September 11, 2012
I fly out of a ledge of sorts fully lucid. Mario, my brother, remains behind. I fly a ways before realizing he is more than hesitating; he isn’t coming. I call to him to come flying with me. “Come on, Mario, this is a lucid dream, come flying with me!” He’s a distant figure on this ledge, an opening in a wall, through which he sends tiny bubbles my way, shining, ephemeral pieces of his essence which is all he seems to have the courage or desire or ability to send flying with me. It’s not good enough, I keep calling out to him to come flying with me as I catch one of these “bubbles” (as insubstantial as the 3D image of tiny fish swimming out of the television screen I reached for last night in waking reality) and the fact that I do this at last gets him to respond. He comes flying out of the alcove and hovers beside me, doing a little awkward dip but otherwise doing just fine. I say, “See, I knew you could do it!”
Someone I identify as Lourdes, my sister, is with us. The three of us are flying together in a dream, which is special enough. Before falling asleep, I was thinking about experimenting with my senses in a lucid dream, and I begin to do just that, encouraging my siblings to do the same as we coast along. Touch… I slap Mario’s arm and feel the resistance and texture. Hearing… I can seem to hear myself talking to them. Sight is a given. Taste… there’s no food around. I ask them if they can smell anything as I inhale, but pick up no discernible scents. Lourdes surprises me by declaring that she can smell smoke. “Smoke?” I ask even as beyond her through a glass wall I see a fire burning, one of at least half a dozen small and steady, contained fires burning at the center of shallow circular “mounds”. These fires are separated by several yards and stretch out almost as far as I can see to what might be the sea in the distance.
I pause our relaxed flight to look carefully around me. We’re in a long building and I can clearly see metal beams and infrastructure. We’re in an open section that serves as a main corridor to which I see no beginning or end. To what feels like the north, very far away, a suggestion of shapes on the horizon is what appears to be a city, or the ruins of one. I am very clearly, lucidly there. I remember what I perceived as the ruins of a train track, a broken end jutting up and out—a visual equivalent of the knowledge I was looking at the remains of a dead or dying world. I tell my siblings to look carefully around us so that when we wake up we can remember what we’re seeing and compare notes. I say, “So there are two glass walls on either side of us” and realize that’s not the case. Across from the glass wall I suddenly see an opening that appears to lead outside.
I think Mario wants to keep going down the corridor but I don’t want to risk becoming trapped so we all head out. But what appeared to be open space is still enclosed in the sense that a large cave is outside yet also inside, yet it’s a man-made structure. However, there’s a narrow gray-blue river running through the space we can follow. I have the idea that the city in the distance is where we might find answers to where we are, and meanwhile we can possibly have a little lucid fun playing in the water. Mario and Lourdes (or people I identify as my brother and sister) are still with me as we explore the enigma of the dream scene. Mario veers off to a ledge and I remind them to look at their hands, as I do briefly before squeezing my breasts, perfunctorily practicing deepening techniques. I’m well rooted in lucidity but the dream is going on for so long I think I might not be able to remember it all, which I in fact believe I don’t. Then I see what Mario is looking at, a chicken man! The disturbing hybrid seems frightened of us and is trying to crawl back into a rock, a mutation of a man’s head with the suggestion of a chicken’s body and much bigger duck-like feet, something out of a Simpson’s cartoon but real. I’m wondering now if the fires we saw belong to an abandoned or dying factory. I don’t know what happens but suddenly we’re flying back the way we came at a much faster rate. I remark “I wish we could find a restaurant so I can experiment with my dream taste buds” and a woman, one of a crowd of people walking just below us, hears me and says there’s no chance of that happening, meaning no resource would ever be used there to experience anything new.
I’m flying blind at high speed when I abruptly spot what looks like a pink message slip attached to a locker and grab it as I zoom past. The name “Betsie” is clearly written on it. I don’t understand how or why I saw this particular detail of all the many I passed by in the dark, but there’s a reason, and it has something to do with the whole problem. I think I may have been exiting the lucid dream along one of those mysterious tunnels I’ve often encountered on the Other Side because this is where it gets weird… The woman I’m with now is saying it’s all about Betsie, this extraordinarily beautiful woman who is permitted to call a council, or something, to inform it of a life-endangering problem. I lead my two female companions (no longer my siblings) up to a higher level and from there to a roof top where we can talk in private. The dark-haired young woman is really upset because she had to take all her money out of her account; she couldn’t afford rent but her funds were connected to her roommate’s and she didn’t tell her. Suddenly she falls off the roof and hits the ground stories below. I say to the remaining woman “she woke up for sure” and warn her not to get too emotional because she’ll wake up too. Yet when I fly down to the flat, broken figure I’m surprised to see it open its eyes. She’s supposedly still lucid but I don’t recall if anything happened before my own lucidity slipped away. I know the dream lasted about an hour because I fell asleep shortly after looking at the clock at 2:45 and when I woke it was 3:55.
After recording the lucid dream and going back to sleep I find myself in dreams the first of which I remember involved giving two women bobby pins to put on their white sleeves that will remind them to do research on any coming disasters that might have led to the state of the world I saw in my lucid dream (something like that!) Then I’m riding in a well lit spacious train or subway car; I remember reds and yellows. To my left there are two men, a blonde man half facing away from me who I “recognize” as important. I can tell he’s aware of me but is pretending not to be even as I see his head turn slightly in my direction now and then. I’m acutely aware of his eyes. To my right there’s a person accompanying a small black-baby-creature-thing who tells his guardian I was his grad student. I’m surprised and delighted by this statement, a fact I communicate to my female companion before I ask the indescribable black-infant-professor-thing what my area of study was. He replies without hesitation, “Hapuseneb.” I know he’s telling the truth then, because that’s the name I’ve chosen for one of my Guardian Lords.
Dream Note: Not the first lucid dream I’ve had with a dystopian setting or feel, although usually they involve coastal areas flooding. I don’t see it so much as a “vision” of the future as an undeniable aspect of the present, what’s already happening, as it becomes more and more obvious that our oil driven civilization is not sustainable. Increasing hardships and strained resources, perhaps spreading even to presently more affluent countries, seem inevitable during the painfully slow transition to more sustainable forms of energy and a more enlightened global economy.
I don’t know (yet) why I saw the name or letters B e t s i e. I’ve learned that when I hear or see a specific word in a dream, I’m sometimes condensing several words into one, for example, “You’re in Algeria” to “Ugia.”
That last bit on a train strikes me as the ride back to “normal” dreams supervised by one of my Guardian Lords.