Flowering Tree Canopy

November 19, 2012

I go and visit someone who lives on a pleasant suburban street. I recline on an outdoor seat and rest there. The sky is curiously overcast, more to the left than the right, but the clouds are tinged with orange-gold, not dark storm clouds. The atmosphere is hazy, still, not my preferred weather but I’m okay with being there for a while. I sit motionless gazing around me, content, completely aware and yet utterly relaxed. A man sits down on my right, apologizing for disturbing me, and I tell him it’s quite all right. He describes how he’s always busy doing things, never sits still, and I confess to being the same away, always working on something except for in the evening when I watch a movie. The contrast to the deep meditative state he found me in to how I usually behave is quite astonishing, and I make note of it as a good thing.

I’m perhaps peeking out the window again and as I lean over to do so, a small brightly painted wooden bird turns it’s head to look at me. I am amazed! “How do you hear me?” I exclaim. It doesn’t reply but the answer to me feels like the very heart, the secret, of the universe, of all existence. This miracle is not little, it is everything. Difficult to put into words. An inanimate object is aware! I conclude with feelings rather than thought that there is no such thing as lifeless matter, that all substance is mysteriously aware. (I think now how I phrased the question “How DO you hear me” not “How CAN you hear me” is significant.)

I twirl around watching a small golden butterfly flitting around me and reaching up, it alights on my right fingertips. I quickly ascend a pedestal of sorts and show the Native American woman standing there, who turns to face me, my animal totem, which flies away again. I see that she too has a butterfly totem, the same size as mine but a bright jewel-like blue. I experience a pang of jealousy, because the yellow one seems more common, and I wonder at how she is able to keep the butterfly perched on her fingers, and actually wonder if she’s using some kind of harmless glue in order to make it seem like the butterfly is remaining with her willingly.

I’m deep in a video game quest. I am my awareness and the character at the same time in a disembodied first person sense. I’m running to escape multiple pursuers and when the turn-style in the train station doesn’t light up and let me pass through it, I leap over it and run down the steps to the platform, but at once I realize the train sitting on the tracks is still and dark, not active in this quest, so I run back up the steps and turn right to run up another set of stairs leading to the exit. Before the line of glass doors I pause over the scene deciding which one is best but my pursuers, all wearing dark suits, are right there and neither door is free of them. I laugh as my intent seems to take the form of a ceramic baking dish I move toward one of the doors as though putting it in the oven, and out I go! My pursuers right on my heels, I begin scaling the building Assassin’s Creed style, making it all the way to the top, bright white molding, where I sit down as my intent sends my character racing invisibly across the roof top too swiftly for his enemies to catch him.

At this point I separate myself from the character, releasing it, and doing so is synonymous with the knowledge that I’m dreaming. Amused by the foiled men crowding the space I’m perched on, I rise and fly away happily, adopting a relaxed Superman pose. I feel as though I could wake up, that my hold on the dream is tentative, so I pat my breasts, my preferred deepening technique, and stay calm as I move forward. The clean, pleasant city street directly below me is obscured by the branches of a vast tree, one of which I distinctly feel scrape my left arm as vividly as in WR, a fact I wonder about. It seems to be getting my attention and instead of trying to find my way through its branches I linger there, pleased by the lush beauty of the large white flowers adorning its long boughs, white flowers with multiple layers of petals and a wide flat blue heart (as best I can describe it) composed of small circles of the color I somehow remember as being separate and yet also one. The blue is dark and yet light at the same time. I descend a little and rest on my back in mid air coasting very slowly beneath this vast, sprawling tree canopy in full bloom. The flowers all hang down facing me. It’s wonderful here, lovely, but eventually I fly out from beneath the tree and over the canopy of the forested area I now find myself in. It’s dark and I see no stars, only the silhouettes of leafy trees below me. I ask the dream to take me to ancient Egypt during the Old Kingdom. I keep flying slowly forward through the darkness above the trees and the dream fades.

A false awakening. Back in the rec room where several young looking women are eating at TV tables on the couch. I understand that they were in my lucid dream; they became lucid on that roof top just as I did. This is important, my first shared lucid dream, but at the moment I am occupied with the urgent task of recording the dream, for which I fetch my iPod, surprised it’s still almost fully charged even though I haven’t used it in weeks. There is a man in the room and I describe the flowers blooming on the tree in detail and he tells me, quite certain of his identification, what they are. Unfortunately, he gives me the Latin name, which consists of three words, and I can’t remember it at all. I wake up for real.

Dream Notes: I must come up with new lucid dream intents. It’s my own fault I woke because I’ve already tried the “take me to ancient Egypt in the time of” phrasing several times. I need to let that intent go for now and come up with fresh ones. I’m glad I was doing nothing in the dream where I reclined outside. I have no projects left to work on. Time to relax and just be for a while without feeling pressured to keep working, even if that work is creative. Don’t quite know what to make of the butterfly totem and the blooming tree except that they feel good, positive.

Comments and Questions Welcome