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. 

Ocean-Sky

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 1, 2014

I deliberately stayed awake in bed intending to surf hypnagogic imagery and hopefully lucid dream.

I’ve managed to poise myself between waking and sleeping in a vivid black and white scene, where the dream in front of me is a window into the universe, and I interact with it as though with a massive screen. I know my soul-player can affect the ultimate outcome in this reality-game. A ball of misty white light, toward the left of the portal, is the hero. My own soul? At the moment, my soul-player is touching a long shape, also made of a misty white-light, from which it either emerged, or into which it is being sucked in, or both. I know the key is to detach my soul-light from this “energetic umbilical cord” and move to the center of the structure, which dominates the immediate universe before me. I succeed in doing so, but then my soul-light slips back toward its anchor. I exercise more conscious control, and move my soul-light back to center, and that does the trick—my consciousness is now able to enter the dream-portal.

Exhilarated, I suddenly see, very clearly, a cosmic Dragon-Person-Ship looming directly before me, and gazing back at me as I drift toward its mysteriously brooding, yet also peaceful and benign countenance. Then it closes its eyes, and I distinctly see an eyelid with lashes surrounded by infinitely fine wrinkles… My eye? It really does look like a reflection of my own eye embedded in deep space. The eyes open and close again, then again, and I feel I’m looking at my own sleeping eye, until I am pulled out into that twilight between waking and sleeping to stand in front of the cosmic screen. I am now accompanied by a man, who gives me directions to get back home from where I am. The total cost-score is 90: I clearly see 90 written in white light on the screen…

I suddenly become aware of riding in a speeding car just as it flies off the crest of a steep hill. I’m familiar with this sinking sensation of soaring perilously above the ground, and beginning an inevitably fatal descent… No… this is a dream sign. I finally recognized this recurring event as a dream sign! I’m aware I’m dreaming now, but I’m still headed straight for the rear window of a car, but instead of crashing into it, I land harmlessly facing it, my dream body weightless. I realize the interior of the vehicle is an aquarium alive with big beautiful fish, and think—That’s the key, to diffuse every potentially disastrous situation with beauty.

The fish are utterly realistic in appearance and texture, and a lovely blue color of subtly varying shades, a blue I can’t really find comparisons for. The fish closest to me is aware of me; it half turns to face me as it swims. I dissolve the clear pane of glass between us, simply by intending to do so, and begin swimming alongside it. I think how, in waking reality, I would feel unnerved to be surrounded by fish, and squeamish about them brushing against me, but of course I don’t feel that way in this luminous dream. We’re not underwater, we’re swimming in a crystal-clear ocean of sky. But there is no sky or ocean, no up and down, in that sense, and no heaviness of water. The ocean is the sky, and I can see everything clearly and distinctly.

Far below me, and slightly to my right, I witness a black killer whale feeding, its long, huge body surrounded by a golden-brown haze of silt as it rousts krill (or whatever small sea creatures it’s hunting now) from the sandy ocean bottom. Wow! It’s incredible to be here, watching in awe as this whale, followed by a companion or two, begins swimming upward in my direction. But when it turns toward me, its massive jaws opening, I suffer a thrill of concern, because I’m as tiny, as insignificant, as krill in the scale of things, and I could easily be consumed… Well, why not? The black and yet structured interior of the whale’s body looks intriguing, like another space to explore, there’s no reason for me to be afraid. Just as I think this, the magnificent creature—as long as several city blocks—closes its mouth, turns to one side, and regards me with one big gold-encrusted eye. Then it begins speaking to me in a rumbling voice that vibrates like quiet thunder, filling the dream space.

At first, I cannot understand what the whale is saying to me, but there is no doubt it is addressing me as my dream body, caught in an invisible current, drifts backward and up away from it, slowly spiraling toward some kind of dock-shore. Then I glimpse a white surface beneath me, and begin to understand the meaning in the whale’s rumbling voice; it becomes perfectly understandable to me as I never lose sight of its golden eye looking after me. The whale is saying:

“Heroes… the ages have left… over time they develop their own symbols…”

Somehow, I know the whale is referring to my soul. There was so much more contained in this communication, but that’s all my waking brain can remember and make sense of. I am absolutely elated by this encounter as I soar upward, propelled as if by pure joy. A white tiled ceiling tries to get in my way, but I simply push lightly against it with both hands, and it curves around me like cloth as I ascend. The blue sky, the blue air—the color blue is the dream space, and it has no substance, as in no barriers, no limits. I know the only thing that is real and true is how I am feeling now in this heavenly blue atmosphere—totally wonderful, and free.

Dreaming Dervish

August 22, 2013

In the midst of “daily residue” dreams, this transcendent scene:

Fotolia_12888881_XS

I’m standing on a stone ledge overlooking a large square shadowy chamber entirely filled with women who line the walls all around. My bare arms are extended before me, like a Spanish dancer holding castanets poised to begin the performance, only what I’m holding are two pieces of very fine gray cloth approximately two inches long. There is an air of expectation in the chamber, and semi-lucidly grasping what I’m supposed to do, I begin flapping these strange pieces of papery cloth up and down, up and down, so that they make a loud snapping/clicking sound. The center of attention, I fall into a steady rhythm that gradually picks up momentum, and there is no question what I’m meant to do next. I leap gracefully down into the center of the open space the female congregation is facing, and begin spinning in place, all the while maintaining the rhythmic beat of the ethereal “castanets”. My skirt billows around me but it is no ordinary earthly skirt, it is a transparent gold dotted with darkly shining red circles like rubies. I spin in place faster and faster, like a female dervish, until my momentum becomes such that I begin rising slowly off the stone floor. All around me the women may be clicking/clapping in rhythm, I can’t be sure because my thoughts are dissolving in this twirling motion indistinguishable from worship which is inexorably escalating and intensifying. Still spinning and completely naked now, I arch my back as though over an invisible bar, spread my arms and legs as wide as I can, and surrender myself, opening myself up completely to the Powers that Be, which take the form of a fine yet almost searing ecstasy rising straight up through my body. I begin climaxing so intensely, I wake in the throes of an orgasm, my right hand just barely touching myself. The pleasure was generated in the dream space and overflowed into my flesh.

Lucid Septet

July 4, 2013

Up at 2:00 back to sleep shortly before 3:00. I thought of the 3 possible past life names I have been given in lucid dreams and how I might ask to learn more about these persons.

1.
I’m lying on my left side in the dark and I feel that inner shift and a sensation almost like someone spooning me from behind, only I know it’s all me, I understand what’s happening, I’m primed to have on OBE and I quickly sit up, yet I can’t quite disconnect from the me lying on the bed. I suffer a false awakening then, disappointed, because I came so close. I part the curtain over the glass door beside my lucid dreaming bed and am surprised to see that it’s morning already. Wow, I slept like a log. I also notice the door isn’t locked and carefully turn the handle until I feel it click into place. I get up and go about my morning business, feeling a little confused at how deeply I slept without interruption.

2.
I find myself standing in the rec room, instantly aware that I’m out of body in the middle of the night. I’m facing the closed double doors while I purposefully sweep and old doormat with an old broom, intent on cleaning the dirt off it.  Just outside the glass doors, behind the green curtains, I sense a crowd of people who, also sensing my presence, have swarmed down the mountain and are trying to get inside. I don’t actually feel threatened by them, I’m confident my door is locked, my space secure, they’re more annoying than frightening, nevertheless I don’t want them inside or so close to me. I command impatiently—Be gone, demons! In high pitched voices, they echo me mockingly—Be gone demons! Be gone demons! I repeat the command, they mock me again, and changing my tactic I say—Poof! intending a flash of bright light to manifest outside and drive them away. I can see between the cracks in the curtain that it doesn’t work, so I keep trying silently, until I finally see and feel the darkness outside entirely suffused for an instant with a bright golden light, after which the crowd at the door is no longer there. I called them “demons” but I somehow knew they were dead souls who were not very nice people while they lived, people who didn’t believe in their souls and are now wandering lost on the Other Side in gangs mocking more “luminous” souls while irresistibly drawn to them, unware or in denial of their spiritual pain.

3.

A seamless transition to sitting lucidly outside at night at a wooden bar adjoining the rec room (my lucid dreaming space) facing a slender and still attractive old woman. She is very elegant, her silver hair falling to shoulder length behind her where it thickens in a smooth old-fashioned 1940’s style wave. We’re talking companionably, I know her very well, when the subject of the christening jewelry my mother gave me comes up. I produce, or am mysteriously handed from the darkness to my left, a pair of little heart-shaped earrings made of a smooth yellow material, ivory, coral or jade, some such natural stone, with miniature dark crosses set in their centers. The earrings are part of a set and I give them to the woman as I am now handed the necklace, made of the same smooth natural material. I also give this to my companion, who seems familiar with the lovely jewelry, who seems to want it, almost to need me to give it to her. And there is one more christening item I conjure from the darkness, a shirt I hand to her and which she promptly, surprising me, slips on. It is transparent except for a pearl-white border along the collar bone, and falls straight and fine over the flesh-colored shirt she is wearing underneath it. The garment fits her perfectly and makes her look, despite her age, exceptionally beautiful and elegant. She sits up straighter, smiling at me with happy pleasure and, I feel, renewed vigor. The ethereal christening shirt makes her as beautiful as she can be, and I sense a man who loves her and who she will “go out” with after we part. I declare—You look beautiful. Keep it, please, it looks ridiculous on me! I see that it has become way too small for me, almost like a doll’s shirt I can’t possibly fit into anymore. Her smile deepens and she replies—I do believe I will. Now she can go out and be as beautiful as she truly is.

At some point I’m back in the rec room sweeping again, but now the doors are open and I’m directing quantities of dirt out of the room, piling it into evidence, which includes strands of my hair and the white shirt the old woman I was just talking to was wearing beneath the new transparent shirt I gave her. I’m not sure what this is evidence of, but I am compelled to present it to some mysterious authority I am expecting to arrive.

4.
HospitalHallwayI’ve just come from the “bar” where I was talking to the old woman and am standing outside a closed door situated next to the corner of a white wall. I’m talking to the woman inside the room behind the door, a friend of mine. I know I’m dreaming and that she resides somewhere on the Other Side. I ask her if I can come in and she replies a bit reluctantly—I don’t think so. I understand she isn’t quite ready to let me in. I become hyper lucid then as, accompanied by a female Guide, I proceed down the clean bright corridor. I am completely present and aware of being lucid in a dream and of having been brought here for a reason, a special purpose. I proceed along the short corridor behind my guide, my posture very straight, my arms at my sides, almost as though pinned, which they aren’t, it’s simply necessary or natural on this level of dreaming, almost as though I’m a lucid soldier on duty, or adopting a ritual stance honoring the space I’m in. The ambient light is clear and bright and, like my guide, I’m wearing something akin to a white nurse’s uniform, an Other Side nurse. The doors to the rooms on my right are open and I can see people inside them, including one dark-haired man who gets up and looks out at me curiously. The “patients” all look healthy and relaxed but I know this is a facility on the Other Side where people who need care stay for a time. We take a left and enter the room at the end of the hallway. There is a smiling but somewhat tired looking woman lying on the bed next to the door. She glances at us, but her attention is on the bed placed right next to hers where a little dark-haired boy is sitting, his small body mysteriously blended with the much bigger white polar bear reclining behind him. The bear is alive, absolutely sentient as it meets my eyes, and I understand this is the boy’s spirit animal. I sit down on a third bed against the wall from the door and my Guide introduces us. I am careful to quickly get up again for a moment to reach over and touch the bear, feeling it’s important he knows I respect him and his presence. I’m here to help the little boy, who gets up and begins touching me curiously. There follows an odd but important ritual involving our ears. He cups my ears with both hands and I cup his. I ask—What’s your name again? He makes fun of me for forgetting, since I was just told, and I quickly search my memory—Alex, right? I just want to make sure. I know I’m here to have sex with him, or rather, to let him experience sex, that this is something he needs. He asks me, sounding excited—Are we going to make a baby together? Are you going to make me a baby? I laugh—No! My Guide and the bear and the boy’s mother all seem to find it amusing as well. But before I can perform my assigned task, I phase out of the dream into a false awakening where I’m back in the rec room dictating this dream into my iPod.

I’m sitting somewhere studying a photograph in which my sister is in the foreground and I’m lying in the background on a couch. In the photo, we’re both little girls, about 7 or 8, and I realize it’s a film-photograph because we’re moving in it. I recognize the location as a lounge in the ship my family took to the island of Margarita off the coast of Venezuela when I was 9 years old. I closely observe myself to see if I can glimpse what I was thinking and feeling in those moments. If I can, it means I can consciously penetrate into every second of my life. I’m sitting in front of a pile of film-photographs. I hold up another one in which my sister and I are grown up and dancing, although not together. She’s in the foreground, her entire body covered in brightly colored abstract designs. Standing over my shoulder now, she says something like—That’s you, always so skinny. I inform her that she’s the figure in the foreground, which surprises her.

5.
I’m in a dark auditorium with a crowd of female patients I am there to discharge, to help graduate. I instruct them to lie down one by one on their bellies along the front edge of the stage, lit by a soft golden light. I then order them to each grasp the hand of the woman behind her. I’m creating a living chain. When the links are formed to my satisfaction, I step up onto the stage behind the young black woman who is my assistant and tell her to take my hand, so that I am now the final link in the chain but also the beginning as I turn around and command—Let’s go! We begin “swimming” off the stage through the air, each of us kicking our joined legs like mermaids as I head for the door. I’m holding something in my free hand akin to a glass of water draped under a white cloth, and I almost ask my assistant to open the door, but then change my mind and say—No, I can get this. I turn the knob, open the door, and we proceed along the white corridor of that Other Side “hospital” where I was before. I distinctly feel the weight and pull of flying-swimming down the hall with my long chain of women. It is my responsibility to take somewhere, I don’t exactly know where, I get the feel of an orbital station, but that might only be the first stage of a journey to another world or dimension. We’re moving slowly but we’re moving. We turn right at the corner and come to an elevator facing an open area, very pretty, sunny, with a glass wall looking out on greenery. I debate whether or not to take the elevator up and think—No, we’re going to go straight through those window and up into the blue sky. People in white “lab” coats are looking at us, but only mildly surprised by this living chain of female lives. As we go through the window and begin rising up into the sky, I realize I’ve accomplished my task.

6.
Still fully lucid, I find myself returning to my rec room, entering through the glass door next to my lucid dreaming bed. It’s dark in the room and there’s another bed at the foot of mine with a woman I recognize lying in it. I declare happily—Abuela! who is dead. But then I look more closely at her face, moving nearer, and say happily—Mami! who is alive. She sits up and replies, looking a little harassed—Si, claro que es Mami! as if I should have known. I’m delighted she’s visiting me in my dream space even as she begins complaining about something that’s bothering her, something that’s gotten in her eye. Moving to the other side of the bed, I lean closer. There does indeed appear to be something very tiny in the corner of her right eye. The object is shaped like a tiny cut diamond but is made of some sort of natural stone or crystal, light brown or dark gold with a tiny black center. Then abruptly I realize what I’m looking at is the end of a cap placed over an orange-black pen she has tucked behind her ear. I say—Mami, it’s just a pen. See? Look. I slip it out from behind her ear. At first she’s not quite convinced but then admits it is, indeed, a pen.

7.

ArthurStill semi-lucid, I find myself out on a city sidewalk that runs past a café with tables set a few feet above street level. My dog Arthur has followed me, really upset that I didn’t greet him when I arrived. He’s standing on his hind legs, reaching up for my attention, when he abruptly falls onto his back and begins emitting wails of pain the likes of which I have never heard from him. I bend down in concern and anxiously look at his back. There is a metal instrument with a thin sharp end piercing his back. I immediately pull it out, relieved to see it only went in about half an inch, but he keeps wailing in agony. And then I hear him say telepathically and very very clearly—It almost set me free! I become fully lucid then when I realize I just heard my dog declare that his soul almost left his body! I pick him up and cradling him in my arms proceed up the steps, amazed to be having this experience in a lucid dream. I take him inside and examine his wound and swab rubbing alcohol on it, only it won’t stop bleeding, so I have to put napkins over it. I slip out of lucidity in this struggle, intending to call my vet until I realize I’m already in a vet hospital. The girl says they can take care of him but that he’ll have to spend the night for observation, which isn’t acceptable because Arthur has never spent a night in a kennel. I keep protesting before finally declaring—I don’t trust you! Deciding to call my real vet, I wake.

Dream Notes:

The transparent Christening shirt that went with the jewelry in Dream #3 I see as representing transparency of thought, as in clarity, nothing obscured. It could also of course symbolize a spirit-ghost, although “ghost” is not the right word as it evokes unrest. I believe this woman may have been Susie S. Mayo, a possible past-parallel life of mine.

A friend of mine commented, regarding dreams #4 & #5, “Busy night! Do you think you carried out retrievals? It’s the idea that some souls get stuck and because living humans are closer to their vibratory rate (or something like that) we can act as guides while higher beings remain invisible to them. Thus, higher beings employ our services in helping bring souls over the threshold, so-to-speak.” I found it an interesting idea, but dream #5 felt more personal, the chain of women I was swimming with and leading makes me think of chains of DNA inherited from countless ancestors. Perhaps I and the women I was leading are akin to the DNA of one Inner Self and I’m working on integrating them, a process I see as a vital part of spiritual growth. I was leading them all some place higher. The more lucidly I live, i.e. the more aware I am of what I think and feel and why, the more I shine a conscious light on my subconscious, exposing hidden beliefs and ingrained tendencies, for example, that may be holding me back, and which may have arisen, or are bleedthroughs from, past or parallel lives.

Regarding the little dream with my sister… the following day, she called me to tell me how sea sick she had gotten on a boat that morning. Then two days later, she called to tell me she was coming to see me on her way to an unexpected business meeting nearby, a 9 hour drive. We had a wonderful time that brought us closer together and healed some old wounds, hence the vibrant colors of the dancer she believed to be me and who I told her was her: we saw the beauty in each other and the “dance” of our relationships as sisters took some promising new steps.

Regarding Dream #7, a couple of days later, Stinger, Arthur and I spent the weekend in Old Town Alexandria, where I kept my eye out for any litter on the sidewalks fronting cafes, which there was a surprising amount of in some places.

Dream #4 with the little boy and the polar bear is quite mysterious and I don’t really feel able to comment on it; it must speak for itself, for now.

Transitions

June 9, 2013

Margot Fontayne & rRudolf NureyevIt begins with a ballet. I’m observing a reunion performance between two great dancers, one male, one female. They are performing on stage. A voice is describing what is happening. Then, as though from distant balcony seats, I watch as the heroine falls, or is thrown by her partner, off the stage, descending parallel to a sheer wall of some gray-blue iridescent material evocative of subterranean stone. Her partner dives after her, and as they meet in mid air, a male voice explains, in a clear firm voice, it is not actually happening because “This is a dream.” Next thing I know, I’m sitting with Mami at what looks and feels like a very fine mahogany bar, but the dimly lit space is my rec room. The bar runs along the wall my dream door is in. We’re studying the album cover of the ballet and I’m informing her the male dancer was Rudolf Nureyev dancing with his long time partner Margot Fontayne. As I talk, I become aware of a man standing a few feet away beside the open rec room door. I focus on him, he’s really there, and instantly become lucid when I recognize my father. The joyful cry, “Papi!” wells up in my throat but is oddly constricted; I can’t seem to speak. But he’s so close and so absolutely present! Somehow, I find my voice and say urgently, “Papi!” He turns his head and looks at me, and I know full well that he sees me. “Es Maribel!” I’m lucid and feel we could actually have a conversation! But he looks away, jutting out his lower lip in a characteristic gesture he sometimes made when there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words, or felt it was not the right time or situation to say it in. I feel myself losing the dream.

Now begin a series of intense, vivid and urgent False Awakenings. I can barely keep track of them and their order. But first, after the ballet dream, I had a brief yet important lucid I really don’t want to forget, I want to write both dreams down to make sure I remember them. At one point, I was in a small basement bedroom that is not part of my present home. The walls and floor look new and fashioned of a somewhat cheap-feeling linoleum designed to look like polished blonde wood.

I’m lying in bed, just awoken from my lucid dreams, when my husband barges in. I can see right away he wants to have some sexual fun because he’s holding a bottle of wine and two glasses and he has a determined, almost grimly smiling look on his face. I’m really confused. “But it’s 4:00 in the morning,” I protest. “You can’t start drinking wine in the middle of the night.” He looks drunk already and spills some white zinfandel at the foot of the bed as he stumbles, but soberly acknowledges that I have a point as he packs up and leaves. (In reality, we both hate white zinfandel.) I call after him, “But you can’t go! Now that you’ve been here, I’ll miss you and be scared all alone down here.” But he’s gone, and the most important thing is to write my dreams down. I believe I’m doing just that on a small notepad, but suddenly I wake up in the dream (false awakenings nestled within each other like Chinese boxes) and discover I’ve scrawled barely visible or legible sentences across a dark-brown pillow resting on my lap.

Now I’m watching a video on my iPod of me and my brother talking together in a private library, facing each other where we stand on one side of a long wooden table. It’s a very nice room. In waking reality, I use my iPod to record my dreams.

Pile of books

As I watch the film it dawns on me that I somehow managed to record one of my dreams! Or somehow the dream recorded itself.  I’m thrilled beyond belief. It’s clearly a dream, and I seem to witness the moment we both become lucid, at which point a powerful wind begins blowing through the room, ruffling the pages of some of the books and maybe some loose papers on the shelves. The wind feels like a manifestation of our elation.

I find myself lucidly walking back down to that basement bedroom. (Although it doesn’t look like it per se, its place as part of the basement harkens back to childhood and the room Papi built for my brother down in the rec room, essentially using up a chunk of the basement.) I follow a pyramid-like staircase down. The space is dark and unfamiliar and almost annoying in its ordinariness. I walk in and command, “Let there be light!” impatiently stomping my foot on the floor. Nothing happens. “What?” I demand, exasperated. “Do I have to turn on a lamp just like in real life even though it won’t even work?” I illustrate my point by striding over to the dresser on my left and switching on a tall slender lamp that does, indeed, remain dark. Fed up, I walk straight toward the far end of the room and escape it, I don’t remember how, I just go!

Oh yes! I’m flying about a quarter of the mile off the ground through the dusky night. Below me, I distinctly make out a wide creek or a shallow river bed. I see the water flowing over the rocks. There’s color in the darkness and I clearly see the muted golds and reds of some of the smooth smallish rocks. Very deliberately, I drop the wine bottle and wine glass I’m holding. Down, down they go as I wait to hear the sound of their impact. I’m immensely gratified when I distinctly hear the splash of water and the clink of glass hitting stone. Then one of my intents enters my mind and I really feel that tonight I can actually make it up to the moon. Up and up I go, and when a roof materializes above me, I refuse to acknowledge it and keep flying even as more identical roofs appear above me in layers, but I pass through them as though they are insubstantial clouds, making it up to what I somehow know is clear, unobstructed space. And there it is, the New Moon, a black sphere just barely discernible through a misty bank of clouds. I then become aware of a group of people gathered below me who are also looking at the moon.

I immediately fly down and spread myself on my back at the feet of the front row of lunar spectators, quickly removing my clothing, piece by piece. Now I’m naked and everyone else is demurely clad in pajamas. I say, “What?” as they all look at me almost like people in waking reality might react. “It’s a moon celebration, isn’t it?” meaning a sensual rite is in order and I’m the willing “sacrifice”. The front row, about six or eight chairs, is dominated by men. The chairs have that cheap wood institutional feel, the kind you find in nursing homes and hospital bedrooms. There are two dark-haired, handsome and likely candidates seated side-by-side. One grins at me, the other one looks at me with a more shy interest. I focus on him even though his very nice blue pajama suit is spotted here and there with little white strips of some encrusted material. He joins me on the ground, lying on top of me. We embrace, and prepare to kiss, but instead just look at each other a bit awkwardly. It doesn’t feel right, and I’m just a little disgusted by the stains on his pajama, which look suspiciously like dried snot. We both feel this isn’t working and get up. The men in the front row are all in the prime of their life, and yet they seem as passive as extremely old men. I still want to get to the moon, and back up in the sky, I intend to close my eyes (risking waking up) so that when I open them again I will be on the moon’s surface. I try this twice, but it doesn’t work.

A final false awakening. I’m in a dark room by myself talking to my brother and my mother on the phone at the same time. Mami is talking and talking and distracting me as I try to write my dreams down and remember that second one (which of course I have completely forgotten) when suddenly I hear Mario say in a voice thick with shock, awe and emotion, “Papi!” He quickly hangs up the phone. My heart swells with excitement as I realize Papi has gone to visit him, and that it’s about me, and how I saw him earlier in the evening, because he wants Mario to be aware of it all. I really want to call Mario right then and there to make sure it really happened, but if it didn’t, I’ll end up waking him in the middle of the night. I finally wake for real a little after 4:30. (I fell back to sleep a little before 3:30.)

Dream Notes: Before bed, lay awake working through some anxiety and sadness. I thought of the last time I saw Abuela sitting in a nursing home and of how when I kissed her goodbye from deep within her unfocused self rose the words, “Hasta luego, mi amor.” (“Good bye, my love.”) Then I remembered her dead body in the hospital and her open mouth that looked so much like the painting “The Scream”.  I thought of Mario and our differing views and ways of being.

It is so important that I became lucid, and for a very long time, back in my lucid dreaming room after making the decision to obey my “Major Professor” Guide and not do Galantamine. I’ve lost count, I think it’s 7 out of 9 times I’ve become lucid there since I began using that room, but since then I’ve had two lucid dreams in my bedroom where I found myself in the rec room, so that’s effectively 10 out of 10 for the space itself. As my dream partner James pointed out, I associate it with lucidity now.

When we visit an older person whose mind is “gone” we see only the shell of their physical self with its autonomic reactions and needs. Whatever they’re seeing and experiencing in Mind Space is invisible to us. Last night I feel as though I entered the Mind Space of some such individuals with front row seats to the mysterious beauty and power of the New Moon—the death of the old and the birth of a new phase and yet neither one, a timeless space. Fascinating how physical decrepitude was so delicately hinted at by the lovely white excretions on his fine blue pajamas I had to mentally associate with dried snot because they looked more like fragments of ocean coral. He, and others like him, were sitting beneath the New Moon in their dreams while their bodies lay in nursing homes or hospital bedrooms?

My husband having brought a bottle of white zinfandel into the room is a major red flag, because he would never drink that wine. Message—Don’t make the mistake of pretending to know exactly what someone else is thinking, because that route leads, more often than not, to underestimating them by filtering their Being through the prejudices of your own ego. The only way to relate to people, especially those you love, is as Being to Being, respecting each others path and responding to what they actually do and say, not to what you think they’re thinking.

In the library, my brother and I were on the same side of the great table even though in our discussions we may appear to be on opposite sides. He has always played a part in my dreams, but ever since he had his first real lucid dream recently, he is ever more present. The wind that blew through the library, so invigorating—the joy that gusts through you when you realize you’re dreaming—I want very much for him to experience, so that hopefully in the future he can join me sometimes in Mind Space. The fact that I found myself in a room very reminiscent of his childhood bedroom, where I sometimes spent the night on the bottom bunk, reflects this desire of mine, and perhaps also perhaps how I feel we’re recovering some of the closeness we once shared.

The theme of dancing has appeared recently in James’ dreams. My first lucid was about two great, legendary dancers from two different countries (interestingly the man was a Russian who claimed political asylum while on tour to free himself from the oppressive regime) who came together on stage and wowed audiences with their performance for years, if not decades. When the male dancer tossed his partner off the stage and dove after her, it reflects the plunge of leaving the physical stage and going out of body, where falling/flying is exhilarating instead of dangerous or fatal. The fact that he reached her and caught her I would like to see as a sign that James and I will have that complete mutual lucid dream one night, against seemingly impossible odds. This hopeful interpretation is strengthened by Papi’s appearance as I showed Mami the album cover of the performance. He was absolutely present, I saw and felt him as I did in waking reality whenever he walked into a room, and at the end of the night, he seems to have let me know he was visiting Mario in his dreams, whether or not my brother remembers. He is helping both of us. Mami is, of course, the womb Mario and I both entered physical incarnation through, the proverbial Goddess, whose nature is both material and spiritual, the conduit of Divine energy-creativity.

 

 

 

Quantum Touch, Goddesses & Sex Demon

September 11, 2012
I’m in what feels like a cart riding with Stinger, returning to a city (from the earlier lucid dream?) but at a busy intersection we come to the attention of a police officer, as though we’ve broken some invisible rule. The cop is after me so, already lucid, I rise up into the sky to get away from him. It’s a sunny day and as I go up and up at a leisurely pace, not sure how high up I have to get to shake pursuit, I see blue buildings with gold trim to my left and around me, pretty, terracotta feel, maybe, but still I wonder where the heck they’ll come to an end and I’ll reach open sky. I’ve shaken the law but unfortunately I’ve lost Stinger. I’m alone in this dream city. I descend gradually, and recline across a yellow and orange striped awning for a moment, looking around curiously. The atmosphere is bright, pleasant, and I realize the awning belongs to an ice cream shop! I descend and walk into the shady establishment, intending to fulfill the intent of experimenting with taste in a lucid dream. Happily I ask for chocolate ice cream and the female owner promptly hands me a stick or wand of solid chocolate wreathed with vanilla ice cream staying put in defiance of gravity. Okay, this will do! I walk out licking it and can definitely taste it but the experience is not as vivid and sensual as in waking reality.

I don’t remember how I end up in a small, shadowy classroom surrounded by other women and facing our female instructor. She’s asking if anyone can tell her the nature or meaning of the double female deity Atem and Atheim. I somehow know they are the two principle goddesses of the city I was just in with the blue buildings. I can see in my mind’s eye two ancient looking terracotta or stone figurines, simply carved, a little stiff, a tan-gold-brown color, with Atem on the left and right next to her Atheim, two separate figures but really one goddess. I know the answer and am eager to give it and my knowing is somehow related to my lucidity; the other women look absolutely clueless. The instructor lets me give the answer: “It’s about one, a person who, through the physical body (Atem), accesses the divine (Atheim).” I know there’s no other way, that Atheim and Atem are a process of consciousness, that without going through Atem, Atheim cannot be attained or realized. The instructor tells the class, “That’s the best definition of Atem and Atheim I’ve ever heard” and counsels everyone to remember it.

I’m in a cart riding with Stinger again telling him about Atem and Atheim and he gets really upset with me, moving up to the front of the cart, tears in his eyes, because I believe he doesn’t understand; that I don’t give him credit for also knowing the meaning. I realize he’s right, that because he’s a scientist I don’t give him enough credit for comprehending-feeling mystical truth.

I’m inside a building, in a narrow room or corridor, sitting and talking to a woman, maybe Mami. I’m perfectly lucid. I know this dream has gone on for a long time so there will probably be holes in the action when I try to remember it in waking reality, but that’s a small price to pay for how wonderful it is to be so lucid for so long. I can’t remember what we were talking about, unfortunately. I notice a stray brown dog approaching along the white corridor and decide to go (back) to the more open area beyond it. I pick up two cow tendon chew bones and open the door. Mami follows me. The room is large, with a slightly elevated area to the right looking down on the rest of the space, and yet it’s all white, hard to describe, as though it really has no fixed dimensions. There are more women there and also a whole pack of those small stray brown feral-looking dogs. I find it amusing we left our private corridor because of two dogs only to be surrounded by them. One latches onto my arm as I hand out the two chew bones, which aren’t enough, of course, but I’m not in the least bit afraid.

Shaking my arm free, I rise calmly into the air and hover above the pack. Idly, I point my right index finger at one dog and intend a glimmering ray of offensive energy toward it, which works in that the creature appears affected by it and backs off slightly, but suddenly I know that’s not the right approach, not what I truly want to do. I take a deep breath beginning in my belly and rising up to the base of my throat, practicing the breathing technique of Quantum Touch. I do this three times feeling myself filling up with an energy I see as a blue “force” rising up into me and flowing down into the palms of my hands that are already warm; I distinctly feel how warm my palms are. Holding my hands palm down I “broadcast” a blue-white-shimmering-light-energy down at the dogs and everyone in the room. Of course it doesn’t hurt the animals or the people, on the contrary; they’re all “bathing” in it happily. I do it again, and again, thrilled with the act of spreading healing energy freely over everyone because, of course, there’s no end to it as its flow so freely through me. I have to remind myself to direct a little of it back into my own body even though it doesn’t feel necessary; I’m already filled with it.

I return to the other smaller space. I’m feeling aroused. Standing in the center of the room, I ask for the lead singer of Filter, as he was in his prime, careful to be as detailed as possible in my conjuration. I’m intending him to take form there before me, dressed all in black. “Are you there?” I ask even as I don’t see anything but I can seem to feel him. I lean against a window and imagine being taken from behind. There is pleasure and sensation but it’s all too much my imagination. Then I look at the reflection and behind me discern a coalescing darkness, a silhouette forming. I’m thrilled my conjuration appears to be working! Then I distinctly feel something grip my right hip, a real sensation as opposed to the ones I was imagining. My elation is short lived as it occurs to me that I invited a shady character into my dream; gave a hostile force an opening by selfishly attempting to fashion a dream lover. Sure enough, I appear to be in the grips of a black “demon” with a young man’s handsome face but black tentacles that are growing in definition and strength. There seems no way to escape the encroaching darkness trapping me in it but I remain perfectly calm. I look the thing in the face and say, “I could wake up now” (as a means of escape) “but I’m proving a point here.” I fill myself with the blue-white energy of Quantum Touch and it effortlessly rids me of the clinging, threatening blackness. It stumbles weakly away in the form of a brown-skinned man who appears stunned. “Get out of here,” I command. “Go on, out with you!” We’re standing next to a window, but he can’t seem to coordinate his limbs so I raise the window and, with a bit of effort, hoist him out of the room. Watching him fall several stories and hit the pavement, I wonder if his physical body died in waking reality when his dream form made impact. I hope not, and think it probably didn’t.

Still in a room of that place. Mami or some other woman asks me what time my plane leaves for Paris and abruptly I realize I’ve been having so much fun thinking about everything I’ve done in my lucid dreams, how meaningful it all is, that I barely have time to make it to the airport in time. My plane leaves at 6:00 and it’s already 5:20! I run out of there, encountering odd vehicles directly outside the building, none of which is the cab I seek. I end up sitting on a bench waiting for a cab until I wake.

Dream Note: This dream speaks for itself. Awesome. And, of course, I live in Paris, Virginia. I seemed to have been sensing it was time to wake up. Maybe if I’d deliberately woken myself up sooner, I would have remembered a few more sections of this incredibly long lucid dream.

OBE With Arthur

May 18, 2012
Finding myself in my dark study, looking down the hallway and seeing softly glowing white lights, I abruptly realize, I’m still dreaming! I believed I had woken up from my lucid dream and was remembering it and thinking about it in waking reality, but in fact I had been asleep the whole time. I truly feel I’m in my study. Even though it’s too dark to make out details or edges to the furnishings, everything is where it should be. The darkness is difficult to describe, not black and yet not gray either. It’s as though the darkness also emanates a bit of light, like a subtle sheen of “sweat” so that it’s luminous without illuminating things as the sun does. Then there are the clusters of silvery-white lights I sense all around me, inside and out, without having to be looking directly at them. I could be in deep space that has taken the form of my study and the land outside.

I say, “I want to go deeper. I want to go deeper” having read about this technique. Nothing happens. My back is to the window, beyond which rises my favorite tulip tree and so I decide I will simply go outside, I will myself out and I experience a sense of motion in that direction as I expect to go through the wall and find myself floating out over the grass, and yet I remain in my study. I walk to the door and look down the long corridor, suffering the creepy feeling of an OBE but without any real fear. I know I’m out of body, but it would be nice to have some company, so I say, “Arthur?” In waking reality, he is almost always by my side, and when I look down, there he is, his little mostly white body “glowing” with its beloved presence. I bend down and stroke his head. He’s really there with me, which makes me happy and stokes my courage. I lean over and pick him up, moving backward toward my reading chair. I almost drop him but manage to hold onto him as I apologize, “Sorry, boy, I don’t have very good control of my dream body yet” meaning the body I inhabit in an OBE. We sit there a moment as I consider the situation. “Want to go for a walk?” I ask, knowing he’ll understand that question and he seems as eager as he is in waking reality. “Let’s go for a walk!”

I put him down and we’re heading for the door. Gravity doesn’t feel the same, it’s almost like being under water, there is a sense of lightness and “freedom” and yet in this particular OBE there’s also a pressure I have to “fight” against equivalent to the sensation of the water’s surface you have to “break” through into open air again. By this I surmise the body I’m inhabiting is the one closet to my physical body. Then suddenly I feel some invisible force tug on my nightshirt… Stinger pulling on the covers as he rolled over, yanking me back into my body. Disappointing!!!