, so I glance back, see the yellow world and two yellow wheels, take the left, and look back in front of me. The dark mud is gone, the yellow buildings are gone, the road is now a flat, slightly upwardly inclined, ever-widening expanse of finely crushed blue-gray stone ending at the edge of a cliff 30 feet head. I am pedaling quickly out onto a promontory overlooking a huge gorge, and a valley set in front of snow-covered alpine peaks.

This is even better, wherever I am, I love this place. My invisible bike [SC] requires cranking with both arms and feet, so my arms and feet are gyrating like crazy and I'm moving through the air on a 4-wheeled bike I can feel, and pedal, but not see.

Ahead of me I see, for the first time, beautiful majestic mountains. What are MOUNTAINS doing here? As I pump with my arms, both arms going around and around in front of me together, it's as if I am pumping detail into the scenery. Beautiful bluish-gray chalet villages populate a gorge at the bottom of a valley spread out below me.

Everything is visually crystal-clear, finely etched. Now, I think, if there is a huge valley full of chalet villages spread out below me, and majestic Alpine snow-covered peaks behind that, then it stands to reason that I'm about to drive off a cliff. I see that the road I'm on ends in a sudden drop off to nowhere and I realize I'm dreaming.

Everything is suddenly that much richer and the blue-gray color cast on everything is that much more distinctive. The objects and sights are so perfectly etched in amazing detail, the villages below and the mountains ahead, I can see every pebble on the road ahead of me as I triple my pedaling effort with arms and feet, shouting to myselves telepathically, "OFF THE CLIFF! OFF THE CLIFF! OFF THE CLIFF! LET'S GOOOOOOO!!!!"

[I'm off the cliff in a black void with no transition. I assumed I was back in my body, but I was so wide awake and aware that I couldn't get it through my head that I was still in the phase, free to go exploring further, so I settled for the short period of lucidity and activated the physical. Happy and excited, but slightly disappointed that I "didn't carry out my plan of action."]

[Also take note that detail-oriented, close encounters with people, as with the interviewer and Jim Brant, are strong lucidity cues and these people tend to be dream bodies.]

[Once again, the "lucidity" was just the icing on the cake. The whole dream was of crucial importance, and at the end, when I got to bite down on my fear of death and take the plunge, I was literally asking myself, "What if I'm wrong? What if I'm really not dreaming? I will be killed!" That's why I was telepathically screaming "OFF THE CLIFF!" over and over, to drown out the doubt, the voice of idiosiffication. I was determined not to let go of the lucidity, but of course I got too excited and went totally blind once I hit the open air. However, the important part this time was not the flying, but the willingness and ability to take the plunge. Added Note: I wasn't blind, I was in the Void, I just didn't know much about the Void at this time. --ed.]

9:52 am

[Work Hard Early = W. H. Early = "Whirly". Just revealed to me while flossing teeth. Whirly is the grizzled, middle-aged, crew-cut, possibly ex-military man who showed me how to stuff a big, fluffy sleeping bag into a small nylon sack and unforgettably said, "Work hard early," which I never have forgotten 40 years later. Whirly is also Stumped-No-More, and the person who was helping me with the Ninong Application in the dream looked like the sleeping bag salesman from long ago. Whirly is now the name of my invisible body of 9ness, the invisible hand-and-foot-cranked bicycle I drove over a cliff this morning. This body of 9ness is the synthesis of bodies 2 thru 8. When all seven bodies (corresponding to 7 chakras) learn to stay in balance (cooperate), we get to fly as one body, with full abilities of 7 different harmonics of awareness. This is the meaning of the octopus swing in the dream. If a kid jumps off, the adjacent kid gets a chain in the face. If a kid runs too fast or too slow, someone gets trampled. If your hands slip off when you're flying around the pole, you fly in a straight line to a place you had not intended. The octopus swing only works if everybody cooperates.]