May 26, 2013—Full Moon
4 mg Galantamine 2:45 and right back to sleep.
Hypnagogic audio of an undulating siren-like sound that appears to be coming from the road down the mountain. It goes on and on and I hear Stinger’s heavy footfalls approaching down the hallway, as though he hears it too and is concerned about what might be happening. MY only concern is that he’s about to walk into my lucid dreaming room and wake me up just as the top of my head comes alive with promising vibrations. I wake.
I’m in the rec room where my bed should be as a voice instructs me to very carefully watch the video playing on the TV and make out as many details as possible to remember. I understand this is training for OBE’s and, looking down, I find myself taking notes with a pen on paper. The scene I’m viewing is taking place outside a brick house I recognize (but not from waking reality) and involves what appear to be two police officers or paramedics urgently wheeling someone away. Their charge is invisible as the camera is focused on their faces, a black man and a young white man. I look down at the paper and notice I’m having difficulty writing, in fact, all I can mange suddenly is a tight spiraling scribble. Oh, I’m dreaming! I’m elated, and sensing Arthur on his favorite spot on the couch behind me declare—I made it boy! Yet I feel rooted to the spot on the carpet and I’m not sure he’s really there. I try turning to the wall behind me that I’ve gone through before but I feel impossibly heavy. I sit back against the couch and watch the film for a few seconds, stabilizing myself before getting down on hands and knees and attempting to crawl around to the wall. Making a supreme effort, I feel my body jerk in bed and I lose the dream.
I hear someone outside the front door trying to get in and find myself leaning back against a wall just outside the kitchen looking left toward the door, which is open about an inch. I very much want to let the man inside because I feel doing so will enable me to fully enter the dream.
I become aware of standing outside at night, one of a handful of people loosely gathered on a sidewalk fronting a very tall white building that feels like a cathedral, narrowing as it rises. I’m confused about being there. Turning toward the quiet street, I see our Subaru sitting in the street, completely dark, with the passenger door slightly ajar. Odd… apparently, I drove here. There is a similar car parked behind it, and behind that a police car and a young police officer standing beside it. I want to walk over to my car but I can’t seem to manage it. However, it doesn’t matter because I know I’m embedded in a dream scene when the wind begins lifting me up and carrying me away. As I surrender to the swift, effortless flight through the darkness, I hear the police officer calling for backup.
I fly above a massive white crenelated building surrounded by what appears to be a dense canopy of trees. The darkness is absolute, no stars, just this beautiful palatial building. I soon come upon another one which is fronted by buttresses that are a beautiful blue color. I am familiar with this facade, I know it somehow. The look of the walls makes me think—Germany, I’m in Germany (but this may be because my German step grandfather gave me two splendid photo books of German castles when I was 15). The palaces, or maybe it’s one palace and I’m seeing it from different angles, seems part of the mountains. Then suddenly I become aware that my ankles are bound as though with rope. Sensation! I’m glad of it because it means I’m becoming more deeply rooted in the dream. Then I’m lying on my stomach in bed writhing sensually, a little aroused by this bondage. Until I hear male voices talking behind me quietly (but deliberately just loud enough for me to hear) making lascivious jests about what they’re planning to do to me. I realize I’m about to get gang-banged as I feel all of them crawling onto the bed with me, a pack of demons. I smile. I know exactly what’s going on: sleep paralysis. Sure enough, one of them looms over me and the silhouette of his face takes on a demonic, gargoyle-like profile edging menacingly closer and closer. My smile deepens and my absolute lack of fear diffuses the threatening situation. The profile becomes that of a handsome man smiling down at me as though he’s proud of me. Then directly before me in the dim golden darkness, I get to watch a man and a woman kissing in sensual detail before I phase out of the dream.
I’m in the rec room, standing where the big screen TV is in reality. I observe Stinger walk in from where he’s asleep in our bedroom. He’s been pulled into my dream, as often happens. He looks like a younger version of himself but his hair is too short, a little less than shoulder length and he’s clearly not lucid; his eyes aren’t focused and his coordination makes him look totally drunk. But his presence finally enables me to step into a dream! He’s shirtless and he looks good, muscled and firm. I think I’m still aroused from my recent lucid dream because I kneel before him and pull off his pants.—Come on, I urge, deliberately removing my own clothing, which consists of a form-fitting long-sleeved shirt of a smooth, snake-skin like color and texture which might actually be a bodice because I also seem to have a skirt. Finally, I get it all off and sit back on the love seat as he comes to stand awkwardly over me. I jut out my breasts, really wanting him to suck on my nipples, which he does, but for some reason, I still have pants frustratingly wound around the bottom of my legs. Remembering my intent, I leave him behind as I move over to the magical spot in the wall .
I have no problem slipping my right hand through the wall and at once I find the wide stair banister James described. It feels more like metal or plastic than wood, but I keep my hand on it and step into the wall. In the dimness of gray potential, I clearly see white steps ascending at a rather steep angle. Elated, I walk up them quickly, already seeing a corridor lined by doors. I can scarcely believe I’ve made it into the Mansion so easily. And, apparently, I haven’t, because the place looks more like a hospital corridor, and nurse’s station. I see a few dream characters in white jackets and watch a slender woman enter escorted by one of them. She’s talking animatedly, very happy to be there even though she seems to be an incoming patient. She’s talking about the man who loves her so much, who cares for her always, and I understand she’s referring to her Guide, not a lover, husband or boyfriend. Studying her slender figure, I think how I would love her too. If I was a man, a male Guide? But the question seems rather senseless, I simply understand that she is, like everyone else, totally loveable even though there is nothing extraordinary about her.
I have a false awakening where I find myself standing in a small and featureless but relatively well lit space with the rec room opening to my left while before me stretches the corridor leading to our bedroom. Suddenly, I hear and feel a popping loose sensation coming from my left wrist. Looking down, I see that my watch has broken because there’s only half a face as it shifts to the left off the screen. Really weird… oh, I’m dreaming! I lose no time in heading to the wall and reaching in for the bannister with both hands. There it is. I pass through the wall and there’s the staircase. As I ascend, I lose all visuals, but I don’t let that stop me; I simply look down at my watch and visuals return immediately and clearly. The place is now quiet and dark, as though it’s night. I call out—James! At first my voice is oddly constricted, but I’m able to speak more loudly as I call his name again. I enter a dark room where I can make out the ghostly white figure of a patient sitting up on the left, while to my right I discern another dimmer figure lying prone on a bed. This definitely looks like a hospital yet also feels like a hospice where people extremely close to death are watched over. I walk back out into the hall, which is better lit, and ask—Is there someone here who can help guide me? There’s no response and I keep walking. I’m surprised and happy when I hear a man say, from a few yards behind me—I can assist you. I turn around and see a light-haired man in a white doctor’s coat approaching along the narrow space between white lab-like counters. I walk right up to him and ask—Do you know where I can find James? He busies himself doing something, smiling in a snide sort of way as he replies that James obviously has better things to do than meet me. I say—No, he’s trying to find me in a dream too. We begin walking in the opposite direction but he’s not being helpful, I think he even suggests I give up and hang out with him instead. But I see the front lobby, very spacious, the glass walls rising up and up, and outside the colorful lights of traffic and a city, so I leave him behind, heading eagerly for the glass doors.
Outside, I approach the long white curb. The street is alive with traffic and there are people standing around as though in front of a grand hotel. It feels exciting out here, and I’m unusually aware of the different vehicles, all passing at almost breakneck speed, even trucks, one of them taking the curve so fast it seems in danger of losing control and careening into me. I’m not in the least bit concerned, and it occurs to me that I’ve never driven a really cool car in a lucid dream, something James has done more than once, I know. It seems like a fun idea. Studying the traffic, I consider conjuring one. I’m not familiar with cars, but I remember a Z-3 Roadster I thought was cool years ago and, there it is, speeding my way, closely followed by three blue race cars with yellow trims. I’m delighted, but then I remember my intent. Looking around me at the expansive city scene, which feels like no real city I’ve ever been in, I see a man in a black coat standing a few feet away and approach him. I ask him—Do you know where I can find the Mansion? At first he doesn’t seem to know what I’m referring to, but as I turn away I see him gesture vaguely behind him and hear him say something like—Over there. It looks far away beyond buildings on top of a long tall hill or small mountain. The street has transformed into a canal on which glide compact square yellow taxis, gliding along the surface of the water like mechanical water bugs. I cry—Taxi! hailing one that passes right below me along the stone shoreline, but I’m not surprised when it doesn’t stop because I see it already has a passenger. The second taxi I hail does stop, but I have to wade out through the water to get to it. I open the door on the driver’s side, and see that it’s way too small for me to fit inside. The yellow exterior and the driver’s black uniform evoke a cubist bee. I say—Can you take me to the Mansion? He replies that he can’t because only those with serious worries or problems go there. We’re gravitating toward the shore as he speaks, and I’m disappointed, but then he looks straight at me and tells me there are other reasons to go to, or means to gain entrance to, the Mansion. His exact words are—Quiet promises. Deep dreams.
He smiled as he spoke and I’m filled with joy as I pull myself out of the water and stand looking up at the sky, repeating over and over—Quiet promises. Deep dreams. Quiet promises. Deep dreams.
All this time I’ve thought of my body as being happily sound asleep and I still feel secure in the dream. Walking along the canal (very much like the canals built around palaces in ancient Egypt) I consider flying off to experience something else in this dream, but I really want to remember what the driver said to me, I don’t want to forget it, so it seems like a good idea to wake myself up. I look at my hands and note that my fingers are all different sizes, apparently an odd side effect of Galantamine because the few times I’ve done it I’ve observed this phenomena. Yes, I really should wake up and I do, phasing out of the dream.
Dream Notes: In a nutshell, our Inner Self can be likened to a Mansion with many rooms/spaces/dimensions. My dream partner James and I have been talking about the possibility that an Inner Self might possibly consist of numerous souls, which would help explain the connection between certain people and the increased ability to dream share. Seth’s Oversoul. Theoretically, persons who share an Inner Self/Mansion can find each other there in dreams.