February 6, 2012
I’m talking to Mami about my sister’s new boyfriend. She thinks he’s Polish but I tell her he’s Russian, a good man, although anything can happen, but I don’t think so; I’m confident he is as he appears to be and it’s great she’s with him. I can see her and Mami now, and my brother as well, who is also accompanied by his new girl friend. She has long dark hair falling straight down her back, but that’s all I can see of her as they begin walking away in a contented group. I follow my family inside this vast and shadowy underground rail station of sorts. I’m walking on a level above them but I can see down to their platform. When they stop, I also pause at a corner. A dark-haired young woman in a dark-blue long-sleeved shirt and dark slacks is standing beside me. I turn to her and immediately realize I’m dreaming and already sharply lucid. She seems to back away from me against a dark-gray wall made of concrete or stone, but I walk right up to her. “Are you a dream character?” I demand forcibly, because her eyes and expression are unfocused. “Are you a dream character?” I insist, grasping her shoulders. “Look at me! Look straight into my eyes.” She obeys, looking directly into my eyes so I can see her irises are a medium brown color with a hint of gold in them. I say, referring to my brother and sister and their new partners, “This is the way it’s supposed to be, isn’t it?” She seems to answer in the affirmative and I ask, “Why isn’t it this way? What can I do to help (make it this way)?” She talks to me but all I can remember is the fact that she doesn’t want me to speak so loudly so close to my family; she wants us to turn back the way I came so we can talk in private. As we walk side-by-side, I alternate between glancing into her eyes and looking around me in a perfect dance of focusing and removing my awareness so I don’t risk awakening, at once studying my environment and remaining connected with this dream character I’m intent on getting answers from. I’m certain we’re speaking as we walk, but I can’t recall anything about this conversation, or perhaps she’s waiting until we get far enough away for privacy to begin answering my questions. I recall seeing something orange hanging from a post of sorts, a decoration, and other items very clearly. I effortlessly controlled the intensity of my excitement at being so very lucid so it wouldn’t wake me up. I also didn’t let knowing how happy I would be tomorrow that I had a lucid dream distract me because merely becoming lucid wan’t enough; I had to do something with it and not think about the morning.
The young woman stops at the rear wall of this “platform” and leans back against it. Then I see the wall isn’t solid and that she’s slowly sinking into it, half smiling at me. I suffer a faint twinge of anxiety, because going through substance in lucid dreams has never been effortless, and sometimes I don’t enjoy the texture or the sense of possibly becoming trapped. But it’s only a faint pang and I follow her through the wall. I find myself in a featureless milky white world that’s dark, as in there’s no discernible source of light, but I can see the flowing white liquid mist, the only words I can find to describe it, as well as the young woman. I’m surprised and delighted; it’s as luxurious as bathing in milk, or so I imagine, but I’m not conscious of any temperature or any actual texture, just of floating as in the ocean yet much more sensually. At once we begin playing/swimming together, grasping hands, twirling, slick and effortless, laughing. The sensuality of this medium inspires our carefree, innocently erotic behavior. I’m not forgetting that I want information from her, but I can’t really speak in this flowing white dimension. I try to talk to her and can barely get the words out, so I gesture to my mouth and point at her, letting her know that I still want her to talk to me. She begins swimming/floating back in the direction of the wall we passed through, to the left/west, and I make an effort to follow her, moving through the liquid fog, keeping her bare feet and ankles in my line of sight. I’m just a little surprised when, after I see part of her disappear, I also emerge on the other side. The wall has transformed into a black-and-white tide and I feel the pull of waves breaking over the part of me still submerged. I say, “Take my hand!” asking her to help pull me all the way out. I’m not afraid, and I have a highly lucid thought that there’s no need for me to feel or behave this way because gravity doesn’t really exist in a dream and I just have to really believe it. The black waves, outlined and shining with moonlight, almost take the form of whale-like jaws reaching for my ankles, which is more fascinating than troubling as the young woman helps pull me all the way out and I gain my feet.
Now the whole time I was swimming and wading out of the ocean I was catching glimpses of an incredible full moon above it. All I can say about this moon is that it was a jewel, a shining white and a shining black, like a diamond set in onyx but so much more real, defined and exquisite! I exclaim about it to the young woman, “Look at the moon!” and as I do so, it becomes larger and it’s gem-like black-and-white take the form of a Harlequin’s face, with those telltale little black pyramids beneath the eyes, crowned by a white hat of sorts. I think for a worried instant that it’s a clown, but it’s not a clown at all, it’s a Harlequin decorated with the black-and-white paint favored my mimes. It’s a huge, peaceful, handsome, androgynous and expressionless countenance gazing down on the city we’re now in, standing on a roof top, and I’m fascinated by it.
There’s a group of people I’m part of now with the young woman, and some talk goes on I can’t recall, before I casually walk to the edge of the roof and casually launch myself beneath a black arch, effortlessly and slowly taking flight. I feel the pull, some innate desire, to rise up toward the stars, but I very lucidly opt to remain close to the earth where I can observe events and still talk to the young woman. Then abruptly, standing below me in the doorway of his apartment, I see my brother, and beside him is Mami, although she’s no taller than my eleven-year-old niece. “Look, that’s my brother!” I tell the young woman, meaning it’s high time she answered my question about what I can do to help my family. I pause slightly to the right and above where my brother and Mami are standing, floating beside my dream character friend, who says something to the effect of, “If you’re worried about him, what about your sister?” to which I reply with a sinking sensation of dread, “Oh God, not her” meaning I have no idea what to do about her. As I look down on this city street, I distinctly feel, even as I see my own figure from behind, the “energy-thread” of responsibility tying me to my two siblings which comes from the fact that I’m the oldest, and yet at the same time I also feel that it’s not necessary, in the sense that I am enforcing this concern upon myself to an exaggerated degree because they’re not my children. The young woman begins talking to me, and now we seem to be sitting in 1960’s style arm chairs in the sky. I paraphrase what she said to me: “Since the issue involves this certain man, who is now in hot water, or liable, because his dishonesty has been exposed, things could come to a head suddenly in the middle of the night without warning, so it’s pointless to worry, and a perfect time to rescue/bring forth a manuscript.” I look at one of the people having this spontaneous open-air conference in the sky and feel myself phasing back into my body, aware that I should have looked away, focused on something else, to remain lucid, but not feeling bad about it because I also felt the dream had ended when it needed to.
Dream Notes: I wonder if the manuscript the young woman was referring to relates to dreams, the Man being the society in which we were raised and which messed us up in a lot of ways that are now being exposed and healed by new/ancient ways of thinking. Dreams are where transformations take place that change our waking circumstances. I’m pretty sure I’ve already helped my sister with my telepathic dreams, which prove how connected our awareness is beyond time and space. I read a sentence today that I feel sums up the gist of what the young woman was telling me: Encouraging others toward independent behavior will ultimately increase your sense of freedom as well.