July 4, 2013
Up at 2:00 back to sleep shortly before 3:00. I thought of the 3 possible past life names I have been given in lucid dreams and how I might ask to learn more about these persons.
I’m lying on my left side in the dark and I feel that inner shift and a sensation almost like someone spooning me from behind, only I know it’s all me, I understand what’s happening, I’m primed to have on OBE and I quickly sit up, yet I can’t quite disconnect from the me lying on the bed. I suffer a false awakening then, disappointed, because I came so close. I part the curtain over the glass door beside my lucid dreaming bed and am surprised to see that it’s morning already. Wow, I slept like a log. I also notice the door isn’t locked and carefully turn the handle until I feel it click into place. I get up and go about my morning business, feeling a little confused at how deeply I slept without interruption.
I find myself standing in the rec room, instantly aware that I’m out of body in the middle of the night. I’m facing the closed double doors while I purposefully sweep and old doormat with an old broom, intent on cleaning the dirt off it. Just outside the glass doors, behind the green curtains, I sense a crowd of people who, also sensing my presence, have swarmed down the mountain and are trying to get inside. I don’t actually feel threatened by them, I’m confident my door is locked, my space secure, they’re more annoying than frightening, nevertheless I don’t want them inside or so close to me. I command impatiently—Be gone, demons! In high pitched voices, they echo me mockingly—Be gone demons! Be gone demons! I repeat the command, they mock me again, and changing my tactic I say—Poof! intending a flash of bright light to manifest outside and drive them away. I can see between the cracks in the curtain that it doesn’t work, so I keep trying silently, until I finally see and feel the darkness outside entirely suffused for an instant with a bright golden light, after which the crowd at the door is no longer there. I called them “demons” but I somehow knew they were dead souls who were not very nice people while they lived, people who didn’t believe in their souls and are now wandering lost on the Other Side in gangs mocking more “luminous” souls while irresistibly drawn to them, unware or in denial of their spiritual pain.
A seamless transition to sitting lucidly outside at night at a wooden bar adjoining the rec room (my lucid dreaming space) facing a slender and still attractive old woman. She is very elegant, her silver hair falling to shoulder length behind her where it thickens in a smooth old-fashioned 1940’s style wave. We’re talking companionably, I know her very well, when the subject of the christening jewelry my mother gave me comes up. I produce, or am mysteriously handed from the darkness to my left, a pair of little heart-shaped earrings made of a smooth yellow material, ivory, coral or jade, some such natural stone, with miniature dark crosses set in their centers. The earrings are part of a set and I give them to the woman as I am now handed the necklace, made of the same smooth natural material. I also give this to my companion, who seems familiar with the lovely jewelry, who seems to want it, almost to need me to give it to her. And there is one more christening item I conjure from the darkness, a shirt I hand to her and which she promptly, surprising me, slips on. It is transparent except for a pearl-white border along the collar bone, and falls straight and fine over the flesh-colored shirt she is wearing underneath it. The garment fits her perfectly and makes her look, despite her age, exceptionally beautiful and elegant. She sits up straighter, smiling at me with happy pleasure and, I feel, renewed vigor. The ethereal christening shirt makes her as beautiful as she can be, and I sense a man who loves her and who she will “go out” with after we part. I declare—You look beautiful. Keep it, please, it looks ridiculous on me! I see that it has become way too small for me, almost like a doll’s shirt I can’t possibly fit into anymore. Her smile deepens and she replies—I do believe I will. Now she can go out and be as beautiful as she truly is.
At some point I’m back in the rec room sweeping again, but now the doors are open and I’m directing quantities of dirt out of the room, piling it into evidence, which includes strands of my hair and the white shirt the old woman I was just talking to was wearing beneath the new transparent shirt I gave her. I’m not sure what this is evidence of, but I am compelled to present it to some mysterious authority I am expecting to arrive.
I’ve just come from the “bar” where I was talking to the old woman and am standing outside a closed door situated next to the corner of a white wall. I’m talking to the woman inside the room behind the door, a friend of mine. I know I’m dreaming and that she resides somewhere on the Other Side. I ask her if I can come in and she replies a bit reluctantly—I don’t think so. I understand she isn’t quite ready to let me in. I become hyper lucid then as, accompanied by a female Guide, I proceed down the clean bright corridor. I am completely present and aware of being lucid in a dream and of having been brought here for a reason, a special purpose. I proceed along the short corridor behind my guide, my posture very straight, my arms at my sides, almost as though pinned, which they aren’t, it’s simply necessary or natural on this level of dreaming, almost as though I’m a lucid soldier on duty, or adopting a ritual stance honoring the space I’m in. The ambient light is clear and bright and, like my guide, I’m wearing something akin to a white nurse’s uniform, an Other Side nurse. The doors to the rooms on my right are open and I can see people inside them, including one dark-haired man who gets up and looks out at me curiously. The “patients” all look healthy and relaxed but I know this is a facility on the Other Side where people who need care stay for a time. We take a left and enter the room at the end of the hallway. There is a smiling but somewhat tired looking woman lying on the bed next to the door. She glances at us, but her attention is on the bed placed right next to hers where a little dark-haired boy is sitting, his small body mysteriously blended with the much bigger white polar bear reclining behind him. The bear is alive, absolutely sentient as it meets my eyes, and I understand this is the boy’s spirit animal. I sit down on a third bed against the wall from the door and my Guide introduces us. I am careful to quickly get up again for a moment to reach over and touch the bear, feeling it’s important he knows I respect him and his presence. I’m here to help the little boy, who gets up and begins touching me curiously. There follows an odd but important ritual involving our ears. He cups my ears with both hands and I cup his. I ask—What’s your name again? He makes fun of me for forgetting, since I was just told, and I quickly search my memory—Alex, right? I just want to make sure. I know I’m here to have sex with him, or rather, to let him experience sex, that this is something he needs. He asks me, sounding excited—Are we going to make a baby together? Are you going to make me a baby? I laugh—No! My Guide and the bear and the boy’s mother all seem to find it amusing as well. But before I can perform my assigned task, I phase out of the dream into a false awakening where I’m back in the rec room dictating this dream into my iPod.
I’m sitting somewhere studying a photograph in which my sister is in the foreground and I’m lying in the background on a couch. In the photo, we’re both little girls, about 7 or 8, and I realize it’s a film-photograph because we’re moving in it. I recognize the location as a lounge in the ship my family took to the island of Margarita off the coast of Venezuela when I was 9 years old. I closely observe myself to see if I can glimpse what I was thinking and feeling in those moments. If I can, it means I can consciously penetrate into every second of my life. I’m sitting in front of a pile of film-photographs. I hold up another one in which my sister and I are grown up and dancing, although not together. She’s in the foreground, her entire body covered in brightly colored abstract designs. Standing over my shoulder now, she says something like—That’s you, always so skinny. I inform her that she’s the figure in the foreground, which surprises her.
I’m in a dark auditorium with a crowd of female patients I am there to discharge, to help graduate. I instruct them to lie down one by one on their bellies along the front edge of the stage, lit by a soft golden light. I then order them to each grasp the hand of the woman behind her. I’m creating a living chain. When the links are formed to my satisfaction, I step up onto the stage behind the young black woman who is my assistant and tell her to take my hand, so that I am now the final link in the chain but also the beginning as I turn around and command—Let’s go! We begin “swimming” off the stage through the air, each of us kicking our joined legs like mermaids as I head for the door. I’m holding something in my free hand akin to a glass of water draped under a white cloth, and I almost ask my assistant to open the door, but then change my mind and say—No, I can get this. I turn the knob, open the door, and we proceed along the white corridor of that Other Side “hospital” where I was before. I distinctly feel the weight and pull of flying-swimming down the hall with my long chain of women. It is my responsibility to take somewhere, I don’t exactly know where, I get the feel of an orbital station, but that might only be the first stage of a journey to another world or dimension. We’re moving slowly but we’re moving. We turn right at the corner and come to an elevator facing an open area, very pretty, sunny, with a glass wall looking out on greenery. I debate whether or not to take the elevator up and think—No, we’re going to go straight through those window and up into the blue sky. People in white “lab” coats are looking at us, but only mildly surprised by this living chain of female lives. As we go through the window and begin rising up into the sky, I realize I’ve accomplished my task.
Still fully lucid, I find myself returning to my rec room, entering through the glass door next to my lucid dreaming bed. It’s dark in the room and there’s another bed at the foot of mine with a woman I recognize lying in it. I declare happily—Abuela! who is dead. But then I look more closely at her face, moving nearer, and say happily—Mami! who is alive. She sits up and replies, looking a little harassed—Si, claro que es Mami! as if I should have known. I’m delighted she’s visiting me in my dream space even as she begins complaining about something that’s bothering her, something that’s gotten in her eye. Moving to the other side of the bed, I lean closer. There does indeed appear to be something very tiny in the corner of her right eye. The object is shaped like a tiny cut diamond but is made of some sort of natural stone or crystal, light brown or dark gold with a tiny black center. Then abruptly I realize what I’m looking at is the end of a cap placed over an orange-black pen she has tucked behind her ear. I say—Mami, it’s just a pen. See? Look. I slip it out from behind her ear. At first she’s not quite convinced but then admits it is, indeed, a pen.
Still semi-lucid, I find myself out on a city sidewalk that runs past a café with tables set a few feet above street level. My dog Arthur has followed me, really upset that I didn’t greet him when I arrived. He’s standing on his hind legs, reaching up for my attention, when he abruptly falls onto his back and begins emitting wails of pain the likes of which I have never heard from him. I bend down in concern and anxiously look at his back. There is a metal instrument with a thin sharp end piercing his back. I immediately pull it out, relieved to see it only went in about half an inch, but he keeps wailing in agony. And then I hear him say telepathically and very very clearly—It almost set me free! I become fully lucid then when I realize I just heard my dog declare that his soul almost left his body! I pick him up and cradling him in my arms proceed up the steps, amazed to be having this experience in a lucid dream. I take him inside and examine his wound and swab rubbing alcohol on it, only it won’t stop bleeding, so I have to put napkins over it. I slip out of lucidity in this struggle, intending to call my vet until I realize I’m already in a vet hospital. The girl says they can take care of him but that he’ll have to spend the night for observation, which isn’t acceptable because Arthur has never spent a night in a kennel. I keep protesting before finally declaring—I don’t trust you! Deciding to call my real vet, I wake.
The transparent Christening shirt that went with the jewelry in Dream #3 I see as representing transparency of thought, as in clarity, nothing obscured. It could also of course symbolize a spirit-ghost, although “ghost” is not the right word as it evokes unrest. I believe this woman may have been Susie S. Mayo, a possible past-parallel life of mine.
A friend of mine commented, regarding dreams #4 & #5, “Busy night! Do you think you carried out retrievals? It’s the idea that some souls get stuck and because living humans are closer to their vibratory rate (or something like that) we can act as guides while higher beings remain invisible to them. Thus, higher beings employ our services in helping bring souls over the threshold, so-to-speak.” I found it an interesting idea, but dream #5 felt more personal, the chain of women I was swimming with and leading makes me think of chains of DNA inherited from countless ancestors. Perhaps I and the women I was leading are akin to the DNA of one Inner Self and I’m working on integrating them, a process I see as a vital part of spiritual growth. I was leading them all some place higher. The more lucidly I live, i.e. the more aware I am of what I think and feel and why, the more I shine a conscious light on my subconscious, exposing hidden beliefs and ingrained tendencies, for example, that may be holding me back, and which may have arisen, or are bleedthroughs from, past or parallel lives.
Regarding the little dream with my sister… the following day, she called me to tell me how sea sick she had gotten on a boat that morning. Then two days later, she called to tell me she was coming to see me on her way to an unexpected business meeting nearby, a 9 hour drive. We had a wonderful time that brought us closer together and healed some old wounds, hence the vibrant colors of the dancer she believed to be me and who I told her was her: we saw the beauty in each other and the “dance” of our relationships as sisters took some promising new steps.
Regarding Dream #7, a couple of days later, Stinger, Arthur and I spent the weekend in Old Town Alexandria, where I kept my eye out for any litter on the sidewalks fronting cafes, which there was a surprising amount of in some places.
Dream #4 with the little boy and the polar bear is quite mysterious and I don’t really feel able to comment on it; it must speak for itself, for now.