Swimming in Mist

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.


June 18, 2012

I seem to remember having woken up from a non-lucid dream, fallen right back to sleep and recognized the fact, helped by the presence of a woman I couldn’t see but sensed and somehow knew and who “inspired” me to rise above the “subconscious flow” into lucidity. She spoke to me and I replied, I can really hear you! Her voice had that presence which is like sound in waking reality and yet much more than than that, a clear resonance possessed of its own undeniable reality. I picked myself up off a bed and walked west in the direction of the woman as I “said” excitedly, “I know you. You’re Sofia? S…? S…? Whatever!” I knew her and her name but couldn’t remember it exactly, and even as I said “whatever” I felt bad about it because I didn’t mean to imply she and her name were not important, on the contrary.

At this point I can’t see anything, and I tell her so as I feel her gather my long hair in both her hands. Before I lost vision, I glimpsed an old-fashioned looking car, or perhaps I was merely trying to give an image to what I sensed was happening. She’s leading me toward what I assume to be the car with its hood pulled up and I exclaim incredulously, even though there’s no doubt I like and trust her, “You’re not going to stick my head in the engine are you?!” She tells me, patiently and calmly, that she isn’t, she’s only going to warm me up. This makes sense and I feel or imagine myself leaning over the bowels of a car even as I glimpse the bottoms of my legs and my feet. “I’m beginning to see,” I tell her, noticing her legs as well, and then I have full vision and she’s standing before me, dark-haired and sporting what I can only describe as a 1940’s hairstyle. She’s smiling and pretty.

A shift of direction but not perspective as I see her standing before me while I face a different direction of the measureless enclosed space I can only describe as a clean, white, well-lit parking garage that is nonetheless shadowy or mysterious. I see her clearly, distinctly make out her face and dress and hair as we stare straight at each other. I say, “This is a dream. You know this is a dream, right?” and she replies, “Yes” her tone adding an unspoken of course it is. I’m amazed and almost say, “Dream characters usually don’t…” but stop myself, not wanting to insult her by calling her a “dream character” and instead I remark, “People I meet in dreams usually don’t realize it’s a dream.” Though I’m looking directly into her small, narrow eyes I can’t see her irises, but I can feel the direct intensity of her regard. We begin walking eastward and I keep my eyes on her face the whole time, watching it, a little suspiciously now, as it begins aging. At first I saw a young woman but now there are lines on her face, which hardens ever so subtly but undeniably. Part of me wonders if I should trust her; if she might not be a hostile dream character leading me astray. However, as we reach a group of people I recognize from an earlier non-lucid dream, I can’t look away from her. She appears to be confronting them, not in a hostile fashion but with an air of authority that captivates me even as I’m still not sure I can trust her. I feel the phasing away sensation, like a pull without direction, that means I’m waking up…

Dream Notes: Interesting that just when I think it’s okay to see my Guardian Lord as male I have a dream with a woman I like and whom I feel I know very well (lying in bed before I went to sleep I was thinking about Sara) a woman who ends up being the first (as far as I can remember) dream character that responds in the affirmative when I ask if she realizes we’re dreaming. She possessed that same air of authority, that presence, as my male Guardian Lords, but she seemed harder, sterner, colder. There’s never any question of not trusting my male Guardians. I also know perfectly well when a male dream character is pretending to be a Guardian Lord and trying to get me to trust him and believe him. This woman was something new and different. If I have to describe her, I would say she seemed as stern as the head mistress of a boarding school dealing with bright but unruly children. The plot thickens!

Dark Knight

June 28, 2012
I’m aware of being in a different state, the dream realm but even more than that, on the Other Side vs. waking reality. I’m following a man, a dark knight in the most profound and positive sense of the term, by his side in every stage of a “battle” or “transformation” or “rebellion”. It’s a dark place, clearly to the left/west of the realm, or level, where all my other dreams of the night were happening in such vivid and colorful abundance it’s like trying to sort through a huge net of fish in the morning; nearly impossible to pin down and remember them all. The darkness is full of stone, great huge walls and precipices, a seeming blend of natural and constructed formations akin to the fragments of old-style castle fortresses. Darkness and sharp-edged stone and this dark-haired powerful, tormented man (perhaps wielding a scepter of some kind.) I watch him confront some invisible adversary, facing east in the direction of non-lucid dreams and waking reality, the source of the conflict/trauma/drama here in this space that almost seems cursed, relegated to this half-life, to this “dark side of the moon” because of all the negative attitudes prevalent in current waking reality. He performs a magnificent gesture/act and disappears deeper into the western darkness. I intend to follow him, but first I grab hold of a large tree branch growing out from a knob-like center in two directions (east-west.) I grab both sides of the branch and cry, “In honor of the breaking of the Tree of Life!” and though in waking reality it would be impossible, I know I can split the branch in half, and I do so, tossing one side eastward and holding on to the other half as I slide down the sheer edge of a gray stone barrier, the bottom of which is invisible. In waking reality I would plummet to my death, but here my intent makes it possible for me to grab the edge and then slide down and down…

I “run” after the dark knight, slip my arms around his neck and ask him to tell me another (final?) tale, in the dream akin to a story/sermon. I love him, he’s more than special to me. He chides me, without rancor, that I’m attracted to displays of power through eloquent pronouncements (the best I can do to describe what he said) and I tell him that’s not true at all, that he should know, must know, that all I care about is the truth, and that I’m drawn to him, love him, because he is its champion. But he accuses me, once again calmly, a bit regretfully, of being cold, not passionate or giving enough, and I communicate to him that isn’t the case either, that when we make love the depth of my surrender, how completely I open myself to him, how deep I let him go without resistance, is the most profound passion possible, absolute openness and surrender to his force in a way that expresses how much I love him. Yet I get the sense he wants me to be less passive, more aggressive, as in expressive, and less submissive.

Making Love With a Winged Man

November 26, 2011

I’m standing outside at night in a circle of women. I’m the first one to rise up slightly off the ground in defiance of gravity, my arms open but not raised to my sides; my hands are at hip level. I assume what I think of as a Christ position and remain floating there. The feeling I experience, the peace of this pose, dovetails with providing an example to the others in the circle, to showing them it can be done. I come down gently and cup both my hands together. I tell everyone, “Make fire” and I see flowers of fire blooming on their palms even as I concentrate on producing my own fire blossom. It’s important to do it with your palms and not your fingertips. Then I step forward toward the center of the circle and quickly touch my flame to the kindling of the large fire we’re building. I slip into other dreams…

…It’s early night or late dusk. I’m outside in an open field with other people walking toward a fence. As I reach it, it becomes an electric wire fence like the one we have around our vegetable garden. I slip between two wires (rather like the deer I saw do that once.) I’m part of a planned demonstration/protest to prove it’s possible to go through, to conquer, barriers. It’s related to the environment, and not being cruel to animals, and generally to everything that has to do with the earth. Without thinking about it, I rise straight up into the sky as people watch. I know they expect me to fall and die, and for a second I wander if that’s exactly what’s going to happen, because what I’m doing is physically impossible. But I decide I’m not going to fall, that I’ll show them. I twirl in place and remain airborne, showing everyone it’s possible. This is all in the service of an important, vital cause. Then I let myself rise up higher and higher, surrendering to the upward pull, ascending freely, without fear or effort. Eventually, I realize that yes, this is a dream, and I just sweep forward. I see stars above me as I let myself go, flying backward in a reclining posture, not seeking any control.

I don’t remember how I end up in a man’s arms. We’re both soaring/floating in the night sky. I’m lying on my back, but we’re in the dark sky. I arch my back and see my breasts as he kisses them, one after the other. I wonder what I look like but only briefly because I’m in my dream body so, naturally, I’m beautiful; it doesn’t really matter. We’re making love and I’m experiencing an easy and deep sexual pleasure. He’s inside me and I feel myself coming to a climax. I can see his broad bare shoulders and dark hair, which seems to frame his face, and there are what appear to be white wings rising from between his shoulder blades, not very large and resting in a closed position now. He looks down at me, looking me straight in the eyes. I’m staring directly at his face very close above mine and I don’t know him; he’s a total stranger and he looks very serious. He’s also very handsome, with pale skin and even, well defined features beneath deep, dark eyes. I’m thinking, wow, I don’t know this man and yet we’re making love. We don’t speak. I’ll never forget looking directly at his serious, intent, and yet also mysteriously expressionless face, although that’s not the right word because there definitely was an expression on it. Thinking about it now, the expression on his face seemed to be one of utter peaceful indifference perfectly combined with intense and profound emotion, a synthesis of the two.

As I embrace his powerful body, I think of asking him his name, but for some reason I hesitate to do so, and end up not asking him. I almost, almost climax, before I slip into a normal dream…

Sex on a Balcony

June 14, 2012
I’m lying in bed remembering/seeing this open air brick corridor that looks and feels totally familiar, as though I’ve been there before in dreams. I’m viewing it from just beyond it, looking north, the balcony on the right, the rooms on the left. It’s a hypnagogic image, my mind is still awake and I see a man I was attracted to once in waking reality standing by a door before walking toward me and disappearing. I know I’ve been here at least twice in dreams, but I don’t even like this man anymore, much less desire him. I want to walk up onto that corridor-balcony made of red bricks but the man I meet needs to be different.

Suddenly I’m aware of my body again. I’m lying in bed on my stomach, my right cheek on the pillow, a new position that felt so comfortable I couldn’t resist it even though all my lucid dreams have happened when I was sleeping either on my right or left side. I believe I’ve been awoken by my cat Whispers scratching insistently at something just beyond me at the foot of the bed. I also hear a strange noise. The feeling is sinister and I realize I’m dreaming. I have no desire to explore the creepy situation and easily will myself to wake up.

I wake up in the exact position, determined to enter a dream again. Already I’m seeing that brick balcony again, the hypnagogic image clear as day, and then I’m standing on it, the doorway near me on my left, the transition seamless. I’m looking out across a vast open landscape just beyond the balcony, at one sunlit area far to the north-west, while everything else is pitch black. Then that scene also winks out and there’s nothing but an absolute darkness beyond this open air corridor. It’s not frightening, however; it seems normal, and as I continue gazing out, the scene to the north-west reappears in stunning depth and clarity, perhaps a castle/mansion-like structure with a reddish brown pyramid-style roof the focal point.

There are about four other people there with me, male and female, and all of us are looking out at the vast open space beyond the balcony. The man I want to meet/conjure is not one of them; I’m barely aware of anything about them except their presence. Then I feel a leg pressing against my left leg even though there’s nothing but darkness beside me, followed by the sensation of a hand resting on, gently grasping, my left thigh. For an instant I wonder if I should be frightened or concerned, but I quickly decide it’s okay, that I’m helping shape, or bring forth, a man who will please me. Some measureless amount of time passes and a man steps out of the darkness on my left, perfectly real and independent of me, tall, solidly built, with a handsome face over short dark hair. He’s dressed as all my Guardian Lords are, in dark slacks, and his short-sleeved shirt is a fog-like gray. His features are even and firm, and I somehow recognize him, I know him, although he looks different from the blond Guardian Lord I’m most familiar with. I call him a Guardian Lord because he doesn’t feel like a dream character; he has a presence, an aura of command, of lucidity, most dream characters don’t.

He speaks to me, and I find myself leaning against the balcony now, facing inward. I understand he’s chiding me, in a serious yet not urgent or angry way, for being too clothed, even wearing boots. I understand he wants to see more flesh, which makes sense, because what I want from him is sex. That’s what we’re here for. Faster even than in the blink of an eye, I’m naked and his touch on the right side of my pelvis awakens desire in me, I distinctly feel it’s warmth, its sensation, and marvel at it, because I no longer experience it with such pure intensity in waking reality. I want him so much I can scarcely wait for it, and when he enters me I notice two or three other male-female couples engaging in the act around us. I see a blonde woman very clearly before me and slightly to my left, the whole scene as sharp as waking reality. It’s all very tasteful and graceful, utterly enjoyable. I can feel the pleasure but there isn’t enough pressure or friction, not enough motion, just a glowing physical ecstasy. I begin moving my hips aggressively back and forth. My partner is no longer wearing a shirt. I see his face and distinctly perceive and feel his bare chest (there’s a slight dark mark on it) the sparse hairs on his flesh textured, real; I can almost smell it. I feel his strokes now but our pleasure is motionless because it’s one—I experience his pleasure at the same time I feel my pleasure, a pure pleasure without borders. His expression is at once slightly smiling, serious and inscrutable, knowing and yet not at all judgmental, pleased yet detached. If I have to define it, I would describe it as the look of a man performing a service, and more than happy to do it, like some sort of dream world gigolo. And yet we are also involved in a deeper way, we somehow know each other, and the nature of our relationship on the Other Side makes him the right person for this particular scenario.

A Clear Answer

May 27th, 2012:

I’m with someone I identify as my husband standing near the entrance of a large open yet enclosed space difficult to identify, a cross between an airport, a mall, a great hotel, etc. I look into his eyes and immediately realize this is a dream. I tell him, “We’re dreaming! This is a dream!” hoping he’ll understand and his unfocused eyes will focus, but if they do so, it’s only the tiniest bit. Impatient and eager, I grab his arm and declare, “Let’s fly!” Still holding onto him, I ascend into the open space surrounded by colorful walls. “Do you see the same colors I do?” I ask my zombie-like companion, who doesn’t reply. Bright red, yellow and white are angled into shining neon shapes that are also words as we float east toward the entrance.

Outside it’s night time and I fly out eagerly, losing my companion, who I look back and see is standing/floating near the entrance to that vast, amorphous structure as though he can go no farther. I’m not inclined to go back for him and wave a farewell as I proceed eagerly up and out into the open sky. I’m high up and yet still feel close to the earth as I distinctly see a woman–her arms at her sides and her posture as still and vertical as a carved figurine’s even though she’s real–plunge straight down through a layer of clouds that part around her then close again. I think this cloud-mist, what I could discern of it in the darkness, was tinged a bluish green. I have to remind myself to do a deepening technique, giving my chest and breasts a cursory pat down; I feel perfectly rooted in the dream.

There’s a long moment where I simply look around me, open to whatever I might see, to whatever the dream might put before me, but then abruptly I remember what I was worried about before I went to bed. I ask the dream a very specific (personal) question then I look around me for some place where the answer might be found, a doorway I can open, something. At once I see a brightly lit room at the western end of a long, single story building. In the darkness it stands out like a light house and I can even see the shapes of wooden furniture inside it. I fly straight down toward it and into it, eagerly looking for a drawer to open. I distinctly see clean, new-looking wooden furnishings, which include one or two picnic tables. It feels somewhat like a room used to hold the work of a single expert carpenter and craftsman. I alight/kneel before a table/dresser with a drawer and open it. Inside, and yet now also on top of it, a little pig carved in blue wood comes to life and says clearly, almost urgently, “No! No! False alarm! False alarm!” almost jumping up and down it’s so apparently intent on answering my question. I laugh out loud it’s so adorable and because I’m completely surprised and thrilled to get a straight answer from the dream; not merely a “yes” or “no” as I had hoped for but a resounding “No!” And though the object was a little pig it was also shaped like a clock, round, with a straight base, and yet there were no arms or numbers, which in retrospect made it look more like an animated Shen Ring, the ancient Egyptian symbol for eternity.

I leave the room absolutely delighted and, flying low through the sky, almost immediately come upon a large mirror with a gilded frame, just like in my last lucid dream. However, this time I see myself reflected as I look now, not younger, wearing the dress I wore in waking life the evening before, the only difference is, I’m black! I study my skin and see that it’s not paint, or ashes or anything smearing me; I distinguish the natural pores in my flesh. I smile at myself, intrigued to see what I would have looked like as a colored woman. (This is another subconscious reference to ancient Egypt, where only gods and people who had achieved their divine flesh were portrayed with black faces.)

As in my last lucid dream, I fly around the left side of the mirror. Somehow, I end up in front of a long and tall white walls which for some reason I feel I have to climb rather than fly over. I’m not alone; there are several other women standing in this narrow corridor between these pure white walls. The women are all attractive, I notice, dressed in form-fitting outfits of various colors, and very briefly, in passing, I entertain the possibility of becoming a little more intimate with one of them, but the impulse vanishes almost the instant it arises. We’re all intent on scaling the white walls, and suddenly I wonder why the hell we can’t just fly over them, at which point I do just that. Other women follow me up, but one of them is more concerned with me, in fact, she’s attacking me; before I know it, she’s bitten the right side of my neck. I push her away and prevent her from coming near me again, I have the power to do so, and I can’t believe it when she complains to the others about my aggressive behavior. “Are you kidding?” I say. “You’re the one who bit my neck!”

Wanting to just get out of there, I fly Superman style straight up toward the ceiling, intending to go through it. I penetrate it easily, but suddenly I have no desire to make the effort to go through this white material which is like no material known to waking reality, a pure white that is both a solid and a liquid, dense and yet no more substantial than fog, impossible to describe.I don’t feel like struggling with it in this particular lucid dream and I reverse direction, the only problem is, the ceiling follows me down, collapsing, as it were, around me. I’m surprised, this has never happened before in a lucid dream. There’s no getting away from it, I’m pushed down and engulfed in this impossible substance pinning me beneath it. I’ve never had a lucid dream end on a negative note before, and have no intention of waking up at this point. Picking myself up, I don’t fight the substance in which I find myself but instead attempt to transform it into pure potential, to visualize its infinite white as separate points of light akin to all the stars in the universe and all other possible universes, willing myself into the light so that a faint golden glow begins very faintly suffusing my white “prison.”

Then abruptly I’m whisked away from there, carried out of there by a force cradling me from behind that propels me, if I have to describe it with words, at the speed of light. And I see light not far below me in the form of a golden electricity illuminating a diner/cafe/bar with glass walls very much reminiscent of the painting Night Owls. At the same time I distinctly hear a voice, that comes from so close behind me it’s ostensibly inside me, tell me, “You can have anything you want.” This voice/telepathic communication is different from that of other dream characters, it is a presence in itself and what it tells me rings with the truth of revelation. Almost impossible to put into words the intensity and depth of what I felt cradled, embraced, rescued by this “force” propelling me forward while at the same time “settling” me inside the cafe’s golden light at a small round table while explaining (I paraphrase) “It can’t (ever) be defined, the mistake is to try, because if It could be (so contained) It wouldn’t be what It is.” It’s not like I’m being told something I don’t already know, it’s as though the knowledge is now mysteriously branded into my soul by this voice, which verifies what I already knew intellectually in a visceral way that will somehow free me in the future as it freed me from that engulfing “milky” substance.

I suffer a false awakening in which our bed is outside on a dark, quiet residential street. Lying there remembering my lucid dream, I’m facing a gray mailbox shaped like a cow’s head that turns and looks at me; it’s alive. (Another reference to ancient Egypt.) I think it very curious, it’s like a mailbox in a dream, and yet I’m awake, I know I am. Stinger isn’t in bed, and suddenly I see he’s gotten Arthur out of his cage even though it’s still dark out. “Why did you wake him up?” I cry, “it’s not morning yet!” at which point the stress wakes me up for real.