Healing Myself in a Humanoid World

October 21, 2013

I believe I’m lying in my lucid dreaming bed in the dark rec room. I feel something jump on the bed with me. Oh, God, it must be the cat bringing me a mouse she caught. But as the presence snuggles close to my right side, I feel my dog’s silky soft fur. As I pet him, I encounter something sharp for an instant, but that’s okay, it’s Arthur, even though I wonder how on earth he managed to get out of his crate. But it seems the cat is also on the bed with me, and maybe even a dead mouse? Groping for it, I seem to find it’s stiff little body and push it off the bed. I don’t remember falling asleep after WBTB. I’m convinced I’m awake, but then I remember my intent to always do a reality check when I sleep in this room. Is Arthur really here? I turn my face to look at him and instead see myself; a faint but clear image of my own face and silvery-gold bangs along with my reclining body in my skimpy nightshirt. This is a dream! Okay, now I can move more freely. I throw off the sheets and sit up. Where the Bay Windows are in reality, across the room on my left, there is just one long window glass showing a daylight scene. I say to my pets, “Let’s go!” and they follow me outside. The glass offers us no resistance.

I am nowhere near my waking reality home. An expansive landscape stretches out beneath, before and above me. I seem to be standing on a brown stone ledge, part of some vast canyon I can’t see an end to. I step off the ledge intending to float, not to fall, and I do so for a few moments before I begin ascending, pulled up and up by that natural lucid force that is the opposite of gravity. I sense my pets still behind me and I don’t want to go too high; I want to study the scene I’m in. (The photo below is a very rough approximation of the shape of the dwellings which were floating in mid air.)

My intent stops my ascent and I begin flying/coasting to the left as I look down. I see a fascinating architecture, very organic, dwellings which appear carved out of the mountain. They strike me as multiple residences, built one on top of the other from a smooth deep-brown stone. They are taller than they are broad and two or three “home levels” adjoin each other while leaving a space of blue sky between each “townhouse” complex. I see it all with that detailed and vivid clarity of lucidity, and it occurs to me I should try to find words to describe it all now I will remember when I wake. What looks like one long off-white and slightly textured, stiff yet also supple “curtain” hangs over and joins all the individual “balcony” facades. These long “window blinds” distinguish each vertical section from the other. I notice small actual windows as well (or what I identify as windows) that are black with glimmering silver borders made of little spheres or metallic beads. Everything looks very organic and yet also somehow futuristic, part of the “canyon” wall yet also appearing suspended in the sky. It occurs to me I am seeing a community in a world much more in harmony with the planet.

I don’t notice the transformation but my pets are now two human companions, both female, who I am very familiar with in the dream space but do not recall from waking reality. It makes sense they are following me, learning from me, as I end up inside one of these dwellings, which is obviously someone’s home. There is a long main area cluttered with an eclectic assortment of furniture that all looks hand-made from natural materials, but there is nothing crude or unsophisticated about each piece, on the contrary. They might be antiques of a sort. Then abruptly I remember my healing intent. I look down at my left wrist just below my thumb. My flesh there is as pale and thin as very fine paper beneath which I see a light yellow mustard colored fluid like puss. I’m surprised because the issue involves my tendon, not an infection. I purposefully retrace my steps, followed by my anonymous friends, and open a drawer in a small dark-blue table I remembered passing. I pull out a small object with a long narrow handle, and a dark silver-gray metal cutting edge in the shape of a double ax with some lines engraved on it that might be ancient writing. The edges of this odd instrument (not a knife, not a letter opener) look like they might not be sharp enough for my purpose, but when I place one side against my skin, it seems to sharpen in response. Without concern for the pain, if there even will be any pain in a lucid dream, I slice open my flesh directly over the problem area, making a vertical incision, and all the yellow puss begins flowing out, painlessly. I return to the back of the room, where I stand over a sink washing out the infection, but there is a lot of yellowish puss coming out. I don’t want to wake up because I’m too focused on dealing with this, so when the flow lets up somewhat, I decide that’s good enough and move to another part of the house.

When the female owner of the residence returns, not at all upset at finding strangers in her home, and begins speaking amiably with my two companions, I am on the other side of the main room, standing on some elevated landing, picking up a communication from a dreamer friend. I can see his distant figure moving through a sunlit space, and I know, of course, it’s morning where he is. He communicates to me that it’s 8:30-9:00. He is doing something. Where he is seems flooded with light. This is a brief but vivid, yet also elusive, broadcast, after which I return to the action of the dream.

I go and stand before the dark-haired pleasantly smiling woman who lives here as she talks to my friends. I think we should leave, so I fly up to a high window, which is only partially ajar, and though I’m confident I can manipulate my dream body over the sharp edge and through the narrow opening, I know my companions won’t find it so easy or pleasant, and they tell me as much. So I relent and follow them into the woman’s bedroom. It is somewhat cluttered but in a rather pleasing and, once again, eclectic fashion. The detail I most clearly remember is a necklace made of some kind of individual dark-red stones carved into a geometric shape with several sides. Everywhere there is the sense of natural materials and deep natural earth tones. My wrist is still open and oozing slightly, so even though I smile to myself at the notion of my dream body needing it, I ask the home owner if she has a band-aid. Almost instantly she has procured and placed a slightly transparent blue-white band-aid over my open wound which covers it even though it is located higher, more over my thumb than my wrist. I very much like the look of it. I move about the room curiously, dividing my attention between the various objects and the face of our remarkably accommodating hostess, conscious of not wanting to focus for too long on anything in order to keep the dream stable. I ask her, “What is this place? I mean, what country, what State?” She replies, as though these terms don’t really mean anything to her, “Well, the International Post Office is nearby, with a clinic attached to it.” She then says something about a virus or illness caused by turtles after they emerged from caves or underground passages where they had been living. At this point I spot a painting, not very good, of a washed out ocean scene. It hangs, unframed, a canvas of gray-whites and faint touches of blue, in an alcove of sorts. I tell my companions, “We’ll go through there!” We bid our hostess farewell and I promptly superman through the canvas, which has the texture of a very thin screen I easily break through. My friends inquire, “Where are we going to get to?” as I begin passing through the back of the painting (there is actually a dark space between the front and the back.) Already seeing air and sky, I reply, “Outside!” And there we are. It is not the ocean scene of the canvas, it is the same organic “canyon” community. I ask one of my student friends, “What was I doing in the house all that time you two were talking to the woman?” One of them replies, “You were asking the woman about her day.” I say urgently, “No, she was asking me about my day, and before that I was doing something else on the other side of the house.” I phase out of the dream.

Dream Notes:

When I woke from this dream, I began exercising my left wrist, moving it in ways I have not been able to move it in weeks. It was easier to ignore the problem than it was when my right wrist exhibited a similar but much worse painful stiffness, full-blown tendinitis. Yet the problem with my left wrist felt like it could become almost as bad if I didn’t deal with it. After the dream, I was able to exercise it and feel the tendon’s stretch and massage it. Now, the following day, I’m using my hand as though nothing is wrong. There is still a stiffness, a slight resistance, and pain if I knock it against something, but I am able to use it normally. It seems the dream healing made it possible for me to exercise the tendon and muscles by reducing the inflammation and pain. I also feel as though the blue-white band-aid placed there by the woman from this alternate world is acting like an advanced form of healing band-aid. We have band-aids that contain a solution to prevent infection. I think this dream band-aid is still releasing a warming, healing energy into the affected area and making my physical therapy possible. If I did not make the effort to use my wrist normally and exercise it every now and then, I do not believe the dream healing would be effective. My dream and my physical body must work together. I also know my wrist is not healed yet, even though it feels stronger and better. I will need to keep working on it as I did on the tendinitis in my right wrist that took a few months, and several lucid dreams, to deal with. Last night was the first important treatment.

A dreaming friend of mine indicated he got the impression that I was not in the future but in a humanoid world in another dimension, or a parallel earth with a different development of civilization. I found this observation remarkably plausible, because the planet resembled earth and yet there was much about it that felt “other”. I always tend to think past-future, but I have, in fact, been places in lucid dreams before that felt like alternate humanoid worlds.

This friend also observed, “At that time when you felt I connected with you, I was writing my e-mail about my first WBTB rec room experience. I live in a house which is flooded with light. It is very bright inside.” It seems I picked up on those moments when he was writing me, and the feel of where he was, loud and clear!

I find the little double ax knife I used to slice my wrist open extremely interesting. It was inscribed with some form of linear writing or symbols I couldn’t make any sense of. It strikes me as something akin to a Minoan artifact. The double ax featured prominently in that culture. If I was in an alternate earth time-line, it seems civilization took a much better, more holistic, earth-friendly turn somewhere along the way.

Comments and Questions Welcome