The Year God Made

May 12, 2012
Note: I don’t remember what exactly was happening when I became lucid, but it was a slow, seamless transition, I sort of willed it. I think I sensed my sleeping body, and that it might wake up at any moment, and thought, No, I’m going to keep going in this dream. I made myself lucid and from the start I was so well grounded in the dream, I hardly bothered with deepening or sustaining techniques.

Fully lucid walking throw a plain, empty room toward a large window. I extend my hands toward it, intending to go through it, but instead I simply peel it off, like a large piece of very thin plastic which offers no resistance. Once outside, on an empty city street at night or late dusk, I begin rising up into the sky. It’s overcast, I can see the moon and fulfill my intent to pluck it out of the sky and swallow it like a glowing pill of health and healing. What’s astonishing to me is the warmth; I distinctly feel warmth emanating from the dream ahead of me as I’m flying toward it, and I’m conscious of the fact that it’s very odd, very special, to feel a distinct sensation of warmth in a dream. I raise my right hand to my face and direct a healing energy toward my gums, part of a waking intent to practice periodontal maintenance in lucid dreams. I see those faint blue tiny healing sparks emanating from my index finger, but I don’t keep at it because I’m currently on antibiotics and there’s no danger of another nerve infection for the time being. I direct this energy to contribute to my overall health and well-being.

I drift eastward and find myself flying low over some sort of garden party. I see young women and little girls all wearing long white dresses. I gaze curiously down at the outdoor gathering, flying almost parallel to the ground but gradually gaining altitude. One little girl is aware of me and we keep looking at each other. I’m somewhat surprised when she reaches up toward me and then actually leaves the ground. Smiling, I grasp her hand and she joins me in my leisurely cruise through the air. She’s not only wearing white, she is entirely white, or so I remember her, like a ghost yet perfectly solid and seemingly happy. Her dress strikes me as old-fashioned and I ask her, “Where is this?” then more specifically, “What year is this?” And she replies slowly, “This is the year that God made.” I’m enchanted by her response and say, “Well, that’s the best year ever, isn’t it.”

I notice a few other figures floating around us now, people of all ages; I see an infant, a very old woman, every stage of life represented. One of them, a man wearing an old-fashioned suit that strikes me as Victorian, comes very close to me. I ask him, “Where is this place?” and he replies, “This is the Mea Culpa gathering.” I somehow understand, abruptly, that all these people are dead and waiting here for something (I get a flash of a luminous healing-Being of light, Christ-like) while atoning for and facing some major issue for which they (rightly?) blame themselves. I’m surprised that even (supposedly) innocent babies find themselves here. However, the man is getting a little too close to me, almost as though he wants to look up between my legs, and I decide it’s time to move on.

At the same time I move away I find myself walking through a large house which is still ostensibly part of the Mea Culpa gathering. I head determinedly down a narrow corridor in what I sense is the direction of the rear of the house searching for the back door. I find one in a small, narrow kitchen where a woman stands cooking at the stove. The door opens inward, and I gently shove two trash cans out of the way with it as I think-say with satisfaction, “There’s always a back door.” I encounter what I can only describe as a patio annex crowded with wooden furniture, knickknacks and blinds of sorts. I lift them out of my way as I step carefully over the barrier, only slightly disturbing one or two objects while thinking-saying, “I’d better be careful not to damage anything or I might end up in one of these Mea Culpa gatherings” actually making a joke, perhaps the first time I’ve ever done that in a lucid dream.

I find myself outside at night in a stark black and white city, empty feeling, as though the section I’m in is a warehouse district, porous, old concrete, no street lights. Walking westward along a sidewalk even though there are no cars, nothing, I “remember” another intent, and cry, “Hapuseneb*, I love you! I love you, Hapuseneb, and one night I hope to see you and talk to you again in a dream.” I sink to my knees, clasping my hands, to show him how much I respect him and am thankful for his presence in my dreams, showing reverence, as was my intent, repeating, “I love you!” Then suddenly, streaming south-east from the black northern sky, appear a series of banner-like rectangles containing glimmering silver-white words written in a clean print font as though typed in starlight. The “banners” are flying swiftly over me and I can almost read the few words they contain, almost, but not quite. I think they say, I’m almost sure I distinguish the words I am here but I really don’t know! I keep looking up at them as they soar by but the more I try and read them the less I’m able to even though I’ve flown up to a roof top to get closer to them. Then abruptly some of them begin flying back toward me and I catch hold of one, but now it’s like a clear shining “pouch” containing white lingerie, bras and panties made of a glittering, pure and luminous material. It makes no sense to me at all, and I’m disappointed. It almost seems like Hapuseneb is teasing me.

Back down on the street, there are some people milling around me now that it’s daylight. I think, “I’m going to travel. I’m going to get out of here but I’m not going to walk or fly, I’m going to “fast travel” to Egypt. I close my eyes and command, “Take me to Egypt. Take me to Egypt. Clarity now. Clarity now.” I was concerned that once I closed my eyes I might wake up, but I’m determined to fulfill this long-standing intent and feel solidly rooted in the dream, absolutely centered and lucid as I pat the front of my body without really needing to. Repeating, “Take me to Egypt” I spin around once and briefly open my eyes. I’m still on the city street so I try it again and this time when I open my eyes I’m somewhere else. I see soft green land blended with soft browns, nature all around me, and far far away to the north I see, beyond mountainous hills, the vague shapes of a place I know is Egypt! I know the pyramids are there, I can feel them! I want to get closer but I don’t want to take the time to try and fly there, during which I risk waking up and even though it’s also a risk, or so I think, I attempt to fast travel again. “Take me closer! Take me there faster! Clarity now! Take me to Egypt.”

I open my eyes and to the north-east, very close to me, I see a river delta. I’m on the ground and yet my view is somehow slightly from above all at once. I wonder, intensely excited and almost certain of it, if I’m in the Nile delta! Then to the north I see what seems to be the ocean and to the west, stretching for a long way on the shore, I see a beautiful, elegant resort fronted by a terrace occupied by comfortable reclining chairs and tables, many of them occupied. I recall the colors orange and white and think, “I must be in Alexandria!” I walk along the terrace toward a building and see a woman sitting in a chair against the side wall. I walk right up to her and get her attention by asking her, “What country is this?” She looks at me like I’m crazy, which I can understand, but she replies with what sounds to me like, “Ugea.” I want to ask her more but she cringes in on herself, not looking at me, so I keep walking. There are other women sitting in chairs along the front of the building (as though on the deck of a ship) and very casually I ask one of them, as if in passing, “This is Ugea, right?” She replies that it is, giving me a funny look, but I keep walking and enter the building into what is apparently the reception area.

It’s busy inside but I go directly up to the counter and ask the woman behind it, dark-haired and slender, “Do you have a map I can look at?” She hands me a map and at first glance I see it is, indeed, a map of Africa, but very light, the country’s borders not clearly defined and their names almost looking written in pencil; I really can’t focus on it enough to make sense of it. I ask the woman, “Do you know where you Ugea is on this map?” She points to a country that’s to the west of Egypt and I realize I’m still on my way there. Excited, I say to her, “This is a beautiful resort. Do you get a lot of people stopping here on their way to Egypt?” She looks at me a little funny but she seems to say “anything is possible.” I thank her, and as I’m walking out the door she calls after me, “Is there any chance this will be written up in the world?” I reply, smiling, “Maybe.” Walking alone, I’m pretty pleased with myself for asking dream characters questions, and that’s when I phase slowly back into my body.

Dream Note: It seems obvious the country was Algeria, as though the dream character replied “You’re in Algeria” and I compressed it into “Ugia.” I Googled photos of coastal resorts and recognized the dream location as the Dalyan Delta. I was sure I was in a Delta and yet also on the ocean, and this place indeed exists in Algeria, which is apparently renowned for its beautiful coastal resorts the Google images verify. I wonder if the dream character meant the world of waking reality.

Flying in a Storm

May 15, 2011
I’m walking with Stinger telling him about my lucid dream of earlier in the night. Standing at a buffet table in the room of a building with a sterile, conference-like feel to it, I bend over and say to him as he reaches for some food, “As a matter-of-fact, I’m lucid now!” I’m confident I can sustain lucidity and take a bite of food as part of my goal to deepen the dream by enhancing my senses. It’s astonishing how real the food tastes but then I think that’s a silly thought since every state of being is real. I say to Stinger, “Let’s go!” and deliberately stare closely at the face of a blonde woman sitting on the left end of the buffet table as I walk out. Stinger and I take a right turn and start waling down a plain empty corridor. He’s wearing a white dress shirt and I say something like, “Isn’t this great? We’re lucid dreaming!” while grabbing his shoulders and turning him to face me. He’s unsteady on his feet and his eyes aren’t focused, which amuses me because I know that means he’s in a normal dream and I’m the only one who’s actually lucid. “Poor man,” I smile, “you’re just sleeping.” I shake him a little and his eyes focus slightly. I think I repeat, “Isn’t this great?!” As we keep walking, I remember I want to test my sense of hearing and say out loud, “I’m dreaming! This is a dream! I’m dreaming!” enjoying the sound of my voice while at the same time thinking this is a good way to maintain lucidity without having to raise my hands to my face.

At the end of the corridor (which now seems to face west even though we’re heading east) I see two double nondescript “metal” doors leading outside into what feels and sounds like a dangerously stormy night. I cry, “Let’s go!” Running as fast as I can, I push open the doors. We don’t so much fly into as get yanked up into the night sky by a gale-force wind. It’s pouring rain, lightning is flashing, we’re caught on the storm’s powerful currents and it’s absolutely wonderful! Awesome! I see a  beautiful blue-green electricity sparkling in front of Stinger. I even remember hearing the storm, a torrent of rushing forces. I grab hold of Stinger and consider what position would be best for us to make love in because it’s not easy holding onto him. I consider facing forward like the figurehead of a ship while he takes me from behind but settle for the more traditional arms around his neck and legs around his hips. We somehow end up on the high ledge of a building. I’m on my back and when he penetrates the pleasure is immediate and intense. A man lands on the ledge and says to him, “Becoming lucid you immediately took advantage of an innocent girl.” I enjoy being referred to as an innocent girl and look down my undulating body before closing my eyes in the throes of a rising pleasure. Then I open my eyes again remembering that closing them in a lucid dream will make me wake up. I do this about three times, lying next to a window on my left, and each time I’m surprised and pleased to still find myself in the dream. I climax and awaken, my sex warm and throbbing, although I’m not sure if I actually experienced an orgasm with my physical body or not.

Flying Like a Hawk

June 10, 2011
Note: In the hypnogogic state before this dream I had two distinct “visions.” In the first I pulled a red “plug” out of a chest and then a yellow “plug” out of the opposite side of the chest around the level of the nipples, getting something out of there; removing a blockage.

It all began inside a large mall of sorts. I’m sitting with some people on a bench and to my right are approaching a series of strange, large vehicles, not cars, not construction equipment, but I don’t want them getting any closer and I keep scooting to the left. Finally I get up and head outside. The setting is now more like a house and garden. To the right of the front door are brick steps leading to a brick walkway I start down with the intention of escaping. But then I notice that each flagstone is decorated with a butterfly (orange?) and I remember abruptly that I had been warned not to follow the path of the butterflies. So, deliberately, I turn around, me and two other women I may have communicated this warning to. We walk back up the brick steps, hurrying toward the front door on our left that leads into the safety of the house, but just as the first woman walks in I see a large male lion only a few yards from the porch. It’s heading our way. I urge the woman behind me to hurry up and get inside, but she’s oddly lethargic and heavy; I have to make an effort to push her in ahead of me. It’s all taking too long and the lion is nearly on us. As I push her toward the door, I shield her body with mine recalling the lion in my book Truth is the Soul of the Sun Hatshepsut was devoured by on the night of her initiation. My right arm is exposed to the edge of the porch and I brace myself for the lion’s bite. Then suddenly I realize that, all this time, we had the option to fly away, above the roof and into the sky and I take it now, lifting the woman up with me.

The woman is a dead weight, clinging to me as I fly. We pass a couple and the man’s face is like that of a store dummy, smooth and eyeless. I instruct the woman to hold onto me from behind and then to lean forward so we can assume a Superman position and move faster. There are only a few other pairs of fliers in the daylight sky, a sort of suburbia feel below us. I attempt to teach her how to fly but the problem is she doesn’t believe it’s possible and keeps falling to earth, and although eventually it seems to dawn on her she can fly, she still can’t even begin to master the skill.

At some point this woman becomes Stinger, his eyes closed, his body wobbly, totally not lucid. Holding onto him, at the same time I shake and slap him, urging him to wake up to the fact that we’re dreaming. Some gooey bright yellow liquid is oozing out of his left eye and I want to try and heal it. I don’t know how we ended up inside some large room filled with people, but I know I don’t want to be there and that I have to find some place private to attempt a dream healing. There are only windows but I inform him we will make a door and leave by it, and no sooner have I “said” this than I see the door and out we go. I’m “carrying” him and I think Yes, this is a place that belongs to me because it’s a pretty, sunlit grassy open space surrounded by trees with a brick grill on the left on which two butterflied chickens are, or had been, cooking; there are rather pretty tiny colorful flies milling around the chickens I shoo away with a thought.

I sit Stinger down on the grass and squatting in front of him once again attempt to “wake” him up to the dream in which I want to heal him, but what I suspected—that I should have found a more private location—is confirmed when people begin pouring out of the building we just emerged from ourselves. I ignore them at first but then some of them begin taking an interest in us I don’t sense is positive. This intuition is confirmed when I see a hostile-looking young man approach Stinger from behind holding a knife-like weapon in his hand. I quickly get up and fearlessly wrest it out of his grasp, discarding it as I consider breaking his wrist for good measure, but I refrain from doing so, seeing no need for that kind of violence. Instead I grab Stinger and we fly back up into the sky. At this point I think I say, my amused affection tinged with exasperation, “You are such a dead weight (burden) all the time” meaning in dreams where I’m lucid and he isn’t. We become airborne as with my left arm I pull him up with me while flapping my right arm like a bird’s wing, faster and faster, stronger and stronger, until it begins feeling more like a wing than an arm. I say to the dream, “I want to know what it feels like to be a big bird like a hawk, like a raptor” careful not to say that I want to become a raptor, and something happens. I’m still carrying Stinger but I now have two wings I feel growing longer and more powerful as I soar higher and higher, and then fly in broad swooping circles supported by a rushing wind as a sound, a distinct note, hums or vibrates in my left ear. I truly feel I’ve changed shape and that my field of vision broadens as I circle high above the world aware of black grid-like divisions between spaces “dotted” with red and yellow colors (rather like farm plots and autumn trees?)

I tell Stinger I’m going to put him down now (I want my freedom in the lucid dream) and take him inside a building. But before I leave him, I ask him to tell me something, to give me a code phrase we can share when we wake up to prove we were in a lucid dream together. He says, “Apps are reality and reality is an app.” I leave him and on my way out I see a large piece of white paper with some notes Stinger wrote in red ink. At the bottom of the sheet, also in red ink, I had written what he just told me, over and over, determined to remember it and running out of space (the usual issue.) I step further “outside” and find myself on a small urban porch with a woven mat I recognize as Arthur’s (my dogie.) There are buildings obstructing it, but the golden glow of the “lucid sun” is still there and I’m pleased to still be lucid after so many adventures. Facing the street, I tell the dream I want to know what it feels like to be a little dog; to be Arthur. I sink to my hands and knees as a little dog approaches me, not Arthur but a little black curly-haired poodle of sorts. I can tell my transformation isn’t working because the concrete of the porch is hard beneath my knees. I’m waiting to see if it will work when a black car pulls up, or stops in traffic, and a black woman, some sort of celebrity, speaks to me in a sneering, daunting tone, amusing her male attendants. She’s deriding me for contaminating myself with my such proximity to a dirty dog. Annoyed, I get up, open the door to the “limo” and slap the back of my hand across her mouth, demanding, “Do you like the taste of dog?” She’s shocked and furious but rendered speechless.

The lucid dream fades into a normal dream at this point in which I’m a young black woman looking into a mirror (I marvel at how nice it is to have a dark glowing complexion) where a man who cares for me-her is urging me-her not to work the night shift because there’s something worrying or frightening her but she says she has to.

At some point in another dream, I emerge from the Sun Room on a mission, but then I remember the lion and turn back. I want to make sure the door is left ajar so I can run back in quickly, and yet though it isn’t fully closed it’s really hard to push open; I won’t be able to get back inside fast enough should the lion attack, so I step back into the house.

Dream Notes:  In this lucid dream I’m taking responsibility for people, seeking to help them do things they can do in dreams, or to achieve lucidity, or to heal them. These are some traditional Shaman’s tasks. I found out that hawks hear a distinct frequency, that they broadcast it, or something like that. I really seem to have experienced flying like a hawk high above the world, so effortless, such powerful wings. I don’t like the threat to Stinger, which is the second I remember encountering in a lucid dream recently in the form of a man wanting to stab him. Is this an impending illness? In waking reality, his body is strangely aching again all over. We both agree he should be tested for Lyme Disease. (Stinger was diagnosed with Lyme Disease and treated for it successfully.)

Everything Speaks & Paper Moon

June 19, 2011
Out walking in the snow at night behind a house, I think about how I once was, but no longer am, afraid of the cold and dark, of death, because death will only be like a dream, and I know at once I’m dreaming and fly up into the sky. Around and below me, daylight now, there are very large, tall buildings, but not skyscrapers; they look made of stone and one has a red border. It’s an impressive city scape that doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen, at once retro and yet vast. I address the dream, asking it to “Show me something interesting.”

I find myself in a room crowded with objects, every counter, shelf, piece of furniture is covered with stuff, an antique feel, figurines, dolls, boxes, what a clutter! I command, “Tell me something” as I point at (a stuffed elephant?) and it speaks! I go around the room randomly pointing at objects which promptly say something, a phrase or a full statement. One “box” with a male face says something I think is quite clever, wise even. Unfortunately, I can’t remember anything these things said, except for some ugly doll that remarked, “I have nothing to say” and I laughed, replying, “I’m not surprised, you look it.” The whole time I’m careful not to glance for more than a moment at each object after I point at it in my silent command it speak.

When I decide to leave, I comment to some people there (or just think it) that I can go straight through the glass but, hey, what the heck, I’ll just use the door! I promptly open it and walk out. Before another small audience, I deliberately appear to fall off the edge of the building, as if to give them a scare. Flying on my back, I know I’m being self-indulgent and remind myself to practice deepening techniques, even though I don’t really feel the need, as I think about how the book I’m reading in waking reality The School of Out of Body Travel is too needlessly strict sometimes. As I fly away I declare, “I love you!” not really knowing what to do or ask for. To the north-west I see a huge full moon. At the same time I become aware of it, the moon begins falling straight toward me. I dare to meet it head on and catch it in my hands. It’s huge and light, as though made of silver paper, and there’s what looks like a silver painted shark or dolphin fin, or a stylized flame, on one side of it. I toss the moon like a beach ball in another direction from the one in which it fell toward me, and the twisting-turning motion I make with my body suddenly wakes me up.

Dream Notes: The clutter of the room filled with objects that all spoke stems, I think, from our stay at a friend’s beach house, that was dark and cluttered with decades of stuff imbued with the thoughts and feelings of three generations. Why should I feel guilty about behaving lightheartedly in this dream? How light the moon was reflected my emotional state in the dream. Tossing it away could mean I’m learning not to take myself so seriously, so proudly, tossing aside heavy, depressing dispositions. The “weight” of my rational brain is becoming lighter; I’m learning to be more playful. “The ship of light on the sea of the night” the dolphin fin I think I saw, learning to light up dreams with consciousness and to navigate the unconscious at night in lucid dreams.

You Will Soon Be One of Us

June 20, 2011
I’m in a shop and a lady is showing me some long shawl (and skirt-pants combinations) that are a fine woven texture and a delicate green-gold mesh. Then I’m studying a wall hung with carvings of different animals, like shamanic totems, including a really large elephant head which is the one I think I want to choose, but it’s difficult to reach them and I dislodge another one accidentally. I lean down to pick it up and see it’s a bear. I’m spending too much time there, I’m supposed to be at work next door, so I head for the counter to check out. (In reality I work at home.) I hand the cashier the shawl I want to buy and tell her I’ll be right back, I just have to go get my wallet. Walking quickly back to where I work, realizing I’ve been gone an improper amount of time, I see a black purse lying on the floor just outside the glass wall and fear it might be mine thrown away by thieves after they took all the valuables, but upon closer inspection it doesn’t appear to be and somehow it doesn’t matter. A young woman is sitting in for me answering the phones in my absence. She seems a little put out and yet—even though it will make matters worse for me here at work—I absolutely have to go back for that shawl, so I make some lame excuse about having to leave again to buy some aspirin.

From a dream, I walk into a building and follow a dark current that assumes the form of an automated black ramp of sorts on which I make myself comfortable. I’m fully conscious of the fact that I’m walking into sleep and into a dream which will be a lucid dream, because I intend it to be. I place two empty “coffee” cups onto the ramp, pressing them securely down into the rubbery, yielding surface. One of them seems to represent Papi and the other (lavender) cup is mine. I’m thinking, aware of the fact, that I always face my emotions. As I ride the dark “current” deeper into lucidity, I notice some black dregs in my cup (which later in the dream I liken to spider eggs) which I attempt to brush out before once again attempting to press the bottom of the cup securely into the “conveyor belt” but it resists now. As the black surface flows forward, the walls open up so I can see the wooden beams inside it, and a familiar blue color prompts me to declare, “This is the inside of my dining room table!” I’m now the size of a speck, of an atom, but that’s all right because I can be any size in a dream as I travel effortlessly between the “lattice” work.

I arrive somewhere—now I can see an outside. I deliberately step off the “conveyor” and walk instead of fly, because I don’t want to miss anything I might be avoiding by immediately taking off. There’s an open space before me I immediately recognize as an airport (before bed I had read the meaning of the dream symbol airplane in a book). The planes are small, not jumbo jets, and I think they’re white with red trim. There’s a woman standing at the edge of the more open area where the planes sit behind a chain link fence. She’s wearing an official uniform, rather like a security guard’s, dull blue with long sleeves (I believe) and her blonde hair curls around her face. I stop directly in front of her and, looking straight at her face, raise my hands before me in prayer position and say, “Namaste.” Then I pause and deliberately ask, “Who are you?” She replies, “You know what I am.” I’m thinking she must be an angel helping souls cross over, hence the airport; an angel who helps transport people to the Other Side. Then she adds, “And you will soon be one of us.” I don’t like the sound of that. “Does that mean I’m going to die?” I query, and almost regret being lucid, since the dream appears to have become a harbinger of my impending death, which distresses me even though there’s nothing frightening about being there. She doesn’t reply, she doesn’t seem inclined to say more, but I insist, urgently asking, “How soon?” as I think about my empty lavender cup. As I press her for more information, she backs away from me, actually cowering, and I say in a challenging tone, “If you were a real angel, you wouldn’t be frightened of me!” It crosses my mind she must be a dream character, not an actual angel. She mumbles something about it being two weeks or two months from now (things happen in increments of two) but then amends her estimate to Thanksgiving. Polite but persistent, I demand to know if she’s sure she has the right name. “My name is very similar to my father’s,” I tell her, and as she walks over to check the “book” I say, “I’m Maria Pita, not Mario Pita” emphasizing that there’s a mere one letter difference in our names, so she might very well have made a mistake. Consulting the “register” she shakes her head, a rather rueful smile on her lips and mutters, “I didn’t know that.” I’m relieved because she seems to be admitting that she did indeed make a mistake; that she didn’t look carefully enough and that it was Papi she referred to. (For some reason in the dream it makes sense he will die around Thanksgiving even though in reality he’s already dead). The woman is standing in a booth jammed with old VHS boxes amongst other stuff and I comment, “Oh please don’t tell me bureaucracy on the Other Side is as messy (inefficient) as it is on this side. What a scary thought!” I begin walking away, looking back over my shoulder. Our eyes meet and now she’s a black woman who’s smiling at me in an oddly secretive way, as though I passed some kind of test. I wave, “Good bye!” thinking I should have asked her name. She calls after me, a little sarcastically but still smiling, “Are you going to make me cry you a friend?” and I reply, “Yes!” thinking, Naturally!

Still lucid, I’m inside a small building and beginning to climb a gray, gauzy curtain-rope in front of a tall narrow window through which only darkness is visible. I’m climbing the rope simply because I can; I’m in a strong lithe dream body. Just for fun, I shimmy up the rope with the intention of willing an opening at the top of the window through which I plan to fly away. There’s a guy at the top who seems to be loosening the cloth so it will collapse as I climb it and I cry, “Hey, don’t do that!” but then realize it doesn’t matter if I fall because I can fly, which I do, straight across the room. I pass a dark-haired young man sitting in front of a doorway and I slap his face just to make contact, not to be mean but merely to show that I see him and am aware of him and totally there. As I cross a threshold into an adjoining room, my bare feet touch the floor and I register the surprising coldness of the stone-concrete. I step back inside, wanting to experience the vividly real sensation again. I can really feel the floor! This has been such a stressful lucid dream I decide it’s time to have some fun. Kneeling, I lift my shirt and press my nipples against the stone floor. It’s so arousing that I yell into an adjoining room, after demurely hesitating for a moment, “Are there any guys here who want to fuck?” Some big lumbering youth who isn’t that attractive immediately heads for me but, before I can reconsider, two other guys are sucking my nipples as I lie on my belly on the floor waiting to be taken from behind (in a sort of ship’s figurehead position) and the pleasure is so intense I ride the current straight out of the dream, waking in a highly aroused state.

Dream Notes: My Inner Self is thinking that the Shamanic animal plaques I was viewing and the green-gold (ritual) shawl I was about to buy (leaving my office job to do so) in the normal dream before the lucid dream relate to it, and help identify the female official standing in front of the fat bird-like planes as a Shaman, an experienced journeyer telling me I would soon be one, meaning that I would make much swifter progress than I believed myself capable of. She never said I was going to die, and she gave me a sidelong glance toward the end which I felt in the dream was her subtly letting me know I had passed some kind of test by standing up to her; by challenging her and demanding she give me more information while also questioning the truth of her statement by asking if she might have made a mistake. I could well believe she was a “mischievous” spirit messing with my head (which she most certainly has done) but if I’m truly going to journey “deeper”into lucid dreams and perhaps even waking Shamanic journeys, I can’t believe whatever I hear from just any dream character and take it as gospel truth or a prophecy against which I am helpless. The future doesn’t exist yet, there are probabilities and possibilities, and I have to be complete master of myself, all my selves, if I want to safely pursue consciousness in sleep and dreams. I’ll remember this golden-haired official, who shifted into a black woman, in all my future lucid dreams as a warning not to be too trusting, as I am in life, and as an education—there are dangers and liers in the mysterious realms of sleep just as there are on the physical plain. In that dream I walked off the conveyor-tunnel as though I was entering a carefree amusement park but with much more exciting rides. If all I had done was take off into the sky, that’s all it would have been, but I deliberately met the eyes of an official-looking figure and, caught off guard by her sober pronouncement, I reacted like a frightened child too young and innocent not to believe whatever an adult tells her. The comment I made about how messy bureaucracy can be on both sides reinforces this interpretation.

In conclusion: The Voice of my Inner Self is the only one I can trust, the only one that can interpret whatever anyone says to me, in this world or in any other. As though to affirm the truth of my conclusion, during a recent thunderstorm (just as I was telling my husband about a dream in which I was the only woman in a crowd wearing Indian clothing as opposed to t-shirts and shorts made in China) the television receiver, which was off, abruptly turned itself on and a male voice said loudly, “The Voice.” I have given that blonde airport official too much power and allowed her to make me afraid in the ultimate way and, in a strange sense, that’s the straw that broke the camel’s (my cowering ego’s) back and shifted me fully into the perspective of my Inner Self. I will behave as I feel—that I have many healthy, growing, creative years of physical life left—without fear. Portents, oracles, serve no purpose unless they promote spiritual healing and growth. Any negative things I hear in this world or in any other, especially when they relate to me and my future, are true only if I let them be, and that includes medical doctors and any possible life-threatening diagnosis, because I know from experience I have the power to think and dream myself well again. (It’s not mind over matter it’s Mind working with matter). How you react to a challenge is what’s important, and that’s why challenges are there in the first place.

And last but definitely not least, just as I was about to tell Stinger about this lucid dream, I looked down the driveway (we were sitting on the front porch) and saw a creature stepping out of the woods I knew at once couldn’t be either a dog or a deer… it was a baby bear crossing the drive, the first time I’ve seen a bear here. In the earlier non-lucid dream I reached for an elephant totem but knocked over a bear I consequently picked up. I feel like I was given a gift, a verification, a blessing.

Tree of Life

September 28, 2011

In a dream, I’m in the rec room when I hear a loud bird cry. Looking outside, I see a large white bird with a sharp black beak singing a distinctly lovely and yet also piercing song (reminiscent of the shamanic whistle at the beginning of a journey) where it perches on the topmost branch of a tree growing directly outside the bay windows, except the tree isn’t really visible; it’s a mere sketch of branches the sole purpose of which is to accommodate a host of birds, a variety of different species perched below the larger white bird that called my attention to the incredible sight. The feeling is one of being awake—it didn’t feel like a dream then and it still doesn’t remembering it.

Immediately I run into the kitchen for my little camera, because I absolutely have to get this incredible bird and the whole scene on “film.” I run all the way back to the entrance of the rec room but then walk in slowly, so as not to startle the birds with any rapid movements from inside the house. I’m thrilled the magnificent white bird is still there as I lean back across the floor in order to capture the whole scene in my digital camera’s screen. There’s the bird, but it’s closer than it should be. I make sure I don’t have the zoom on, and I don’t, but the next time I focus and take a picture the birds I’m concentrating on still appear closer than they really are. Then I am astonished to see myself standing just outside the window looking in! I’m wearing a sleeveless white shirt and white shorts and I’m smiling at the me inside taking photos of the scene I’m also somehow a part of! I know at once that this other me is not a reflection because she’s standing (actually floating off the ground, which is a good distance below the windows) whereas I’m lying back across the rug. How can I be out there and inside?! It’s amazing but not troubling. The bay windows are much taller than I realized, a pleasant surprise (I’m convinced I’m awake; everything that’s happening feels perfectly real) as I look up and up into a clear, light-blue sky serving as the open, wonderful-feeling backdrop for the splendid tree of life before me (reminiscent of an ancient Egyptian Ba-bird tree). And then a surreal interlude ensues during which I see a more distant me walking an invisible path toward the windows at one point accompanied by another dark-haired girl (my original hair color vs. my now silver-white hair) dressed in a deep-blue form-fitting “exercise” outfit who strikes a wild, smiling pose for the camera that defies gravity. A few birds and small animals participate, everyone getting into the spirit of a joyfully wild photo shoot. I keep “snapping” pictures, in one of which a creature like a koala bear dominates the foreground, while in others two or three different species of birds appear, all closer than they should be. And then, to my utter amazement, an elephant fills the screen, facing me directly. I laugh in delight when it’s tusks and trunks come together in a really funny way as it opens it’s eyes wide, making faces at me! It’s all so much fun, so lighthearted, almost farcical but in a completely positive way. Then suddenly I’m lying in bed, awake and smiling as I recall this very real feeling dream that took place just down the hall. When I slip back into sleep, I look for the photos I took on my digital camera but naturally they aren’t there because I took them in a dream! Very disappointing! It felt so real.

Dream Notes: I saw the Dreamer dreaming me. I am me and the Dreamer who dream this particular me, even as this me also dreams of the dreamer.

Robert Lanza blogged this today and it fits with my dream beautifully:

We are all melted together, parts of an organism that transcends the walls of space and time. This is not, you understand, a fanciful metaphor. It is a reality. I have learned, as a biologist and biocentrist, that life is a complex play of cells, some that are around when you’re young, some when you’re old, but that all, regardless of species, are parts of one organism expanding and contracting in space and time in whatever shape and form it can. “I would say,” said Loren Eiseley, the great anthropologist and natural science writer, “that if ‘dead’ matter has reared up this curious landscape of fiddling crickets, song sparrows, and wondering men, it must be plain even to the most devoted materialist that the matter of which he speaks contains amazing, if not dreadful powers, and may not impossibly be, as [Thomas] Hardy has suggested, ‘but one mask of many worn by the Great Face behind.'” Eiseley and Hardy were right. If we could see behind the fiddling crickets and song sparrows, before the first single-cell organism, and after the last man and woman, only you would remain — you, the Great Face behind, that consciousness whose mode of thinking contains the frog, the dolphin and the whales. Nay, that contains the world.”  Robert Lanza

Waking up out of a sleeping dream could even suggest that one day you
might wake up out of your life. What do you think this implies?  Beverly D’Urso

Web of Skeletons

October 2, 2011
I’m lying in bed and I feel Stinger move next to me. I look at him and say, “This is a dream. We’re dreaming!” He turns to me, smiling, and he is so handsome! He looks like himself yet even younger, like when I met him but better, his eyes shining. “You look beautiful,” I tell him and he says, “Well then make love to me” as he kneels on the bed before me. Above us I can see stars, hundreds of huge, pulsing silver stars in a black sky, magnificent and beautiful, as he penetrates me. Then as we make love, high above us I discern hundreds if not thousands of skeletons lined up in neat straight rows, one above the other, across the sky, full skeletons standing-lying side-by-side as neatly as basketwork. They’re more a dull gold color than white, many of them are dressed in a variety of costumes, and here and there between them there’s a square, or box, that contains furniture, detailed living rooms like a section of a doll’s house. It should be a terrifying sight but it’s only a little creepy and totally amazing. This “web” of skeletons is between us and a bank of misty white clouds somewhat obscuring the star-filled sky, but I can still see the stars. I tell Stinger to look up at this amazing sight and he tries to twist his head back to look, a little annoyed, so I quickly tell him to forget it and just make love to me.

In the final dream of the night, I’m walking down the hall toward the rec room. I flip up the light switch but the light won’t turn on. Oh great, I must still be dreaming. I head back to the bedroom and Stinger meets me in the doorway. I tell him, “We’re still asleep!” Smiling, he assures me everything will be fine, to calm down. But I’m not stressed, we’re simply still asleep. There’s a huge bin of clothes in the room and I hear Arthur’s cage rattling, but it’s a little girl in there who, with an intense, almost evil expression is methodically unscrewing all the bolts that keep the door in place so she can free herself once and for all. I’m aghast, because there will be no way to keep her confined anymore if she succeeds, which she already has. Furious and frightened in equal measure, I grab her by the hair. Stinger warns me to be careful as he carefully begins taking a long screw out of her mouth. Then I’m quickly fishing nails and all this other lethal stuff out of her mouth which, if she swallowed it, would kill her. I urgently tell Stinger I have to write down what’s happened in the previous dreams and he hands me a pen with which I hastily begin writing in light-blue ink, only it runs out before I’m even close to finished. I think of using my iPod but it’s not worth it because we’re still asleep and nothing I record will be there when I wake up!

Dream Notes: All the lives I, we, have lived. The history of my Ka, of my spirit, all the forms my soul has taken. Clouds emotions, Divine creativity behind it all. I think now that this little demon girl determined to free herself once and for all is a part of me that’s been held back for far too long, my “psychic” dreaming powers. I’m removing deeply ingrained emotional and mental blocks, cleaning out my subconscious closet, both a little frightened and furious with myself for it.

Night of the Dragons

October 15, 2011
In a mall of some sort, I go to the bathroom, which is really crowded, and there are men in there as well, most of the people youngish looking, jeans, a crowd in front of the stalls, all of which are occupied, a young touchy-feely couple at the entrance; weird. I think I can make it home I don’t need to stay there. But the door I came through on the left, cutting through a major department store like JC Penny, isn’t there anymore. There are at least three doors but none lead into the store I remember walking through. Then some weird, slightly clownish male character emerges from the door I believed was the correct one and says, as though enticing me and others walking past, “Oh, what could be in here, I wonder?” I glance inside and see what I can only describe as a cross between a janitor’s closet and a magician’s cabinet. I realize around this time that I must be dreaming. I’m thrilled, but check my elation with the knowledge that I have to find a way out of this confining building to really enjoy my lucidity.

Up the hall, I come to this place like a reception area, with a woman sitting behind a desk (or something). This lady tells me the adjoining office belongs to some big-wig Latin American man? I enter the dark, spacious office and to the north-east, in the corner, I see an old Oriential man, Chinese, sitting behind a “desk”. He smiles at me and greets me, “Namaste” and as I approach him, I respond, “Namaste” smiling back. I take a seat, but then the scene shifts and he’s sitting on one side of a low table in the center of the room, which is richly decorated, without being opulent, in red and gold and black tones. He looks more severe now, and I seem to recall he’s dressed in an ancient fashion, not in a nondescript modern suit. He indicates what seat I am to take before him, the one with an angular cushion, not as close as the one I was about to sit on. I’m having a hard time understanding him, and am rather resenting his impatience as he commands me, with gestures and expressions (I don’t remember if he speaks, and if he does, it’s not English) to look through the book resting on the table between us. The pages flip up and they consist of beautiful, gilded, colorful engravings covered with oriental writing I can’t even begin to decipher. The image I remember is of a gorgeous multi-colored winged bird, like a Phoenix but Oriental. The whole time I keep looking around the room, careful not to focus for too long on the teacher and the book. It’s an impressive, beautiful space. But I start getting impatient, because how can I be expected to learn when I can’t read a single word? I stand up and, suddenly, he’s also standing but now he’s a blonde white man in a curious state of disarray—his light-blue robe or tunic is askew and he really doesn’t want me to go, but I’m thinking now that I’m way too submissive to dream characters; that I waste too many lucid dreams just doing what they tell me and tonight I’m having none of it. “You’re like the wizard of Oz,” I accuse him and, indeed, he looks as flustered as Oz did when Dorothy flung the curtain open and exposed him. I’m thinking I don’t need anymore reading of philosophy and metaphysics and complicating myself with it, especially stuff written in another language!

I storm out of there and see two women walking toward an eastern exit through which I discern outdoor light. Yey! I quickly follow them outside, and the first thing I see is a wave of water; the world is partially flooded. I tell one of the women, “This is going to happen more and more” meaning the ocean encroaching on dry land, and I get the sense I might be in the future. Then I see several large white horses, and I think one of them—who alights a few yards to the north-west of me—is like Pegasus, although no wings are visible. I consider riding one of them through the dream, it might be neat, but then reconsider; why would I want to ride a horse when I can fly! But then I reconsider flying itself as an option because it takes me away from experiencing what I might encounter on the ground, so I begin walking. The landscape is curious—on my right are boring industrial-like places while to the west there is a vast open space, and in the north-west, far far away, I distinctly see flocks of winged dinosaurs descending toward earth. Dinosaurs! It’s amazing, and I wonder for a mere instant if it might be scary to keep walking in that direction, but it’s not scary at all, just really, really cool. Then behind me I see one of those large white horse creatures racing toward me. Again I experience a fleeting concern it might hurt me as it barrels into me, but I just turn around and say, “Oh you’re so beautiful!” and it stops so I can pet it’s smooth white head (it’s now a cross between a horse and dog.) I wake up or, rather, my perception shifts from the dream world into the world where I’m lying in bed.

Dream Notes: I get the feeling I am making progress, gradually but surely. I want to feel I did the right thing to walk away from that Chinese sage, that I somehow was able to distinguish him from a truly helpful dream character. And yet maybe my impatience was not a good thing and I should have respectfully asked him to explain what the beautiful engravings said. Yet his severe attitude did not inspire me to do so. And if I had remained, I might (very likely if I focused too long on the book) woken up and failed to find my way outside into that magical, timeless place.

I know now that what I was shown is the Asian Phoenix. In waking reality I have no memory of ever hearing about it, but that’s what I saw in the dream book:

“The Fenghuang has very positive connotations. It is a symbol of high virtue and grace. The Fenghuang also symbolizes the union of yin and yang (Fen=male Huang=female.) Nanshan jing records that each part of Fenghuang’s body symbolizes a word, the head represents virtue, its body symbolizes the six celestial bodies. The head is the sky, the eyes are the sun, the back is the moon, the wings are the wind, the feet are the earth, and the tail is the planets. Its feathers contain the five fundamental colors: black, white, red, blue and yellow. Yes, those are the colors I saw. In some traditions it appears in good times but hides during times of trouble, while in other traditions it appeared only to mark the beginning of a new era.”

Then I saw winged dinosaurs, which are, in essence, dragons. They were wonderful, magical, not frightening. This is the beginning, I feel, of a new era or stage in my spiritual growth, intimately tied to my dream life.