To my mind, successful astral projection is not so much to do with finding the right technique, but is all to do with achieving the correct degree of mental understanding. For me, realising that the physical-body springs forth from the Mind, and not the other way around, was a major turning point which led to my making a big leap forward in my development.
--Frank Kepple, Astral Pulse Forum, February 15, 2003
2016-09-25 5:45 pm
[Any way you look at it, the world is a swirling mass of self-organizing fog.]
[Pure awareness as such is unperturbed Oneness. It has no identity, no edges anywhere, no inside or outside. Its only quality is infinity. Which we learn to perceive through the process of being human... as follows: the first ripple on this heretofore perfectly smooth surface sends us reeling into a whirlpool of reactions, one after another. We see in a cloudy mirror and think we exist as some objective reality. Notwithstanding the obvious fact that, in the face of eternity, our existence is neither here nor there. So in order to make existence matter more than the unfathomable rules that seem to dictate our every move within said existence, we try to find our way back to the source where nothing mattered. For a long time, this is our only hope, and yet knowledge of the source gradually fades till its existence remains only as a free-floating myth that's seldom encountered.]
[We realize there's no way to go back. We have to move forward, through the whirlpool and delivered by it, having finally learned its ways. But delivered into the next whirlpool. And it goes from there, each whirlpool of existence trapping us then shooting us out into promised freedom, with each escape trapping us in another whirlpool.]
[Finally the eighth and last whirlpool is expansion. It allows us the ability to transform the thing that makes our prison solid into the owner's manual for the tools scraped off the highway of hell that is behind us. We ride the dragon of nineness to the source, but it is not the way back. It's the way forward, because there is no way to go back. Once you've experienced the initial onset of panic which is the first moment of existence as an individual, there is no way to go back. It's possible--and likely--to stay trapped forever in the interplay of the first few whirlpools--the lower chakras--but it's also possible, with a lot of luck and effort, to escape this trap and start into the higher potential of the human experience.]
[The first whirlpool or chakra is the separateness, the identity of the individual. When this is relaxed, the next whirlpool is the solidity, the coming together of things: forming attachments. When this is relaxed, the next whirlpool to conquer is time and order, the rules that make it all start to seem meaningful. Learning to read and comprehend the rules of prison life, finally we can gain access to the next prison, the whirlpool of change. But this one is different. This is the opposable thumb of the human predicament. This one levers us into the higher realms of human endeavor.]
[From here we begin to learn enjoyment. Bought with our obsessions, so they are no longer ours. Next comes wisdom at the expense of the soothing stupidity we can no longer afford to feed, and finally expansion at the expense of everything we thought was real; everything that we thought mattered. Finally we have learned to relax no matter what. The attachments of threeness start to let go. The rigid stress of twoness starts to blur its edges. The constraints of fourness turn into tools we can use. Everything starts to flow and good stops creating bad and wisdom starts making sense and freedom stops putting us into debt.]
[And then it happens. 8ness is relaxation itself. All the stress points evaporate and expand into balance. The body of nineness synthesizes itself spontaneously out of the bodies of 2ness, 3ness, 4ness, 5ness, 6ness, 7ness, and 8ness. When the seven chakras, the seven overtones of awareness--2ness through 8ness--relax and start cooperating with each other, reading each others' needs and responding in a spirit of cooperation instead of fighting each other for dominance of the same energy, the all-encompassing body of nineness forms as a body of air. What's left of the identity, body, and time--the vestiges of the conscious world--can ride the body of air to the source, to Oneness.]
[But it's not back. It's forward and out. With tools once unheard-of, the body of nineness does the work and the infinite awesomeness of pure awareness is finally experienced for what it can be from the perspective of the illuminated individual. The endless fields of eternity become the playground of the miruvor, the mirror warrior: the one who has already wrestled with his identity, his solidity, his past, present, future, and won. And come away with tools. The fire-breathing dragon of nineness only knows one way to go, and that is into the heart of the unknown. Oneness is still all that's real, but from the perspective of the individual who has fought the mirror and won, this ever-expanding playground is as real as it needs to be, because it's as real as anything, and that's good enough.]
[It sounds so serious, and melodramatic, and just plain weird. That's what happens when eternity becomes more interesting than the common obsessions of the conscious mind. It gets serious, it gets melodramatic, it gets weird. Life becomes a great big movie. Undershorn by the sure knowledge that it never ends. Transformation is fueled by giving up on the notion that eternity is some kind of fearsome threat or hell. Because miruvors have forever and everywhere to explore, but only right now to do it in. There is no longer any time for fear.]
[It all started at the church services I was forced to attend as a child, because the sermon was so soul-deadeningly boring that I was pushed into a meditative state out of a desperate instinct for self-preservation. In this condition I could only come up with one thing worth thinking about: infinity. I would compare myself to infinity. I would compare my life, my family, my school, my homework, my dogs, everything I knew, I would compare it all to infinity. Then one day, a strong sense of knowing something came to me. I suddenly knew that the pantheon of angels, gods, sons of gods, ghosts of gods, devils, prophets, and saints comprising the Christian religion were no different from any other pantheon of costumes for the bits of infinity. Armed with the sure knowledge that only infinity mattered, I set forth to find the facts for myself. Stripping off the costumes and masks that humans clothe infinity in, I began a search for the basic irreducible elements that make up our reality. I've been on that path ever since.]
[Here's how it appears to work, so far. You get in your bed and pretend your brain is a muscle. You relax that muscle. You scan the body one fiber at a time for any remaining trace of tension. You evaporate every drop of this tension. The non-physical vapor thus released by the evaporation of the formerly physical body-forming-stress forms a bubble of buoyancy around the vestiges of identity where the physical rests unused. With nothing left of the physical but the pure awareness within it which radiates energy along the five channels of the human form--the spine and the four extremities--the attention, intent, and ability to remember, which all had been detained by the conscious mind a few minutes before, are free, as a body of air, to explore the unimaginable. DAIR to dream: detention of the physical is evaporated to release attention under the direction of intention while activating retention.]
[In other words, what good is a dream journal--yours or mine--if no one reads it?]
[Found the puppy Max II out in the garden dead.]
[Here is his goodbye dream, he knew he wasn't going to make it and came to me.]
rewind to 2016-09-14 4:04 am
[Our dogs, when I was married to KK, were actually Lila I and Max I. I now have Lila II and Max II. Taran and/or Jovie had never met the originals but wanted to name our current dogs after them. Max II is a tough-as-nails, highly aggressive and playful puppy. He has been sick...]
I've recently split up with KK. She kept Lila I and I kept Max II and MOVED BACK TO AN APARTMENT I had rented once before. [Recall that an apartment or house is a state of mind. In the dream,] I'm MEDITATING and sitting in a big chair having a fairly LUCID DREAM about watching a MOVIE. But I'm in the movie [which is similar to a cult classic I used to like called A Boy and His Dog, which is about a post-apocalyptic world where people live in tents, like in the movie MAD MAX.]
People are basically living outside; everyone is equally homeless. I'm aware of holding all this together with my mind. The movie I'm watching--while outside--is actually inside the tent, and a blanket hangs to cover the doorway of the tent, so how could I see the movie inside the tent anyway? And also, oddly enough, my chair is facing away from the hanging blanket. With these realizations I mentally stop the movie and see that other people are sitting around the big makeshift plywood table where I sit on my big chair, back to the tent. I rouse myself from my meditation in the apartment where I live with Max after watching vivid HYPNAGOGIC IMAGES. I realize by the state of my living quarters that I haven't been doing anything else besides meditating. I carry a pile of dirty clothes from the EXTRA BED in the front room in case anybody comes to visit.
I remember my puppy Max, poor unfed creature running around like a ghost looking for something to eat, can't get outside to pee with me glued to my chair. He runs by and I kiss him on the top of his head, telling myself I'll get used to kissing dogs like when I had Max I. I wonder if I have a record from last time I lived in this place, as to where I should mail the rent check.
I force myself into the kitchen to serve up some dog food for Max. I have to wash a spoon to get this done. What a drudgery this life is. I do some mental magic by fast-forwarding the Time Tape, which I see as a vivid vertical slit of film shots clicking by at a high speed, as the images fast-forward to a time when I taking care of the dog doesn't seem like drudgery anymore. The fact that I can do this so easily makes me CHUCKLE.
[Dream:] "Both found themselves staring at a newspaper photo of the woman's terrible grin the next morning and found themselves unable to produce a single memory." [This is in regards to] a woman (in newspaper photo) and two other people who all witnessed the event the night before, an event of terrible violence. A woman is photographed with one of those "grins" on her face of someone trying to describe something that makes them hysterical. The other two people see the grin the next day in a newspaper photo and it doesn't help them remember the event, which they have repressed completely. [The exact words quoted above woke me up.]
In a hotel's smallish lounge/commons room with scattered tables/chairs/people. I am setting about changing the smallest string on my guitar [Max], replacing it with a new one. [We will not be puppyless for long; Max' mother is probably pregnant.] SC reminds me that it would be intrusive to play the guitar in this small room dotted with random strangers and I respond that I am only repairing a broken string. My mom at a different table wants to try some Bugler tobacco and I peer over to the snack counter to see that they also have American Spirit tobacco. I tell her that she should smoke the organic tobacco if she has to smoke, because Bugler will kill her a lot faster. I place five small paper packets of guitar strings inside my jacket's inside pocket for later. Five of the six strings still have replacements in case they break too. [Max was the largest of a litter of six, the strongest and most aggressive. Re: "Bugler" will kill you faster: Government fogging agents came through on an anti-mosquito campaign a few days ago and I told them if they fogged my property or my house, it would kill my dog, who I was carrying in my arms so he and I could escape together if they tried to fog us anyway. They disagreed but they didn't fog me. Just every other house around. Even inside the houses. They believe this poison will magically effect only mosquitoes and they think I am seriously insane, not to mention annoyingly individualistic, to suggest otherwise. In the Philippines, individualism is not rewarded and independent thinking is therefore practically taboo; people find it embarrassing. I guess it's not much different anywhere else.]
"Rewriting Wasted Opportunity--Sayang!"
The other character in the dream is uniquely my charge, my pupil. Like a younger and/or smaller friend or relative. Dark curly hair. I keep trying to teach him things, making suggestions. We somehow have an influence on another young man who hides his face behind painted-on masks of black and white. When this tall teenager leaves with his friends, something inside him is profoundly changed, such that when he leaves with his painted friends, I know that we have started a chain reaction that will continue working on him in our absence. The tall kid also has black hair, as do his friends.
I say to my student, See what you've accomplished? Because of you, his life will improve and his attitude will improve and eventually the paint will come off, he will hold his head up as a man among men.
Inside the City Water and Disposal Works Department out past the edge of town, we go back in because we have a couple of old water tanks to get rid of. [Max II lay down and died behind the water tank in the front garden. Dogs tend to go off by themselves to die. It's easier to release if someone isn't stroking you and begging you not to leave.] In the recycling and trash dept which is a big room full of cubicles. Someone helps us, [though the two big red tanks are never seen.]
The tanks are dispensed with, down a short offshoot from the main room at the back left corner. This goes to a secret room resembling a bank vault and I have been instructed to lock it as I leave. The lock is a kind of white plastic plunger, two of them, one over a foot long and the other smaller, which fit down inside a big tube at the top of the metal-bar gate closing the vault corridor off from the main room. The white plastic pipes look like bathroom plumbing.
My companion wants to run out the door shyly, but I lead him to the right rear of the room where his young blonde heart-throb guards another vault as three variations on the theme of pretty-but-plain in BLUE dresses. They sit on stools smiling pleasantly and I approach them confidently to show my pupil how it's done. [In a previous dream that I don't remember,] he had quite a pleasant encounter with this girl, but he tries to sneak out before she sees him as he fears he won't be able to keep up the streak of confidence he experienced last time, when an attack of glibness had allowed him to impress her. I won't let him off that easy. I engage the three young women in conversation and they respond in a friendly way.
Back outside we're wandering aimlessly when I spot the City Water and Disposal Works Department. I point out to my companion the characteristic THREE BIG DOORS comprising the back fence which is a row of THREE GATES. It seems even more deserted than last time, but again I'm drawn to take him inside. It's daytime, but everybody's gone home. I notice the cubicles have bits of wadded-up gum wrappers etc. left over from the day shift, so my fatherly instincts kick into gear and I instruct my charge that a job offer is staring him in the face. We get busy cleaning the place up and there is always the hope that he'll get the job by demonstrating the willingness to do it, instead of cringing in the shadows waiting for someone to accept him and spoon-feed him permission to proceed with what he has to do anyway.
As he gets to work, magically he transforms into a full-size self-assured adult in a work shirt, and then another, and the two of them go about their duties with calm enjoyment. [Nitpicker and Potwatcher working out emotions in ways that no psychologist ever could. I recall lying down last night literally watching boiling, reeling clouds of emotions turn into visions and dreams. The act of going to sleep is not what we think it is. It is an energetic display, an evaporative display of the interweaving stresses and focus points we call "real life." Obviously I care deeply about this soul partner, and was just about to name him "Sayangnaut"--which means "Sailor upon the sea of lost opportunity"--when I realized he had literally turned into Nitpicker and Potwatcher and gone back to work calmly and efficiently. The states we experience are not to be dawdled in, everything is transient and fleeting. Keep moving, move on to the next thing.]
["Sayang" is a Filipino expression meaning "Too bad, what a waste, lost opportunity!" It is the first thing Taran said about losing Max when he found out. Today when he got home from school he used an English expression mixed with his Visayan: "Boring wa'y Max." (It's boring without Max.) I said, "O-o, gimingaw ta kay Max." (Yeah, we miss Max.) Taran agreed and hid his face behind the curtain.]
[In town I saw a license plate # 13731. My numerology is 371 or 3+7=10=1+0=1. I wondered what time it was at that moment and pulled my cell phone out to check the time. While the phone was in my pocket it had gotten buttons pushed accidentally so the screen now showed a "random" number: 37.]
[In spite of not remembering dreams, I was able to view the whirly tunnel opening easily and in clear definition whenever I woke in the middle of the night. Apparently I was waking up from intense dreams, in which case I would have been vibrating and hypnagogically activated.]
[Smudgely tried hard here to make me lucid. I tend to get visits from famous comedians in my nearly lucid dreams and this is no exception.]
I'm standing on the front porch [of our real house] when Donald Trump walks past silently. I greet him and consider saying something sarcastic like, "How does it feel to be a thing called 'The Donald'?" but I decide I'd rather not be made to stoop to sarcasm just because he's walking around with a fixed expression on his face like a wax statue, not altering his expression and not saying anything. He continues walking toward the neighbor's house. I go inside to tell my wife what just happened, but I notice I am vibrating, so I tell her, "Wow, Donald Trump made me vibrate! I'm vibrating! I'm vibrating!" [I wake up and tried to use the vibrations to exit, but went back to sleep.]
[LS] In regards to a dream, journey or some non-physical experience in my past, I become aware that I let (some female; I don't remember who) accompany me, and she has accompanied me everywhere, ever since. [Don't know who this is, but I did when I was in the little dream.]
[An amazing dream sequence, but I should say an amazing sequence of events of so-called dream and so-called reality overlaying and overlapping each other inseparably. This is going to be hard to describe.]
A short but detailed, tight dream comes to me which I absolutely must get out of bed and write down, but I pull my usual stunt of trying to go over the dream in my mind first, and I go back to sleep while trying to do this. IF I ever even woke up. The dream is lost, every drop.
Then Taran, who sleeps next to me, dreamed the whole thing over! [I can't explain this--it's what I experienced.] Since it was his dream and not mine, I only saw the dream take form from the outside, as a geometrical shape. On a very dark, grayish-brown screen (the color of a TV screen), a short headline of a slightly lighter shade of the same color appears, and quickly, line by line, a series of longer lines appears under that heading, quickly forming a rectangle with a headline--a smaller rectangle--appended to the top. This is not what happened, it is the only way I can remember and describe what happened. The dream had content, a plot or whatever. What I described was not that content, it was my experience of the dream. It was not considered odd at the time, as if this was a typical experience of a sleeping mind.
I know I must get up to write this down immediately and I'm aware it came twice, as if I had the dream, couldn't remember it, so Taran showed it to me and I saw its form but not its content. I am struggling to wake up so I can get out of bed to write this down, knowing it's Taran's dream, but still without an inkling that this is odd. Then, Taran says "Boo!" which wakes me a little more. I become more determined to get out of bed, but still it's not happening.
Then at the exact moment when my conscious mind snaps to attention by realizing suddenly that I've just had a completely inexplicable event to try and describe, a prolonged, luxurious rumble of rolling thunder wakes me a little more. Taran--whose name means "thunder"--started rolling around in his sleep and kicking me. A second peal of prolonged thunder occurs, and Jovie comes to bed at that moment. The first drops of rain came simultaneously and quickly built, steadily, into a solid, loud downpour of windless rain.
[NLOBE] "And also, your level of rage has gone down a bit, to the point where I can stand to be next to you."
My family is leaving after visiting the Rich Family in their Big House. I have to go back in for something, accompanied by SC. I enter a large den where women are sitting around in small groups. One is nursing a baby and I'm so polite, I don't look, but I see her naked breast anyway, which I find slightly annoying. The nudity isn't annoying, but the fact that I saw something I wasn't looking at. SC--now a woman--gives me a baby bottle to top off with water, so I stick the little filler tube in the nearly full bottle and she turns the water on too fast, and it squirts out all over. She asks me if I got wet and I say, "Just everything below the knee," which is supposed to be funny/ironic.
Back outside, we leave on foot, A large man with BROWN hair walks on my right on the sidewalk going down a hill. The Hill, a rich neighborhood with lots of luxurious trees and bushes. The narrow residential asphalt street is to our right, and there's a big field across the street where a recent holiday celebration was held with many thousands in attendance. The result is that the sky is full of trash due to the large quantity of PINK helium balloons that had been released during the festivities. [For some reason it doesn't get through to me that it is odd that these PINK balloons didn't float away, then became tattered like trash, and neither blew away nor fell to earth. Smudgely is doing her best!] The mostly broken, shredded, tattered PINK balloons float in the air, a thick cloud of trash above the field and stadium.
The large man to my right makes a cynical comment about the trash floating in the sky, so I pass him up, not wanting to hear his negative crap. "It's raining trash," he says as I hurry past him. But he's right, it is raining trash. [I thought he was being negative and trying to bring down my self-righteous vibe, when in fact it was I who was being judgmental and unfriendly.]
[NLOBE1] Across the street from my [real world] bank's ATM, I start to walk across the street, but three "tricycles" come from three different directions and wall me in, making it impossible to cross the street in the direction I was going.
[Came to in the physical, made a mental note to remember this, and immediately evaporated back to the same place.]
[NLOBE2] I get across the street to where the ATM is, and some young hooligans approach me to head me off from where I'm trying to get to.
[I came to, a little shaken by this aggression.]
My awareness is now completely out of the physical as I struggle with all my ability to focus on removing a simple-looking but solid knot from the end of a length of the black plastic string that we use for a clothesline. I get it partially unravelled, but it is taxing and very difficult. I wake up before the task is finished.
[While meditating, I clearly felt and understood, during stretches of no internal dialog, that I was in a literally timeless state at that moment that is repeated in lucid dreams such as the one I will have tonight. It's hard to put into words, but being timeless, there is only one such moment and it is repeated during all episodes of true silence.]
My dark BLUE Toyota [which my parents bought new on my 18th birthday in 1974 and which finally became mine during my first marriage about 1985] is apparently on its last legs. Everything is going wrong at once. The newishly-re-done brakes--recently rebuilt by the mechanic down by Cloud Street--are already going out. Maybe because the car's too old to get good parts for.
I make it somehow from North Salina to the Safeway area on Cloud Street. I have a collection of checks that are made out to me, so that's good, but I'll have to spend it all on this car. It has no brakes again, so I'll be getting those, and it has no clutch, and therefore it will hardly do anything. I have two or three mechanics in mind and there is only the one that's close to here, if I can just get it pedalled through this strange series of red lights (since I have no brakes I can't stop and if I did, since I have no clutch, I would not be able to start again). Turning right through a red light from the middle lane, Oops, watch out fella, I have a crippled car here, I'm pedalling as fast as I can--immediately another red light appears and I go through that one too. It doesn't count anyway, I was already driving through a red light when this one appeared as soon as I turned right. Then another right, and using up all my momentum and pedalling hard to get the car up a short rise to slip into the last parking spot in the world, outside a tan stucco RESTAURANT at its side, close to the EMPLOYEES' SIDE DOOR. I check to make sure I'm not blocking the door, but I see I am blocking a coal chute. The mechanic's place is just up the street from here on the left, at the next intersection, but it's on a lot raised up from street level, so the mechanic will just have to tow it from here. I look at my pile of checks, Hey, this isn't enough money, these are tiny checks. Uh oh, here comes someone out of the side door of the restaurant.
[Whirly's restaurant! This is the same town (Salina) and the same restaurant where I met Whirly inside the employees' entrance at the end of my awesome OBE of Aug. 26. I was very nearly lucid as I examined the side of the restaurant. The stucco texture of the restaurant's side drew me into it and deepened my state. I measured the length of the car, where it started and ended, in relation to landmarks along the side of the small stucco building such as the front of the building and the side door, which I didn't want to block.]
SC wants to know how fast I can FIND INFORMATION ON AN AIRLINE in the Yellow Pages of the phone book, because he wants to go to Meeker, Colorado. I start looking in the wrong place (under M for MEEKER), then I quickly switch to A for Airline, but then carefully determining that the heading "airline" is missing, which is frustrating because I'm in a hurry. I want to impress him with how fast I can do it, in case this speediness lands me a job. He says he usually looks under C for Colorado. Really? I am surprised, but I'll try anything, this has got me S for Stumped. A woman is also making suggestions. She goes into the restroom and is still making suggestions as she is closing the door and I see her face briefly as she's talking. [Alarm goes off.]
[The woman was purposely showing me her face and she did seem familiar. She is the version of Cwahacoy I experienced twice in quick succession in Chapter Four. The first time was in the last dream I had before the first attack on Apr. 26. The second time was in the first dream I had after the same attack. Something is going on. Again this version of Cwahacoy appeared to me twice in quick succession, see LS1 directly below this.]
[Another currently recurring theme is "getting enough money" and whether or not I or someone else is ready to receive it. See the two NLOBEs just before yesterday's journey.]
[LS1] She's leaving for town. "Now, about the..." "The thousand pesos?" I'd tried to give it to her earlier and she wasn't ready. Now I have to go grab it for her. [This is the same woman who showed me her face in the dream above about the SEARCH through the yellow pages.]
[LS3] Reading something out of this dream journal.
[Woken up while still dreaming. Very strong hypnagogic state, able to generate vivid dynamic full-color images at will, starting with sine waves moving across the screen.]
My family (SC+) has taken over the house of someone who was an engineer or other technical person. It's my problem now to sort through all the junk left by this guy. It's a lot of techie junk including reports, piles of papers, electronic junk, nice stereo safely tucked away on a high shelf up in the back of the free-standing wooden closet. I assume the stereo might not work, although it appears to be in perfect condition, so I decide I'll give it a test run later. In front of that, teetering on a sloppy pile of charts and diagrams and old technical reports is the guts of an electronical instrument of some sort about to fall out on the floor.
On a big drafting table covered with more papers, there are also some old clothes which I plan to throw away, but as I toss them on the floor one at a time, I see they are usable T-shirts so I'll get them washed and keep them. A little girl's frilly dress is going to the trash, sayonara.
Two serious, hard-working engineer-types wearing engineer clothes and acting like engineers with engineer haircuts are over in the other end of the large room working at a big plain engineering flat table doing their calculations and writing their reports. Wearing their button-down engineering shirts. [Potwatcher and Nitpicker.] I find a good reading light because the two are working in the dimly-lit half of the large room, whereas all the junk piles are in a harshly lit area close to the bed and dresser etc.
The light is a tall pole lamp with a single bulb receptacle, hooded and slidable up and down a small rod running parallel to the tall central pole. I plug the lamp in next to the table for the two hard-working engineers to use. [Just realized Potwatcher and Nitpicker are my 2 + 2 = 4 or Duality Duo 4ness crew.] I adjust the height of the receptacle a little and turn the light on, which vastly improves the quality of lighting at the table. I'm quite impressed.
As I walk back to my end of the room, the bedroom where I live, one engineer stands up and says, "That's quite a lot of WHITE LIGHT," and he tells me not to adjust the light that way. The other engineer nods in agreement as the one standing explains that the adjustment rod is not really meant to be used--not perfectly designed--and will get bungled up if used much. He goes behind the tall lamp to demonstrate the correct way to adjust the height of the lamp, for those in the know. He loosens a big black gripping-handled set screw and gives a hefty-looking adjustment mechanism a little tap downward with his foot. The whole upper part of the lamp quickly and smoothly travels down, riding nicely on a large screw rod with big square threads. This is a superior and very smooth mechanism, and well-lubricated. One tap of his foot has engaged some sort of counterweight hidden within the mechanism, but it gets better. When the mechanism reaches the lower limit of its travel, it just as smoothly starts back up, having somehow stored its momentum for the return trip. Then at the upper limit of its travel, it stops and heads back down. The engineer is showing me this and he's quite proud of it since it is, after all, a marvel of really decent engineering. After it travels smoothly up and down several times without slowing down, powered only by one swift kick, the engineer blocks it with his foot and it stops instantly and smoothly, staying exactly where he stopped it. He tightens the black knob and sits down and silently goes back to work. I am very impressed.
Mr. Murray is telling me about the remodeling project he and his wife will be undertaking soon to fix up the space beyond their garage, then their house will be big again and the extra people including me can live in the apartment. I congratulate him on getting his space together after the big remodeling. One person is living there already.
[Interesting that the thread is holding with the Mr. Murray tale. For many years I dreamed of working with him at the Postal Center, then this year, I had a traumatic dream that he had failed, given up, and closed the Postal Center. This dream was so traumatic that I refused to think about it when I woke up, I didn't want to remember it. Then later, I dreamed he and his wife were running an astral boarding house instead, and this dream continues this exact plot thread.
"I've been grounded"
Working in a pizza delivery restaurant that's too small and understaffed. The owner has cobbled this place together and it's the best he can do right now, but he's hoping for something better down the road. The facility is too narrow, long and narrow, but not long enough either. Like a short tunnel. [Recall recent dream about the Pizza Rush, which was traumatic because I was not hired.]
I see pizzas stacking up at the end of the oven conveyor out end, even getting cold. I start to assume I'll be driving, but catch myself calling for a driver because I haven't been driving lately since being re-hired. I grab the coldest pizza and breadsticks and take them outside and set the order down on the sidewalk to reorganize it and try to get the box closed and do away with the excessive black pepper and powdered chili that have been dumped all over it. Things are gonna be changing around here. I grab the thin, faded street map from the box, which is now a deep cube instead of a proper pizza box; the only map we have, so I don't dare take it on the delivery with me. I look up the address and decide on a route, hoping I can remember it, and hoping the delivery will be a double with the next cold pizza so they can both go out the door with me. The other young male employee is telling a young blonde girl who works there that I've been given his driving job: "I've been grounded. I guess I'm gonna stop."
[Alarm clock goes off and I am singing above quote to myself as if it had been music to my ears. The repetition is robotic, won't stop. Extremely hypnagogic and sleepy.]
[Meditation. Will lie down when I start falling asleep, which will be almost immediately. (But that's not what I did.)]
[Drifting in and out of sleep during meditation, in and out of little dreams the whole time, mostly words--last ones were about a broken flashlight, "defective... faulty..." before that about pizza.]
[Sleeping in the extra bed right next to the open door leading out to the terrace (big balcony lined with my wife's potted flowers and flowering bushes in pots), where birds are singing loudly trying to wake me up. My last thought before sleeping was my default plan of action to visit Whirly--and try to hear his voice. Notice the dream is a non-lucid OBE because it takes place where I'm sleeping thus RTZ or "real time zone" according to RB or "Locale I" according to RAM.]
[This dream is in response to my new, improved Default Plan of Action, in which I intend to visit Stumped-No-More/Whirly/Tiger and hear his voice speaking or singing. All night I was kept partly awake by hypnagogic phrases, most of which I don't remember. In the pizza delivery dream, I clearly remembered exact words, and woke up singing them over and over.]
K. is upstairs and asks, "Should I fill those little tomatos?" She's talking about the big fruits that have many perfectly round little shiny globes of many colors inside them, which I have split open and put outside on the old wooden chair on the terrace. I say, "I'll have to check," and I hurry out to the terrace in mild shock to find out, surprised she's even speaking to me. To get to the far corner of the terrace, I have to walk from the door diagonally all the way to the far corner, which isn't necessarily as easy as it sounds, and I'm also very self-conscious to hear from this silent sister so suddenly. As a result, I get a slight hitch in my get-along about halfway across the terrace (in its exact center), and self-consciously try to hide it by exaggerating it as if I'd purposely been walking funny to mimic a disabled person. I decide not to keep up the act and finish the long/short walk to the corner where the fruits had last been, very aware of being watched through the big window in the upstairs kitchen.
When I get to the chair in the corner, I see all the pretty little shiny balls of many colors are gone, eaten by the singing birds. I pick up some seed pods still left, squeeze them to see what they are, and when I realize they are seeds, I leave them to dry. I go back inside to give K. the bad news.
[Stumped-No-More's singing or speaking voice: the morning song birds. Dream interrupted by Taran literally singing my name: "Buddy, Buddy, Buddy..." from the main bed across the room. (Saturday morning, we'd both slept in.) Which woke me up suddenly from an intense dream with a lot of energy, so I had the choice of whether or not to get angry about my child singing my name as his first act in the morning. The choice is obvious: to live my life as a materialistic collection of "spiritual" practices and then wonder why I don't "feel spiritual," or to live my life with gratitude, that is, to live my life. Just live it.]
[Like the analogy of spreading butter on cheese and then wondering why it doesn't make the cheese taste better. Because there's so much butter in cheese already, you can't taste it if you put more on, it just makes the outside of the cheese slimy to the tongue. Spiritual Materialism is the same thing. "Am I happy yet? Did I do enough spiritual practices to put me in the right state of mind?" Worry, worry, collect, collect, more Spirituality on top of... what? Everything is pure spirit, everything is made of pure awareness, pure existence is all there is. We experience nothing else. Trying to be spiritual adds a slimy feeling to what is already there and already perfect. A quiet mind automatically exposes genuine pre-existing gratitude, but spiritual materialism is just more noise, trying to be This or That when we already Exist. Existence and awareness are the same thing. Spiritual materialism generates emotionalism, disappointment, because it's dualistic. The act of trying to generate religious fervor will ultimately disappoint. Inner silence is not something you generate or create or build up. It's already there. We're made out of it. It's pure awareness. The only thing we have to learn to do... is nothing. Saying "thanks" all the time to my guides or gods is piety, a pointless display (at least in my case, since I don't like how it makes me feel), spiritual materialism, collecting brownie points, trying to become the teacher's pet, earning approval. Saying nothing clears the lens so the guides or gods can be seen as is. Whirly says, "Thank me by being still." (Tried that and instantly heard the Sound Current).]
[While hanging up the laundry, I just watched my breath. There is no right way to breathe, unless it's connectedly. I think the only methodology that works is to watch the breath, to breathe consciously. I think when you are aware of your breathing, you'll naturally not hold your breath. As for how fast, how deep, whether chest or belly, etc., it's all a bunch of hocus-pocus. Useful for beginners still reeling with monkey chatter who don't want to hear, "Just pay attention." I am starting to seriously consider the possibility that in 1980 when breathing put me into a month-long state of bliss, it was not because of the way I was breathing, but because I was in a meditative state 24/7 due to ceaselessly watching my breath. This is entirely possible and even more so when I consider the fact that I can't for the life of me remember how hard or fast I was breathing. I think the whole thing, tingles and all, was just caused by continuous conscious breathing and stopping the internal dialog accidentally because of this.]
2016-10-02 1:40 am
Unable to remember the dream, I stack its unrecalled moments on each other in order one by one and tip the stack over in the sand.
Having already dreamed this, I am repeating the scenes visually while also mentally putting them into a letter to my mom. Taran is living with a woman who lives in a park. [Woken by alarm.]
[Bad headache, feverish, going to bed. When Jovie comes home, I'm asking her to take me to town for a kidney test. Added note: I thus went into the hospital where I stayed for 12 days with dengue fever. In actuality I was in a highly focused process of losing the human form but I also had dengue fever, conveniently enough. I was about half delirious for almost two weeks with the ability to see images at will since non-stop headaches stopped my internal dialog and kept it stopped. Also because of blinding headaches lasting over 12 hours each, I kept my eyes closed and used my mask a lot. Lights were out in my room for days, night and day. --ed.]
2016-10-03 mid-afternoon--in hospital
[Yesterday after Nitpicker and Potwatcher did their chores, I went back to bed. The headache seemed tolerable until it was time to poop and the urge to poop came upon me like a suddenly exhausting sickness. Not involved with pooping as such, but I think I was being given a message about eliminating foreign substances. Went straight to bed and stayed there till about 4 p.m. when Jovie took me to town and put me in the hospital. Still have slight headache. Maybe dengue in early stages. Platelets yesterday = 150 which is just on the borderline of normal, but today 140 which is going the wrong direction. Fever yesterday 99.9 deg. F. but normal today. Urine test OK so kidneys OK?]
[Whirly participated directly in my dreams last night.]
"You Wanted To Go Someplace?"
Hitchhiking at night with my duffel bag, California freeway, no traffic. Warm, dry weather. [Just realized that the man who picked me up was the guy who followed me and rammed my car after I tuned a PIANO at a bar in Cedar Ridge many years ago. In the course of tuning this beat-up old piano, I broke several high treble strings because I stupidly/stubbornly did a pitch raise to get it up to standard pitch, and the rusty, pitted strings couldn't take the stretching. I never found out why he followed me and rammed my car but it must have had something to do with either the piano tuning or else he didn't like the way I was driving, or even mistook me for someone else, since I'd never seen him before or since. He is also Hugh Leary. The two look similar, thick wavy sandy-colored hair, slightly tall and thin. A crazed streak. An old beige sedan, both of them; but opposite notions of masculinity.] I get in the back of an old beige four-door sedan, full size car. Driver is wild with slightly long, wavy, unkempt, sandy-colored hair, tallish and jittery. Off-white, floppy shirt, Californian. His intensity is entertaining at first.
He asks me to grab whatever's under the seat in front of me and hand it to him. [In real time Hugh Leary kept a bong under his car seat and that was the beginning of the life he taught me]. I fish with my hand under the seat and pull out a broken section of a huge meat cleaver with a curved blade, like something out of a pirate movie. I notice it's covered with a dried substance which could be gravy or meat juice or something, but I'm sure it's human blood. With this thought in mind, the piece of sliced onion stuck to the dried substance is not encouraging. Trying to sound innocent, I hand it to him, saying, "Used for slicing meat?" He's now sitting in the passenger's seat up front and another hitchhiker (SC) has taken over the driving.
The owner of the car has the other half of the blade. He puts the two parts together and the blade is whole. Leering [Hugh LEARY was my friend in PIANO tuning school], he puts the blade against the driver's neck and looks me straight in the eye. Although I suspect he's just kidding around, I'm not so sure; I am sure he is trying to scare me. I ask to be let out of the car before things get really weird.
Now without a ride and having sacrificed my duffel bag, which is still in the trunk of the car I escaped from, I wander along the freeway. There's no traffic, it is the dead of night. It's flattish and barren, the asphalt freeway is winding and in good condition. I see a duffel bag neatly stood up by the side of the road and wonder if the leering trickster had been nice enough to give it back, but it's too new to be mine. [Mine is very old, it was my dad's, issued to him as a soldier in World War 2, about 1945. It's now one of my few possessions.] Then I see several other duffel bags and walk away, afraid that a gang of hitchhikers might see me messing with their bags and assault me.
I see an off-ramp and think I should get off the freeway since it's illegal to walk past the ramp on the freeway proper. I see a whole group of hitchhikers walking past the on-ramp, right down the freeway, and wonder if there's some sort of exception in effect, like maybe a few days of amnesty for the homeless or something. I sure could use a ride.
Suddenly a big motorcycle skids to a stop where I stand dithering in the outlet of the on-ramp. The bike turns while skidding like they do in movie stunts. OK, so I'm getting a ride on a motorcycle, it could be worse. I am face-to-face with the huge driver, who has glowing skin and a long auburn beard, which is a foot long with perfectly straight hair. [The man on the TV just said "hair" at the moment that I wrote the word.] The biker's beard is like the hair of my dog Lila II, variegated shades of reddish brown-to-blonde looking. He radiates absolute silence. [Whirly, but not recognized as such during the dream.] He is huge, very white, and has freckles on his back. Now that I have a ride, I'm glad I don't have that heavy bag to contend with. I sit down behind him and lay my head on his back. He's taller than me and his skin is well-padded by a layer of fat, so this is very comfortable. I trust him completely.
But instead of heading down the freeway in a forward direction, he starts walking the bike backward, still in the driver's seat, so the motorcycle backs down the on-ramp in reverse. I briefly wonder whether I should be alarmed about this, but the presence of this person has a calming effect. But it gets worse. The ramp is very steep, so we are heading backwards and downhill in the dark. But that's OK, this guy knows what he's doing. There's no trace of uncertainty in his actions.
But it gets worse. Our downward-sloping backwards course is now a tight spiral. And the driver has total control. I press my cheek into his soft, silent back and close my eyes.
I walk into a truck stop, daytime, and there's a young soldier-like truck driver with a full duffel bag laid horizontally next to him on the ledge behind his booth. I say soldier-like, but he's wearing a plaid shirt which is the burnt-orange and near-black colors of a tiger's stripes. His auburn hair is perfectly groomed and he's very clean-shaven. His bearing is upright and motionless. I sit down at the other end of the duffel bag. The man radiates perfect silence.
I'm in the travelers' public bath. Visible across a small alleyway through an open door about ten feet from me in the next bath shack is a man just finishing his bath and getting ready to leave. He's larger than me, clean-shaven, auburn hair, and he has a small boy with him. Unbeknowst to him, I have borrowed his soap, so I hurry to return it to him. I pick it up, each of the two bars of whitish melting soap is placed on a separate 8-inch-square plastic lid off a box of crackers. When I pick up the two lids, I see my own soap under that, a pretty bar of translucent dark PINK soap [the magenta color of the rose quartz that Kris and I used to get from the historical mine we rediscovered together.]
In the alleyway between the two buildings, to my left is a short wall about 30 inches high that blocks the alley. I turn to my left and see a small man in a fancy white suit and hat standing on the wall facing me. Directly behind him is his flashy white sports car. "You wanted to go somewhere?" he asks.
I don't trust this guy for a second. I'm sure he intends to kidnap me. I say nothing. I'm thinking about pushing him off the wall, but I'm afraid he might fall on the back of his head onto the hood of his car and get hurt. [Jovie heard me moaning in fear in my sleep and woke me up, but I was not conscious of her having woken me up till she told me later. I keep telling her never to wake me from a dream but she won't listen.]
[During the main part of the headache, I drifted between delirious and asleep, no telling which, I was unable or unwilling to think, eat, or do anything. Could have puked, but didn't want to get out of bed, so didn't bother. That was before the hospital. Once here at the hospital, that program continued all night, but by morning the headache was 80-90% gone, and it's now hovering at 95-98% gone.]
[This morning I had many realizations based on the dreams and other things. Continued in a relaxed state and used the OmniStressEvap later when feeling awake to prolong the visionary state. Had NLOBES in which I observed my surroundings and realized once that I was seeing through my dark mask.]
[The rising of the kundalini, the miruvorning vroombeleration, the synthesis of the seven chakras into the body of nineness, the OmniStressEvap--all are one and the same thing. Most succinctly, this is a state in which stresses and focal points even out and balance throughout the seven dream bodies/chakras, so that each has the energy it needs to do its job. I've noticed while doing the progressive releaxation that it's easy to do the arms and legs and then it's blocked at the torso. Which is, blocked at the spine, the chakra system. The solution to this is simple: spinal pranayama breathing.]
[As for the psychotic babies who call themselves human beings, we each live in our own world. This is clear to me now, more than ever. With these separate worlds clustering into mini-collectives and the mini-collectives clustering into super collectives (cultures) etc., while the end result is the Collective Average a.k.a. the Human Form. This is most certainly a mental institution for splinters of Oneness that had to be isolated here until such time as they/we stop acting like psychotic babies. I am going to learn to accept this because fighting it is a waste of energy. The others who appear in my world don't need to be educated by me. I need to be educated by me. I can help people by selectively shining a light of silence where I can, but in general they don't care and don't notice.]
[There's more but it's temporarily skipped my mind. My blood test today was much worse than the one yesterday when I was so sick. So it might be dengue but they're also starting tests for typhoid to rule that out.]
[The dream was awesome. I remember it as clearly as a lucid dream. The appearances of Whirly as the biker, the truck driver, and the soap owner are duly noted and appreciated. The appearance of the little white man at the end mirrors exactly the end of my last lucid dream--he plans to take me somewhere in a white vehicle and I'm dead set against it. The fear is so strong that I intend violence to protect myself from the dream ending.]
[Oh yeah, this wild side is the Inner Intensity Freak. Thriving on intensity, lusting for it. This is why mystics seek out quiet and solitude, so they can unwind the 1st, 2nd, 3rd chakras (twoness, threeness, fourness) and share the energy thus released with the higher chakras as needed in order to escape this physical hellhole. Intensity is being overfocused in the lower chakras.]
[I have been in a pretty easygoing mood today considering the lack of care and attention to detail given to patients in this hospital despite the brand new building. Nitpicker and Potwatcher are on a short leash as I have developed the reputation over the years of being too quick to criticize the people who work in this place.]
[Back to bed till Jovie arrives with Taran. It is now 5 p.m.]
2016-10-04 12:15 am
[Had to take a walk to the nurses' station and tell them to be quiet: "I'm going to give you a lesson in acoustics. You all went to college, right? Well you see this hard bare wall in front of you? Your loud talking and laughing bounces right off this wall, goes right down that hallway behind you, and right through the door where I'm trying to sleep." "Sorry sir." "Don't be sorry, be quiet." What actually pissed me off is when they seemed to be coming in the room every 20 or 30 minutes to do stuff, and knocking first as if it is more polite to wake me up than to sneak in while I'm asleep to see if the IV drip is dripping or whatever. I told the nurse to stop waking me up for no reason (don't knock) and when she went back to the nurses' station, that's when the party started.]
[Used "relax no matter what" as the Obstinate On Switch to the OmniStressEvap and counted backwards from 300. Ever since this illness began, I've been doing a lot of hypnagogic images except yesterday with the headache I was just delirious and half passed out for the most part. Fever was still 99.9 at that time. But tonight with boredom, irritability, lack of stimulation--the "Nitpicker and Potwatcher didn't get their exercise today" syndrome--hypnagogia is there for the taking, but having had 2 or 3 times more coffee than I'm used to, plus a lot of sugary bread and then on top of that being sick, bored, and tired, the images seem unpleasant. (Added note: the coffee and junk food stopped soon after that when it became obvious that I was really sick, platelet count dropping fast, and was up against serious headaches and sleeplessness. --ed.) There have been a lot of leering toothless faces. Movie stars with no teeth. That sort of unpleasantness. Not that concerned and can shut it off no problem, but it put me in mind of RAM's H-Band Noise, or fear layer I think he called it in his first book, which he had to get past in order to take control of his OBEs. FK got stuck doing battle in this zone, but out-of-body. I think hypnagogia is--when irritating or unpleasant--psychic vomit, you have to get it over with to get to the other side. As MPE puts it, you can wait out the images and get to the void (3D blackness) where you can springboard to OBE, or you can move into the images themselves into a lucid dream.]
[Well I intend to get my money's worth from this trip to the hospital.]
[Earlier this evening I saw and moved into a hypnagogic image which turned into a yellowish bathroom on my right with lots of clean shiny porcelain. Couldn't move in far, but it was very clean.]
[Not long ago I saw an opening and moved into and through a long tunnel. 3D and very clear, clean, crisp images, rectangular cross-section, brownish-gold color. At the end the annoying faces came--lots of human faces tonight which is what I'm calling psychic vomit, H-Band Noise, fear layer, slog zone--this tunnel ended in a grandiose, wealthy wood-paneled dining room or den lined with six-foot-tall heads of comedians, Phyllis Diller, Bill Murray, and others. I turned around and shut it out, it made me want to puke.]
[But before I woke up at 2 a.m.--not that I was aware of being asleep and totally shocked that two hours had passed since the lecture at the nurses' station--I found myself outside of the hospital going down the front steps. Automatic response was to go back to body, but why do that? I went back to the steps and carefully walked down them in total 3D technicolor and vivid detail, then woke up to write this down. This is how one learns to OBE and I expect good dreams tonight.]
"Love Was Made For You and Me"
Jovie, Taran and I are in the Roach Street house, but not in Salina--this is in Glenwood, next to the river. Inday is visiting.
Sad about losing Max II, I go downstairs where the pool table is. It's daytime. A little red mechanical dog toy bounces up to me yapping and wagging its tail. I notice the red paint is wearing off it and with a little imagination it becomes a long-haired, white dog like Max I, but the size of the puppy Max II (who died recently). I get down on my knees and rub noses with it. It's very affectionate, just like a real dog. I roll him over and see he's covered with bugs just like Max II, so I like him even more.
I pick him up and carry him upstairs. Jovie is busy and ignores me when I ask her why this toy dog is so affectionate. I wonder why the arinala is in the kitchen, then I see someone's sitting on it, that would be Inday, so I peek to make sure, and I see her perfect shape, before she got fat. She looks over her shoulder and smiles shyly, so I look away to be polite. I look in a mirror and see that I'm wearing my fishing hat (Limberluck's get-up.)
Still holding the dog which is now almost as big as Max I, I look outside and imagine narrating this scene as I stare [nearly lucid] straight down at the Roaring Fork River, "...and he makes me think of dogs I have known. Or you can pop his head off and he will make you think of radios you've known." [I wake up (Jovie's up refilling my water bottle) to the inner tune of Nat King Cole's "Love Was Made For You and Me."]
Little white dog out back door, runs around side of house, I run around to the front to head him off, knowing it will be the pug Clodog. As well as a ferret or weasel.
[Ultra-hypnagogic, big, bold, full-color, self-generating and not too interesting, but I think if I go to sleep, maybe I'll OBE, so wrote this much later from memory.]
[NLOBE] I see a long wide ribbon of letters, but they're backwards, and I make no attempt to read them. I follow them to the right and it's a big truck on the interstate highway traveling to the left. I'm above it, moving to its rear. Then moving visually down the back of the truck, carefully reading every word. It's an obvious take-off on a TV ad from my childhood, "Wonder Bread helps build strong bodies 12 ways," but not those words. I tried to memorize the words, but got them jumbled, so didn't write them down.]
[Last night, actually early morning, I had two dreams I didn't write down because I was so heavily hypnagogic that I wanted to not lose the opportunity to remain in the state and experience something, so went back to bed.]
Some people including Sunny and Nika are part of a walk to the river and back, which is close to the house. Backpack on the front porch, Sunny prepared a big feast while we were gone. Raffy is in the house composing a description of something in pretty good English for a 5-year-old Filipino, writing it above the rectangular box on the form I had already filled out with my own description.
[Nika, Raffy's older sister, had also appeared in miscellaneous hypnagogic ramblings earlier in the evening. Added note: After my return home from the hospital, Nika was the first in the neighborhood to go to the hospital with dengue. ESP dream? --ed.]
[With eyes closed, knees up doing spinal pranayama breathing, went into a revery and lost my orientation, didn't know which way I was facing, which way the door or window was, etc. So I figure what the heck, why not take a walk since I can vaguely see that I am looking down a cluttered, fairly short hospital corridor. Well, not so vaguely.]
So I find that walking isn't as easy as seeing, but as I force my foot ahead, the scene morphs into a face. A small man with a small chin and a beak nose, wearing a black mask over his forehead and chin, but his face is visible from the side, close up and detailed, about my age, but well-preserved like me. Just his head. Directly facing him about a foot in front of him on my left, is me. Current age, no glasses. Looking cheerfully zombified or more like entranced. The other guy looks elfin, otherworldy, but not quite unhuman. My face gets closer and closer to his, gradually, slowly, until I (the one observing the other two) am afraid they are going to kiss. Not so. The two faces stop getting closer when about three inches apart and a green foglike energy passes between them. The observer point of view backs away to see that the observed me is sitting in a bath tub. That body dissolves and my head melts and shrinks and withers to nothing, and the remnants of my body are sucked down a deep whirlpool. The other guy has no body, he is just a head attached to a mess of small metal and plastic legs.
[To me, this is a clear sign of death, but it doesn't bother me. Added note: Eventually decided to call this the Green Ripper a.k.a. the Dream Usher, the little man who always wants to take me somewhere in a white vehicle at the end of a dream. --ed.]
[Typhoid test is negative. Urine as usual has blood in it, so they will ultrasound that to look at kidneys, bladder and prostate. Anyway, they need the money.]
[Was asleep. Jovie was gone when some man wandered in off the street to go room-to-room selling oranges and made the mistake of knocking on my door. I thought at first he was bringing me a free gift from the hospital since they're getting all my money this month. He said he wanted 100 pesos and I said no, but he just stood there like a dumbass as if I didn't have the right to refuse to buy his oranges. I got really angry, slammed my hand down on the mattress, he still didn't get the point. I said in a loud, angry voice, "Do I have to tell you twice?" and jumped out of bed, and he got the point. The janitor was standing there acting innocent as if strangers waking me up to sell me fruit is all part of the fun of being hospitalized. I said to him, "That better not be your brother-in-law," and slammed the door. Then I noticed my IV wasn't dripping, so I took it out to the nurses' station to show them, and while there I pretty much let them have it, trying to explain that I didn't come here to buy fruit and no stranger has a right to knock on the door of my hospital room ever, only my visitors and hospital employees.]
[...The goal then becomes to relax no matter what. Or to relax as if nothing mattered, because that is practice for where we are going, and if we don't learn the skill, we can't go there.]
[Reading parts of RAM's 3rd book again. Lay down to have my own experiences. Closed eyes and immediately saw an ancient Egyptian temple or older, but when it was new. Seen from slightly above looking down on a doorway with fancy insignia over the doorway, some kind of snake. Having my point of view to see into the polished stone corridor leading up to this doorway, a procession of people is walking toward me, not in rows and columns, but a loose collection of people of all sizes, maybe 15-20 people. They stop so I can look them over and I know this is my soul retinue. I thank them for assembling and explain that I can't see their features clearly, but I see them clearly and the place they're standing in. Without ever making a sound, they continue away. My point of view rises up and I see other people walking the same way, from my right to left, more and more people, then some seated people, and they're waving flags. Rising higher I see more and more people waving flags until the stone monuments they occupy have become the US government buildings and the flags are US flags. This is not about nationalism but somehow it refers to the utopian experiment that the USA was formed under by the freemasons, long ago.]
[Was asleep but busy doing something important. Awake now, but will continue to meditate lying down, hoping to get extra sleep tonight.]
[Read two chapters RAM3, back to bed now.]
2016-10-05 1:03 am
[Not allowed to sleep in this hospital. Remind me to go to a hotel next time I need an expensive vacation.]
[I was unaware of being asleep when I said over and over to myself, "This can't be happening." Someone was sitting next to my bed, right here in this hospital room, holding a large orange plastic display of small packages of oatmeal, trying to get the big plastic open. The person's body was not visible to me because the large plastic bag was between me and this person. This is the most intense NLOBE I ever experienced in that I struggled to attain lucidity, repeating over and over, "This can't be happening," because part of me knew I was "dreaming". Thanks Smudgely and Whirly, maybe I will get my money's worth out of this expensive vacation.]
[Once again I was totally unaware of any passage of time or transition to sleep when I find myself saying in righteous indignation, "What is all this??!!" as a whole Filipino family starts carting boxes full of food and fresh produce into my hospital room and plopping them down in huge stacks next to my bed. I am absolutely aghast, then realize it has happened again, twice in quick succession my guides have blown me right out of the water with effortless seamless OBEs, and once again I have to admit that somehow someone is making sure that I get my money's worth out of this in entertainment value from guides who have a rather amazing sense of humor. While this food was being brought in, I could clearly hear my wife's voice saying, "Tama na," which means "Enough already." What next??? Added note: Also I should not fail to mention that I was being told to eat as much as possible in order to build my blood back up. This notion had to be underlined because I had to force myself to eat any of the hospital food. I finally got this problem licked by eating a lot of instant noodles, then Dede brought me a nice pizza with perfect timing during a rare lapse between headaches, which signalled the return of my appetite and willingness to survive. Cured by pizza, that's what was next. --ed.]
[This one wasn't as intensely realistic, but still NLOBE right here next to my bed. Some sort of large casket full of food was brought in which I barely noticed. My nephew's little girl RV was in here saying the word "Chocolate" in an odd way that I felt I had to mimic. I woke up physically speaking the word, "Choca-tit."
At home outside my comfort room, Max has been replaced by three small boxers, two puppies and one teenager. I'm using a hose to spray ants off the teenager which grabs my left wrist and its claws sink into my skin. I fling the dog away and go to kick it because this hurt my skin, saying, "Goddamn you, you little bastard," [but I physically kicked my wheeled bedside stand which woke me up.]
A team of intimidatingly serious Filipino professional health care workers strides importantly into my hospital room and instantly sets up work stations around the perimeter of the little available floor space in my room and silently get to work. The team includes two good-looking young women. One of the women at first shows signs of being friendly, but changes her mind and ignores me. The leader of this group stands next to me in the center of the circle of work stations (each of about eight workers has a laptop or some technical instrument) his eyes darting from one to the next of his employees without showing the slightest laxity or softness--as if supervising something of dire and critical importance. Giving me no eye contact, he says, "Important when you're working with your _____ that you not f____ of your non-security." He is a small Filipino about my age. [The friendly nurse was Amelia.]
[I had been warned that the nurse would be back to take my vitals at 4 a.m. Or so I thought. Actually, she had told Jovie she would skip the 4 a.m. vitals to let me sleep, and Jovie didn't tell me, all I heard was "4 o'clock" so I thought she was coming at 4:00 and halfway stayed awake for it so she wouldn't wake me up. Which led to an amazing nearly lucid Big Dream.]
"And at 5 o'clock, Tune in for Four of the Three Stooges"
Having already seen the incredible productions of a certain Hollywood mastermind involving the portrayal of the first and middle in the three-part series entitled [something like] Seasons of the Day, I am happily pleased to see as I wander through the mall looking for the ATM machine, that the final installment of this artsy-fartsy film trilogy has been completed, and is now showing on the edge of time itself! Which happens to be right over by where I'm standing. I walk over to the impromptu movie screen, which is just a stretch of space blocking the mall corridor in the bank so that people outside doing ATM transactions are literally straddling the time barrier by doing so.
The movie starts at 5:00 and is entitled Darkness. The screen itself is the whole show. It is immaterial, non-physical, yet you can see it clearly because it is made of a pure black cloud of exactly zero thickness [The Void]. With the strange effect of making the screen perfectly clear and pure black at the same time. This is quite fascinating and people are testing the device to see that, sure enough, if it's tomorrow outside the bank, and you toss your smart phone or laptop into the bank through the night depository, it gets sucked into the bank through the magical screen, where it's already today! Someone I know and trust tries this and sure enough, the screen of pure black mist of exactly zero thickness rides exactly upon the edge of tomorrow.
And as if that don't beat all, here come the Three Stooges too, all four of them [all but Curly are unseen=SC], linked arm-in-arm. Striding into the bank with great officiousness, wanting to test this magical mystery screen for themselves. I am thrilled to see them, I can't wait to see them step through the screen. When they get to the screen, they are facing me, we are on opposite sides of the screen from each other and they are now doing their clown act, dithering clumsily about actually going through the now invisible screen, but this whole act is done telepathically, for my benefit only, while the visible versions of them continue to act quietly pompous. I telepathically tell them how much I love them, and Curly telepathically responds, "I ain't so fond of the Three Stooges." I say out loud, "C'mon Curly Joe," and I jump through the now forgotten screen onto his back and start pulling his ears. The Stooges crumple to the floor, made of air, and I fall on top of their crumpled forms laughing as they evaporate.
[Curly again is Whirly. This is the third visitation from the Three Stooges in recent dreams and OBEs. This is one of the best dreams I ever had.]
[Platelet count went way down since yesterday so dengue is a definite positive. Not hungry, will read RAM3. Slept most of the morning. Headache coming back, maybe due to zero exercise in three days. Can't poop. Lethargic but no other symptoms yet.]
[Feverish, sore skin. Told Whirly thanks for the great dreams and said I'd accept a miracle cure if it wouldn't screw up his plans for me, but of course I'm flexible.]
2016-10-08 about 12:30 am?
[Transferred to regional government hospital since platelet count had dropped to 25 from 150 over the six days I was in the local infirmary hospital. They didn't want me there anymore as it is not a good idea to let a foreigner die in your hospital and they chose this time--waiting till I was $500 in debt to them--to mention that they had no access to blood and no intensive care unit anyway, should blood become necessary. I took a midnight ride to the next town in an ambulance with siren, Taran holding my hand. This was extremely enjoyable for me, I was laughing and singing as I felt it was important to enjoy my first ambulance ride and it would help Taran not worry too much as he would have to ride the ambulance back home; he was not allowed to stay with me in the new hospital, which he was not happy about.]
[Over the next six days my platelets dropped to 15, then up to 25, then back down to 15, then finally started back up and soon it became obvious I was going to live, not going to start bleeding, so I was sent home half cured and deeply in debt. What follows is the little I wrote in the journal since the IV had been moved to my right hand and I didn't want to disturb it by writing. And the hypnagogic experiences were pretty much constant, along with non-stop blinding headaches and no motivation to do anything but complain and wish I was dead.]
2016-10-08 3:00 am
[NLOBE] There are several male and female nurses in the room standing around and talking. Also some Filipino children playing. [Not a dream, not asleep. Very strong hypnagogic/visionary/semi-delirious state.]
[Went to bed at 1 a.m., awake 21 hours, then woken up at 2 a.m. by male nurse putting electric gizmo on my IV to monitor speed of droplets entering IV while making me a prisoner as if tied to my bed since it was plugged into the wall. In other words, how am I supposed to relax, get up to pee, sleep... what makes this stupid toy so important? Is this the ICU? I thought I could deal with it, but was getting angrier and angrier about being effectively strapped to my bed, when I was drinking gallons of water as my only medicine and peeing two or three times an hour. Finally I told Jovie to bring the nurse in and I explained to him that I was not going to be treated as a guinea pig for some doctor's superfluous electronic toy, this is not the ICU, and "My priority is not whether I get 270 drops of IV fluid per minute or 220. My priority is to get some rest so I can recover." The nurse had to agree because I was almost shouting. Well, from his perspective I probably was shouting. I don't like it when nurses argue with me and I had not had any sleep for 21 hours due to hospital decisions taking place without recourse to whether or not I ever needed to get any sleep. The device was removed. I thought I was going to feel guilty for being pushy again, but I realized that I had done the right thing.]
[After the conflagration I was finally able to pass out for a few seconds] in an intense hypnagogic thrust which literally exploded into lucidity of a dark, VIOLET light covering everything in a gigantic splash of color. [This woke me up in a physical panic of extreme discomfort, but I eventually went back to sleep.]
"Buddy Do You Need Some Light?"
This place idents as Trinidad, Colorado [where I lived from age 0 to 5. The arroyo (large flood control canal normally dry) on steep, sandy ground was next to our house and I was very much in awe of it as a small child.]
Taran has his monthly exam.
I take the liberty of elucidating some poorly composed exam questions which put the trusting student at a disadvantage. First I erase a long dash from Taran's exam placard where there are two dashes used, as this should help him get the point of the test question. Then I set out to literally rewrite all the questions on the test in simple English that a 4th grader might actually be able to understand. But the teacher walks in on me and wants to know what's going on; why am I helping my boy with his exam? I take her outside to try and explain.
There are some things I need to explain to the teacher about the poorly thought-out and badly worded exam questions, and I need to explain to her in no uncertain terms, and urgently. I try to get through to her, but she's trying to shrug me off with the usual flippant one-liners that busy, hard-working people keep in stock to pass the buck when confronted by difficult customers--you know, the ones who expect to get special treatment for their ordinary money--so I think carefully about what I want to say and I start over.
We're standing outside by a shiny white car and a marambutan tree in a hilly, sandy, dry area with very little elbow room. I tell her that my child memorizing facts, dates, and definitions is of no importance to me as the child's father. She finds this odd and wants to know, pray tell, what she's supposed to be teaching then? In order to help her commit my lesson to memory, I am doing PULL-UPS into the marambutan tree, because I haven't yet figured out the exact wording of my intended response, so I'm using close-ups of the big PINK marambutan fruits [real marambutans are not pink] for inspiration. With feet on the ground I reply to her question, "What really matters to me is..." as I pull my body into the tree to focus on a PINK fruit, "...what is interesting!"
She laughs and says, "That sounds like psychology!" I start to deny this, but realize her remark is valid, so as I start doing gymnastics, swinging my legs up toward her by holding onto the outside-view mirror of the white car, I say, "You're right, but you're too young to understand psychology." She laughs again, and I continue, "And you're brilliant, but you're too young to understand your own brilliance." She has a big beaming chipmunk smile and her hair--which I know to be very dark--is dyed blonde. Her face is practically radiating light.
It's dark by now and Taran is the last student left still working on his test. I go up the short sandy stretch of ground next to the arroyo where Taran is sitting at a picnic table trying to finish his work in a stiff evening breeze. He is accompanied by Grandpa Robertson who sits on the next picnic table with his back to Taran and is silent, in fact he radiates absolute silence. [Whirly.]
Taran seems unconcerned with the lateness of the hour and has managed to weld two stub candles together into a longer candle which he is studiously trying to keep lit so he can see his test paper. I ask Taran, "Hey Buddy, do you need some light?" [Another amazing dream with PINK nearly triggering lucidity. The teacher was Amelia but looked like Kris' girlfriend, the person who had informed me ten years ago by email of Kris' passing from 9000 miles away at the exact same moment that Taran's mother informed me she had gone into (false) labor during a violent thunderstorm a month before Taran was actually born. The word "Taran" means "thunder." Also note the WHITE car (THE VOID), the incongrous BLONDE hair, the focus on sources of LIGHT. Grandpa Robertson as Whirly is interesting since he was one of the most silent persons I have ever known--OK, the most silent--and one of the more interesting aspects of Whirly so far has been his silence, in contrast to his function, the first time I met him as Stumped-No-More, of making beautiful transcendant music. Oh, and in his youth, Grandpa Robertson played the fiddle in his family dance band (they also weren't Christians).]
[NLOBE] Carlos Castaneda stands up out of bed, is me, dual consciousness, merged. A voice, "Let's answer all his questions big."
[Added note Oct. 15: Above was my last journal entry till returning home from the hospital, but I will try to reconstruct, in general, what few specific fragments I remember. --ed.]
[I remember a vivid experience of physical vibrations in a dream where I was traveling on a dirt road with washboard ruts crossing it causing a violent physical vibration. I became lucid and stopped the dream because it was too physical and not enjoyable due to my condition. But is was the vibrations, unmistakably.]
[In general I was in a contemplative state, eyes closed, seeing hypnagogic visions from slushy to well-focused, during almost all of my waking time. I remembered several dreams for days, but by now most is gone. Today is the first day I've felt halfway normal and the lack of near delirium makes me feel oddly physical, strangely enough.]
[I considered this experience a boot camp in hypnagogia. I was too sick from constant headache and swollen liver to stay focused like I did in the first half of the 12-day hospitalization. They also moved the IV to my right hand on day 7 and I hate changing IVs, so didn't write anything down because I didn't want to disturb the IV. Still the IV had to be changed two more times, at least, during the second half of the 12 days.]
[But as a general statement, I'd say that if you want to get non-physical quickly, and stay on the borderline of a non-physical state, and get to the hypnagogic state with absurd ease and stay there as long as you want, just lie down and remain lying down with eyes usually closed for 12 days, don't watch TV, don't look at computers, keep your eyes closed, and don't talk much.]
[Much of the hypnagogia consisted of people's faces. Mostly people I don't recall ever seeing before. The faces tended to make me feel slightly nauseous, but I never puked the whole time I was sick. I was afraid to because of the discomfort and tightness in my torso due to a swollen liver.]
[Once I was in a hypnagogic phase and I was picturing a long ridge of soil which I turned into a huge dike, then I jumped off it. I learned from this and other instances that you are really close to phasing if you actually get butterflies in your stomach when you jump off something high. Then you have to control the fear or it shoots you with adrenalin. So anyway,] I landed and was walking around a sandy place outside a building when I phased into an OBE state spontaneously, but lost lucidity at the same time. I was a woman and I looked up at the door of the building on my left. I could see words on the front porch like an address or small sign, but couldn't read them. [Then I was suddenly yanked into the physical with a hypnagogic twitch. This is one of the best instances I can recall of going from a hypnagogic state directly into a dream state. I lost lucidity but I didn't lose consciousness, my awareness didn't blink out, I just forgot who I was.]
[One long dream which I don't remember suddenly became more focused when] I saw a greasy-looking, long-haired dude, with long dark hair and straggly beard, walking away from me at the mall into the department store. On the back of his white shirt are the words, "Bob Neal," in big black letters. [The shirt is that off-white flouncy new age shirt I keep dreaming about, which says, "Freedom House" to me. The tallish young dude with long black hair has appeared in several dreams recently, such as the one where his face was painted white and black, as well as a shamanic retrieval journey where he was wearing a witch costume.]
[At one point when I was begging my soul retinue to either cure me of the headache or put me out of my misery, I clearly felt someone sit on my bed. This did not surprise or shock or scare me. After 10-12 hours of non-stop blinding headache, with this pattern repeated day after day, I was not going to be too upset about non-physical helpers joining me in my semi-delirious hell. I actually found it comforting. As I did Jovie's helpful, cooperative attitude and the same goes for her sisters and other members of her family who traveled back and forth from home to the hospital, delivering supplies, giving Jovie a break, bringing me a pizza when I was ready for some real medicine, taking care of Taran, etc. I also got a visit from the old women of the village, which was deeply appreciated by me, quite a gesture, I was honored.]
[Regarding my use of the term "semi-delirious" in this account. "Semi" refers to the fact that at no time was I so out of touch that I didn't know the difference between hypnagogic images and physical reality. Here in the Philippines they are very loath to prescribe the kinds of very effective pain medicines that could have helped me relax and sleep through the headaches, and I knew better than to ask. They won't give you the "good stuff" unless they have cut you open or something. Filipinos tolerate pain better than Americans and tend not to complain much.]
2016-10-13 8:05 pm
[To bed. Home again. Headache for 12 hours now. Platelets only 86, I will be dengue-free when I reach about 150 or more.]
Back yard, same house as the four-rabbits dream (Feb. 27, 2016, 1:15 a.m.--right before my first conscious OBE exit). DR's wife objects that I've been given a certain old car to make an air car out of. I point out loudly that neither she--nor anyone--should covet this wreck. "It has no wheels! It doesn't even have any axles!"
Walking across the lawn, I notice a circle of green, bubbling lavalike chemical in the center of the lawn about 10 inches in diameter. As I watch it, it gets hotter and hotter, starts smoking, and bursts into flame. [Followed by something about water sprinklers which I forgot. Notice the location of the fire is exactly where the rabbits dug a hole in the garden in previous dream just before I had my first-ever OBE exit.]
I select a store where the intended device can be built, and go in. A tallish, blonde, middle-aged woman owns it with her husband [the same as "DR's wife" in previous dream above--she was also in a dream about yellow pages--see Sept. 30, 2:50 a.m. as well as two dreams with her as Cwahacoy which occurred at strategic times pertinent to the attacks.] After I wait a while, being told at some point to "go back to sleep," she thinks the work's done, but I remind her about casters, shelves, etc. She points out that I will have to pay for the bottled gas used, and I agree to. The husband--"Mr. Ferguson" [see the animated movie Up starring Ed Asner]--is irritated by having to cook a pig's head in a large galvanized tub full of broth, and next to that in the bathtub a large family of huge shell-less turtles about a foot long have popped up through the drain, filling the old-fashioned tub about halfway. This is all too bizarre.
I wake up [FALSE AWAKENING] on a sidewalk with Cwahacoy and another unseen couple [SC--a couple since Cwahacoy and I are a couple.] Cwahacoy is a thin young lady with short, dark brown hair. As usual her presence is a great favor and blessing to me, and I am so grateful that we have found each other and fit together. Somehow her shirt comes open completely and I greedily reach for her small breasts, but she flinches and I slow down, softly caressing the soft skin of her torso, back, belly, etc. She leans down and we brush our dry lips against each other a few times. The friction is ecstatic. A little is a lot.
The four of us decide to head back to "Mr. Ferguson's place" to pick up the completed work. We get up off the sidewalk and start off to the right, with the street to our left. Then I spot Mr. Ferguson himself, directly across the street, sitting on a stool in front of a store on the sidewalk. He gestures and waves at us, giddy with delight. He hollers and laughs and shouts incoherently. Whatever he's trying to communicate, he certainly is happy about it. He seems to glow with a faint orange inner light. [He looks and sounds like my next door neighbor Bulldog who is still friendly to me in spite of the fact that he once bulldozed 18 square meters of my garden with a tractor while making a road for my wife's family.]
[Big Dream. Cwahacoy, Kris (turtles), Whirly (Mr. Ferguson). A machine being built (Verascope). This was my default plan of action, to find Whirly and hear his voice, combined with the effort to bring home a Verascope, which Whirly was trying to tell me was ready for me to pick up at his store. Added note: I have tried to delete most references to soul retrieval from this version of the journal. The Verascope was part of me I wanted to install instead of a long-used device called the Faultscope. --ed.]
[To bed, slight headache all day. Meditated about one hour before bed.]
With Breeze, leaving an event at night on an island holiday. To get back to the commune house where he lives, we take a motorboat. He drives because I'm busy fondling Cwahacoy. She's a cute brown-skinned teenager in a halter top with a lot of pimples on her back, but nothing else wrong with her. Short black hair. She joins us just as we head for the boat and her intentions are obvious. I hope she doesn't upset the boat, but Breeze isn't worried about it. I see we're passing icebergs and I shout, "Icebergs! Icebregs!" because they don't really seem appropriate. We get out and slide home by foot on sheets of ice.
Breeze and I arrive at the Freedom House (actually Donovan's Restaurant but same feel and time zone) and the cat has made a mess, knocking a box of chocolate chip ice cream onto the floor, and walking around in the half-melted goo. I'm planning to eat what's left of the ice cream, but Breeze heats up a small dollop of rice and I add some butter to it, dropping the butter on the table, but he picks it up with his fingers and tosses it into the rice. We eat from the rice with our spoons while he tells me about an excursion I can apply to go on with his housemates, but to apply, I have to type up a paragraph of "error-free meta-data". The cat is black-and-white and I'm aware of having just eaten ice cream back on Pleasure Island or wherever we met Cwahacoy earlier.
2016-10-15 3:45 am
A man traveling along a two-lane mountain highway stops to get a room, then goes for a walk. When he gets back to his room, he collapses in exhaustion and his landlord helps him. It's discovered he is a very recent amputee, so recent that his STUMP is still bleeding. [I have a bad headache. This character was both 3rd and 1st person.]
[Same location as previous dream.]
I have returned to the Grass Valley area, but rural, along a two-lane mountain highway, fairly steep and very rural. Ellie is quite willing to be mine forever, so I drive to her town to pick her up. We get to my place after dark and Ellie's little boy is with us. I show him how to get down the stairs in the dark. On alternate arrivals,
1) it's daytime and the house to the right of the one where I've rented a downstairs room with a separate entrance is populated by two old women. I accidentally push on their heavy wooden fence and it starts to topple. They want to know my business and I can see I've already been rejected because I have no business, I'm just a traveler.
2) Daytime. I encounter a large group of dogs, some of which are mine. I feed them all with some bread I break up, but there's not enough. They come home with me or some of them do. Also, Ellie. We go in and I worry about whether to tell Ellie about my other girlfriend. The smallest dog comes in. I go about putting some dirty laundry away, wondering whether Ellie will think, "Good, he needs a woman," or "Bad, he's a slob," and I wonder who's the owner of the other pair of jeans on the couch. The puppy is threatening to pee on the couch, so I take him outside. [I wake up with a headache having to pee.]
[What I remember is a confusing mishmash of plots A & B with B being a plot in which I describe plot A to another dream character.]
I'm being visited by some Aikido friends, notably Matt F., and his girlfriend, who in the dream has black straight hair, very white skin, and a plain-featured face. She looks at me and says, "Ich bin..." and I respond, "You're German!" [not getting the point at all: "Ich bin" means "I AM." The Sound Current that creates the world, as well as Popeye's slogan, "I am what I am."] Later, she says to Matt, "Could you hang out with Luther today because I have somewhere else to be." [Luther is one of my names.]
We're in the Stockton apartment [the one with beige carpets--see last lucid dream and the dream that preceded it--Sept. 24, 2016, 4:04 a.m. and 6:00 a.m.] and my electric radiator is plugged in close to the front door. It's cold outside. I wonder if it's located in the right place since it's too small to heat the whole place and we're in the bedroom with the door shut, so not benefitting from the heat.
I'm telling SC about a dream I just had in which Matt lays down in the bed in front of me so that if I reach down with my right hand, I can rub the top of his head.
[Obviously a false awakening was involved somwhere. Bad headache, above episodes are jumbled, out of order.]
2016-10-16 1:20 am
I'm stuffing gelatin capsules with ground-up morning glory seeds. Busted. Too bad this is Mexico. You don't want to get busted in Mexico. My mother will be disappointed in me for dying in a foreign prison.
Once residing in the Prison, I fear for my life at all times. A sadistic guard calls me into his watch station and threatens to poke me in the eye with something sharp. I close my energy so as to appear inoffensive.
Living with a group of people in a forest camp [the Hot Springs Community]. I'm helping the one (SC) who is in charge of classifying garbage. Carlos M. is coming around shooting off his mouth, stabbing himself in the throat with a blunt instrument, which I don't appreciate.
The Star Room, but with a separate entrance. [The Star Room is where I often find myself as W. H. Early (Whirly) in a fictitious future daydream, lecturing my soul retinue about all kinds of metaphysical mumbo-jumbo; also in waking reality, where group activities took place at the hot springs when I was 24; where I saw an aura; etc.] SC and I have a seminar to teach, but no one shows up. [Same forest compound as previous dream, but less populated.] Finally I try opening the door to the covered entranceway, a screened-in porch. Lining the walls of this small room about 20 seminar attendees who'd come in out of the rain and waited silently, leaning up against the wall like Boo Radley instead of banging on the door. They're all male, all the same size and height, and all dressed in that lightweight, long sleeved, off-white, frilly cotton new agey shirt. The attendees don't talk and I don't see any faces [SC all: this is my soul retinue]. I laugh nervously, announcing that they now all have a funny story to tell the rest of their lives about the time they paid for a seminar, showed up, and no one let them in. I hope the silent attendees will unthaw a little as things proceed. [This is my Plan B unfolding, or trying to. The soul retinue showed up for the meeting, but I failed to welcome them in with lucidity. It's OK, this is progress.]
2016-10-18 6:05 am
Jovie (SC) and I have taken our usual outing to the TENNIS COURT to rest. We lie on foam mats and take a nap, having gotten a ride from someone driving Toto's pickup truck. Locale Glenwood. Apparently it's time to leave, but I WAKE slowly and gather my foam mat, bedsheet, etc., but the friend of Toto who's driving leaves without me. It slowly dawns on me that they aren't coming back to get me, and I become irate, explaining to Jovie in colorful language that BalBal would never treat me that way. We encounter a tall Moslem man and his friend--some confusion as to whether they brought Toto's truck, but the focus seems to be a BLUE piece of plastic on their trailer hitch. Jovie lectures me about not swearing at people who try to help me as we start to wander away from the tennis court. I decide we should have a nice enjoyable time doing something together for a change--walking home in this case. I see the next tennis court and suggest we head that way. We're on the left side of Main Street. Then across the road, I see a PING-PONG TABLE or three outside in front of a store that is closed.
On our side of the street is a GAS STATION, in an old building elevated from the street. [I'VE BEEN HERE BEFORE.] Outside is a GORILLA JUMPING UP AND DOWN WITH A SMALLER GORILLA RIDING ON ITS SHOULDERS. I wonder if the gorilla is real or a person in a suit. We go in...
[Woke up writing a song.]
[As Limberluck] I'm looking for a place to sit down to record a sudden inspiration in my notebook, but I have been forced to put my notebook in my backpack and move on for lack of a place to legally sit.
I go back into an apartment complex on the far side of the parking lot where there's an unused concrete planter box running the length of the parking lot. I think how nice it would be if there wasn't a bunch of rotten leaves and dried flowers built up on the sittable concrete edge and a young man--tall, longish curly-blond hair--appears with a broom and sweeps off all but the far right end where I would prefer to sit. He sees me eyeing the far right end and comes back and sweeps that too.
I sit down and get my notebook out again. I had gotten a sudden inspiration to write a book about a seeker/wanderer like Lloyd Alexander's Taran Wanderer or Mervyn Peake's Titus Alone. A song starts writing itself and I repeat the first few lines over and over to myself so I won't forget them. [Bebing woke me up calling outside. I worked out the melody and remembered the words and wrote them down too. Added note: This dream and song are about the 3-D Void. --ed.]
At the University, I've found a locked, unused wing of a large building that I can live in. But I'm not the only one, which I find threatening, because the other person brought a friend and is not being quiet or timid or afraid of being caught, like I am. So I sneak out, hoping no one will see me coming out of there.
I am forced to reconsider my decision to leave. Finding myself back inside the secret place, I try to participate in the illicit activities of the other fella (SC as Limberluck) who had gotten some big movie reels so we can have some entertainment. But rewinding the reels is a problem, so he has gone to the Audio-Visual department and enlisted the aid of another guy who works there, but we have to take the reels there ourselves. I am in awe of the steely nerves of this guy who not only can move into a locked, unused wing without permission, but can do it as a full throttle exercise in unapologetic enjoyment, bringing a girlfriend to entertain as well.
2016-10-19 2:00 am
Cwahacoy is slender and blonde. She is hauling a big tree on a little red wagon. It's an old tree about three feet in diameter and it has been sawed off straight so it sits flat in her wagon. She is removing it from a property when I spot her and strike up a conversation.
At first she is hesitant to kiss me, but she changes her mind. [Details forgotten. Except her father is Whirly as played by "Mr. Ferguson" again--his voice sounds like my neighbor Bulldog, big thick guy with loud voice. This was default plan, no? To hear Whirly's voice.]
[LS] Several leaves in the top of a small tree about ten feet from me have burst into flame due to the heat coming from me. [I got a headache in the night and still trying to get rid of it.]
2016-10-20 5:30 am
Trying to accomodate Jovie's and Taran's need for computer storage space. Trying to remember which part of the computer is used for memory and data storage. Wondering why I'm letting people use my supercomputer instead of using it for myself.
A train inside a huge building goes 'round and 'round, and my job is to make sure it has different problems to contend with each time it goes around. Very abstract and mostly forgotten.
2016-10-21 4:48 am
My friend is a chubby fella (Jay=SC) and we're in the airport already when we decide we should take some clothes too. We hurry back to our rooms and quickly pack bags. I throw a bunch of clothes into my duffel bag and we run back, literally skating down the stairs of the long escalator to get to the lower level where, as it turns out, Cwahacoy awaits in the form of Ellen O.
We share a friendly kiss and then several of them. I wonder if my friend is impressed that such a beautiful woman is willing to make out with me.
She explains that she got her car stuck down here months ago and has been living with her car ever since. I hungrily wonder if she could use some company, suddenly losing interest in boarding a plane. Then it dawns on me that in my hurry to pack, I brought no belt, underwear, or deoderant, and I mention this out loud. I say to SC, "We'll buy some deoderant," more or less to encourage Cwahacoy. Her car is a BEIGE SEDAN.
But she doesn't seem to need much encouragement. She starts a longish soliloquy about some guy whose partner died in his arms in Stockton, but his "muscles were big enough" to get him here (to the Philippines). I eat up the lavish compliment but make light of it outwardly, mentioning that no one died in my arms, but I s'pose I could kill someone if it would make me qualified, and as for muscles, mine are all in the right place, at least most of them.
SC and I go back for more clothes, and when we get back, Cwahacoy is still there, now wearing a black sleeveless sweater and blue jeans, and relaxing on a couch, stretched out on her stomach, propped up on her arms. I smile inwardly with a warm/hot feeling and walk past her casually to the men's room, hoping that she doesn't think I'm ignoring her, or better yet, doesn't mind, and hoping she'll still be there when I get back.
2016-10-21 2:45-3:05 pm
[Binaural beats... maybe last session ever? This just isn't me. I'm not interested in gadget-induced experiences! Not now, not never. Never mind beats. Turned on rainfall sounds only to mask outside noise (no beats) and I intend to experience several awakenings with LS and NLOBE and breathing, the old-fashioned way, by my own efforts and abilities.]
[Lovely, wonderful, warm vibrations. Never get that from b. beats which just put me to sleep.]
[LS] "The Castaneda family will..."
[Turning off rain sounds as the only gadget I want to use is the mask. Have to re-get-under-control the urge to pee frequently since I had to pee often while I had dengue and had to drink gallons of water while also hooked up to an IV that was hydrating my body 24/7. Getting back under the mask with no other props.]
[LS] [Physical arms over head, hands linked.] A small red ant is biting the tip of my left index finger, which is dangling over the left side of the bed. [This was my dream body since physical arms are over head.] I shake the ant off, resulting in a hypnagogic twitch [which wakes me up].
[I am now more convinced than ever that my path is best for me, and the paths touted by others are not for me.]
[Breathing is it. I was right all along. I feel a throbbing vibration, subtle in the way that a gentle breeze is subtle, but as undeniably refreshing and real, and is certainly not imaginary.]
[It's time to finish The Breath of Flight so I can start working on Unworlding.]
2016-10-22 4:00 am
[Woke up seconds before my alarm clock went off, with slight headache again. Recurring or continuous dream about getting rid of some illness or class of illness--not translatable to English.]
[Meditation, then back to sleep in main bed with mask.]
Philippines in Stockton--moving out of the Stockton House, which is a three-story house with each floor occupied by a different family, but some of my stuff is in parts of all three, and each has its own backyard garden or terrace/balcony. The people of Manggahan [mostly teenage boys who I know where I live now] are driving and loading the truck, a U-Haul. I accompany them [unseen, like SC] on several trips to the new place, but the last time, I'm left alone at the old house. I dally floor by floor, consolidating what little is left on all three floors so there will only be small piles left to scoop up and throw in the truck for the last trip to the new house.
On the ground floor, it's blankets which I pick up off the floor and pile on a chair, telling myself they'll all have to be washed at the new place before they can be used. On the third floor terrace, a tall, thin woman with brown skin and black hair piled on top of her head is cleaning up our old garden and replanting the freshened plots. She says, "Bisbis," which means "Watering plants" in Visayan, and I see that she's left a hose running on the bed, spraying upward like a small fountain. She says it might rain and reconsiders leaving the hose running, but changes her mind and leaves it on after all.
Alone now on the roof, I am overwhelmed by the grandiose feeling of the old place. It's night by now. Looking at the neighboring rooftops and ornate touches on the old buildings, I have a sense of majesty within mundanity. I lie down flat on my back and stare at the nightscape. Then I get up and go downstairs through the third and second floor apartments, gathering what few possessions I have in these places, which have mostly been occupied by others who are not leaving. I avert my eyes from their areas out of respect for their privacy.
[Big Dream about moving out of an old house: an old or habitual state of mind or state of being. That state being spiritual materialism, a collection of spiritual practices, archaic methodologies developed by myself and others, many of which collect in piles on the floor and gather dust or get buggy. The three stories of the grand old house are the lower three chakras where life has been lived up till now. After spending a considerable amount of time surveying the literature I am now returning full force with a soul retinue to my own custom-designed methodology. My angle of attack now includes finishing what I started in terms of writing projects, daily meditation, breathing, exercise, and lots of awakenings. The experience up on the roof of the old house was close to lucid with the feeling of Ilavaet as I abandon the dusty old tomes written by others, in favor of experience over reading and thinking.]
[LS] "Governly of the world..."
[LS] "The inventor ensues a decision."
[LS] I'm trying to figure out why I refunded the $110 my mama sent via paypal, since she's trying to send me more on account of my being in debt to the hospital. Then I'm trying to figure out when she sent me $110. [Then I wake up when I realize I'm dreaming.]
[Back to reading FK after a very long break to read other junk first. I've literally been saving FK for later because it was so good. Savoring it, starting with page 420-423. This one passage is so inspiring that I'm off to bed early vs. sitting at the computer any longer wasting time. I have work to do.]
[FK page 423: "...successful astral projection is not so much to do with finding the right "technique" but is all to do with achieving the correct degree of mental understanding... realizing that the physical body springs forth from the mind and not the other way around was a major turning point for me which led to my making a big leap forward in my development." --FranksPosts.pdf, Astral Pulse forum.]
2016-10-23 3:34 am
We live in a hilly place [like Charlene's old house] in a THREE-STORY HOUSE. Jovie and Taran are going someplace on the back of a motorcycle that's just arrived to get them. I stand on an upstairs terrace and wonder if I'd fit on the back of the motorcycle too, but I see that at the same time, the gas company truck has arrived, backing up the steep driveway to the house. So I go down to meet him. We go in through the garage and the propane compressor is running and the gas man--a tall white man--proceeds to show me how he cleans the filters occasionally. He turns the vertical cylindrical apparatus a notch so it's not locked into place. It looks like a 30 inch tall by 12 inch diameter cylinder with storage capacity, but mostly a sort of high tech filter. It's now held down only by its own weight so compressed gas is leaking out all around the loose gasket noisily. The gas is chocolate brown, the color of organ meat: kidney or liver. This makes me nervous and I'm glad when he twists it back home and locks it into place. Then we go into the house. Bro-in-law (the attacker) is standing by the door so I drag a long metal file, four feet long, behind me so that, if he sneaks up behind me, I can poke him with the heavy metal file. Inside, Dede (attacker's wife, my sister-in-law) is cleaning the floor right down to the wavy undulating bones of the earth, polishing it like an old bone. We proceed to the third floor workshop.
Now upstairs, I explain that the gas tank is small and red. He listens to the sound of the compressor running and declares it a healthy sound. I want to ask him what makes it so noisy, but I don't. He leaves.
I proceed to the attic and start collecting jasper, which is possible because the house is carved into a quickly eroding mountain. But I see Dede has already been here, and cleaned up all the loose stone. But I find a few pieces, first a reddish tan smooth piece and then a more interesting gray, mottled one. I chip a piece off of this to ascertain that it is jasper. It flakes off into a very smooth, glassy fracture, so I know it's good.
[LS] "These are do-the-work kinda muscles as opposed to thinking muscles."
Sitting on the couch next to Tom Kiteley who's sitting on a chair. I notice a tiny ant zipping around on my leg and try to squash it with my thumb. Then I notice more of them with alarming frequency. They zip around fast, they're hard to catch. Then I see one on my hand. Then, lots of them. This is terrible, what I need is "a remedy." Candied popcorn of many colors appears in my hand so I eat it. That's better.
2016-10-24 7:30 am
A tallish woman with bright reddish-brown hair piled on her head and cute little breasts has been sent to draw my attention. SC is also there as a second couple. We seem confined in a kind of breakfast nook with two built-in benches facing each other but no table between the two couples. All is plain wood painted white. I assume we are to have an orgy and I'm looking forward to it, although it seems like an odd place for it. At first my companion is slightly reluctant and then she agrees in theory, but seems to be using delaying tactics for some reason. At one point the other male in the tiny room appears as SB but then fades back into anonymity.
Someone accomplishes a manipulation of a square wooden framework and this causes the little nook to be joined to the larger apartment of which it is a part. I remark that the problem of closeness in the tiny room is solved happily, but then when I look to my left, I see the small living room that we are now annexed to is full of visitors. I inwardly bemoan the end of my orgiastic ambitions when the one person I recognize is that pesky little fellow [who has been following me from dream to dream and always signals the end of the dream. (The Dream Usher a.k.a. the Green Ripper).] As usual he is smaller and has kinky curly hair combed straight back in waves over the top of his head. In fact I see two of him. He's wearing a neat, medium-blue, plaid, button-down shirt and seems to be an engineer. This person certainly has no place at an orgy.
[This person has appeared twice recently: at the end of a lucid dream telling me the dream was over (Sept. 24, 2016, 6:00 a.m.) and at the end of a Big Dream (Oct. 3, 2016, mid-afternoon) asking me if I wanted to go someplace. Previously I've identified him as Mouse, but in this persona at least, he always seems to signal the end of the dream. Same goes for this dream since his presence signalled the end of the distraction I had planned, which had up to then been what the dream action was going to be all about. But whoever he is, he was not the only guest. The living room was full of chairs in rows, and people sat in all of them. This was a fulfillment of my Plan B--my soul retinue showed up again for the big meeting I had planned and I was too busy trying to grab ass so the lucidity didn't take hold and I missed out again. This person is also the one who I identified as Death while in the hospital (detailed waking vision--Oct. 4, 2016, 11:30 a.m.).]
[To bed, will try to feel vibes at crown chakra and enter images. Plan A: Library, Bob Neal; Plan B: soul retinue meeting; Default Plan: hear Whirly's voice.]
We're staying in some sort of sleepers' warehouse [while the noise of the dance contest rehearsal continues outside.] I manage to find the bathroom in the dark. Next to it the outside door is unlocked, which I find surprising.
2016-10-25 8:00 am
There's some confusion about whether Josephine is alive or dead. Her daughter KK and I are starting a weekend getaway, but it's already Saturday and she's still making fancy plywood boxes for all the stuff she plans to take. I find this absurd because we won't get to the campground until Sunday, and who needs all that stuff anyway?
[Written later. I was very busy from 5 a.m. to 8 a.m., doing I don't know what, but it was fairly pleasant and interesting, maybe just an extended timeless revery, but not your run-of-the-mill unconsciousness.]
[NLOBE] Getting out of bed, I step down into a ditch or canal unexpectedly, and slam back into body with a strong hypnagogic twitch that rocks me back and forth left-right twice.
2016-10-26 3:35-4:25 am
I clearly recall repeating dreams to myself while asleep, so I'd remember them, but I don't recall the dreams. Abstractions about computers.
[After lying down again in the extra bed with mask, I had the experience of seeing my arm folded against my chest... through the mask. Then:]
I hear myself make an odd peeping sound in my sleep and wake up in a chair in Grandma Robertson's living room. She (SC) is in a chair to my left. I am shocked to see that I've left my toolbox and other stuff all over her living room floor where an old lady could fall over it. I start moving all my things into the next room, a guest bedroom that she's letting me use. It's a sunny room with a yarny old-fashioned white bedspread and old lady things all over.
Alone in Charlene's house [which looks like Karen's house] I see that Lila II is in the house, so I chase her outside through the open sliding door in the bedroom, into the backyard where she belongs since she SMELLS bad. Good thing Charlene didn't see her in the house.
Girlfriend's cabin--where I plan to be living too--she has a huge bank of filing cabinets, which I consider to be a good sign, we should get along just fine. A TUNNEL-like room is lined all along its twenty-foot length from floor to ceiling with tan-colored filing cabinets. I'm trying to find a home for a piece of paper and find a lot of unused folders which is good, it means I'll be able to use the file structure too. My girlfriend is unseen.
I go outside behind the cabin. It's built on a steepish hill covered with small trees and dead leaves. It's late winter or early spring. It starts raining but in an odd way, with all the water coming out of the sky in one spot, as if someone was trying to water one tree.
Then I notice that it has been snowing and I hadn't even noticed. I find this thrilling and I scoop up some snow so I can make a snowball which I plan to take in the house and smash in her face. I reject the first snowball since it has leaves and dirt in it, and start on another one.
I'm distracted by a car sliding almost sideways down the steep street next to the cabin. After that, another car zips down the street, straight without sliding, so I figure maybe they have chains, but they're going too fast. Then in front of the rustic country store across the street from me, a car is backing and nearly runs over a very small child playing in the street. I barely notice the first time, so it happens again, and this time I mentally send the child's mother out from the store to get her kid out of the street.
I go home to my house next to the store, where I live with Jovie. She's put together a box to mail to someone. It's about two feet long and six to eight inches square. I get a black magic marker and scratch out all the words on the box, especially addresses, and I look for Jovie so she can tell me the address to write on the box. I turn the box over to find a clean place to write on, and select a location. I try to write "TO:" on top of some faded orange letters printed on the box, but I've held the magic marker too long without the cap on it and it's gone dry, so I put the project down and go next door to the store.
I sit down on a couch in the store. A rather aggressive young woman with short blonde hair takes me for someone in authority and brings an open cardboard box to me, plops it down on my lap and sits down next to me. I guess I'm supposed to go through the contents of the box and decide what it's all worth, which seems odd, but I go along with it. I like the girl, who seems to be in need of some new or clean clothes. I go through the various small boxes of candy and junk food in the bigger box, rejecting one since it's already open. The girl seems to think she can sell this stuff back to the store and I sympathize, but I'm not sure she can get away with it. Jovie comes in the store, scowlingly looking for me, and the girl beats it to the other side of the store. I look at her butt reflexively. She is so thin, she is too young to look at.
Taran (SC) and I are entertaining a blond baby boy who has a small BLUE dice in his hand. I'm afraid he's going to pop it in his mouth, so of course he does. I calmly walk over to him and place my open palm in front of his mouth, intending for him to spit it out, which he does. I am impressed with myself for STAYING CALM and I want to teach this trick to Taran, so I replay the dream for him a couple times [he's sleeping next to me in bed as I dream all this], but he isn't interested. I playfully and rather aggressively flop the tall baby onto the bed on his back and then I have to help him stand up, because he's too tall for his age. Then I'm looking for a place to put dirty Pampers which I have rolled into a bundle in my hand.
"Race to Hypnagogia"
[I just had a Plan A dream, the most interesting Bob Neal dream ever, no hokey dream symbol machines, but a most realistic experience. So realistic that when I first awoke, my mind refused to classify it as a dream. This was a big step forward and it took place long before the supposedly requisite six hours of sleep, blowing that theoretical prerequisite out of the way once more. This is a true visit to the Library a.k.a. the Akashik Record.]
I'm in a big house or duplex in Stockton with a pug dog that is SC till the final scene. I have acquired a videotape about Bob Neal's invention. It's the 1990s [when I did in fact live in such a house in Stockton.] It's night, warm and dry, so I've put my TV and VCR in front of the house and I sit in the empty garage with the lights out and the garage door open, watching the show through the big garage door opening. SC (the dog) is with me the whole time, but doesn't do anything till the final scene.
The part of the videotape that is the most interesting is a narration of a sort of prose poem recorded long ago by a man's voice and replayed on the videotape, superimposed over photos, stills, with the words also on the screen as subtitles in white letters that are hard to make out. I have to strain to hear the voice and strain to read the corresponding subtitles at the same time. Each line of this reading departs my consciousness as the next one appears. None of it stays in conscious memory, although I remember one phrase partially: "Go to Washington DC and stamp an envelope. Send an envelope to yourself..." This is meant to be a tribute to inventoring and a celebration of what one goes through trying to give birth to a new idea because you dare to imagine you doing something great. Not someone else, but you. It's also specifically about Bob Neal, but in what way I don't know, except it is grandiose and magnificent and I feel very lucky to have found this amazing historical treasure, the videotape.
Later, I'm in the house sitting in the dark thinking. [At no time was this dream bizarre, dreamlike; it was extremely vivid, real, realistic. I was there and I was me, I was thinking, using my conscious awareness. The whole thing was nearly lucid. As I watched the video it stimulated my imagination, made me care again, made me want to find the secret of Bob Neal's magical air compressing engine.]
So I'm in the house thinking and I am annoyed that I must disturb my revery to go back outside and bring my TV in before someone sees it in the dark and steals it. It's the dog who reminds me to go get the TV, by going out the front door herself. I remember at that time that the TV is sitting against the front of the house between the front steps and the garage door, so I go out to the dark, empty garage through the door inside the house. [In the 1990s I actually started building my first compressed air engine in this garage.] I try to open the garage door from inside the dark garage. It's as if I am nearly asleep and can't gather the strength to physically lift the door. It goes up a few feet and the dog comes in, and the door falls back down again. I get ready to open the door again as I gaze at the dog. She comes into strong focus although the garage is dark. She is a fawn-colored (tan or beige) pug dog, producing her own light so I can see her in the dark.
[The dog is Smudgely, glowing in the dark, trying to make me lucid. When I went to bed, I felt strongly that I was onto something important about hypnagogia as the gateway to lucid dreaming, I felt this is going to be coming to me easily over the next coming weeks and months, and I felt that I--not someone else, but I--was going to be the one to bring to the world the freedom and simplicity and illumination of access to the OBE state acquired easily and naturally. I would do this by removing the excessive focus on relaxation and utter stillness of body and mind, instead adjusting the focus to maintaining the correct amount of relaxation and turning the internal dialog down, while controlling its content, without turning it off, thus forgetting the body completely since trying to force sleep paralysis etc. is a huge distraction that puts focus on the body itself.]
[The whole focus on "getting out of body" is its own worst enemy. From now on, it's all about developing the proper understanding and attitude while awake--everything is a dream--developing a tunable mind by meditation, accumulating energy by breathing more than I have to, and moving into hypnagogia easily and naturally upon lying down. Instead of making it all out to be some technical, arcane skill that only a few initiates could ever hope to master. Importantly at this point: ignoring the physical eyes and seeing what's up in the MIND as per FK: UP. The simple skill I need to develop at this point is not how to "keep the mind awake while the body goes to sleep." This is literally impossible since the mind and the body are the same thing. Those who have supposedly learned how to do this have actually learned a true alternative to doing this impossible feat. The skill I have to develop now is the ability to see the contents of the universe with my awareness instead of my mind/body/world/brain. This is a simple matter of learning to tell the difference, so the eyes can stop ruining the process by moving to take over whenever something comes up. I got a lot of practice on this last night and it's easy. It's real. It works. Forget about "leaving the body." If we forget about doing the impossible, suddenly our real goals become so much easier to achieve.]
[Earlier when I just lay down, I quickly became weakly hypnagogic and described my visions simply to myself, ignoring body position and spending only seconds on relaxation. I went to sleep almost immediately and quickly woke up again and was strongly hypnagogic at that time. This was the point of entry though I missed it this time. But not by much.]
At night I go to the bar next to my house and some of the guys in there try to intimidate me. So I go home and pick up my big old-fashioned fire-engine-red dial tone push button telephone set and dial 911. I change my mind and hang up, dial it again, change my mind and hang up, and then realize the police are going to come anyway since I already dialed twice, so I might as well talk to them now, before they arrive, instead of being accused of making bogus phone calls to 911. So I dial it again. When they pick up the phone, I speak in a very soft, timid voice, because I realized while waiting for them to pick up the phone that I don't know my own address, so I can't tell them where I'm at. l think the bar is 2611, but I don't know the name of the street. I realize they have my address, so I tell them what was done to me and the police car pulls up immediately. I go to the bar and identify the wild-haired creep (see previous dreams such as Oct 3.) and the other guy. The police, a clean-cut, tall, blond comic book Aryan type cop, pummels them severely with his right fist while grabbing their collars with his left hand, and I feel sorry for them. [In an earlier version, the bad people had been in my house, but I don't remember how I got them to leave.]
A statuesque young woman with long blonde hair manages to remove all her clothes, bra first, while riding her motorcycle through a crowd of spectators. She is doing it because she's angry, like Lady Godiva.
[Meditation, sleepy. Then back to sleep in extra bed with mask.]
[Intent to harness hypnagogia.]
In a sort of communal warehouse of interesting people, I keep passing through a certain man's room until I've seen several scenes from a TV serial drama on the TV in the man's room, including the entire first hour-long episode. It is quite twistedly interesting. I see that the name of the screenwriter is something like Brzynscki, which I assume is Polish and Jewish.
In another room, I'm talking to a small young man with kinky curly hair and beard, dark-colored hair, almost black. He's smaller than me and seems very sensitive and intelligent. He also seems to like me. He shows me some white powder which I spill on the floor and it all goes down around the edge of a trap door in the ancient heavy wooden plank floor. He says the powder was anthrax and he says he is the inventor of anthrax. Taran and Jovie show up and Taran is fascinated with the caving-in trap door in the floor, so I tell him to get away from it because there's anthrax down there.
The inventor tells me his name is Brzynscki and I ask if he is the writer of the TV show I liked. He says he is, and I tell him how much I liked it, and "I saw the whole first episode." He says he was paid $660,000 for writing it and I jokingly ask him for some money. There are other people in his room but he seems to be giving me most of his attention. I imagine he wants to adopt me and I'm certain he's gay. I wonder if it would be worth living with a small gay man as his pet if he had lots of money to spend on me. He shows me that he's shaved off his bushy black beard. [He looks like the Green Ripper, the Dream Usher.]
Brzynscki has a small fan in a cage of black wire sitting on a cluttered little coffee table in his cluttered quarters. I pick it up and try to spin the odd-looking rotor inside the black protective cage, but it's rubbing or hitting somewhere. Brzynscki carefully teaches me all the places it needs to be oiled, giving loving care to this task [in such a way that I am almost lucid.] As the fan gets up to speed, it also gets larger and more complex. I see it is ingeniously crafted to generate amazing optical displays. It's made of a complex series of rotors, and the rotors are mirrors which reflect off each other. The real trick is when you look into this spinning series of self-reflecting mirrors, because then you see yourself in a whole new way.
My brother [who generally can't act interested in anything I do without relying heavily on his skill as an actor] looks into the device and gets very excited and shows it to his wife. She is transformed ecstatically. She runs as if in a cinematic melodrama, her hair flies around her face like a carefully crafted cinematic moment, and her face radiates light.
Then I'm in Brzynscki's quarters with MH, a brilliant artiste from my high school days, and a few others. The three of them are acting absolutely zany, hilarious, MH in particular is funny, shaking his head back-and-forth extremely fast while making funny faces and noises. I feel I should join in, but don't want to force it or look clumsily unspontaneous, but I don't want them to think I'm a total stick-in-the-mud either, so I mention that I am experienced in the use of various mind-altering substances.
They act genuinely shocked, so I adjust my claim, "Well, I smoke a little sometimes," and they are relieved to know I'm not a reeking addict. Brzynscki provides a half a handful of hash shavings--large shavings--which he pours into my hands. It SMELLS delicious. I carefully pick up all the pieces that fall through my fingers onto his cluttered coffee table.
Outside in a narrow back yard lawn that wraps around the building, I'm sitting on lawn chairs with some people including Inday Fe. A small SQUARE GIRL in a white dress printed with small flowers comes to me and makes sickly faces and noises. I tell her, "Sigi suka," which means, "Go ahead and throw up." She covers an area of lawn to our right with watery vomit, then seems to feel better. I hope nobody steps in it.
Now my wife's oldest sister, who is pushing 70, has taken on the radiance exhibited earlier by my sister-in-law [and by the dog in an earlier dream the same night]. Her face shines with light, she has a beatific smile, and her hair wafts around her face in windblown cinematically choreographed spikes of carefully arranged grandiose feminine splendor. I haltingly try to express the transformation and finally hit on the exact words to say to her: "Did you smoke something?"
[The dream ends, but I do not wake up. I attain lucidity and remain in a completely altered state, body completely asleep, till almost 7:30 am. I drift back toward dreaming, with the feeling of the Big Dream just experienced trying to re-express itself in more scenes, but I hold it off because I want to wake up and write it down. I drift in this state of profound, timeless lucidity for at least 20 minutes but maybe over an hour, finally waking up about 7:30 am.]
[This was the gateway to OBE but I missed it, it never occurred to me to try. I was conscious and aware, but not ambitious except to remember what I'd already experienced so I could get it down on paper. This was not my normal waking conscious mind. It was something better, but less thoroughly trained and less intrusive.]
Joybroth and I are in a residential drama workshop that's just firing up for the season. As I walk through the dorm with SC, the teacher comes out of a room and starts to impress me with lines from the play we will be doing, but he forgets his lines and has to go in and look, saying, "We all forget our lines." The last room is Joybroth's. He's in his room suspended from an I.V. with his feet in the air and his body at a 45 degree angle. The I.V. needle is inserted into his foot and he has his toes pointed for exercise. There are papaya seeds on the floor and I scoop them up with my hands, embarrassed that the teacher sees my friend is such a slob. I see that I have to get serious about learning my lines since Joybroth and the teacher have already started learning theirs and most of the students haven't even arrived yet.
2016-10-28 2:50 am
[Outer Space Intergovernmental Intrigue including multi-dimensional transformations on an epic scale, all forgotten, this is where my memory starts:]
With the prior unrecalled feats accomplished, the nearly magical re-formation of the metal hull of the large space-roving disc can now begin. As we in the audience sit enthralled in an enormous, well-lit lobby that is as high-ceilinged as it is long and wide, tastefully adorned with occasional small displays of enticing free snacks, the semi-hemispherical top half of the disc is sucked into place with a mighty clank and the re-formation of the vast metal parts begins. The children in the audience, including Dodo, know how this part goes from watching it on TV so many times, and they shout out the rhyming theme song as the parts of the hull are reformed from one basic model into this year's model. This is amazing to behold as the huge one-piece hemispherical bowl undergoes something a lot more sophisticated than melting, emerging seconds later into a new shape, and finally extruding an integral elevator shaft within it tallest portion, complete with all moving parts. The children cheer as the new space vehicle is completed.
I take off for the snacks, which are free in this future society. The size of the well-lit and carpeted show house lobby is as magnanimous as the advanced human civilization that sponsors the show. I stuff real buttered popcorn into my mouth unselfconsciously while I head for the place where I intend to grab a large package of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups to share with my companions back at the table.
The next feature begins, a short feature in which one experiences being changed into a huge mass of vanilla ice cream by the broadcast voice of a young woman who then proceeds to eat you, large chunks at a time, while you watch and you can taste what the invisible woman tastes as she narrates. Yummy!
[Alarm clock woke me up. As amazing as the dream was, the earlier forgotten part was way better, involving interaction of some sort of diabolical space concerns, but I can't remember anything but the feel of it, which took place on a vast and grandiose scale. Possibly these often-experienced forgetting of the first part are actually abstract experiences of the template, while the rememberable, describable experience is the projection of the template into a possible version. With more than one possible version projected simultaneously (timelessly) and the most interesting one being the one that is remembered. This is inspired by FK's P4--my twoness--the source of all our experiences, but experiencable in only an abstract way that's nearly impossible to comprehend with the conscious mind, much less describe.]
[Just realized that the woman (unseen) in the above ice cream transformation finale was the same person as the Lady Godiva on a motorcycle from the previous night's dream fragment.]
[Back to sleep in extra bed with mask.] Getting huge shivers up my spine with every breath. The Breath of Flight is a double breath, pranayama spinal thing, with the inhalation going to the heart chakra where it charges up and continues in a final blast to the crown chakra. The exhaust is just released in a relaxed deflation.]
Have to get back under the car somehow and kill that snake. I jack the car up, the snake has gotten huge, and it has now multiplied. I walk away overwhelmed but return with a hoe. Killing many huge snakes which also spawn big tuko lizards under car, bed, also in car where I sleep, will have to wash my blankets. [Jovie woke me up saying I was thrashing in the bed. Back to sleep in main bed.]
[I had two amazing experiences during this meditation. I was not sleepy, not nodding or swaying, was fully conscious, but not channeling the typical conscious mind as such.]
[NLOBE1] The song "Are You Sleeping Brother John" goes through my awareness one line at a time with subtitles scrolling on an inner screen. At the end of the song, I scroll up through the lines of the song, but realize I don't know how far to scroll up, because I don't know exactly how many lines are in the song. All this thinking was without words and the words of the song were experienced as a first person vision vs. recited by me.
"Are you sleepingare you sleepingBrother JohnBrother Johnmorning bells are ringingmorning bells are ringingding-dong-dingding-dong-ding.
[NLOBE2] I'm downstairs in the garden using papaya trees as landmarks such as (visually, not spoken): "Turn left at such-and-such a papaya and go straight to the next papaya" so I would remember where I am.
[LS] "That's your child's template."
In the mountains, in the Upper Clubhouse, where we young men hang out and wait for our turn to go. We eat, we sit around and talk quietly, but mostly we wait pensively but happily. It is a great honor to wait for your turn. Finally it's down to me and another guy, who has dark red hair. It's really his turn, but for some reason, I get sent instead, and I have no complaints.
I jump in the tiny boat in the little channel of water built into a miles-long downhill ramp like a super waterslide, but much deeper water. My little boat is like a locomotive, it pulls many small boats attached to it with short rods. All the boats are empty [and I detect no purpose for any of this except the doing of it.] Like the water flowing down the channel, the boats are powered only by gravity. The train of little boats starts down the little twisty channel immediately. The ride is a huge adventure, testing my ability to stay calm. The channel, only a little wider than the boat, is built on tall legs over whole valleys, so that its descent is smooth, always downhill, and of a fairly even slope. It is miles long, and full of hairpin curves and spirals. On the curves, the speed of the boat causes it to dig down into the water. But getting wet is no problem. It's all part of the honor of having gotten to take my turn to accomplish the Ride.
Finally arriving at the Lower Clubhouse, I am treated with disciplined reserve. The other young men and I sit around quietly and eat.
Outside in the autumnal forest, the quiet relaxation spreads to families of the young men. WingWing [daughter of Bulldog--she once said she would kill me, but has since gotten over it] heads back uphill on foot, but my challenge is to find a thoughtful way to pass her on the uphill trek without insulting her. I do this by riding my bike down a meadowy gully and back up the other side, cutting off the lower part of a switchback where she is taking the long way down and back up. In this way, I earn the right to travel the path ahead of her.
The way before me now clear, I continue up the high ramp on foot. Like the downhill water channel, the sandy trail is built up on a very tall framework so that the path up to the Upper Clubhouse is relatively smooth instead of following the constant ups and downs of the majestic mountain range. To prove I have been here, I start collecting leaves from the trail, the very few that land on it somehow, deposited there by the wind. There are no trees above me, only sky. The ramp, built by a forgotten people, travels through the sky. Each step up the steep path requires effort which I am proud to expend. The uphill climb is wrestled with passion. Each step glistens with excitement.
Standing on a long, level straightaway, I lean over the railing and watch two people playing catch in the deep snow far below me. One is a young man with a dark red beard, and the other is SC. I get a deep satisfaction from hearing the baseball slap their leather mitts as they toss it back and forth over an expanse of disturbed, convoluted snow banks.
2016-10-31 3:00 am
At the Stockton House, back bedroom a very important close friend who is older than me is there. [He has some elements of SC--I can't say who he is, I have no visual on him--but he participates directly in the dream action more than SC normally does.] I have kept all my books and set them up in bookcases SPIRALING through the small room. The bookcases are about four feet tall. These books are me. I try to explain to my friend that these books hold and convey my personal history in a directly emotional way. I demonstrate by looking from section to section and as I do this, I strongly feel my past wash over me in waves of rich emotion which I relish gratefully. I light my last cigarette knowing I'm filling the house with smoke which will later be stale smoke, but it's my last one. Out of regard for my friend, who I admire and respect, I turn on the ceiling fan and open all the doors. My friend closes the door to the bathroom most of the way. He's going through my stuff in a way that functions to consolidate and integrate the past with the present. He's showing me my old gray heavy hooded sweatshirt which has shrunk from being left too long in the dryer. He shows me the brand name (starts with an S) which is printed inside the pocket and says it's the best. He starts planning and organizing my future, telling me I will have to get a new sweatshirt just like it. This is his right and privilege, I am perfectly OK with everything he says and does. He is all about my success. He cares about me in a calm and wise way that no one else could.
Wearing now the gray sweatshirt, we have merged and the room full of books is now a room full of people getting ready to sing Christmas carols. I don't question any of this [in spite of the fact that consciously I don't like Christmas or caroling very much]. It all feels good and right and perfectly natural.
[This is Whirly.]
[A strong telepathic ROTE came to me from the person in the dream who was someone who had been evicted from my being and is now returning and "clicking 200 Likes" to remind me: no more evictions.]
Long series of uncomfortable dreams about a man quietly moving in with me and proceeding to act as if we're married for life.
2016-11-01 6:53 am
[Up for a while, fed dogs, back to sleep in main bed with mask. Maybe can't sleep, abstract dreams. About going from upper to lower place, i.e. re-entering body.]
[Drifting in a semi-awake state, I heard the words,] "Losing focus... upper, closer, lower," [or the like. Knew at the time what this meant, it was regarding losing the human form.]
2016-11-02 12:20 am
Cleaning up, I've finished every place I can think of when I find a shiny glass flower, translucent and dark gray. "These eyes are more than proof for the selfhood of God."
[Will meditate, then back to sleep in extra bed with mask.]
[Just got a good look at millions of stars. Through closed eyes and above neighborhood lights and solid cloud cover. Was awake for meditation, back to sleep now.]
Working for Ron the arrogant Machine Shop owner. [Unpleasant, didn't want to write it down. Next dream I went] back to same place. Having a hard time getting stuff off the answering machine.
"One Man's Ceiling is Another Man's Floor"
KK (SC) and I live with Max I and Lila I on the 2nd or 3rd floor of a long, white, wooden house with a fenced back yard that has been made into apartments, one apartment per floor. Unfortunately, while the downstairs neighbors have been away for a two or three day vacation, KK wanted to move into their apartment, and I went along with it for some reason, but now I can't sleep in their bed, because I can hear our dogs running back and forth upstairs, their toenails clicking on the wooden floor, which is temporarily our ceiling. I am thus painfully reminded that we abandoned our dogs in our apartment and they have no way of going outside to pee.
It's daytime and we're lying in bed. I beg KK to agree to moving back upstairs, immediately if not sooner, to which she agrees, and I tell her we need to put the dogs out in the back yard while we put the downstairs neighbors' bed, toilet, and other furniture back the way we'd found it. KK had even moved their toilet into the hallway for some reason.
While she's off dealing with the dogs, I start moving furniture in a big panic. My first priority is to get the toilet back into the bathroom and I see it can be moved in parts so I first remove a flat 4-inch-wide convoluted plastic hose that delivers water to it. I set this aside so I can start carrying the bowl and tank which nestle down inside each other and inside the floor, and can be carried separately from each other. I set the bowl stand on its own footprint on the old red shag rug in the bathroom and in a panic I look for the old flat plastic hose but I can't find it. I've just realized where I probably put it when disaster strikes: a man has arrived to borrow "our" riding lawn mower. Our neighbors' actually. KK brings him in to talk to me, thanks a lot. He addresses me: "Say, old man..." etc. and I cleverly make it sound like I can probably find "the mower I gave them" in the garage in case this old fart is only pretending to not know what his own friends look like. Maybe he'll assume we're caretaking the place if I act like nothing's out of the ordinary without pretending to be the actual correct tenant.
[I woke up or became vaguely lucid, momentarily relieved that this was just a dream, but went back to sleep and returned to the same dream, the mower borrower and the toilet forgotten.]
I'm wracking my brain for anything I might have forgotten, certain that the neighbors will return just before we finish putting everything away and get out of there. With great relief I remember to check the inside of the refrigerator, seeing some wrinkled eggplants and butter, which I'm sure are ours. At least the butter is ours for sure, but then I see two partial packs of butter and I don't know which one is ours. [I wake up.]
2016-11-03 12:25 am
[Back to sleep.]
[Back to sleep in extra bed with mask.]
Met KK and told her the previous dream [with emphasis on comedy aspect. Very vivid at the time, but this was written much later. Also dreamed another version of it where the neighbors actually showed up villifying some other neighbors who are still absent. Intense but don't recall.]
I am guilty and I have been caught. As my community service, I meet an overworked agent of an overstaffed agency at a certain slightly remote little facility out south of Portland along the interstate. He explains the assignment briskly. For one week I must guard a certain nuclear bomb that sits on the table all lit up in PINK and armed, waiting to go off. The bomb is badly designed or defective, so no one knows exactly when it's planning to perform the final arming process on itself and start a one-minute countdown. When it does, I am to report by telephone to headquarters so that everyone will know. Obviously that's not enough time for me to get out of the kill zone, but that's how the cookie crumbles. That's why they call it "community service." The assigning agent, a dorky-looking guy with dark hair, orange hat and safety vest, and a little moustache, gets the heck out of there, driving like a bat out of hell, and leaves me to contemplate my fate.
In spite of being a criminal, I doubt whether I deserve this fate, so I leave, feeling guilty because I left the door unlocked behind me and some innocent person could wander in there and get blown to bits. Of course I will now be the object of a vast manhunt and I will be public enemy number one. I will be blamed when the bomb goes off and reduces a vast area to steaming radioactive hell for the next 300 years. But at least I won't get blown to smithereens, not if I get outta there quick enough. I imagine trying to explain to the arresting officer, should I get caught, that my escape was a matter of official incompetence, since I was left unsupervised and the door wasn't locked, so there was nothing stopping me from leaving. Sorry bub, I don't want the job.
I show up at the Clubhouse where I explain my predicament to some old farts. The oldest of which pooh-poohs the whole thing, saying that the bomb is just a defective firecracker of no particular interest. The other guy is the same dorky guy with dark hair and little moustache who had left me at the bomb site. He and I merge. I am now him. My name is Ross C. Kane. I am public enemy number one. I drive the interstate in my big OLD BEIGE SEDAN, wondering when my bomb will go off, wondering where I can hide.
Maybe I should go stay with my ex-friend from simpler times, the artist-turned-junkie who now, in his late fifties, has a record as long as his arm. He makes fake IDs. Maybe he can help me hide from justice.
[I wake up repeating the name "Ross C. Kane" over and over.]
[The bomb has PINK lights and the getaway car is that big old beige sedan that is still following me from dream to dream. In real life, it followed me and rammed my car on purpose, but also for no reason that I'm aware of.]
[Ross C. Kane's face/persona is modeled after a comical character I knew in Grass Valley, a youngish man of the same description who rode around town on the bus, wore nice button-down shirts, took himself very seriously, and engaged the bus driver as captive audience for his constant monologue. His every thought needed to be spoken--nay, delivered--and the punch line to this story is that I got to actually work under this unbearable twit one time.]
[At end of longer dream.] J. Rhaes Jr. and Sr. regarding MJ. Sr. has longish unkempt hair, white with gray streaks, combed back over his head in waves, but partially standing straight up, as if windblown. [This is that "Green Ripper" fella who follows me around from dream to dream lately. J. Rhaes Sr. is his size, wiry body type, and has the same hair.]
2016-11-11 2:40 am
Visiting at the home of Tom K. for several days. Whenever I'm here I can work on my special air blower which I've made with his help or support. I'm thinking I won't do anything this time as it's just a silly obsession, when he brings it up himself. He states that the blower is very strong, it can't be beat. I find this very encouraging so I set up shop in the basement, running from task to task as I arrange furniture and equipment, I am so enthusiastic.
[This is about breathing. It's the only one of my practices that survived through the recent lull.]
[LS] I'm pulling the starter string on a strictly air-powered motor which I hold in my hand that starts like a gas motor. It is a self-sustaining (like solar) air engine that idles like a gas engine because it continuously brings in its energy from its environment.
[At end of longer dream.] The new part is finished and the round blade is very sharp. I hand it to Taran who is sitting in bed. The man sitting next to him takes it and slides it into place in its holder. I remark that it's so much easier than the old one...
[Today is Nov. 11. Something/somebody just told me to look at my cell phone (=clock) to see if I had a text message, which I seldom do, so I seldom look. I did not know until I did this that it would read "11/11 11:11".]
[NLOBE] A piece of lightweight red cloth attached at one end to my body is getting ready to fly away, flapping in the breeze [its exit woke me up.]
2016-11-12 2:55 am
[Still asleep in chair where I was meditating when I fell asleep, but not totally asleep or slumped over very much, and totally unaware of one hour and twenty minutes having passed since I started meditating. I'd have guessed thirty minutes maximum.]
In the place where KK and I have just moved, across from an old Safeway grocery store, I want to make up for my having been too busy and obsessed with some project. I want to get her something nice to eat, but it's Easter ["...up from the grave he arose..."] and who's gonna cook us a duck when all the stores and restaurants are closed? Now I'm in the passenger seat of the dark BLUE Toyota using the computer just installed in it. She's gonna kill me, I never pay attention to her.
I get out and go in the store to look for a deli that might be open. I walk past a display of mattresses stood up on end, and they look inviting, but I'm afraid to look at the price tags. I get to the desk where a man will accept my request for something that is mine, but I have to fill out a small form with the names of my parents and my relationship to them. I get confused and scratch out some things, which I find displeasing since it makes the form look bad. Relationship to me, or to my wife? Is my father her stepfather? I try to make a mark on a bump on a white coffee cup but the pen won't write on it. This is all too confusing.
I'm writing a response to something a friend said which includes exact quotes I have to compose from memory. Writing laboriously on a scrap of thin cardboard. Sitting on a tall stool outside, sunny, others occupy the other stools. Stockton. I look up and my heart beats faster, I know her! [My guide Amelia.] The one across from me and four feet to my left. Short dark brown hair in a shag, slightly chunky and too much makeup, I totally recognize her, but I'm too shy to say hi spontaneously, then I struggle with myself, feeling sure that the longer I wait to acknowledge her existence, the worse it will be for our budding friendship. I go back to my transcribing, but notice my BLUE ballpoint pen is leaking badly, so I try to wipe it on something, but the ink is coming out as if under pressure from the heat of the sun.
I look back and see another young woman I recognize as well! [Cwahacoy, looks like Julie from the hot springs, but with lighter hair.] The girl with the shag haircut has moved down to the lawn chairs and is sitting behind a person on a stool so I can't see her now, but Julie/Cwahacoy is visible to me and again my heart is racing. The two of them are facing each other and talking. Julie is slumped in a lawn chair. She's slender with mousy brown hair and lots of light freckles, friendly-looking. I totally recognize both as friends but struggle to remember the name of the girl with the shag haircut. I wonder if I should ask them for a ride to where I have to deliver the paper I'm writing. Finally I remember the name of the girl with the shag haircut: her name is Salvacion. [That's Spanish for "salvation." I wake up.]
Downtown in a city with my family, we find a large restaurant in a storefront with big plate glass windows and go in. I sit with my back to the windows on a long bench. A fan on the lip of the table right across from me is somehow creating a suction which drives a pair of reciprocating bellows also attached there. I become lucid for a brief moment without any bells or whistles, realize the bellows are my breathing in physical, and lose the lucidity. Karen and Mama sit across from me, and put their feet up on my bench between my legs. This makes me uncomfortable so I move my bench back. They complain that they can't reach my bench with their legs. I see their bench is too far from the table and I reach down [with what?] and pull their bench up close to the table.
By night time my family is no longer around.
Fancy custard desserts are being passed out to all, but as much as I want mine, someone else wants it worse. The proprietor is giving me special attention because of this. I walk past a dark green-painted wood partition running most of the length of the room [the Void] and into a back section the same size, but I go only a few steps in. I see that this is where Rich People sit at high tables on high chairs and eat special food. [Possibly the facebook OBE group where people use their real names, unlike proper online forums, and brag about who they know or knew in the OBE world.] I'm not comfortable and go back where I came from. Most of the custard eaters have gone. The proprietor (SC) gives me a big beautiful dessert, a pastry stuffed with whipped cream and dark chocolate shavings. An old woman takes it off my plate, sits down across from me--the table is six feet wide--and starts scarfing it down. I reach out [with what?] and take a big chunk of whipped cream off her plate with my hand, without her noticing, and I stuff it in my mouth. It tastes wonderful, firm and delicious, melting in my mouth and dripping down my throat. I'm sure it's made from real cream, because this is a classy joint.
[Regarding the bellows, here again breathing is being acknowledged as my true path.]
2016-11-12 1:00 pm
[Regarding the bellows: breathing is the thread that kept the practice alive. Also when we went to Davao, I found an amazing book, Breathe! You are Alive by Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese Buddhist guru. Buddha's actual words in the "Sutra on the Full Awareness of Breathing" (assuming it is more or less historically accurate) just list obvious stuff one could do with the breath to change it up in a variety of ways. In my opinion, and not necessarily that of the commentators, i.e. professional Buddhists, the message within the sutra's words is simple and single-pointed: just breathe, everything he lists is just conscious breathing cloaked in window-dressing. What he's saying is exactly this: "Be conscious of breathing whether long or short breath, etc."]
[Awareness of breathing covers meditation, inner silence, health, relaxation, emotional control, and more, with a single practice. But for those seeking complications of dogma to teach or learn, there are many words to write books about the right way to breathe. I think Buddha was being subtle, speaking to different audiences in a way that people would find the information that they were ready for.]
[I base these assertions on personal experience. When I did nothing but breathe for a month, the results blew my mind and have since blown my mind over again, every time I think about it. It's still hard to believe, the total change in my mental and physical life caused by breathing consciously 24/7. I'm not talking about permanent change, I'm talking about how it feels to breathe continuously all the time. I don't disbelieve in permanent change, but I also don't rely on it; the promise of permanent change is just a marketing tool for gurus. And for the life of me, I can't recall having one thought, back then at the hot springs, of how I should be breathing except to do enough of it to make my friends worry about me and tell me to stop.]
[Gurus and religions get rich teaching dogma too complicated for the simple individual to gather on his own. Some breathing techniques, such as the one that led to Patricia Garfield's prolonged enlightenment experience (which was kinda like mine) are kept secret; you have to have a teacher. Well, I have been at an impasse in my practice, having run up onto the great wall of spiritual materialism from thinking I could use spiritual materialism--a large enough collection of practices--as a springboard to enlightenment, but instead finding that attempting to run up on that wall just splatters you like a cartoon character and you roll back down the wall to the ground where you belong.]
[Taking a look at recent events. I got deathly ill, lucky to survive, though I was lucky to get professional care quickly and never started bleeding, so it could have been a lot worse. The point is that I rarely opened my eyes or let anyone turn on a light, it hurt to think so I didn't, and for two weeks I was drifting spontaneously in and out of hypnagogic states. Effortlessly, except for the constant headache and being generally unable to control my environment very much. But, since this kinda constituted a vacation of sorts for my wife--and whatever other reasons she might have had--she was super nice to me, consistently helpful, and there was almost no friction between us for two weeks.]
[Then I come out of it and immediately start thinking along the lines of, "Now what spiritual practices should I undertake--as I was doing before going into the hospital--which will guarantee me the quickest results and fill my time most efficiently with activities approved of by the Spirituality Committee?" My readers know why I speak sarcastically of this kind of thing, but it is an easy trap to fall into and I've fallen into it before. I quote myself: "Trying to become spiritual is like spreading butter on cheese, because the whole universe and everything in it is 100% raw spirit already."]
[What came along and happened to me is my good friend boredom. I did not want to fill my time with obligatory spirituality-generating practices.]
[For a time, in the beginning, a year ago, I had to gather momentum because I had some belief systems to shatter. I had to find out that it was not only possible, but easy, to have non-physical experiences. I even found out that you don't have to put your body to sleep to have totally authentic non-physical experiences. Not just authentic, but meaningful and life-changing. I did have to get the ball rolling by filling my time with practices, which I have tried to keep track of in this journal for the most part.]
[But there comes a point where I have to sit back and say, "All right, enough already, I believe! I believe! Stop shoving this collection of 'let's-get-spiritual' activities down my throat 24/7!"]
[And then what happens? Primal terror, also known as boredom. What will I do with my time? Another air car project? Rewrite You Already Know Calculus or Advanced Bisaya for Beginners? Please tell me it's not true: am I still a topic switcher at the age of 60? Still can't persevere beyond the dabbler stage?]
[But the answer comes easily and it's always the same. The belief systems have been attacked, their false face has been knocked off, and the process of their permanent erosion has begun. Momentum is already happening: the human form is crumbling all on its own. As evidenced by an increasingly psychotic world around me, which just mirrors the crumbling of the status quo inside me, brought to you by the lens which creates my world. In good time, change happens. Can't be stopped. The answer is to keep on doing the things that I have found, in the past year, to be truly important:
--this journal--conscious connected breathing--meditation twice a day--daily exercise--be nice to humans and other animals--extra awakenings with attention given them--avoid easy pleasure such as eating too much, sleeping too much, or being online too much--the rest of the time, it doesn't matter what I do, but the soft voice of the Obvious reminds me that when I was a 24-year-old ingrate in the throes of an unexpected Samadhi experience, if I had spare time I spent it breathing, and what happened for me then? Everything.]
[To bed. Plan A = Library/Bob Neal, Plan B = Soul retinue meeting, Default Plan = hear Whirly's voice. Will focus on images when waking up. Don't move, don't get up to pee. See images and move into them. All dreams are OBEs--try to remember this.]
KK and I are at a beach that's part ocean and part swimming pool. They have a few waves, so I try to do some body surfing. I get a good sensation of motion one time but then for a while the waves stop and I fall asleep in the water. I wake up, glad I was floating in the shallow water instead of drowning in it. It's getting dark. I think this must be a swimming pool since there's no waves, but there's some sand in the bottom, not very deep though. I go to the other end and see it is like a pool, maybe fed with sea water. I climb up on the concrete edge and then, holding a giant beach ball, I dive in carefully since this is a shallow end. The other dudes standing there seem to be making fun of the way I'm swimming. I am sort of swimming in spurts, kicking with one foot, lacking coordination and energy, as if still half asleep.
I ignore them, and swim to the beach end and go in the long beach house or dressing house that runs the width of the pool. KK says she's going to give Michelle a ride somewhere and wants to know if I would like to stay here alone. I say, "I'd rather not be in the ocean alone at night. That's not fun." I gather my things, a corncob pipe and an extra screen, and ask KK if "she thinks Michelle minds me smoking in the car." KK doesn't think so. I ask KK, "Do you mind me smoking in the car?" She bites her lip and stares off into space. [I wake up. Once again the notion that we don't dream till after 4 to 6 hours of sleep is blown out of the water. Taran had halfway kept me awake till he went to bed around 9:30-9:45, then I fell asleep fanning him and woke up at 10:30 with the fan still in my hand and my hand on Taran's back. They also say you can't dream and/or sleep if another person is touching your body. Bunch of hooey.]
2016-11-13 5:25 am
Carrot juice comes in little cans and that's what I want, it's my routine and I have to have it, but Toto tells me I should not want it and he has his reasons. Toto is Abelardo Jr (bro-in-law) and Abelardo Sr provides the can of juice. I'm sitting in the back seat of his old pickup and he's up front in the passenger seat. I toss my empty can at a plastic bag on the floor by his feet and it misses and hits the firewall, splashing a little orange liquid on the truck's floor. He (Sr.) tells me I got "tomatos and cheese" on the floor of his truck and I say, "Sorry."
We get out and walk around at a road construction project where he is well known. A pair of tree stumps will be removed when the level is dug down far enough. I pull a half rotten old root out of the dirt by where I'm standing, hoping I don't find another big tree for them to remove. The wide road is dug up as far as the eye can see. First one lane, then the other, then the other is dug deeper so two lanes are at two levels. A worker has a small sledge hammer to tamp the soil with, as well as one on a long shovel handle that belongs to Abelardo Sr. Someone is trying to return Sr.'s tool to him but Sr. insists he continue to borrow it while we go over there for a minute. But I know we won't be back to get it--Sr. is actually donating his tool.
[Breathwalking before dinner. Got hypoglycemic/dizzy/hungry.]
[Reading FK, he'd just said the images are where you need to be and my guides shut off my computer so I will go to bed early and do it.]
[Went to sleep twice already and both times I had strong intent to find images quickly and easily. Managed to do this and found that the key to getting there quickly is stopping the internal dialog. Also found that under the same conditions--strong intent and not talking to myself--I could listen for, and quickly hear, "aurages" I'm not gonna say "I hear voices" because it's not that easy--this is something I have to want badly enough to bother noticing what most people ignore, so a new term, matching "images" is "aurages". Once I reached these abilities, I fell asleep very quickly. So the goal is to: 1. Stop internal dialog, 2. See images, 3. Hear aurages, and to do so quickly, because intent is self-diluting with time. Upon reaching this point, I think I would try stating intent such as plan of action and then narrating sparsely so as to support mental wakefulness without generating the usual impulsive internal dialog. Similarly it would be best to start a simple visualization such as pull-ups into the Library to avoid going to sleep.]
With Kris (SC) after a recording session at a small unlocked facility in the park. We've left the studio in the park and gone to an adjacent house to do something importnat, but I left my glasses back at the studio and I have to pee. I run back to the studio, a small wood building painted white. I see that in the short time we were gone, a family is already going in to use it. I hope they haven't knocked my glasses on the floor and stepped on them.
There's a man in the studio with a young boy--no visual--the man can't be found--He's made something amazing with black 2x2s. [I'm falling asleep as I write and the scenes are adding themselves as I dream them. Gotta stop that, but hard to know which scene goes where.] The man wants me and Kris to come back and help him make a recording. This sounds like fun and I tell him Kris might enjoy it too. At the studio the man helps me remember where the important recording wire plugs into the big wooden box. The cord's kinda short so I say, "Not versatile." The man returns as "Peter" in next scene and the little boy (SC) comes in the back door.]
So I go back to try and get Kris to do it.
Running back through back yards and side yards to the house where the party is, there's a fancy wedding reception next door and a young boy has escaped it and run through the back yards to join our party instead. Ours is a party for "Peter" a big man who looks like altered-states demigod Ken Kesey (Whirly).
My dad is there, he's putting on the party to auction off a mortgage. At the food table he explains the mortgage has just closed, but I can still have some of that PINK foamy dessert. He wants to know if I'd be interested in an all-expenses paid trip with him to Kansas City and seems surprised that I readily accept. I say, Yeah, I've got lots of friends in Kansas, Kansas City, Lawrence, etc. and would enjoy a 2-3 day side trip to see everyone, go to libraries, etc. I wondered if I could dredge up some old interests to research at UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES.
[So many cues, so little lucidity. My dad = the Green Ripper. As usual, trying to transport me somewhere at the end of a dream. Kris is helping me look for the verascope and Whirly/Peter/the man at the recording studio is trying to not only let me hear his voice but record it for me.]
2016-11-14 4:05 pm
[During meditation, I think I discovered Focus 10 (mind awake, body asleep). I was thinking of nothing when something clicked and it was still nothing but I was no longer thinking about it. It became effortless and I suddenly felt free of the meditation process. Not a task or an accomplishment. I felt I could remain in the state indefinitely, but soon had a hypnagogic twitch with the words, "They have NOT..." and I slammed back into my body and jerked awake at the word "not". I call this a non-lucid OBE.]
[Note to self: Before bed and upon each awakening, re-read FranksPosts.pdf 660-665.]
[Per FK: Develop a visualization of "going to sleep". Start from lying in bed and instead of just going to sleep, you go through a tunnel first. Also imagine doing this during the day.]
[Excellent dream, giving me a scenario to mentally dwell upon while breathwalking in place of what happened earlier today:]
At the great and awesome Prison, someone puts a large tea kettle in my hands and I start walking. I don't like this one bit, what am I even doing in a place like this? I was planning to be inconspicuous.
And I was right, this will never do, here comes my first customer. A hairy, unkempt prisoner pops out of his dark cell as I begin my promenade around the edge of the stone square. He wants some of my tea to add to his own foul brew, now what am I supposed to do? Oh well, he only wants a little, might as well just give it to him. I pour a little of my tea into his black liquid, topping it off. The poor sap displays deep gratitude, I hope that doesn't make him my new best friend.
Well I got rid of that one, now what? Might as well get it over with. I continue perambulating the sunny square of rough stone, and as I come to each succeeding door, each appearing darkly as a gaping void in an ancient stone wall, another creepy, hairy denizen pops out of a dark doorway expecting a bit of my precious tea. Why was this horrible task given to me of all people? Why am I even here? Another new pal, oh well, could be worse, I suppose.
Over and over, I am not allowed to slip unnoticed past another and still another grizzled occupant's quarters, each one friendlier and more grateful than the last. I continue on this circuit till I am the happiest tea pourer you ever met, plagued with friends, filthy with them. Laughing and joking with them as I stop to share at each open door. I have never met so many friendly grateful people in my life.
2016-11-15 12:12 am
[Back to sleep. Remember to go from awake to tunnel to asleep instead of awake directly to asleep. Tunnel is UP. Added note: tunnel leads to the Void. --ed.]
I'm involved in a deconstruction project that doesn't seem to be going anywhere because no one knows where to start including the boss (Whirly) who is just standing around looking, waiting for something to suggest itself.
The building is an old empty church, nothing but walls, roof and windows. It has been suggested that the bogus stained glass windows be preserved, but I can't see why. They are bogus and not even attractive. The one I see is BLUE and clear with dorky abstract blobs that are impossible to find meaningful. A large nail passes through the window and a worker is prying on it with the hammer pushing right against the window glass. That can't turn out well. I suggest that everybody get a cat's paw or a crow bar for pulling nails. I also realize the roof should be taken down first so it doesn't fall on us when we take down the walls. We are standing around trying to think how to remove a roof. The others are as muddled as I.
Except Dodong son of Jayme. He has a bad complexion and a rebellious attitude to match, but plenty of energy and fearlessness, so he's gonna show us how it's done. He climbs a rope to the ceiling, removes some fasteners that hold down the roof, and jumps to the floor landing with a full body slam on a thin piece of foam. I think he should be more careful.
[To bed. Focus on not moving on awakening. Images, especially tunnel up through head. To clouds above.]
I'm working my way back to a certain address "2700" but have to go through a certain building to get to it. [Intense dream mostly forgotten. Didn't get up to record it, instead trying to stay awake in bed looking at images. This amounted to running up stairs for a long time. As soon as the stairs became self-generating and realistic, I went to sleep.]
2016-11-16 2:40 am
Someone or someplace I'm looking for involves going to a wealthy apartment where I know one of the Spanish-speaking immigrants who works there as one of several such kitchen workers, a middle-aged woman. The place is called--on the piece of paper I use as a reference--"Save 2 Go" or some such thing. I arrive in the apartment just as the owner is leaving. "Save 2 Go" is actually a nearby business so the person who lives in the apartment doesn't have to record her actual address on the paper explicitly. This place is listed as the 4th in a series of places. [Many details forgotten.]
[Meditation, then back to sleep in extra bed with mask. Will try for stair images again.]
A group of people is here to repack all the candy and snacks. They do this quickly and efficiently. For example, removing the choco bars from a case of choco bars and all the BBQ chips from a case of BBQ chips, etc, then reusing all the same cartons to pack an assortment of snacks from all the boxes into each re-used box. The boxes of assorted snacks are then loaded into the back of two green military-style small pickups and I am to drive one of these to the destination. I am to follow the other driver, who takes off like a bat out of hell, squealing tires on corners, accelerating like mad. I'm afraid I won't be able to keep up, but then it turns out we we're only going a few blocks. He arrives at the Convenience Store, which is elevated from road level as usual, with a very long steep wide driveway. He parks halfway up it on the right. I park over halfway up on the left, carefully setting the parking brake because it's so steep.
[Had this dream at least an hour ago, after about only two hours of sleep.]
Glenwood. Movie theater vastly oversized with big wide areas around the chairs and not so steep. Groups of people standing around, well lit, in front between screen and first row of seats. A man takes aim with a big handful of popcorn and lobs it into this group of standing people and the group retaliates on its own. Soon it's a hug popcorn war, people shouting and laughing hysterically. I don't feel safe so I decide to leave.
As I'm about to leave the whole place through the front door of the lobby, I wonder if anyone noticed that I'm leaving their unruly place of business with no rules of conduct. A female usher, tall with auburn hair in a permanent, who had been in the theater shouting at the mob to no avail, asks me if I want popcorn or anything, and I say, "I want my money back--this cost me four dollars and I..." a couple of middle-aged male employees start toying with me, "Your money's over here--" "No it's over here." As I walk back and forth trying to retain my dignity, while taking the bait.
One of the men [the Green Ripper] is smallish with weak chin and curly brown hair, like Larry of the Three Stooges but not as long, he indicates a cheap BLUE ball he's going to give me instead of a refund, pointing at it, then tossing it out into the lobby for me to go get. I start after the ball without enthusiasm so he chases the ball himself, kicking it around the lobby like a soccer ball. I try to contain my annoyance at being toyed with like this, knowing they're really just trying to break through my peevish and worthless sense of dignity, but I'm determined that they won't be able to do it.
I finally get my hands on something ball-like--an irregular-shaped black fuzzy balloon-like thing, ["Kidney-shaped" keeps popping into mind as I write this] and I am now outside, shaking the lightweight hollow object by the small end, and it becomes a long, branched version of the same thing, with branches three inches in diameter.
Then it's a long dry stick, a narrow tree branch, itself branched, and one end of it is held by a man standing near the top of a ladder, same trickster ident as the guy in the lobby. Two other men are there on the ladder with him [SC]. I decide to give him a hard time by pulling the branch which is crucial to what he's trying to do on the ladder. Then I walk away without saying anything, not wanting to gloat about my final victory. He jumps off the ladder and tackles me from behind, wrapping his arms around me. His hands are on my rib cage as we tumble to the ground, him on top. He says, "One last jab," and jams a finger into my ribs as if to tickle me violently, but it hurts so I don't laugh. [I wake up convinced that something in the foam mattress has bit me on the rib cage till I remember the dream. I go over the details of the dream and go to sleep doing so. I now recall leaving the theater and wondering where (in Glenwood) another theater might be and I think maybe by Safeway, but that's a long way to walk. I encountered the men on the ladder while walking there.]
2016-11-17 3:05 am
I'm driving a tiny car with my dad in the passenger seat coaching. The coaching is unwelcome because I've been a licensed driver for many years. The steering is very stiff. His lack of confidence in me translates to a lack of confidence in myself, which makes me angry. I drive into his driveway with his unwanted praising of my average, normal, and expected abilities pissing me off.
With Breeze and the boss (SC/Whirly) together we look at the work calendar and our attention causes it to come to life and say what we need to see on it. As we go outside in front of the workplace office to the street, I say that the calendar is scary. The boss wants to know why I said that. I reply that it seems able to read my mind. Outside I'm expecting to see Breeze's tiny car but so far I see no car. Instead, Breeze is grinning as he opens a pretend trunk of a pretend car and puts his pretend things inside. I like this, it's clever. Then as I get closer, a car appears, but its' a new car. It's a beautiful, futuristic, VIOLET car with all kinds of amazing details and features. I am very impressed.
I'm staying with someone who appears to be both K and K (my two older sisters) or takes turns being each, and is unusually pregnant for a woman close to 70 years old. The rug is old, shaggy and green. [The Void.] She's lying on a cot in the living room and I wonder if I've displaced her from her normal bed. I ask her where K's sleeping. I ask her where I'll be sleeping. She's putting some substance all over the rug, which I think is weird and gross. She says, "Well, Daddy doesn't like if I use spinach." Meaning a rug cleaning substance made from spinach. I blame spinach for the color of the rug.
[NLOBE] Stepping down off the small, round top of a small, round three-tiered platform tiled in slippery ceramic tiles, I change my mind and take only two steps down, but the dithering costs me my footing and I slide on the third step, waking with a hypnagogic twitch.
[LS] [Woken by someone next door revving an engine, which I thought was] a huge wind blowing across some front steps tiled in beige, slippery ceramic tiles.
[LS] Announcer: "This prehistoric animal must have stepped in a primal cow patty to have his characteristic shape preserved so well." I see a flattened, petrified cow patty, followed by a petrified beaver head with every hair preserved perfectly. I start to think, maybe like Vesuvius, stepped in lava, cow patty not such a good explanation [when I woke up and realized I was dreaming.]
[Note: every one of the following awakenings was unexpected, I need to learn how to go to sleep consciously. There must be something painful or frightening about going over that hump... I know what it is, from previous experience: it's the fear of losing sanity, which is easier to take if mind goes to sleep. But since it's a false alarm anyway, it can be done consciously.]
[Woken up by Jovie coming upstairs, forgot dream but the words keep popping into mind:] "Take a rest."
[Felt godawful sleepy and heat crawling from head down back but sped up breathing and stayed awake till 100 then stopped to rest. Vibrating awesomely but could be better, want more now.]
[NLOBE] Interviewing someone about his suitability as a spiritual teacher, his past as a sexual being comes into focus and some of it is OK but some of it is not.
[PSEUDOMEMORY] I'm recalling a dream I had (not?) in which Taran starts to eat a whole watermelon right before bed and then changes his mind and can't do it.
[This awakening session was the first time I ever did it in front of a computer instead of with the notebook. Didn't notice any difference. Also was slumped in a chair and quite uncomfortable, so that suction of sleep must have been very strong.]
Planning to go out and eat Vietnamese food with mother and sisters (SC) they will have to pay my share but then I keep finding BLUE money in odd pockets and showing it to them.
Salina. I go back to my job after a long absence. My mom has offered someone gratitude money to rehire me at LP Pizza where I am now a new chef. Mike the red-haired asst manager hands me his scheduling book and tells me to write down my new phone number. I don't know it and can't call it to ask someone so I have to try and find my new house. I know it's close to French St. so I ask Mike's asst (SC) if that is north or south of where we are now. I go to the new place and find a check she's written, all but the Payee which I start to fill out wrongly so later when she gets home I tell her and she starts a new check to give me.
Salina again. This crummy old apartment is going to have to do. How am I supposed to lock the door? The crazy homemade system of hook latches at the bottom of the door is half broken. The bathroom's OK, surprisingly. Taran calls out from the bedroom where he's asleep. This single father business is going to be a challenge. And there's so much stuff to put away. Those blankets on the floor have to be washed. I go in and he's wide awake in his bed. I comfort him and tuck him in. I explain that normally he will sleep in the wide bed alone, and I will sleep in the other wide bed alone, but tonight I will sleep with him when I finally go to bed. He says OK. I smooth the old brown blankets over him and notice with great displeasure there are little bugs in the bedspread. I brush them off with my hand, but I'm whipped. The bug thing is too much. I can't deal with this.
[Meditation. Scratch that, never mind. Taran just asked his mama to pray with him so I'm going to bed to meditate next to him flat on my back. He had a scary dream. A few days ago he dreamed of a war between God and the Devil with lots of angels and demons and some of his friends getting bitten by demons. Not bad for a nine-year-old.]
[I did in fact meditate in bed and had a long, complicated dream. When it ended I kept dipping back into it so the details below are jumbled in sequence as to when they occurred. Ramshackle House, first visit here in a long time. This one was bought from Joybroth's parents, who owned a house where Joybroth and I really lived almost 40 years ago, a cardboard shack which eventually burned down. We called it the Human Hotel.]
Jovie and I were able to buy a huge two-story, two-part house with a glass wall between the front and back parts, for only $35,000. Which we are elated about. A humble Mexican immigrant with a big fiberglass box with machine parts in the bottom of it is going my way (in an elevator) and some of the machine parts are for my elevator. I condescendingly try speaking to him in Visayan, then remind myself that he speaks Spanish and I don't. We arrive at our destination--somewhere in this huge house which I call a "castle"--and I try to point to which parts are mine, afraid he'll steal them. I see that he has a "tricycle" frame--the motorcycle sidecars used in the Philippines for taxis.
He knows exactly what parts are mine. I look around and gradually become aware that he owns a spotless modern machine shop with several employees. He helps me get all my parts together. [He is Whirly as indicated by the orange vehicle frame and he doesn't speak but he communicates very sparsely by hand actions and telepathy. He looks like a stereotypical Mexican with thick black wavy hair, big bushy moustache and long-sleeve button-down BLUE shirt.]
Back in the back half of the house--Jovie likes the front half.
The elevator is broken, but I have no intention of fixing it. I just want to put an inspiring picture on the elevator doors about astral projection.
I'm experiencing some of the junk left by the former owner, Joybroth's parents, for our amusement, especially a big screen TV full of pornography which I turn off after initially being drawn into it for a few seconds. [The house is the Ramshackle House which I've dreamed about my whole life, but this one is not rotten like some, and smaller than some; some are huge, like very old farmhouses with many floor and rooms and secret ways into the secret parts of the house and rotten floors, etc., sometimes occupied room by room by weirdos and sometimes long abandoned, always grandiose and mind-blowing and scary. For many years the common theme was rotten floors but nothing like this was noticed this time, just a broken-down elevator. This was a Big Dream and my direct experience of Intent = Result and Result = Intent was a big deal.]
[Added note: The practice lately has been unmotivated, the dreams depressing, and what little impetus there is behind it has been reverting to ancient times when a few days of momentum would be built on a false sense of enthusiasm. The Kriya meditation thing led to a quick burnout and complete about face and doubt of everything I'm doing except for the FK study which I believe is the only thing worth pursuing except for personal interests, writing, maybe simple meditation, lots of awakenings, focus on hypnagogia, of course breathing and this journal, and possibly a renewed interest in playing the guitar.]
[The above dream is about regression and attempted building up from a foundation of long-abandoned interests, among other things. It's definitely about spiritual materialism which is my greatest challenge sometimes. For years I said I'd given up forever on self-improvement (i.e. spiritual materialism) and that this giving up was better than a double lobotomy. To put it simply, not trying to fix myself made me a much better person. The complete about face I mention is a rejection of the main thrust of the Kriya dude's main thrust which is that he, after 16 years of meditating, can write three books and make a living as a spiritual guru and tell me what I should be doing while he supposedly isn't making the mistakes of the other guru dudes who he says are just doing it for the money. Highly suspect for someone selling three books, two sets of lessons, and making a living as an astrologer. Anyway this is covered better in the next section. Nothing against Kriya dude, it was fun while it lasted and I wish him the best as I leave him in the dust... the short path is where it's at for me. I want experiences and results and I want them now, not by building up some false notion of myself through massive long-term effort. I know how that sounds and I don't care. I yam what I yam. --ed.]
[Three hours into a brownout, I'm going to bed. Jovie and Taran aren't here. I will see what happens if I breathe a lot. I am finishing up a 2nd cup of real caffeinated coffee, the first was about 2 pm. Did not meditate today so will do it lying down right now. Doubt I'll go to sleep before 2 am. So if the power comes back on I will get up and read FK.]
[What actually happened is that I enjoyed my possibly adrenalin-rush powered rebellious attitude of "I will breathe my way to enlightenment and the naysayers can eat my dust" and "there is no such thing as astral projection because everyday life is astral projection" and that sort of thing. I was rewarded for high focus (or too much caffeine) by quickly passing out and waking up with high definition, full-color, multi-layer, dynamic images which I tried to move into, but had no power to do that, just went to sleep. When I woke up to meditate, instead I wrote a new first chapter for my next book Unworlding and went to sleep after that, sleeping in only till 6:37 and waking up in a decent mood for a change with no plans to fix myself and no stupid guilt about it. Had one dream that I know of, which I preferred not to get up and write down. Regarding soul retrieval "progress", this is not abandoned. This is exactly what I am doing, without the infinite BS.]
2016-11-20 6:37 am
[Earlier, during the wakenings, beautiful hypnagogia. Fine lines, full colors, layers upon layers of dynamic, self-sustaining, changing patterns. No dreams remembered. One was forgotten on purpose. Experience is everything, memory is a prison.]
[To bed. Don't move on awakening. Remember plan of action. Move into and through images.]
[Breathing is the only technique that matters.]
2016-11-21 3:30 am
[Brownout, no alarm but had to pee bad. Long, interesting dream, several characters personally showing me various places I could go to pee. Last one singing a beautiful European melody for me with a haunting harmony on the last note, no words.]
[Starting to think the Green Ripper is Whirly or an aspect of him. This dream ended by Green Ripper but he woke me up singing instead of showing me a vehicle to ride in. The last note he sang harmony with himself, pretty good trick. So maybe he's Whirly because I've been saying I wanted to hear Whirly's voice, and our first meeting he was playing many notes at once on two violin strings.]
At a closed-door meeting with DR/SC [and soul retinue; this is PLAN B]. I'm in a well-lit, small, long, narrow room with people sitting around at the edges of it. I go from person to person saying my name to each person by way of introducing myself, because this is apparently the way to introduce oneself to people, not that I would know. I get tired of saying my name over and over, I feel self-conscious. Each person I meet seems older and more senile than the last. But with each person I meet, I become closer to lucidity. The last few are women and I see their features clearly. The last one has a STUMP for a thumb. Then DR/SC sends me down the street to find a restroom in another building.
After the stress of meeting everybody and introducing myself all the way around, I arrive at some place in the Old City. My dad (SC) directs me to go to another building where I can pee. I end up in a gravel parking lot next to buildings where some young people are standing around. One young man, smaller with straight brown hair to his shoulders (Green Ripper--looks like a Rhaes) shows up in a pedaled vehicle that pulls a single wheeled-chair with a long pole as a hitch. Another young man gives him a single kiss on the lips. I wonder if they are gay or if men just kiss each other here. They have interesting traditions here, kinda European or something. As usual I decline a ride from the Green Ripper and his friend kisses him and he pedals away. His friend, a taller blond guy with thick hair (Hugh Leary). Someone else--short and a little pudgy with crew cut--like Curly/Whirly but shorter--(SC) takes me across the street.
The street and buildings are old. The street is full of odd paper making machines from a different timeline, an alternate history. [That's what this is: "my" country, but an alternate history, an alternate version of it.] SC telepathically warns me against showing too much interest in the machines as they are pumping out toxins. I wonder why the process of making paper is so toxic. We cross the street and I look, in passing, at all the clanking, steaming, hissing, odd shaped boilers and other various old iron devices pugging away in the old street or factory yard unattended. It's daytime and overcast.
Inside I am led to a wall of lockers with no doors, just cavities with shelves inset into a wall, all wood. The man next to me is carefully making superficial cuts or slices halfway through some firm material with a big knife. The material is round, about one inch thick, yellowish green translucent like wax or a cross-section of a large vegetable stalk. He's marking it off into sections like a pie chart. I learn telepathically that he's making paper or doing some part of that process. I ask him if he likes where he has ended up and what he has ended up with as his lot in life. He is tall, with thick blond hair, quiet and subdued. Wearing work clothes, dark gray work shirt. He indicates that he is both satisfied and dissatisfied, resigned to life's disappointments.
SC barges in, as if to remind me I was looking for a place to pee, by showing me a place to pee by demonstrating. He barges into a nicely varnished, oaken paneled room the size of an outhouse, the outside is cleanly and nicely made from solid oak, simple modern lines, not ornate, but the tall blond man objects that "You can not _____ in my _____," using technical religious terms I've never heard. SC ignores him. The reason it's taboo is that the man is a priest and the oaken room is part of the man's station for his use only. He now wears black robes like the picture of St. Joseph of Cupertino, the flying friar.
Outside now watching a diabolical drama unfold, good vs. evil. On a building across the way I see several people out on ledges and on the roof and there is some kind of conflict. The tall blond friar is now the bad guy defying the others to catch him and control him and bring him to justice.
SC/Green Ripper/Whirly gets my attention in the short corridor outside the men's room and in front of a window looking outside, by singing the traditional melody of his culture, an old culture. There are no lyrics, and he sings a four-part harmony on the last note, comprising a minor 7th chord. [This ends the dream, which still appears to be the Green Ripper's job. He is older, small but stout.]
[The Green Ripper looks like Wilbur Rhubottom, the old railroad man who taught my piano repair class when I was 18. He had the characteristic Green Ripper curly hair combed straight back over his head in waves. He and Hugh Leary were sworn enemies, and the tall man is both Whirly and Hugh Leary while the short man is Whirly and the Green Ripper. "Mr. Rhumonkey" as Hugh Leary used to call him. The dual role played by the tall blond man--priest and evil sorcerer--fits the role that Hugh Leary plays in my soul retinue as a role model from the dark side brought on board to help me defy the parts of my early training that I need to transcend. Whirly can play as many parts as he wants because he is my body of air, the sum total of all members of my soul retinue when each is balanced and doing his part correctly in accordance with my true needs.]
[Going back to bed in main bed, will try to sleep. Wrote in journal for an hour instead of meditating.]
[I have to say that I am glad I gave up trying to be spiritual. The double lobotomy effect is re-taking over and I feel more relaxed about "progress" and much more disdainful of the word "spiritual", as well I might. Max II's mother is threatening to go into labor. Aunt Juliet arrives tomorrow from "America". Arman finished the floor tiles yesterday and we had no money to pay him. I should not be relaxed. But I am. Nitpicker and Potwatcher cleaned Jovie's terrace garden all morning in the hot sun. I just finished my coffee. I'm out of cheese and chocolate. Maybe I'll take a nap or meditate or both. At this point I cannot recommend any guru except one's inner guru. I don't dislike gurus, I think they are cute and shiny. But it is an extreme distraction to fall for their BS. Not that one shouldn't do it now and again, just for the experience.]
[The Green Ripper's role is becoming clear. It seems he is a fella that came along to help me as a desperately miserable 13-year-old bedwetter. That is one message of the above dream. As a dream-ender, his job was and is to wake me up. Now he is still available to assist me, but instead of (exclusively) helping me wake up so I won't pee in the bed, he can use his special talents to also help me achieve lucidity. The dream was full of stuff to look at including the interplay of the Shadow's (Hugh Leary's) good and bad aspects. And he and the Green Ripper apparently have a built-in conflict of some kind? Interesting, have to look deeper at this dream.]
My workaholic, overly intense friend Breeze has a new hobby that makes him a happier, more pleasant person. He hangs out on the living room rug lying on his stomach carving intricately detailed patterns into pieces of bone. I remark that this suits him well since his work is in his face and he can see it in spite of his bad vision.
[To go directly to the astral, imagine anything and add five senses to this until you are in the scene.]
2016-11-23 3:25-4:05 am
[Meditation, then back to sleep in extra bed with mask. Couldn't sleep on back so I lay on side. Some images but went to sleep quickly.]
Wow, look, it's a castle! I point this out to SC (my "family") [Really my soul retinue]. And look at that moat, it's really deep and scary looking.
The castle is a light blue-gray color [see lucid dream Sept. 4, 2016, 3:34 a.m.] It seems too small, but the moat is so deep, I am suitably impressed. I wish I could go inside.
The tour guide warns us that when the pair of solid iron drawbridges clank into the down position, the SOUND is nearly deafening. Which then happens, and it is quite a STARTLING sound.
Inside, I quickly get lost going from room to room in fascination. I forget I'm in a castle, but the euphoric glow remains, which I got from viewing the castle from the outside. I seem to be in the tour guide's quarters, going from room to room, but I get the impression that the tour quide or whoever lives here keeps most of his/her stuff out of sight in case tourists find themselves wandering through the place.
I am approached by the resident, a young, smallish person with kinky curly short black hair [The Green Ripper again, but with a twist...]. At first she attracts me immediately and she wants to get physical, but she is so androgynous that I feel her crotch first to make sure she doesn't have a penis. I can't feel any evidence of one so I go ahead and go crotch-to-crotch with her and make out, but my family is around someplace so I'm in a hurry and we don't take our clothes off.
I notice there is some pornography laying around in one small cluttered room full of file cabinets and such. I toss a piece of dirty laundry on top of one calendar with pornographic pictures on it, in case my dad shows up. Which he does. [Forgot the rest.]
[LS] [Regarding having peak experiences about math.] "Then the peaks were basically nothing (i.e. they were unemotional) because they were about math."
[Wake from barely being asleep able to see ultra fine spiral lines when taking a deep breath. Also some very big spirals.]
[FK's description "noticing" beats "phasing" all to pieces. It's simple and obvious, untechnical, and it's a technique: by its very name, it tells you what to do. And it's about awareness, something you do with your attention. Notice = become aware.]
2016-11-24 7:35 pm
[Notice infinity and merge with it. Did lots of breathing today.]
[Was in timeless state or unaware of being asleep. Very surprised that one hour and 45 minutes had passed since I lay down. Practiced Noticing with great success. Many images seen effortlessly including strings of pearls. Had one OBE but can't remember it. From now on this is the only thing I do. Noticing is everything. Woke up in a strange hypnagogic state. Didn't move or open eyes till it faded.]
[More easy success with Noticing followed by awesome dreams:]
I've arrived at the swimming pool in my car with my parents arriving separately. I realize I forgot to bring swimming clothes and towels, so I'm sorting through a pile of junk on the passenger seat looking for a substitute. I look up and see my mom's already heading into the pool house. My dad gives me another $20 since I forgot to bring money. I shove the bill under a metal disc-shaped candleholder wrapped in a plastic bag so it won't blow away, and say thanks. I find a pair of beige shorts with a sewn hem that would work but too greasy. I find some shorts that won't work because they have no hem, so strings are hanging down from tattered edges. Finally I find shorts that might work--threadbare red cotton shorts faded to PINK. My dad exclaims that I'm all set, but I don't think so. I see they have no supporter inside, they are just one layer of thin and worn-out cotton. I try them on and show him that my anatomy can be seen very clearly right through the threadbare material. I put my street clothes back on.
I'm still out front of the poolhouse outside my car when I am amazed to see my old friend from elementary school, Amy H., standing there about 20 feet away smiling at me. We share a feeling of great recognition. [My only memory of her except her red hair is remembering that she sat next to me and one morning her mother brought her to school late and she cried because she had no clean dress and had to come to school in pants which would have been a big deal back then since girls had to wear a dress to school.] She is beautiful, all wrapped up in many clothes with the wind blowing her short bright red hair. I almost say, "Wow, look at you, you're all grown up now," but I think I better not since she's less than two feet tall and I don't want to embarrass her. I walk over to her, excited and happy, grinning. She is my Cwahacoy, I feel the affection from her. I try to tell her how embarrassed I am that my dad had to give me money, but I can't seem to talk. She reads my thoughts and responds, "Yeah, I'm embarrassed too because my parents gave me a Maverick." She is so perfect.
She sits down on the broken concrete driveway, looking partially away from me. I sit down and stare at her. I can't figure out why we are now the same size since we sat down. It will make making out more convenient, I notice in passing. I stare at her sculpted cheeks, the sun hits her face as she pretends to ignore me, enticingly. The sun's rays highlight the soft down on her face. The soft down becomes impossibly thick and long, so much that the wind blows it around. The beautiful soft hairs glisten, reflecting sunlight. She is perfect.
2016-11-26 3:25-3:35 am
[Meditation, then back to main bed with mask. Noticing.]
[I just deleted all my posts from the FB OBE group because being in the group had replaced my motivation to learn OBE with a different motivation. Attachment. Opposite of learning to OBE. This group screwed me up. Back to basics. This thing must be done alone. I will be changing treebard.com to unworlding.com. Also deleted some FB "friends" who were "letting me" be on their "friends" list. Keeping FB at bay is almost a full time job. It really sucks. FB really puts a hole in reality which draws energy out of me. I only have enough energy to supply so many leaks.]
[Suction of Sleep. Lying down to breathe.]
[LS1] [SP/Old Hag Syndrome; couldn't breathe... panic... took three fast breaths before I realized I should have relaxed and phased out. I have never been in SP long enough to recognize it or do anything with it.]
[LS2] A big wooden lodge in a forest has been remodeled to change its purpose and function. The roof has now been redecorated by adding three large plastic buffalos to it. [This is confirmation regarding the BS group I quit. I did the right thing, at least true to my own beliefs/feelings about it for a change. I had become concerned about my connections/networking with hobnobbers etc., becoming a Someone in a "field" or having status. I quit to control myself. What anyone else did is irrelevant and of course nobody did anything to me, I just saw in a mirror suddenly and found it embarrassing and horrifying. I don't want to be remembered by those people. Wading through the Discouragement Fraternity to get to the top... of the dungheap... no thanks.]
3016-11-26 3:15 am
Me and someone else (SC) are hanging out with our new friend Andy Williams (famous singer from the 1960s). It's a warm summer night and we're on foot when Andy bursts into song, hitting an exquisite high note as he floats vertically across an intersection as if his feet had wings. All the people in cars or whatever clap and cheer. [Whirly's voice.] Then we walk behind a restaurant [Whirly] and he shows us some potted plants with big hairy leaves. I momentarily wonder whether Andy's really the best role model for me, I mean he's not that macho, right? He hung with the Osmonds after all. But I decide, what the heck, everybody loves Andy Williams, everybody. Things fall apart when my inner cynic reminds me he is too old or else dead. [Actually someone's trying to make me lucid.]
In the empty house we like with our mom (SC is Mark?) We've sat down and she is exclaiming how well the large house has been cared for when I gradually break the news to her: we are trying to buy the house. Even though me and my two friends each have bad credit, it seems like among the three of us, the bank should be able to find something to like about us, right?
Again skepticism raises its ugly head. It all seems so very doubtful.
[The new strong house is an indication that recent moves have added stability to the practice, doubts notwithstanding.]
[Lying down with mask to do Noticing/rundown trials. They just turned on their siren sound effects next door for sound tests in preparation for a birthday celebration. These things happen for a reason (disturbances as soon as I lay down to breathe, do awakenings, meditate, etc.) More practice at ignoring distractions. Seems to be of primary importance for me, assuming there are no coincidences. Just drank coffee, that should help.]
[No trouble sleeping.]
[Back to bed, doubt I will sleep more.]
[No trouble sleeping but of course "trying" to do awakenings and not sleep so hard.]
At a park, I've just arrived with three slices of hot pizza which I intend to personally consume. As I approach a foot bridge crossing over into the park from a sandy area, Dede and Bebing see me coming with pizza and Dede says, "A salamat," (Hey thanks) but I try to convey by body language and telepathy that they'll have to go back to the house for their own slices. Which is what they do.
I wolf down my slices with great enthusiasm. The sauce is tangy, the cheese is tasty, and the pineapple explodes with a sweet burst of flavor. Just as I'm swallowing the last of it, Taran shows up and he's finishing his slice too. I ask him if he wants more and he says yes, without hesitation. I tell him we'll head back for more right away. I first make a point of finishing my dessert, a sort of GREEN jello plus milk and custard or something, looks like fine noodles.
When telling Dede to get more I make a point of saying "Kuha-i," instread of "Kuha-a." ("Take some," vs. "Take it all.") Worrying that I won't get enough if I act too generous.
[It's rare that I remember dreams in naps, but this was a long nap.]
2016-11-27 3:50 am
Returning to a fabulous store of custom hobbyist supplies where we'd been just that day, this time to find books and supplies for making guitars, Mark and I are excited and Jeff (SC) is our guide. As we arrive and see the Bookstore from the outside, I can already taste the awesomeness of how great it's gonna be to see inside another hobby for the second and third time in one day.
Once inside, we are temporarily distracted by a pair of racing spiders the owner is playing with. They have brown, yellow-spotted bodies 3/4 inch in diameter and a total leg span of 3 or 4 inches, and when they run, they are just a blur, they go around the whole room, up the walls, across the ceilings and back to where they started in less than five seconds. It's a big spacious grand room with oaken moldings and high arched ceilings. The owner explains that spiders run with utmost silence, they don't make a loud skittling sound like in the movies. I find the silence even creepier than the skittling and I'm afraid of their circumnavigations of the room. I'm glad when we move on to something else.
The owner and I are going to another part of the room to see something else when we pass an archway with a door, rounded at top to fit the archway, which is held closed by a pair of blocks and slide bars on left and right. I explain that Mark and I had made the pair just recently, but Mark's side has broken already. I'm getting ready to boast that I have worked in a pipe organ factory, while he... but then I recall he is a highly experienced theatrical set designer, the equivalent of a carpenter, so I keep my mouth shut.
A performer is singing a slowed-down version of "Fire and Rain" by James Taylor, and while he sings, a fat black woman obviously suffering in some way looks at me accusingly, then lies back down resigned to her fate. The singer is a largish lumpy old white fella with a shaved head.
[There is only one awareness throughout all of existence/reality, and existence/reality is infinite, so awareness is infinite. But there's only one infinity to go around so we call it Oneness. Oneness can't be divided among us separate entities, it is shared in its infinitude by each and every particle of the universes. While awarenss can't be split up, it can be shared, so that as one soul, with many parts, infinity can be and become aware of itself from an infinity of perspectives.]
[Because there is only one soul, the myth of reincarnation has grown up. As soon as the temporal barriers between separate entities are dissolved temporarily, we tend to merge resonantly with others that partially share our configuration, "we" experiencing their lives, thus making the honest mistake that we have lived before. But the mistake is identifying with the identity instead of the soul. It is the one soul that we are, all the same. As awareness we can all merge simply by dissolving the separations between us. Literally, not figuratively. However the separations are temporal; without time there can be no permanent separations of identity among us and we automatically merge as one soul. Thus reincarnation, oversoul collectives, etc.]
[FK p. 1098: Franks says don't focus on images but beyond or through them, same as MR.]
[Look in the mind for the place where you see without eyes.]
2016-11-28 3:10 am
[Woke up from this dream earlier and was strongly hypnagogic so wanted to experience that instead of writing down the dream right away, and of course went to sleep after watching images for only seconds. So lost the details of the dream for no reason.]
Grass Valley, old timey, several of us are having an important MEETING about our mining project. When the meeting breaks up, a woman who carries the gold is admonished to not lose it. The gold is kept as a solid, long bar about six feet long wrapped in paper shaped like a giant scepter with bulbs at each end. [Very intense dream, many details lost.]
2016-11-29 1:43 am
[I just was woken by Jovie moving in bed and watched beautiful fully-formed images of Himalayan lakes, one after another, with one fading to make way for the next.]
[I'm closing down my online book/ongoing progress journal Meetings of Possible Ways and starting a new effort called Unworlding which is my new term for "phasing" as per FK. I need to be having experiences. The idea is that the physical body-mind-world is a place I'm stuck and an experience of "unworlding" is a matter of temporarily getting unstuck. Obviously when I manage to get permanently unstuck I might not come back to tell about it.]
[I am not going the dream route but rather the direct route, as in the "WILD or wake-induced lucid dream" or MR's "direct" OBE separation. But this terminology ("dreams" and "OBEs") is not going to be used anymore, it just sticks in the craw and I think using the wrong words is the same thing as not using the magic words when you know them, and when you know it is the magic words that get things done.]
[As for this dream journal, I've gotten a recent message about "toxic paper" and then there's the dream I just had:]
A young man, kind of a highly intelligent adventurer as well as a truck driver, wants to be a writer. I try to encourage him despite the naive, super long manuscript he shows me, but then he comes back with his truck to the gas station and shows me a new manuscript on BLUE paper [7ness, true knowing, wisdom]. I tell him, "Blue paper can't be copied, the dark background will copy." I abandon him to go back to my own personal quest, a book project of my own, but I've allowed it to be pushed onto a small round table where it's stacked haphazardly with a lot of water spilled on it, or else it was left out in the rain. I vow to take better care of my own interests.
[No more nitpicking new-agey self-analysis. My new effort is to prove that unworlding can be learned by anyone without changing their personality first, and that no other technique is needed. I will proceed under the notion that all the shiny images of the new age writers are just that: images. Even CC was selling books. All are suspect. My "practice" including meditation will all be converted unapologetically to unworlding. My soul retrieval is completely unfinished like me and there it will remain. THIS is the attitude that got me my first experiences in expanded realities as reported at the end of each chapter of this book. Self-confidence independently held. Not very new agey. I'm taking back that feeling of being DONE with self-improvement which was so new to me 12 years ago and which got me through the past 12 years with a new attitude, not a perfected one, but no longer one driven by a cringing, groping, shrivelled-up need to be someone other than who I am. In fact, it was after I started to try to change myself again that I started getting people attacking me and bullying me again.]
[To be fair to the soul retrieval process, it was important and still is. But I have two things to say about that: 1) these things can't be rushed, and 2) there has to be a life of some kind backing it up. Total immersion and obsession with self-improvement becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy amounting to "I am not good enough, let me count the ways."]
[I'm keeping the breathing of course as it's my technique as proven by everyone else's refusal to take a glimpse of it. I am now completely convinced that we each are the center of a completely exclusive and separate universe of realities that merely intersect with each other. Only our blindness and thick-headed insistence on glossing over instead of noticing keeps us from seeing that there is no such this as reality.]
[I am unworlding. The dream is over.]
2016-11-30 11:15 pm
[For the past hour since I went to bed I have tested my first rundown about three times or maybe only two, and it worked so well that a potentially two-minute rundown occupied an hour, running through it twice. Among other things it showed that doing this at bedtime is not necessarily a waste of time (depending on the focus, enthusiasm level, drive to not fall asleep, etc.)]
[I was physically exhausted from a long day of riding to and from the beach in a crowded jeepney and being at the beach for hours and swimming a lot, strenuously since I wanted to use the opportunity to break out of a crappy mood at having been pulled out of my stay-at-home, anti-social routine. Not that I felt driven to socialize either, but I did swim hard, and alone, because unlike most beaches here in the doldrums, there was deep water here and most Filipinos won't go into deep water because, having grown up near the ocean, they don't actually know how to swim. So with every stroke and kick I was investing personal energy, my rebellious nature, my stupid feeling of paranoid superiority, etc. It energized me, and I was glad I did not stay home. But physically I was exhausted when I finally lay down to try my new rundown.]
[Upon lying down to being Noticing I immediately fell asleep, but quickly woke up with yellow and orange streamers of light curling around my legs and all over the place, even when I got up to pee and write in my journal. So as I began my first rundown, the imagineering had quite a bit of competition from full-color, big, 3D images and lights all over the place. [Projection Room a.k.a. Focus 12.] Of course I briefly tried rolling "out" but that wasn't "going" anywhere so I just kept climbing and in this state, each color appeared as a big splotch of bright color before I could even imagine the color. I had practiced the rundown several times during the day so it was already memorized.]
[At the top of the climb, Aunt Juliet and June Ann were there to help me into the library, but I just kept going, only noticing them and moving on. Then inside the Library my first lapse of the conscious mind--switch, I mean--awakening, that is--was my experience of June Ann speaking about three sentences to me.]
[Only seconds later, I experienced another awakening. As usual, I had removed a book from the shelf to feel its texture, flip through the pages, etc., but when I pulled the book off the shelf, it surprisingly turned into a 3D fold-out book and it folded out into a house. Then I realized I was in an awakening surrounded by family, the people in the jeepney, but they were all beaming at me and happy about something I'd just accomplished. Of course at first you are brought out of the switch by lucidity (realizing you've just switched to a first person experience of an expanded environment), so again I re-started where I'd left off. Only seconds later, I had just chewed my tasty cheese when I pulled myself out of another lapse and got into the elevator where it happened again.]
[So this is how it works. These lapses--which are followed by a switch to first person which is followed by an awakening--are essential to the process of learning to attain the focus 10 or mind-awake, body-asleep state, wherein you can just hang out and move about at will in a rudimentary but completely altered state of expanded awareness. These experiences of lapse-switch-awakening I have previously called little dreams (LS) or non-lucid OBEs (NLOBE) depending on whether I was in some dream environment (LS) or in my bedroom (NLOBE). I'm just going to call them "awakenings" from now on as that term triggers the part of my mind I want to keep awake, whereas "lapse" sounds like a mistake or a goof, and "switch" is RAM's term, and all his terminology needs to be changed to keep his followers on their toes. The awakening has also been called "microsleep" in MPE's videos and MR called them "lapses" in his description of his direct method.]
[This inaugurates my second year of practice. The first year was about details and obsessively trying hard. The second year is going to be about finding a sustainable level of effort, a balance point where things become easy. It's going to be about bypassing hurdles, going around obstacles, and attaining my goal efficiently.]
2016-12-01 3:09 am
[With musical background which repeats in my mind after I wake up, and lyrics repeating, "There's a way that life is... There's a way that life is..."]
SC and I have been staying at the Rich People's House while they're gone, with or without their knowldege, and we're trying to devise a way to use their swimming pool without tracking water all over their floor. I jokingly suggest installing a peep hole in their front door so we will know when they've returned, but SC doesn't think it's funny. We're sitting on their front room brown carpet drying off and I'm looking at the carpet thinking it shows quite a bit of wear, it doesn't really look all that sacred.
[Back to bed.]
*** *** ***
Here is the promised quote of what I consider to be a classic awakening direct from an unsleepy, alert state of mind into an expanded environment of reality. The date on this entry is 2016-10-11. I was in the hospital at the time. I was not asleep.
[...I was in a hypnagogic phase and I was picturing a long ridge of soil which I turned into a huge dike, then I jumped off it. I learned from this and other instances that you are really close to phasing if you actually get butterflies in your stomach when you jump off something high. Then you have to control the fear or it shoots you with adrenalin. So anyway,] I landed and was walking around a sandy place outside a building when I phased into an OBE state spontaneously, but lost lucidity at the same time. I was a woman and I looked up at the door of the building on my left. I could see words on the front porch like an address or small sign, but couldn't read them. [Then I was suddenly yanked into the physical with a hypnagogic twitch. This is one of the best instances I can recall of going from a hypnagogic state directly into a dream state. I lost lucidity but I didn't lose consciousness, my awareness didn't blink out, I just forgot who I was.]
This is the end of my online dream journaling. I achieved my goal of experiencing OBE and lucid dreams, but upon doing so I found it personally desirable to rename these coveted phenomena and to point out to myself and anyone who'll listen that underneath every OBE and lucid dream "technique" is a common technique which I am calling the "methodless method" which makes all the other techniques redundant and unnecessary window dressing. My new focus is the methodless method of unworlding.