Lucid Gang

Note: My thoughts and feelings have evolved, in some cases quite dramatically, since I began lucid dreaming nearly five years ago. For example, in the Dream Notes that follow many of my earlier lucid dreams, you will find me considering possible past lives as an explanation for some of my experiences. I no longer believe in reincarnation, and this change came about as a result of some of my most powerful dreams. I am now waiting a year, or longer, before I post my lucid dreams, one at time, in chronological order. This means I now have a backlog of approximately sixty lucid dreams.

Dream of September 4, 2014

Night time. From inside a very large and dark building, I lead two men into a dark, tree-filled garden. I’m dreaming of being lucid in a dream. It’s odd, but I seem to be lucidly observing the lucidity of my dream self. I sense the men came with me reluctantly, and that they don’t know why I brought them outside in the middle of the night. I ask them, “Want to go flying?” They do not, so I leave them behind as I soar up into the star-filled sky. At the same time, I’m conscious of being back inside the building, thinking about how I can do things differently so the two men will better understand we’re dreaming. I decide it won’t work either way, and permit my dreaming awareness to fly really fast through the trees in the darkness. I know they won’t get in my way as I surrender to a strong pull toward the road I know lies outside the grounds of the building.

The road below me glows a dim white, and is deserted. I’m flying in a standing position, at a sedate pace, in the direction of vague golden lights that aren’t far away, and which I sense belong to some small city square. I feel I may have flown off into the starry sky if the dream hadn’t pulled me in this direction. As I glide along, I experience a strange excitement that prompts me to laugh beneath my breath.

Very soon, I clearly distinguish the figure of a slender man hovering a few feet over the road, flying in a standing position just like me, but in the opposite direction. He also sees me, and I study him intently as we slowly converge, then begin orbiting each other. I identify him as another lucid dreamer, but I want to know what his intentions are; what he’s planning to do in the dream space. Our conversation is telepathic (at least I don’t recall any words being spoken) and his responses disappoint me, although they don’t surprise me. It seems that, for him, being lucid is all about having sex, and power.

Suddenly, I’m afraid this dreamer may be a member of the “lucid gang” that walks out of the darkness, heading straight for the town walls behind me. I seem to know they are all lucid dreamers returning from some seriously selfish fun. Their leader has light hair and, as he passes by me, all he has to do is look at me for me to know he just raped, and devoured, a little girl, literally. Another telepathic exchange of communication occurs in which I let him know just how I feel about lucid dreamers like them.

Abruptly, as I stare at this terrible person, I distinguish the faint but unmistakable outlines of a little’s girl’s head inside his belly—her entire body is inside him, and she is still alive. I don’t even think about it; I immediately reach toward her and say, “Come out, sweetie! You can do it! This is a dream, and nothing can hurt you here!” She apparently hears me, because she emerges, stepping out of the man. I hug her thin little body, and tell the man, iron in my voice, “She belongs to me. In the dream space she is under my protection now. Do you understand?”

Holding the little girl in my arms, I enter something resembling an empty elevator shaft, and begin ascending at a steady pace, rising up through a misty gray atmosphere, up and up away from that dangerous “lucid gang.” I sense they will not, because they cannot, follow me, but I desire to put as much space between them, and us, as possible. I don’t really know where this shaft-like vertical tunnel will take us, or even how long it is, but I soon come to a ledge that leads us into a large, open space. Here I become aware of a man with dark hair, and wearing dark clothes, who is accompanying me in order to help us. The space I’m in now seems to be the top floor – almost like an enclosed roof – of a large building with windows lining one side.

I watch as the man smashes a hole in the window directly across from where I’m standing on the opposite side of the room. More telepathic communication, although it’s already obvious to me that he’s helping us find a way out. But the glass is resistant, and the hole he made is not yet large enough for us to fly through. He consults with a woman to my right, who is also aiding us, and who temporarily takes charge of the little girl for me as I walk over to the window. For some reason, I lie down on my back in front of it, looking up at it.

When we first entered the space, I wondered why this window posed a barrier, why I couldn’t simply fly through the roof and away, since this was a dream. But for some reason, that isn’t possible, so I continue the man’s work of trying to create a hole big enough to fly through. I reach behind me, pick up a nice big chunk of ice, and throw it as hard as I can against the loose section of icy glass hanging from the top left side of the window. I succeed in hitting it, but it only weakens the section a little bit more without dislodging it. I repeat this procedure three or four times, even though each time the ice-rock I use bounces back toward me, and I risk being struck hard by it myself. Eventually, there is a large enough hole in the glass for all of us to fly through.

We fly down to the ground outside the building. The man is holding a phone, and I see, close up, his fingers pressing down on the circular numbers without any effect. He says, “It doesn’t work.”

I take the phone from him impatiently. “Of course it does, this is a dream and we can make it work.” I dial the man we’re trying to reach – the man who raped and devoured the little girl I rescued. I hear him pick up on the other end, where I sense he is leading a discussion. I warn him, “This is about a little girl…” He replies, “Oh-oh” but he doesn’t actually sound concerned. I wake.

Dream Notes:

Seeking counsel from the Gospels about this dream, and about the book I feel the Lord wants me to write Lucid Dreams and the Holy Spirit, I randomly opened the New Testament to this passage:

“And in the synagogue there was a man who had the spirit of an unclean demon and he cried out in a great voice: Ha. What is there between us and you, Jesus of Nazareth? Did you come to destroy us? I know you, who you are, God’s holy one. Jesus reproved him, saying, ‘Be silent and go out of him.’ And the demon flung him down in their midst and came out of him, without doing him any harm.” Luke 4:33-35

This struck me as an uncanny mirror image of my dream, in which the little girl emerged, unharmed, from the demon-like man who had consumed her.

This is not the first time I have encountered and banished “demons” as well as protected/rescued people in the dream space. In fact, this happens regularly. 

Dream Guide Central

October 14, 2013

I’m aware of lying in bed and traveling high above the green world, which I see through a series of “cloud portals” akin to irregular windows as I “fly” swiftly from left to right. I feel Stinger move in the bed beside me but I don’t let it disturb me as I continue riding the hypnagogic flow… Suddenly I’m standing in an amorphous but evenly lit space, no colors but definitely the sense of an immense room with different open levels. I become aware of being there and of my dream body at the same instant that I see a man standing directly before me. He’s looking directly at me as he asks, “Are you Suarez?” or some other similar sounding name. His soft and somewhat thick upper body is exposed but his lower body is wrapped in a white towel, as though he just stepped out of a sauna. He looks about sixty, with thinning hair. To his question I reply, “No, I’m not” but he says, with an insistence that makes me uncomfortable, “How do you know you’re not?” I seem to understand he means that I might be this “Suarez” in another incarnation. I’m wondering if he might be a certain person I recently met in waking reality and so I study his face as intently as he is looking at mine. I don’t really like the look of him, and he’s behaving in too familiar a fashion, trying to get closer to me in an intimate way I want nothing to do with. The instant I decide this there is suddenly more space between us. I have, without any overt aggression, repelled him from me and “flown” backward onto a balcony-ledge that runs the length of the great room. The ledge is slightly above the platform the man is standing on, separated from it by a narrow but seemingly bottomless dark-golden space.

I turn to face the tall glass window-wall that runs the full length of the immeasurable room behind me which is divided by a series of amorphous platform-like beds. Outside I see only a soft moonlit sky as though I’m on the top floor of a very tall building. Conscious of my naked upper body, I deliberately press my nipples against the glass, on which shine a few scattered rain drops. I think—I’m not me, but I’m lucid. I feel that my lucidity is who I really am. Feeling relaxed and perfectly rooted in the dream, I walk along this narrow balcony-ledge from right to left as I gaze out at the night. The glass feels very real and I’m not inclined to try and overcome its barrier. Then I turn to face the room, the perimeters of which I cannot see but I sense it is a defined space. The atmosphere is darker now as I look down at countless “beds” on which rest naked bodies. I focus on the upper torso of a colossal woman close to me, on her soft, silky looking and faintly rosy flesh. The mysteriously dormant bodies are all different in size, appearance and age. I sense this fact but all I can really see is the color white, no more substantial than a dense mist, from which “bloom” prone “hibernating” human figures.

I turn back to face the glass window-wall and am surprised and pleased that the “building” has split in two with a narrow but generous space between its towering dimensions through which I can fly, and I promptly do so. This part of the dream is a bit confused, but I somehow end up floating just outside the window-wall. It feels as though I’m high above the ground with my back to a skyscraper, and yet the atmosphere is that luminous gray-white darkness of Void Space. I remember one of my intents and raising both index fingers I open my mouth and intend a healing energy into my gums. I glance down at my fingertips to catch a glimpse of the subtle glimmering violet glow which will tell me it’s working, but at the same time I don’t feel the need for any evidence. I then ask the dream space if Arthur will be all right. There isn’t much urgency in my question because the issue is minor and seems to be healing. Through a sudden break in the clouds I suddenly see the moon’s brightly glowing concentration of white light. Then I discern its shape in an almost two-dimensional way. It’s not full, it’s more like a broad waxing crescent, but it’s definitely there and I reach for it with both hands, drawing it into me. It’s hard to describe, there’s no sense of it being a solid object, or of space being crossed as I intend the moon to fill me with its life-enhancing power. There is no solid substance to it, I simply will this moon image-energy into my mouth, and from there through my entire body.

Now I’m moving swiftly upward, the building directly behind me. Traveling up and up, I think—Like an elevator. I see no reason to fight this rocketing acceleration upward, which goes on for some time, but at one point, when I seem to come to the end of the building, I grip the edges of the concrete roof to stop my ascent and sit down it. When I turn around, I realize that I’m at the entrance to what looks like an embassy lobby of sorts, well lit, with an official looking window in the center, around which walk a handful of men in black suits who all clearly work there. At once it occurs to me that perhaps here I can request to speak to one of my Guides. I enter the luminous space, heading for the official window which, as best I can remember, is a square with black horizontal lines. It appears closed and yet it is resoundingly and without a doubt a gateway of some kind. As I approach it, I raise my hands before me thinking—My hands, my hands! because they are faint silhouettes, but the technique works and the space remains bright and hyper real around me. Approaching one of the men in black I say politely, “I’m wondering if I could see one of my Guides.” A young and slightly heavy set black woman appears before me, laughing loudly and heartily at my request. I laugh right along with her and then say, “Well, whichever one of my many Guides might happen to be available here” acknowledging that I know of several, and that I may have even more Guides than I realize. With the air of a very busy but very efficient administrative assistant, and smiling all the while, she begins rifling through some colorful “files” as I study her hair, which looks more like a carving made of some material I can’t quite identify. It is an equally amorphous color, gold-beige-white with squared off sections topped by a curved deep red color. I can only compare it to the crest of an ancient Greek warrior’s helmet, or perhaps the helmet worn by the goddess Athena. She remarks with patient good cheer, “Well, you never know which one (of your Guides) might be stationed here.” There is a young man in black standing close beside her, and I get the impression he might be her assistant, perhaps still in training. She says something about me to him, calling me by what I know is a nickname for me there (I seem to recall the words “speedy” and “cricket”). She then further identifies me as, “You know, the one who seemed so young.” I also get the impression she’s telling him that you never know when certain lucid dreamers might stumble upon this place and make such a request. I’m intrigued by this, but my attention is on the column-pillar she’s accessing information on. It’s a few feet in diameter and entirely black with metal or silver sections or controls. My brain describes her as having pulled files out to search through but they were really just bright geometrical colors. As I study this intriguing “information column”, the top of which I can’t see or sense, I phase out of the lucid dream.

Hard Workers

June 3, 2013

Suddenly, I’m standing in the rec room facing the Bay Windows and my brother, Mario, who is standing a few feet away. I lucidly pull myself into the dream by walking right up to him so our faces are very close. We look directly at each other. His tone a blend of wonder and uncertainty, he says something to the effect of—It’s really happening! I reply at once—Yes, we’re together in a lucid dream! I’m longing to fly straight through the windows and away over the trees, and I want him to come with me. But even though he’s still standing there, his expression is rather blank now and I suspect he’s lost lucidity. I think I grip his arms and try to bring him back, but I lose the dream scene. Nevertheless, I remain aware of being asleep and wanting to enter the dream again.

I find myself standing in a room that feels rather like the break room of a building, a plain and sprawling one, with doors down the hall, rather like a university floor with professors’ and administrative offices. Belly dancer in purple costumeThere are two women in the room talking as I fully embed myself in the dream scene feeling very conscious of my dream body, clad in flowing pants and a short top that exposes my waist and belly area, intensifying the delicious dream feeling of potentially unrestrained sensuality. I sense men in the building, I even hear a man’s voice coming from down the hall, and I see no reason not to have some erotic fun in this dream. I leave the room and walk down the hallway in the direction of the voice, but first I enter a small room on the right. It is sparsely furnished, the dominant object a large file cabinet at the far right of the space. I set aside my sexual intentions for a moment in favor of seeing if I can discover some information about James and me. Vintage file cabinetI intend a file in the cabinet to offer me information about our first connection. I open a middle drawer on the left but it is empty. I open the middle drawer on the right. Folders. I pick one near the back at random, the tab of which reads JUICES, and open it. A white page with two or three areas of writing, in which I clearly see the word INDIA written in capital letters. Interesting! I put the folder back, leave the room and open the first door I pass. There are two boys lying on the beds as though in a school dormitory. I say—Oh my, you’re really young. They look at me with shy interest, and the second boy is quite attractive. I consider maybe educating him in the sensual arts, but I lose the dream.

I have lost the dream scene, but I am still aware of being asleep and wanting to enter the dream again. It’s night and I’m standing on the grass outside a white building belonging to what distinctly feels like a college campus. As two people talk quietly, I become aware of a really broad black tree trunk growing at a slight left angle out of the ground a few feet away from me. VLUU L100, M100  / Samsung L100, M100Seeing it and becoming lucid and stepping into the dream scene are one seamless, quietly joyful act. The tree itself seemed to help pull me into the dream. I am immediately in love and in awe of this impressively broad yet also graceful, sensual tree, the top of which is lost in darkness. Far away, and extending from horizon to horizon, is a sky filled with tiny bright white stars, so many of them. I feel I could follow this beautiful black giant tree all the way up to the moon. I float up off the ground, but an invisible dream wind pushes me gently to the left. Enjoying the effortless flight while gazing in awe at the starry universe, I begin singing—The hills are alive with the sound of music, a song they have sung for a thousand years… At first I have perfect pitch, but as soon as I become conscious of this, I lose it and think—I can’t even sing in a lucid dream. I float down to a white walkway between two wings of a long white single story building, landing where the path branches at a right angle in two directions. A young woman is standing there who informs me how so few of these trees die of old age anymore, and looking up, I see high above the rooftop the silhouettes of sharp, dead, skyward facing branches. Though I share her sadness, I’m not surprised considering the state of the waking reality world. I take the right hand path but as I’m walking away she gets my attention again. She is holding several of the same object in her hands, one of which she wants to give me. I sense it’s made of wood and is sharp, something akin to a ritual knife, too big to be a letter opener, and it’s carved. I tell her to toss it to me, I can catch it, I think, but she shakes her head, oh no, and it probably wouldn’t be a good idea, I agree.

I turn away and floating slightly off the ground hold a little wooden Hand of Fatima out before me. It is missing the heart, but I think I can easily add one if I want to. I’m also thinking it can guide me to the moon. © Natalia Bratslavsky - Fotolia.comI find myself out in a more open area flanked by two to three story golden-brown stone houses. As I land beside two people talking on the path, I lose my grip on the scene, but I don’t wake up. I deliberately hold on to the scene, fully intending to embed myself in it again. As I wait, a dark-haired, not very tall man in a white shirt appears, heading in my direction, and I pull myself into the dream by walking toward him. We meet on the path and I ask him—Is India older than ancient Egypt? He replies—Oh no, it dates to the palaios* age, and the two were like tacks to a magnetic. I’m distracted from his intriguing response by how tenuous my presence in the dream scene is, because it shouldn’t be this way, and I remember to look at my hands, which are normal tonight, and lift my shirt to squeeze my breasts, deepening techniques that work to stabilize me. Meanwhile, this professor who is very familiar to me, who I am very fond of, has seated himself and is watching me with a subtle, patient good humor. I ask him—Is it possible to get to the moon? He chuckles, and I laugh at myself. Of course it is, because anything is possible here. Then suddenly I find myself asking him—Is it okay for me to do Galantamine twice a month? He shakes his head and answers—No, no, we are hard workers here. I insist, a little dismayed—So it’s not okay for me to do Galantamine twice a month? He emphatically repeats his reply—No, we are hard workers here. He is clearly telling me not to do it, that it’s not right for me because I don’t need it. The feeling I have for him is of a student for a major professor. I understand he’s telling me that I’m doing very well, and will continue to make progress if I keep working hard, as I have been doing, and that taking Galantamine to lucid dream would be, for me personally, a form of cheating that would not help me advance.

*Palaios is actually a Greek word that means “old”. I don’t know Greek.

Dream Notes (1+ month later): Since this dream, the number of lucid dreams I have every month has tripled and, in many respects, “deepened” and “expanded”; it’s hard to describe. I am a firm believer in quality vs. quantity, but I have come to believe, because it is happening, that there is no reason I cannot have many rich and rewarding lucid dreams a month if I really want to.

I know some wonderful lucid dreamers who use supplements regularly, but I personally don’t feel the need to use them. Lucid dreaming, like everything else, is very much a personal journey and we each have to do what feels right and works for us. I am always wary of anything that drains me physically; it was a major red flag for me not feeling energized after lucid dreaming. It can be argued that the dream character who told me not to use Galantamine was my own subconscious, but that is neither here nor there; the result of listening to “him” because I felt “he” was right, has been extremely positive.

Sea Queen

February 12, 2011

I find myself at the entrance to what feels like a cave, dark and neutral, that opens onto the ocean. I get the impression I’ve come there to get away from something, to be by myself. The view is beautiful, isolated. The sea stretches out before me and around me, but there’s a dark rocky promontory of sorts a few “miles” directly before me. I know I’m dreaming, and as I stand at the cave’s mouth I’m permitting myself to become aroused by the presence of a large black-and-white dog with a long pointed snout that’s curled up asleep in the water to my right. He’s floating there like a natural formation and is much larger than life. I become fully lucid as I accept how I feel about dogs—I love them, I love their straightforward, uncomplicated honesty. I get the sense of a man, my husband, asleep on the dark bulk of the “island” before me that’s far enough away for where I am now to be private. I figure I may as well go all the way now and I seat myself at the entrance with my legs bent and spread open before me, fully exposing my sex to the natural world. The water is golden, the gently choppy waves a perfect balance of light and dark, faintly tinged, I think, with orange. The far away sky is a pure blue. Almost directly below me, parallel to the dog, rests a huge gray-black seal or walrus, also just peacefully keeping me company.

My totally exposed and proffered sex is now essentially another entrance like the one I’m sitting in. I’m lucid but don’t feel compelled to do anything. Then what I can only describe as the silhouette of a rabble evocative of Medieval peasants holding make-shift weapons materializes on top of the promontory across the water from me. They’re “yelling” to me, taunting me, daring me to fly over to them and get what I deserve. They call me “My Queen!” Their amused hostility feels threatening for only an instant, because I know nothing can really hurt me in a lucid dream. I have know I have no choice but to confront them. With a “what the hell” sort of attitude, I stand up, proud rather than embarrassed I had blatantly assumed the posture of a sexual goddess. I step out over the water after only the ghost of a concern I won’t be able to fly. I deliberately don’t assume the Super Man position but rather approach the island at a sedate, perfectly controlled pace with my body only slightly angled forward, my arms at my sides. The derisively cheering crowd eagerly awaits my arrival, but I have absolutely no fear about landing right in their armed midst, in fact, I’m a little excited about what might happen.

Just as I’m about to reach shore, however, the silhouette of a rabble disperses and fade and I find myself floating over an almost empty promontory, not stopping because there’s no point now. The dream begins going gray at that point and I raise both my hands in front of me, desperately trying to hold onto it, but I can’t see my hands at all. Yet I keep trying, not wanting to wake up; wanting to stay lucid in the dream. Suddenly, I’m aware of darkness before then all around me and of a painful, frightening pressure around my right hand which makes me fear I’m in the grip of a hostile force. I remember another technique or action possible in a lucid dream and cry out, “Hapuseneb!” the name I’ve given my Spirit Guide, the High Priest of Amun in Truth is the Soul of the Sun my novel of Hatshepsut-Maatkare. At once the excruciating grip on my hand loosens to one of reassuring firmness and I glimpse a man’s countenance, an extraordinarily handsome, beautiful face as I hear him say, “Yes.”

I want so much to be with him, to be lucid of being with him, that I find myself clinging to him. I can’t see him anymore at all, but I can distinctly feel a man’s naked body against mine, the contours of his chest and hips and legs all familiar yet new, as we “fly” through a series of “scenes” that bloom and fade to our left. The only clear one is the final one—the interior of what feels like a Victorian House and a man (me, in another incarnation?) quickly hurrying outside with something in his hand and muttering, “The world is going to hell in a hand basket!” The dream ends.

My Inception

May 9, 2011
Note: Late in the night I lay awake thinking about the fact that you have to think about lucid dreaming to have a lucid dream. I also thought about the film Inception and R. Waggoner’s blog post on how to make it the movie “true” lucid dreamers would have liked.

I’m deep in a dream observing a couple who are enjoying themselves in a lucid dream. They’re modeled after Leonardo DiCaprio and his co-star in the movie Inception, but Leonardo is “disguised” as a dark-haired and bearded, handsome man who spends all his time dancing with, and enjoying the company of, a lovely dream character. His partner, who is also his wife in my dream, doesn’t seem to mind, which I find odd. At some point, Leonardo is lying across a couch and someone, maybe his wife, is attempting to rouse him. He opens his eyes and says something about having gone in for too long, meaning he slept too long in order to stay inside this lucid dream. He rouses himself and he and his partner go and stand in front of a door. At this point I become a character in the lucid dreaming scene as, forming a loose circle, the three of us slowly and deliberately look at each others faces, and then all around us at the furniture and art works hanging on the wall. I’m careful not to focus for too long on any one item but I remember seeing each piece distinctly. We’re in an elegant parlor of sorts, decorated with wooden furniture, and I seem to recall the feel of dark-green upholstery. I look at a painting of a fierce red-and-black Mayan-type mask and I’m startled when it suddenly “growls” and leaps out at me—but it was only Leonard being mischievous, for he somehow merged himself with the painting in order to give me a fright. To my right, against the wall, on the eastern side of a dark fireplace, I notice a tall slender object I seem to recognize as an ancient Egyptian lamp stand, long and slightly wider and rectangular at the top. As I grasp or observe it, it falls straight down toward and into the floor, leaving behind a white object like a banister, or the smooth bud-like shape found at the head of a staircase, which I sense leads deep and down. I also get the feeling the dark fireplace is going to begin emitting a supernatural heat we have to be careful not to be burned by.

I don’t know how we end up below levels in a very large unlit building staring out glass walls at people walking along a sidewalk in some city. I comment on the scene to make sure my companions see what I do. We’re sitting at the base of a giant white chair. In fact, the whole building is filled with white couches and chairs that appear to have been made for giants, but then I realize what’s actually happened is that we’ve shrunk! This is unnerving because it puts us at the mercy of any insects and rodents that might appear. Leonardo seems unconcerned. I follow him and his partner as they somehow climb to the center of a vast white bed, and then delight in wriggling beneath the fine smooth sheet, cocooning themselves in it. I, however, am not comfortable with the idea of spending the night in a public “store front” which doesn’t feel truly private or safe. Then abruptly all light vanishes and we’re plunged into complete darkness. Leonard moans, sincerely, “Oh, I’m so afraid of the dark!” and I promptly tell him to simply make light as I point my finger and, after a few seconds, manage to create a sort of flash-light beam I cast around us. But then I seem to see the huge head of a beaked bird looming out of the darkness just beyond the foot of the bed and panic. Leonard and his partner also get up and run away from the windows toward the back of the “store” where I hear people entering. They manage to escape but I’m caught there watching a delivery man of sorts talking to one of his companions. I wonder at the fact that they don’t seem to notice me but then I spot a small white dog (like my Arthur) “hiding” on a seat in a corner, and I understand that’s the form I’ve assumed in the dream and why the delivery men aren’t suspicious of me. And yet I’m also walking around like a person as I pick up the animal, murmuring assurances to it as I retreat, leaving the scene of the dream.

I’m in my home, which looks just as it does in waking reality and is overrun with people, lucid dreamers all. A man is carrying Leonardo’s female partner—who is standing nearly upright and is wrapped up just like a mummy—into my bedroom, and her confused, unfocused eyes meet mine as I watch, somewhat incredulous. I walk down the hall into the kitchen, where Leonardo is standing between two or three other men. As I walk past him he turns toward the sink and says quietly, “Do you remember?” Softly I reply, “Yes” because I know we don’t want the other dream characters to hear us. He says, “Noted” and I walk away, elated and thrilled at this lucid contact and the conspiracy between us. I enter the rec room, which is colder than it should be and filled with more people engaged in some activity I can’t remember. Leonardo was referring to our previous “lucid” dream together. He did not look as he did in those dreams, he possessed much more presence and gravity and was dressed in a dark suit, beneath which his body was more densely built, and older as well.

Dream Notes: Remembering the dream, I immediately noticed the cocooning motifs: the white sheet we crawled under, and a mummy wrapped, cocooned, in white bandages being taken into my bedroom. I feel this dream promises me that if I continue to apply myself to remembering my dreams that my lucid dreaming skills, still in a chrysalis state, will unfold as slowly but surely as the time it takes for a caterpillar to transform into a butterfly. Then there’s the bud-like bannister. My lucid dreaming skills are still akin to a closed flower bud but they will open… He asked me “Do you remember?” in the kitchen, where things are cooked up, dreams, books, all good things, where I spend a good deal of my waking reality. Standing next to the sink can also imply I’m “cleaning up my act” as the expression goes, the purification process associated with all spiritual growth. Now every time I’m standing at the sink where he stood beside me I remember him asking me that question and my response. Yes, I remember! I will remember more of my dreams, and that this very moment is a dream on a different level but still a dream, and become more fully lucid in my dreams more often. Every day remembering how he asked me, “Do you remember?” further helps merge my waking reality with my dream life.

Hell or Heaven?

May 28, 2011
I think my Guardian Lord came to me in two “unreal” forms. At one point I’m standing on a porch at night beside a hanging stuffed figure, like something you would see at Halloween—the atmosphere was one of a pseudo-scary holiday, people milling on the porch and out on the streets—but not truly frightening. The face of the figure was clearly fashioned and I was surprised, and yet wasn’t, when it suddenly became animated, turning toward me to say something. I was amazed and yet okay with having a conversation with it. All I clearly remember it saying was, as he regarded the amorphous activity around us, “Would you rather this be hell or heaven?” At once I replied, “Heaven!” and he agreed, “Me too.”

Standing on another porch to the right of the first one, I understood that this “straw man” had been created by God. A Divine force had animated the materials it was constructed of, and I had been meant to encounter it through synchronicity (the Magic Pattern) and the reason it was conscious was because God had “breathed” life into it for a purpose. I was supposed to take “it-him” with me…

A parking lot, a still night, I have to make a quick get away and I have to leave “it-him” lying across the gravel as I go back inside for something… I realize I’ve left my magical stuffed man behind and go back for him, but I get lost in a multistory house where a woman reminiscent of my childhood friend Miriam rather cynically informs me “it-he” was flattened out on the driveway where I abandoned him, and she takes me to where the flat and lifeless form is hanging. I take “it-him” in my arms, look directly at its face and suddenly it shifts, becomes dimensional, conscious, only now his features are those of a white dog as I apologize to it profusely. He’s confused, he doesn’t remember clearly what happened as he asks me, “Did I want to stay?” I assure him he didn’t, that he wanted to come with me. Then he says, “Why did you leave me?” I’m ashamed to admit I forgot about him! I can’t tell him that, I just want to get out of there and take him with me…

Back in that confusing house, I’m asking Miriam if she’s pregnant because she’s touching her belly, and she backs up as if to avoid the question. I can’t remember now if I left “it-him” in the car or in the room where I found him. I go looking for him again and when I don’t see him I firmly tell myself that he’s in the car, that when I look, he’ll be in the car whether or not I left him there or not (inklings of lucidity.) All I know is I can’t leave my magical companion and that I’m appalled I keep losing track of him!

Dream Notes: I’m naturally reminded of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz and the scarecrow. I still don’t really know how to think outside the box. Perhaps my Guardian Lord is attempting to train me to do so more often in dreams. Whenever I think of Miriam, I see her coming back from school (4th grade) loaded with books and homework and how stunned I was by how much more detailed and difficult the education she was receiving was compared to mine, and how I was at once glad and distressed that my school life was so much easier. I’m lazy. There’s a part of me that is lazy and still has much to learn. I can’t be with my Guardian Lord if I don’t strive to be lucid 24/7.

Sexy Impostor

December 17, 2011
I’m in a small auditorium/classroom of sorts giving a performance or demonstration. It involves, as best I can remember, standing up to a man who wants to control me, and all other women. I think I do a wildly defiant ritual dance while standing in place. I sit back down, occupying a central seat on an elevated platform directly across from the “stage.” While I’m sitting there, a man coming from my right, or the east, steps up to me and looking straight at me says, rather sternly, “A word, please.” He looks a lot like Bono during his Achtung Baby phase, wearing black sunglasses and black leather jacket. He wants me to follow him for a private conference. I glance at the people around me, smiling a bit self-consciously, wondering what I’ve done wrong. However, it’s not such a bad thing to be singled out by such a handsome and seemingly important man.

I follow the man into an adjoining room. He’s seated on a couch set on a pedestal waiting for me. I crawl toward him on my hands and knees, deliberately approaching him from the left around some obstacle akin to a black and gilded pole. He seems amused and asks me if I’m some particular creature (don’t remember the name) which I think is silly because obviously, and I tell him so, I’m being a cat. I say, “All women are cats” meaning when they transform into an animal. I seat myself on the couch beside him. He still looks like Bono, whom I had a major crush on at the time, still disguised by his glasses and jacket. I believe I wait for him to tell me what he has to say, but if he says anything of significance, I don’t recall it. I perceive him as one of my Guardian Lords and am very happy he came to me in a dream as I had requested before falling asleep.

Next thing I know, I’m standing in a doorway looking out at a hallway that opens up from this room. The atmosphere is reddish and yet it has the clarity of lucidity. This may be when I become fully lucid, because I experience that deep pleasure/presence. I walk back toward the pedestal where my supposed Guardian Lord is still sitting, looking slightly down at me from his seat. I say, “It’s so wonderful to be here with you like this.” He’s smiling as though pleased, but I notice now that his face isn’t quite so handsome anymore (the black sunglasses are gone) and that his body, dressed now in white clothing with black trim, is rather thin, almost scrawny, too small for his head.

I remember my intent, to ask him about healing my tendinitis, and I’m about to do so when he begins talking, telling me about others like him that are dying. I’m shocked and appalled. “But I thought you were a Guardian Lord,” I exclaim. “How can you die?” He ignores my question and says something about the eyes go blind and then a disintegration occurs behind them, a dissolution of force, of being, so that they don’t die in a mortal sense but are somehow rendered lifeless/impotent. It almost sounds plausible, but it feels completely wrong and not possible. I move closer to him, still intending to ask him about healing in a dream, but suddenly he vanishes; one second he’s there, the next he’s gone. I say, a bit angrily, “You weren’t really a Guardian Lord!” because I get the feeling he ran away from me and my indignant questions.

I feel myself losing lucidity and hold onto it, determined to stay in the dream. I find myself walking back into the auditorium/classroom I was in earlier but there’s no one there anymore; everyone left while I was in another room with that man, but it’s okay because I’m still in the dream. In the center of the space, or thereabouts, I raise my hands before me and ask to go deeper and higher, where I can attempt to heal myself again, but instead I feel myself waking up, or slipping away, and this time I can’t hold on to my lucidity.