Funny Exorcism

July 13, 2013

Lots of dreams in the late morning, woke from the last one at 7:30.

I’m deep in a dream, moving around a spacious house and grounds, conscious of how I see and experience the dream space when I’m lucid in a different way from my dream partner James, for example, who may notice more physical details while I get more of a feel for the general atmosphere of places. But even as I think this I know how we experience a lucid dream isn’t really that different because we both see and grasp the nature of what we’re seeing and the details themselves are already mysteriously there inside us in the first place. Hard to describe.

I return to the spacious house which is in a minor upheaval involving my closet and mounds of clothing. It’s not clear right not, I only remember grabbing a few hangers worth of orange and white vinyl coats and dresses belonging to Mami from the 1960’s and hanging them in the back of a large walk-in-closet full of other stuff that won’t get much use anymore. There is a cart or other obstruction blocking my personal closet and a young man either delivering or removing items or both. He is definitely working there while talking about me to no one in particular, since it’s just me and him and my silent but ever present female companion. He is enumerating my various unique traits and abilities. After a while, a little impatient of his casual eulogy’s slightly ironic tone, I walk up to him and looking him straight in the face ask him in a clear voice, “Would you like to be my slave?” my expression perfectly deadpan. His smile is quite eloquent, and I savor his reaction as I turn away, beckoning my female companion to follow me because we have business to attend to on another level. I sense he was a bit surprised and quite pleased by my question, that I scored some mysterious points by not being too timid or conventional but instead daring to challenge him. This is what young people do, and this is, I realize, the attitude or way of being that keeps people young—the snake swallowing its tail.

There are two possible exits from the spacious elegant white chamber, stairs leading up to the right the more direct way to get where I want to go, but for some reason we veer left a little and take a more indirect route along a corridor. We pass, on our right, the white marble aisle of a church flanked by pews leading to the alter. I say in dismay, “Oh, no, I recognize this place from a dream!” where I witnessed a ceremony I can’t remember but which was almost farcical even as it tried to be serious, the visual echo of which I witness now in the form of a group of people “streaming” down from the alter as at the end of a rite. I’m glad to leave this section of a church behind even as I take note of how clearly, and in what lucid detail, I recognized it.

My companion and I are now upstairs in a blue-gray hallway not as well lit. This is where we have come to do needed work. A crowd of people has entered the hallway from the opposite direction, using a back stairwell, and a few in front move slowly forward as those farther back wait their turns. They are all patient, almost respectful, which is really odd because they are all ghosts haunting this mansion, but I suppose even they have to abide by certain rules. I’m not in the least bit afraid of them or daunted by the task of dispelling them. They are all dressed differently, men and women, their varied clothing and facial appearances visual expressions of their character and the type of ghost or haunting they prefer to be. Facing them square on and blocking their advance, I glance down at my black clad shoulder and brush off some imaginary white flakes. “You see this dandruff?” I say. “That’s what you all are, psychic dandruff.” I’m letting them know I don’t take them at all seriously. Music starts playing in the background and I begin dancing to it. A few of the ghosts closest to me smile and begin irresistibly dancing as well while the rest of them look at a complete loss. Telepathically I ask them if they wouldn’t rather have fun and dance, urging them to give up their “trauma costumes” and do what they secretly want to, which is relax and dance and not be confined to this silly haunting gig anymore.

Dream Notes: I often have a silent female companion in dreams. I think she must be some kind of spotter, the sort who stand by gymnasts, for example, when they’re practicing difficult routines.

A funny lucid dream is a rare treat. I shared it with my friend, Hugh O’Connor, who has a great sense of humor, and he wrote: “Lovely! Your account is my very first introduction to the concepts of “psychic dandruff”, “trauma costumes” and “silly haunting gigs”! I love the idea that ghosts would consider haunting a kind of tedious job you do for a living, or dying, if you happen to be a ghost. How do you sign up for something like that? Where are the openings posted? Is there a ghostly Human Resources Department that interviews prospective haunters and asks them questions like “Where do you see yourself in 500 years?” I can hear country-and-western ghosts singing hit songs like “Take this Malignant Haunting and Shove It!”

I replied: It does give the saying “stuck in a dead end job” a whole new twist! Seriously, the Other Side appears to be full of souls who didn’t believe they would survive the death of their physical body. I personally feel that if we “invest” in the concept that what we think, feel and imagine is the “currency” we’ll be dealing with on the Other Side, we’ll have a much better time there, and be able to travel to fascinating dimensions instead of possibly getting stuck “living” where we “died” because we lack the mysterious inner resources to move… on.

Comments and Questions Welcome