The Inner Self

September 20, 2013 – Full Moon

WILD: Suddenly I realize my body is falling asleep and I’m still consciously surfing black and white hynagogic waves as I experience the tell-tale vibrations, which begin with what feels like a hand resting for a moment with gentle encouragement on the top of my head. The HI is a roiling black and white “sea” of blurred, and then briefly distinct faces, including a dark-haired woman I follow to the left of my peripheral vision. I’m relishing that rushing sense of motion, like a wind blowing through my physical body my awareness rides deeper and deeper into mind space. The vibrations, the tingling, the motion, all naturally occurring, supplement-free, so wonderful. Motorway Over-passSoon the sense of moving through space becomes riding through a city at night as though I’m lying down in a car, only there is no apparent vehicle around me. As the scenery flows by, a man’s disembodied voice fills the world speaking slowly and distinctly. I understand one sentence but can’t make out the next, and this pattern of coherence and incoherence continues for some time. I “drive” beneath an expressway ramp past a large white warehouse-type building. I see everything clearly, including a three quarters moon shining in the black sky just beneath a white bridge. I wonder at the fact that I’m seeing this moon in this dream sky when there’s a full moon in the sky where my physical body is sleeping. I feel the “car” rising off the street like an airplane taking off as the voice intones, “There are some who live/exist forever (implying there are some who don’t?) and then two clear words separated by a few indistinct others “Victorians… Egyptologists”.

I become aware that what is now a discernible car around me is back on the ground and turning into the parking lot of what appears to be a brightly lit convenience store. It is still night in the city. Sensing my dream body, I turn to look behind me, and gasp when I see the white face of a person sitting in the back seat. At once, the brightness of the face dims into the pleasant countenance of a young boy. I believe we say “hello” to each other, at which point I lose visuals and tell him, “I’ve lost all visuals” fully expecting him to understand and maybe even help me recover them, which I do an instant later as the car pulls closer to the light spilling from the store and parks before it. I’m sitting in the driver’s seat thinking I actually managed a WILD as I raise my hands before me to stabilize the dream. I’m wearing fine sage-green gloves, decorated with a faint delicate gold embroidery, that leave my fingertips exposed. I declare, “I’m dreaming” and exit the car along with an older man who was ostensibly driving. He approaches the brightly lit store with the boy walking behind me. As I glance back at him I see, across the street, two identical brick houses, slightly more rectangular than square, with a wooden door in the center of each one. They are sealed tight, no discernible windows, and I think they may be important. I look at my hands again and repeat, “I’m dreaming” as I follow the man into the store. I then turn to the boy and ask him “Who are you?” as I offer him my hand. He replies, “Keith” and I begin waking.

DILD: I’m sitting in what feels like a closed-in porch with another man beside me, both of us facing a younger man who is sitting at a round table biting into a sandwich bun. It is no ordinary burger because I know that mixed into the ground meat are portions of a film/movie, what was left of it after it was edited of all the content he does not wish to see. I tell him, “That’s gross! You don’t even know what you’re eating! It’s wrong to do that to a movie. You need to see the complete picture.”

FishSandwichCropped

As I speak, I notice a stiff tail sticking out of the back of the bun, curled up like a scorpion’s, but I know it belongs to the fish whose head I saw him bite into tentatively. As I watch, I realize the fish is squirming out from between the bread buns because it’s still alive! I cry, “Oh my God, that fish is still alive!” as it slips off the table.

 

As I become aware that I’m dreaming, the man who was seated silently beside me stands and faces me, his expression and stance aggressive, even hostile. I say, “This is a dream, you know” which only seems to make him even angrier. I back away from him but he follows me, his face mere inches from mine, his cheeks bulging slightly as though with pent up rage. As I back away from him I think—Okay, if that’s how he wants to play it. I warn him, “I’m going to kill you” as I raise my right hand to direct a destructive force into his chest. His ugly smile deepens but I’ve already lowered my hand. “But I won’t do it,” I say, “because I love you.” My words immediately defuse his hostility and he presses his back against the door, his furious expression slackening into one resembling an infant’s, full of mingled need and wonder. We’re standing in what I can only describe as a rib cage made of off-white metal, and through the slats I can see out to an adjoining porch area. The man has his back up against the structure’s “backbone” and mysteriously recognizing it, I declare, “That’s your spine of lives!” I move toward and past him so I can kneel and run my fingertips from just below the top to just above the bottom of this backbone/tree as I exclaim, “Look at all the lives you’ve lived!” Through the wall “slats” I see that the porch and garden outside are milling with people. “Come outside and look at all your lives!” I urge him.

Once outside, I study all the different people with pleasure, curious and fascinated by their presence. The lighting is clear and I can see that everyone looks slightly different, yet also somewhat similar, and they’re all dressed in different styles reflecting a variety of historical time periods and cultures. There seem to be a lot more men than women, but I reason that these lifetimes closest to him now are the ones that most resonate with his current male ego. I make a sharp left turn and walk deeper into this space, which leads to a more enclosed space in which I notice a seated man in a dark suit. I walk up to him and ask him a question which I recall relates to the man whose lives are all gathered here, “Who is he?” and he replies a touch sarcastically, “Obviously the one who’s dead.” I then ask him, “Is it true these are all the souls, all the lifetimes, contained by, who share, one Inner Self?” But before he can answer, I sense I need to add, “Don’t give me the definition of Inner Self, I already know what it means technically. What I want to know is if what I asked you is true.” He says simply, “Of course.” I crouch before him and listen attentively as he talks to me, explaining how things work. I recall him saying, “After five years, you get arms.” I understand that means five years of just being looked at and observing without being able to do anything; without any power. “And after fifty years you get longer arms.” Meaning your reach, or something to that effect, grows much bigger. I feel perfectly rooted in the dream as he speaks, although eventually I no longer see a man sitting in a chair but a green object that does not have any equivalent in waking reality and from which his voice continues emanating. I hear him say, “We light a pyre/fire.” I worry for an instant that he means all the lives of this Inner Self will be destroyed as it once again reunites with its Divine source. But his next words relieve me of this concern, “At first it was hard to break my fast, but now I can have all the steak I want.” I ask him something else and he replies, “Ask Level.” Suddenly I see the back of his dark head again because he is lying face down on the concrete/stone. As I watch, his face burrows into the ground and he disappears very much like a creepy corpse sinking back down into its grave. I blame the horror movie twist on my subconscious as a result of having grown up with Hollywood films that tend to make anything paranormal seem ghoulish.The conversation is obviously over.

The atmosphere is now a grayish-white and the dream is quite literally dissolving as my clothes flow down off me as if liquefied, exposing me so that I begin to worry I might be vulnerable. I proceed into the main porch area, still milling with bodies/incarnations, but it’s definitely time to wake up because I don’t want to forget what the man said to me. I command myself to, “Wake up! Wake up!” I can sense my body on the bed, but for a few moments I remain trapped in void space, unable to wrench myself free of the dream. A final “Wake up!” does the trick and I manage to reenter my body. After a moment, I’m able to open my eyes. It’s a little past 7:00.

Dream Notes: The majority of the images in this dream relate to birth, death and resurrection; to the multitude of lives lived by one Inner Self. I don’t know who the man eating the fish sandwich was, if he was a soul I was helping “cross over” or not. I can say no more, really. I feel a dream so rich in symbolism, and in which all my questions were answered, would only be diminished by analysis because it is eloquent enough.

Comments and Questions Welcome