OBE? WILD? DILD? What’s in a Name? AND Spiritual Warfare.

Lay awake for a while focusing my inner vision in the way that often generates a WILD.

I’m in a dark space, like adjoining bedrooms. I signal to a woman sitting on the bed—who seems to be waiting for me to do so—that she can begin. I take my place on the floor beside the bed, accompanied by another dark figure, as the woman strips off her clothes, and begins her performance. She mostly stands in place as she dances, with subtle, sensual movements of her arms and torso, which are white and smooth as embodied moonlight. She is slender, and I see the form of her breasts, but no actual nipples. I wonder why I told her to dance for me… She’s closer now, moving through me, and through the bed, at which point I notice she’s wearing a pointed “helmet” reminiscent of the headdresses worn by dancers in Thailand. As I watch her, it dawns on me that she’s my dream body, and that I can follow her out of my physical body, which I realize now is the figure I’ve been crouching beside all this time. My body is a featureless form clad in dark clothing, and I’m able to stand up, and move away from it, without any effort. But I lose the dream.

Still trying to WILD, I find myself in a similar dark room with a woman who distinctly resembles my maternal grandmother. We’re facing each other, almost embracing, but when I suddenly realize she merely represents my physical body, I begin pulling away from her, gently but firmly forcing her to crouch down on the floor against the wall as I separate myself from her, and fully enter the dream space. But no sooner have I done so than some repressive force presses up behind me, and slips heavy “arms” around my shoulders. I say, “My Lord, protect me!” and immediately understand that I’m in no danger – it’s just my physical body resisting the separation.

Still trying to WILD, I slip into a dream scene in which I’m running after a man, following him, as he busily moves from room to room of some industrial-like office building, urgently implementing some plan he has. For revenge? And suddenly I think—This is not my fight. Immediately becoming lucid, I leave him behind, and hurry out of the building through a gray metal door, relieved it was so easy to make it outside.

There is a subdued, somewhat overcast light, and I’m aware only of paths cutting through low hills immediately before me, and some people walking around purposefully. I declare, “My General!” addressing Jesus Christ. But then think I should add, to make myself clear, “My King, my Lord and my God, now and forever!”

I walk along a path, conscious of holding my purse, and of the action of walking, as I ask my Lord if he has any orders, any instructions for me. I focus on a passing woman who is tall, with very short hair, and who possesses an aura of authority, like a troop commander. But she doesn’t even glance at me so, as I continue walking, I ask, “Is there is anything I can do to help Sean move forward and progress in his relationship with you, Lord?” echoing one of the subjects foremost in my mind as I lay awake trying to WILD.

When I get no response of any kind as I keep walking beneath white trees (like the Dogwoods in bloom now on our property) I feel this lack of response is the response: “No, there’s nothing more you can do at the moment.” So I deliberately drop my purse, and begin rising slowly into the air, thinking—Alright, I’ll just relax and enjoy being here. There is a soft, muted golden light around and behind the trees, and I feel better and better, more and more wonderful, as I gradually ascend, turning gently in place, toward the open sky. I feel I want to go all the way up tonight, that I can simply leg go, completely surrender to and become one with this feeling of peace and well being expressed by my dream weightlessness, and I do…

Suddenly, still lucid, I find myself in the midst of an action packed scene taking place in a large, shadowy indoor space akin to a paranormal sports stadium. I’m surrounded by men belonging to two “soccer” teams getting ready to play each other, but I see only red uniforms around me. I’m talking to one man as I move about energetically. I tell him, “I’m tempted to stand behind the goal keeper, and keep out all the balls!” He responds by urging me to be careful, but I just laugh and say, “I’m in my dream body!” Meanwhile, I glimpse Sean standing somewhere to my left, and talking animatedly about Jesus. I can’t remember what he says, but it all seems to be good. He’s wearing red, like all the members of the team I’m supporting. The other team is invisible, for they don’t have physical bodies like we do.

Heading to one side of the space, I walk down a few steps, then stop to look back into the “inner field” where the match is taking place. I’m joyfully followed by a fully mature woman the size of a doll who leaps into my arms and cries, “You’re the best!” The best of something, but I don’t remember now what she said. I caress her sleek, soft black hair as I might a cat, while she talks to me. We are very dear to each other even though we haven’t been together in a long time.

My attention is drawn now to two women kneeling together, as though on a picnic blanket, waiting for the match to recommence. They are near the stairway I’m standing in, and cannot, for some reason, step out of. I’m helpless to do anything about it as I watch a man thrust a long knife beneath the right breast (cupped in a blue bra) of the woman kneeling on the right. A yellowish liquid mixed with blood pours from the wound. I somehow know – in that way of lucid dreams – that she is serving as the living tap for the “beer” everyone will be drinking. The man now smoothly slips his blade beneath the left breast of the other woman, and the same fount of fluid pours straight down from the wound. It is terrible to watch, but the women remain conscious, and look more uncomfortable than in pain.

I now understand this ritual strangely reflects the piercing of Christ’s side on the cross by the Roman soldier from which water and blood poured forth. The mysterious mystical cup of Redemption is the “beer” everyone will be drinking at the match. All of us, in one form or another, suffer with Christ in this life, even as He is the source of our Life, and the reason we, like these two women, will not die, but live forever. It is the presence of the opposing “team” that makes a cruelly sadistic and sexist mockery of that moment on the cross in the way I just observed, using helpless young women – easy victims in the dream space just as they are in waking reality.

I know who the opposing team is now, and they are invisible because they have no physical bodies as we humans do.

Dream Notes:

In lucid dreaming circles, people spend countless hours talking about whether an OBE (Out of Body Experience) is the same as a Lucid Dream, and if a WILD (Wake Induced Lucid Dream) is superior or inferior or more desirable than a DILD (Dream Induced Lucid Dream) since, supposedly, you have control over a WILD but not a DILD. And then there is the relationship between an OBE, and even a WILD, with the phenomena of Sleep Paralysis. On this particular night, I ran the full gauntlet of all of the above, which wove quite seamlessly into each other like stages, or steps, in the same mysterious process.

Personally, I believe there are degrees of separation, and that a DILD is simply not being conscious of the first stages of that separation.

The sensations of an OBE are akin to an old Apollo rocket, vibrations, loud noises, slow and dramatic.

A WILD is more like slipping into the seat of a spaceship cruising in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming – between the earth’s atmosphere and the starry universe – and timing it just right to land in one of the dream landscapes passing before us.

A DILD is my preferred method, and the most common in my dream practice. It’s like being a first class passenger suddenly landing in a dream vacation without any effort, as smoothly as being dropped off by a magical black limousine.

Regarding the two teams or sides pitted against each other – one of which was invisible – I really don’t need to explain it to Christians. Other religions also recognize that there are hostile non-physical entities/ forces/energies, etc. encountered by the dreaming soul. Even materialist/atheist lucid dreamers will agree that, in dreams, we can confront subconscious thoughts and impulses hindering us from being happier, more successful, etc. in waking life. The concept of the subconscious, bound to the physical body and brain, is essentially materialism trying to integrate the notion of spirituality.

As a Catholic because of my lucid dreams, I believe in spiritual warfare. 

B52 O.B.E.

After being awake for a while, I am instructed on how to leave my body by two people, men I think. Lying there listening to their instructions, I “let go” of my legs first as a roaring sound gets louder and louder—it’s like taking off an a B52 bomber plane! I feel that I know how to do this now, after the instruction I received. I’m aware of lying on my stomach, my arms around my pillow, as I begin “taking off.”

Very soon, I know I can raise myself up slightly on my elbows, and what I see is amazing. It’s as though I’m lying on the wing, or the flat nose, of this heavy, incredibly loud plane flying high above the earth. It’s rather dark, but there is an ambient light of sorts, because far below me I discern three narrow long black rectangles. When I raise myself up and look around, I’m surprised I didn’t feel there was any danger of actually trying to sit up with my physical body; I simply knew I wouldn’t wake up. The transition is such an incredibly powerful experience, that sense of take off, and the sound, like that of a massively powerful engine.

I raise my left hand, and for a moment one or two of my fingers look a little twisted, vine-like, but they quickly settle into normal focus. I feel very solidly in my dream body as I sit up, and look through the window into the cockpit. The interior looks more like the inside of a large car, with a front and back seat occupied by a handful of women. The young woman in the driver’s seat is the one most visible to me, and she just gazes at me. I consider entering the plane to find out who they are, but decide to remain outside. Eventually, I relish the sensation of falling back into midair at high speed.

The next thing I know, I’m walking through what feels like the old heart of a large city, like downtown Boston, a pedestrian dominated area lined with brightly lit store fronts. It’s night, but there are lots of lights, and people enjoying themselves. I abruptly become aware of the fact that I’m naked as a nice looking dark-haired man steps out of some establishment and sees me. I do not want to be naked in the dream space, because this will just invite all sorts of trouble with guys like him. He’s approaching me with obvious interest, but I turn around, and opening the trunk of a black vehicle, pull out what I want to wear – a white, sleeveless, ankle length tunic. The man is calling after me as I walk away with the dress, and slip it on. (In the dream I’m not surprised by how easily I produced exactly the dress I wanted, but this is something I have never done before in a lucid dream.) There’s something weird about the neckline, it feels like a really broad but constraining collar, so I look in a mirror a few yards away, and notice that the dress reflected is not white, and I’m not even sure that’s me in the mirror. The garment is red, gold and black. Oh well.

I’m walking through this same city, very aware of being out of body, but feeling rather aimless. I haven’t heard from Sean, so there was no plan, but then – when I see a tall brick facade across the street that has the promising look of the side of a great church – I decide, what the heck, I’m going to call out for him, and Illeana, and everyone else. I yell, “Sean! Illeana! James!” And I know I call out to more people, so I must have also yelled, “Olivia!” while crossing the street, and entering some other area. I notice a low fence in front of me as I spot a group of people walking alongside it toward the opening, and I feel they are responding to my call, coming to meet me. I’m amazed. Wow, did that really work? But when they walk right up to me, I’m disappointed, because I don’t seem to recognize any of them. At least I don’t think I do.

False awakening: I’ve moved a little ways from this group of people who seemed to respond to my call. Two men are talking to me, and one of them explains that instead of just yelling out names I should have “tuned into “gone into” my spirit; that I should have taken a more spiritual approach. I agree, and not wanting them to think I’m entirely clueless on this point, I tell him, “Look, just because you saw this lucid dream of mine doesn’t mean they’re all like that. There are more than one-hundred dreams on my Lucid Living Lucid Dreaming sight.” To which the same man replies, “I believe there’s more than three-hundred.” Wow, really?

Resisting Temptation

Later in the night, I become aware of deliberately walking through the door of a building like a university, where there are classes in progress, but there are also people, mainly young men, sitting around in the spacious entrance hall. I’m extremely conscious of my appearance – I’m in the prime of life, I know just what my face and hair and clothing look like, that I am deliberately very reserved, with an almost severe and sad expression, because part of me know I shouldn’t have come in here, but another part of couldn’t resist the temptation, so I am not happy about it or myself. I walk around a corner, open a classroom door, and look inside. A nice looking young man see me, and immediately reacts to the beauty of my face, despite its less than open expression, and immediately gets up to follow me. But I close the door on him as I slowly make my way out of the building again, reluctantly, thinking how much I miss men, and how they used to look at me when they saw my face.

The typical thing – compensating for lost youth, and the drug-like fix of men being attracted to me. But I made progress last night by resisting and being almost lucidly conscious of what I was doing and not getting trapped in this old weakness by giving into temptation. This is one of my strongest attachments to earth, the sins of the flesh, which I indulged in excessively, along with pride and vanity, which thrive on being desired and desirable to others, but in the wrong, superficial, ultimately destructive and profoundly unsatisfactory ways. When I was fully lucid earlier in the night, I was trying to be good, to be seen in the right way in the dream space, as purely my soul.

Soul Self Embrace

Note: I wait over a year before posting my lucid dreams, in chronological order.

Dream of June 5, 2015

I become aware of having been alone in a shadowy space for some time. In the dream, I feel it’s a bathroom even though it’s as large as a room, and seems to have two levels—the one I’m on, slightly raised above an area with a closed door. I’m looking at my reflection in a mirror-wall, standing where I feel the shower should be. In the dimness, my skin is a whitish-gray. I am almost entirely naked, and pleased to observe that I continue losing weight. As I study my slender torso, I suddenly wonder what I’m doing in here, exposed and unprotected. I feel compelled to assure myself that my privacy is secure. But where is my little dog, Arthur?! Immediately, I see him curled happily up near the door, where he has been napping, as his contented ear-scratching motion catches my eye.

Feeling relaxed again, I step down to the main level. The walls all appear to be mirrors, and in each one I am confronted by myself. I’m much more slender than I was just a few months ago, but I don’t feel that I’m merely looking at my reflection. My body keeps appearing before me as though it is following Me around, separate from my awareness, and yet also intimately connected to it. I realize this when I deliberately turn, and embrace my self. The Me who initiates the embrace is as corporeal as my physical “reflection” for I distinctly feel the tender solidity of our arms around each other, and of our shoulders and torsos pressed together.

With intense emotion, I declare, “I love you, Maria!” and after thinking about it for a moment, add, “We’re doing our very best.” I know what is happening—my soul is consciously forgiving my self for its wounds and weaknesses, some of which are my own fault, some of which are not. But none of that matters anymore, because we are together now, united by my soul’s determined desire to grow spiritually stronger, and by the fact that God has made our mysterious union possible.

As my soul holds on to my self, we drift toward the right, and suddenly, but not surprisingly, I realize I’m embracing my sister, Lourdes, when the silhouette of her distinctive profile becomes visible just slightly above me to my right. This transition makes sense, for she is also part of Me. I allow the dream’s invisible current to carry us over to the opposite side of the space, and as we approach a corner, I inform Lourdes that we’ll be going through the wall now. I know we’ll pass right through the whiteness as if it was no more substantial than moonlight, and indeed we do.

Still clinging to each other—and floating a little ways above the ground like twins in a dream womb—I notice with satisfaction that we are in a residential neighborhood that looks and feels like an urban suburb. I notice an older building, illuminated on one side by a street light, which looks like renovated apartments. At this point, I remember my intent—to visit my brother’s home so I can try to heal him, or at least make him lucid. Then Lourdes says quietly, “That’s ? Street.” I can’t remember it now, but in the dream, I recognize the name of the street, and I know it means we’re already in or around Boston. Great, very close to my target. I say, “Let’s teleport to Mario’s apartment!” and for a second or two, we surge forward at high speed before coming to a stop. It seems  we’ll have to settle for getting there in a series of fast travel spurts.

As we shoot forward again, to my left I notice a circular pool of white concrete or stone, approximately twenty-four feet in diameter, across which falls a shadow in the shape of a doorway. I immediately halt our progress and—separating from my sister while at the same time urging her to follow me—I land on the white surface. I intend to open this shadow door directly onto our destination, and as I bend down toward the shadow, an actual silvery metal doorknob materializes attached to a very real looking white door lying flat on the ground. Delighted, I grip the knob, and lift the door open as I tell my sister, “This door will open directly into Mario’s apartment.” Yet already I see that this portal actually opens onto pale blue sky. The perspective intriguingly skewed, I glimpse the tops of buildings below me, one of which I hope is my brother’s. As I’m about to fly down into the sky, I wake.

Someone Else’s Reflection

February 8, 2014

My husband, Stinger, and I are in a house planning to meet up with a woman we know. It’s not our waking reality home. I walk into one of the rooms, and he tells me to turn on the lights in the hope that she’ll see them and know where we are. One of the lamps is like one I have at home in my study, and I decide to turn off the bigger brighter one as that seems safer. Everything looks and feels very real; I’m positive I’m awake. My purse is on the dresser, and I fish my little black address book out of it, intending to call the woman… The next thing I remember is standing in the middle of a crowded pub. Stinger is on the phone with a man who works at the restaurant-bar our female friend works at. I can hear both sides of the conversation. The man is telling Stinger that Annie can’t come to the phone now, she’s busy working… Some time later, I’m in the same pub, or perhaps a different more brightly lit one. I look around me, and consider asking one of the many smiling relaxed people what the name of the pub is. But that seems silly. I notice a wooden sign on the wall and distinguish the letters GW and maybe NYTH, although I can’t be sure. I spot a bathroom and walk into it.

A woman enters the single stall before me, so I decide to use the toilet outside it. As I’m sitting on it, I become aware of a man in uniform overalls, of an indistinct blue-gray color. Apparently, this us a unisex bathroom. The man is accompanied by a large black dog. I notice him because he’s suddenly too close, and then it’s obvious he’s deliberately pretending to look into another stall so he can rub up against me. I remember this happening a few times before. Having finished my business, I get up and tell him, “Stay away from me, you’re just too horny!” I move over to the sink and look at my reflection in the mirror. I am not Maria Isabel Pita. I am a completely different woman. This does not surprise me, and I lean toward the glass to better examine the dark circles beneath my-her eyes. Wow, they are really black! This woman is not well. I wonder if this means I too am suffering from some hidden illness, but the face is not mine, and the skin beneath her eyes is not only black but oddly wrinkled and scaled, almost reptilian. Is this some kind of deliberate make-up she has applied to accentuate her eyes? I study her short darkhair, which is full enough that she can artfully pin it up here and there in a sort of retro style. She has small, dainty features, and is very slender. She’s not bad looking, but definitely past her prime. She is resigned about this, but still rather proud of her looks. On her-my way out of the bathroom, we pass the man with the dog and warn him, “If you come near me again, I’ll call the police.”

Outside the pub now, I join a stream of pedestrian traffic. It’s night time, but the city is brimming with life. I pause for a moment. The mall-like facade on my left is not where I want to go. I walk quickly and purposefully in the opposite direction, sensing my destination is not too far away. I’m very conscious of my tight jacket and pants and high-heeled boots, and of my confident, sexy stride. I still have a really great figure even if I am a little older now. I pass the man in the overalls, who now appears to be fishing through a garbage can. I, Maria, not the woman whose body I’m inhabiting, sense this man’s hostile focus on her, and the danger she put herself in by angering him. She is very sure of herself, she believes she can fight him off if he ever dares lay hands on her. But I’m concerned for her because I somehow know he plans to follow her, and if he catches her somewhere in the dark, and alone, it will be bad. As we keep walking, she-me delight in being surrounded by people all out for a good time. This pedestrian walkway is well lit, and I clearly see the pale face of a rather attractive blonde man, which somehow confirms to me that I’m somewhere in Europe. It’s a nice change from living out in the country, and I’m thinking how much I’m enjoying visiting a city for a while, when I phase out of the dream.

Dream Notes:

I woke up trying to make sense of this dream, which was incredibly vivid and, I felt, important because of the way I phased out of it as I tend to do after a semi-lucid or a lucid dream. It happened around 3:00 in the morning, which is unusually early.

In the dream, I was trying to get in touch with someone in the dream space whose name reminded me of an old bartender acquaintance. The name of the woman I inhabited in the dream may be, or sound like, Annie, and she may work in a pub or restaurant. She definitely looks like the woman I saw reflected in the mirror, and she lives in a city. She is in some kind of danger from a man who is stalking her. This man may be homeless and/or he may be accompanied by a large dog. Or this dog, which made me think of a police dog, may indicate he already has a record, perhaps as a sex offender. She may live near a restaurant pub the name of which begins with G.

I have to wonder why I picked up on this woman at all. There are many possibilities. I will probably never know. Maybe one day some woman might read this dream and recognize herself in it? Anything is possible. It’s an intriguing mystery why I so vividly saw and experienced myself as someone else for a time, someone I sensed was in danger of being hurt.

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.

Exercising My Dream Body

September 22, 2013

Hotel am fischmarkt - Stade, GermanySurprised and pleased to be lucid tonight, I begin walking down the sidewalk of what is definitely a foreign city, with a cold, just slightly run down, or very old, atmosphere. The dream is very stable. In mid stride, I decide to turn and ask a rather short man who is walking behind me wearing a long coat of some dull color, “Where am I?” He seems pleasant enough but gives me a look like he’s wondering if I’m really wasted, and I say, “It’s okay, I’m not drunk. I just want to know where I am.” He informs me that I am in, “Pappen Stade.” Excited, I echo, “Pappen Stade! Pappen Stade! Okay.” I touch his arm and say, “Thank you. I’m really okay.” I’m now walking in the direction from which I came as I ask the dream, “Is this lifetime important?” I think it must be because I feel so very present in this obviously foreign city. Wondering in what form I might find the answer, I see a little boy and girl ahead of me and consider assigning “yes” and “no” to each one and having them respond. That doesn’t make sense, so I decide to try a method I’ve used twice before: finding my answer in a newspaper headline. To that end, I turn left down a side street as I spot what looks like a general store. Entering, I briefly see my reflection in the glass door. I’m wearing a dark-green bodice, that looks quite worn, beneath an open dull dark coat like everyone else in the city. I spot a newsstand to the left and go stand before it. I can clearly read the headlines for an instant before they shift out of focus, enough to discern that the words “yes” and “no” are not part of them. As I head outside again, I realize I’m probably not getting an answer because the question was unnecessary. Obviously this lifetime is important because I’m here.

I begin retracing my steps, but the side street is more narrow and suddenly it has a ceiling; I’m beginning to get confined. I think maybe I should just leave this scene by flying through the barrier, but as I rise into it, the sensation of substance resisting my efforts is so realistic that I immediately change my mind. I’m in no mood for that tonight and, besides, I feel there’s a reason I’m here so I should stay. I return to the main road and keep walking in the initial direction I had taken before stopping to question the man. I think I might as well try calling James even though I know he’s not planning to LD tonight, so I dial the letters of his name on my left palm and crook my right hand to my right ear. I hear the ring tone and after a moment the click of a response followed by some elevator music that clearly indicates James is not available right now, so I cut the call. Soon I come to what feels like a pedestrian tunnel. I’m loosely surrounded by other people heading in the same direction. I am alone, however, when I stop before a little boy dressed all in off-black leaning against the left wall of the tunnel just before it opens up onto the other side, I ask him, “Is the answer yes or no?” He replies, “As long as it’s limp.”

Exiting the tunnel into clear daylight again, I see there is what appears to be a very old cemetery to the left. It looks like a very intriguing cemetery. Instead of white tombstones the graves are marked by modest statues made a of a dark stone with a deep greenish hue. They are exquisitely done and suddenly I decide I’m going to experiment with my dream senses in this cemetery! It seems like a really good idea and an ideal place for it. I enter the cemetery, looking appreciatively at the tombstones carved in the shape of different animals, which I see clearly at the time but can now not define exactly what animals they were. My attention is snagged by a bush growing before or between two stones, leafless in the apparent winter weather, its stems covered, or consisting of, very fine short thorns. Tentatively, knowing it’s going to hurt just like in waking reality, I prick a finger on one, and it does indeed feel very realistic. But I persist, and then begin pricking all of my fingertips on the thorns, because as in all lucid dreams the sharp pain becomes indistinguishable from pleasure. My actions attract the attention of a woman who kneels beside me as though she too might try what I’m doing. She’s wearing a coat like everyone else and a short round hat, her short hair curling out of it in an old-fashioned style. Desiring a little more privacy, I move aside and am suddenly inspired to prick one of my nipples. I do so and it bleeds, a delicate but generous flow of blood. My dream tongue is able to reach and lick it and and it tastes like blood! Somehow this is wonderful that I’m daring to taste my own blood, which has a dark, complex flavor. I phase out of the dream.

I’m a disembodied awareness observing a woman though the window of a brick apartment building. She lives on the third floor and she’s hanging some laundry in a window across the room because it’s summer now. I know this scene relates to the lucid dream I just had and that this is the woman from Pappen Stade. I “download” a succinct summary of her life as she talks to someone, telling him how in the winters she used to live in the city, but that was never really her life either. I think she had/has a daughter but now she has to leave everything behind and her sadness, how she was never truly fulfilled, flows through me; I experience what it is/was like to be her, the frustration of wanting more from life, of trying to find it in the city, even while she enjoyed the simple pleasures of her country apartment, but there was an emptiness that was never filled. I can feel being her even as I never lose site of being MIP.

In another dream, I’m in a building at closing time. I can sense how outside it’s night and that the people leaving are all heading for a nearby metro station. But I don’t really know where I’m going or how to get there, so I head down the shadowy corridor in the opposite direction. I enter a space that is a cross between a small messy house and an office in which two or three dark-haired women are sitting at their desks. I ask one of them if she can help me navigate the Metro and she hands me an off-white beat up looking box the size audio book CD’s with three folders inside. I thank her and start out but then turn back thinking to ask her, “Is this in English?” She answers, “No” with a rather snide small that sparks my answer as I demand, “Well then, what good is it to me?” I hand it back to her before turning away again. But now there’s a bunch of stuff blocking the doorway and I demand, “What is it with doors getting blocked by all this stuff?” The women are making fun of my grand gesture of returning the box and I explain, “I gave it back to you because I can’t understand that language and why waste a copy?” They get up to leave for the day, donning coats and scarves, and I say, “I’m going to follow you.” They hurry away, clearly not wanting me to tail them, but I do, increasingly annoyed.

All this time I’ve been semi lucid, aware that, if I wanted to, I could end this frustration, and that I was simply indulging this storm of emotion. But now, seeing blue sky through the door the women open, I say to myself, “Maria, just turn this into a lucid dream.” And up I go! textured ceiling inside shopping mallThe building I’m flying up through is akin to a museum, with high glass walls, slightly curved, and a vaulted glass ceiling. I soar up and up and begin to see bubbles around me as though I’m underwater. That’s fine, it’s all the same, blue sky, blue water, I’m in a dream and can “breathe” anything. I make a movement and swiftly descend to the floor again. As I land, I understand that here movement is accomplished by the most subtle gesture of intent. All I did was point my foot down, and down I went. I rise up again and floating in place think about a lucid dreamer on Mortal Mist James mentioned who experimented with being a mermaid. VLUU L100, M100  / Samsung L100, M100I look down to the left at my legs and feet, and am pleased to see my sparkling white house shoes. My form-fitting slacks are only slightly darker. I don’t need to imagine a tail, I can just put my legs together. Raising my hands, I see that I’m wearing sparkling white gloves as well. I’m aware of a smaller darker lower level facing the open, spacious one I’m floating in, and as I begin to deliberately experiment with controlled motion, the people lined up on this shadowy platform all imitate me like I’m some kind of dream body instructor. I ignore them. It feels just like being in my physical body but without any gravity. I bend my legs, do gentle twirls, deliberately rest horizontal to the floor, then lift my legs slightly, feeling the resistance in my abs. I’m exercising my dream body, amazed by how real it feels as I repel against a wall. It’s just like being in my physical body in zero gravity. Once again, I soar up and up, only this time the ceiling is an embroidered white substance and as I push up and up against it I create a pyramid effect as I fail to penetrate it. Enough of this! These barriers are artificial. I grab hold of its thick cloth-like texture, yank it down with me as I descend, and then fling the whole ceiling away like a huge blue-white bedspread. And there’s the open blue sky again. I think—Excellent technique. I’m going to remember this! I phase out of the dream at 6:40.

Dream Notes:

Regarding the answer given to me at the end of the tunnel, “limp” can mean not stiff or rigid and “limpid” means clear and simple, absolutely serene and untroubled.

Stade is a real place in Germany, and according to a German friend, Pappen is a family name common to the area. The cemetery, the woman who knelt beside me in front of a grave in old-fashioned attire, how I tasted my own blood, the disembodied way in which I observed a woman’s life in Stade, and other obvious details, seem to indicate that my consciousness merged with the consciousness of another woman for some mysterious reason I cannot, for the moment, explain.

I am pleased to be continuing the theme of exercising my dream body (see Dream Warrior).