July 14, 2013
I’m walking back into the rec room at night as if returning from the bathroom but I’m being chased by a large pesky fly in the shape of a human baby-Buddha. I do my best to shoo it away and seal it off in the living room, but one of the rec room doors isn’t aligned with the frame and they won’t close all the way. The situation is so impossibly ridiculous, I realize I’m dreaming! At once I turn and fly straight through the Bay Windows, which are invitingly silvery. I never have any problem going through them, but tonight I feel a slight gravitational frisson around them and near the house in general. I easily move free of it and glide about half-a-mile above the ground. I’m not on my property because the land is flatter. The darkness has a blue tinge to it in which I clearly make out black bare branches and bushes. I’m elated to be lucid and thank the Lords. Immediately I think of James and recite our spell—Bring me to the Mansion where James and I can have a mutual lucid dream. It occurs to me I should be able to conjure a gateway or something to aid in the fulfillment of my request, but I lose lucidity.
I believe I wake in my lucid dreaming bed and realize it was Stinger, lying close beside me and moving, who woke me. I’m not really surprised or even annoyed his dream body came to sleep with me, but I am surprised at how real and solid it feels. There is a dark-haired woman sleeping on his other side. I would prefer to be alone in my dream space, but I love him and I’m impressed he was able to achieve this, so I say—Okay, but if you’re going to stay, at least move over and don’t take up the whole bed. I sit up, adjusting the covers, wondering at how very real this all feels even though it’s really weird. Stinger and the woman’s position are now reversed on the bed and it’s all just so crazy I get up, somehow managing to detach myself from the quicksand-like scene. I realize then that I’m still asleep and dreaming!
I turn around, exit the rec room, and walk purposefully out the front door intending to see where it leads me. Once again I realize I’m no longer on our waking reality property. I follow a dirt path and pass what I clearly distinguish as the polished wood, gold and black, of what appear to be tobacco pipe stems. I make a careful note of this visual, feeling very stable and sharply lucid. I emerge from behind what might be a solid tent flap into a very realistic daytime scene, some sort of rustic festival or rural gathering. The first thing I notice is a huge heritage breed, silver-blue cow, absolutely magnificent. I admire it for a long moment before turning away, thinking—I wish I could take a snapshot of that to bring with me. Looking around, I recognize a theme to this event flagged by pieces of antique cloth with a Native American feel to them. Dark-skinned men standing around it, I walk by the reconstruction of what I take to be one of the first planes ever made, its skeleton only partially covered by a patchwork quilt of this very old indigenous woven material. As I continue walking, looking around me curiously, one of many people milling around (although by no means a packed modern crowd) it becomes night. A few yards away is a natural elevated area, a long flat-topped hill serving as a kind of stage, and my vision is caught by a beautiful, enthralling sight— around the base of a bare-branched off-white tree, silvery-white lights suddenly ignite and swiftly circle it like a living necklace of fireflies or distant stars except that they’re rectangular in shape. They orbit the tree in a breathtaking heartbeat and suddenly I become aware of drumming.
Moving closer, I see more of these white trees and realize they are partially hollow and that there is a single person standing inside each one; each tree is inhabited by a Shaman. I keep walking toward the stage, moving left toward the small group of male drummers, thinking of Robert Moss and wondering if this means I should consider attending one of his dream groups. The drumming is not the monotonous repetitive sound of Shamanic drumming, it is more rhythmic, almost like a cross between Shamanic drumming and Flamenco. As I approach the musicians, I begin clapping in rhythm, or in counterpoint, with the music, wondering at how naturally I presume to become part of the performance, but it feels, and sounds, quite right. I study the intent faces of the drummers, definitely Native American. Their eyes are closed as though they’re in a trance. I stop clapping and begin moving right along the hillock-platform because, interesting as this is, I feel the need to move on. I find myself walking alongside a single story white building. I can see lights and color inside and pause where the path turns left at a right angle to consider my options. I think of James and wonder where he might be in all of this. I feel myself losing the dream.
I’m lying in bed with Stinger in a strange version of the rec room, familiar but different. In the bed with us is a man dressed in a dark, pinstripe suit. He is perched on the pillows looking down at us. I wave him away but he only moves so far as a chair near the bed, in which he seats himself to continue watching us. Okay, I am definitely still asleep and dreaming, which means I can handle this unwanted voyeur. Raising my right hand, I intend a black defensive energy to flow toward him. I’ve been practicing my energy conjuring skills in my lucid dreams lately, and I’m gratified when after a moment a prism-like flow of faint black energy flows toward the man and renders him unconscious, or disables him, but only for an instant. He’s still there watching us with an annoying smile and I want him gone. I say to Stinger, “Watch this” and once again direct faint gray-black lines of energy toward the man. They enter him, fill him, and he disappears. I’m conscious of the fact that I’m practicing negative magic in a lucid dream, but I’m not hurting the dream character, just sending him away. I can now turn my full attention to Stinger. I roll on top of him and begin impatiently tossing away my clothes, piece by piece, really glad this is a dream and I don’t have to worry about picking everything up later but can just relax and enjoy myself… After a while, I believe I wake up.
I get up off my lucid dreaming bed in the rec room. My family is also up; I hear my parents in the living room. Then suddenly my little brother (not my real brother) runs into the room and stands beside my bed. I look at him and exclaim, “Wait, you’re up too early, you would never get up so early. This is still a dream!” I walk happily into the pitch dark living room, where Papi is standing, just as Mami (both of them silhouettes) walks out of the kitchen. I tell them—Estamos soñando. Este es un Sueño. (We’re dreaming. This is a dream) and Mami tells Papi, “Es verdad.” (It’s true.) I say, “Vamos a caminar afuera.” (Let’s go walk outside) and we walk together out the front door. Far away the sky is filled with brilliant white stars, multitudes of them, so very beautiful, mysterious and profoundly heartwarming. It doesn’t matter that the porch and the world are still pitch black. Looking over my right shoulder at where my parents are standing just behind me, I announce, deliberately relishing the Spanish language of my childhood, “Voy a volar con mi mama y mi papa. Vamos!” (I’m going to fly with my mother and father. Let’s go!) I take Mami’s left hand with my right hand and we promptly rise sedately, effortlessly up into the sky with Papi just behind us. I look at Mami and declare, “Que bella!” (So beautiful!) because she looks to be in her late twenties again, and yet her face, so beloved and familiar, also seems a little different, a little like another woman’s face. At one point, Papi, just above me, becomes horizontal and falls down toward me, but I laughingly support his weight and help him upright again. We pass bare black tree branches and, as we slowly gain altitude, I see that at least two trees are occupied, a person poised in the topmost branches of each one almost like figureheads, or Native American scouts scanning the land below because they’re wearing light-brown deer-skin-like outfits and facing in the direction we’re flying.
The night is so beautifully alive; the sounds of life are an ambient music coming from everywhere, endlessly rich and yet also subtle. Suddenly, I even hear what sounds like Soup, our old laying hen, clucking excitedly somewhere below me, and I extend my hand toward her in delight before thinking—Oh that’s ridiculous, I’m not going to cuddle up with my old chicken right now. Looking up again, I am presented with an astonishing sight, a city like no earthly city, that consists of two immense buildings across from each other rendered almost in two dimensions, their windows, and the people leaning out of them, much larger than they can realistically be, the perspective changing and shifting everywhere I look as some people are colossal while others appear smaller. The structures are white but the people, their skin, hair and clothes, are all vividly colorful. And high above this surrealistic city scene I suddenly see what appear to be spaceships! Alien life forms visiting earth?! The spaceships are not flying saucers, they resemble vessels from the new Battlestar Galactica, and I notice they are firing at each other as though a battle is in progress. But my dismay lasts only an instant when I see what is actually issuing from them—spheres of bright red, gold and silver lights akin to glittering Christmas ornaments merged with fireworks, growing in size as they descend toward earth and transform into… toys! Toys are raining down from heaven! The theme of “play” is everywhere, I realize now, as I spot a much larger than life little girl holding a baseball bat where she “hovers” in her “window.” Gazing around me in amazement, I wonder how this can possibly be the future, even though it’s obviously not the present, because there is no sign of global warming; everything appears to be just fine with the world, even better, as toys (and by implication all the possible games associated with them) keep raining down from the heavens! Some of the toys are so big, a white submarine-like spaceship for example, I’m almost afraid of being crushed by them, but they all continue falling toward earth as lightly as snowflakes in a magical storm. I have never experienced anything like this in a lucid dream and I can scarcely believe my eyes. Slowly, I wake.