Someone Else’s Reflection

February 8, 2014

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

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

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

Dream Notes:

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

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

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

Lunar Healing Night 2 + Visiting Ancient Egypt

Note: I am now 6 months behind in posting my lucid dreams. This means I am approximately 30 lucid dreams behind.

January 21, 2014
Waning Gibbous, Void Moon

By W.s.w.p. (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (], via Wikimedia Commons

Lunar Healing Night 2

In my lucid dreaming bed, drifting in and out of sleep, and watching the moon moving across the sky parallel to my bed, at around 2:20 I finally wake up completely from the discomfort of bloating and gas, something I rarely suffer from. I begin breathing deeply, from my stomach up into my chest, and on the exhale, I visualize Chi healing energy flowing down into my belly as a curtain of soothing, milky mist. I keep at it, relaxing into it, and it has the same effect, but much faster, than taking an antacid would have, bringing obvious relief. However, if I turn into any other position, the symptoms return, and I won’t be able to fall asleep if I have to keep performing Reike. I’ve been awake for more than an hour, but I still reject the idea of taking any medication. I would much rather become lucid, and heal myself in a dream. To that end, I close my eyes and concentrate my vision as I continue breathing steadily. Very soon, I begin riding hypnagogic imagery.

I’m part of a scene, one of three people urgently lining up to be beamed up to our star ship. I’m standing on the far right, and I jerk my left hand away from the person on my left, because we can’t touch as we beam up, if we do, our molecules will merge. We materialize on the bridge, and I quickly follow my two companions down the white, slightly curving stairway leading to the elevator, but the steps are too high and the ceiling partially blocks the entrance… I move on, fully conscious now of riding hypnagogic imagery as I perceive what looks like a black-and-white version of a section of my kitchen counter top. Then suddenly, clear as day, I’m awake in a dream, and apparently inside my physical body! I clearly see the deep rosy color of what, at first, I think might be a massive red blood cell, but which I then seem to recognize as my esophagus! I’m somewhere near the base of my neck looking down at it’s narrow passage. I gaze at the inside of my body in fascination for a little while before waking.

My heartburn is getting worse as I drift off on hypnagogic imagery again… I’m outside at night standing in the snow with Stinger and our small dog, Arthur. The house is a few yards away, but the scene does not parallel waking reality. Where the entrance to the basement is evokes the layout of my childhood home, and yet the whole scene is different. We’re working on something located in a mound of snow that is about chest high. When Stinger turns away and heads back inside, calling Arthur in after him, I follow them to the door, but only to inform him that I intend to stay outside. I love the snowy night so much that, as I walk past whatever we were working on, I begin singing, “Doe, a deer, a female deer, ray, a drop of golden sun! Me, a name, I call myself, Fa a long long way to run!…” (Not the first time I’ve sung a tune from The Sound of Music in a lucid dream even though I’m not a big fan of the film.) I then become aware that I have managed to imbed myself in a hypnagogic scene, and intend to walk fully into the dream along the dark, snowy path rising between two white residential buildings about three stories high. The land slopes slightly upward into darkness, and I have no desire to resist the mystery and adventure of following it. When I see a sharp black shadow cast by a lamp in an upstairs window of the building just ahead of me on my left, I focus on it, and the more I focus on it, the sharper it gets, until I suddenly experience what feels like a cone-shaped energy rising from the top of my head. Up and up I go into the night sky and a lucid dream!

I look at my hands, faint but perfectly shaped, distinct silhouettes in the deeper darkness, which is not uniform—flowing here and there through the blackness is a rich, deep royal blue color. I intend to heal myself, but instead of thinking about how to go about it, I keep my hands raised before me. I think, referring to the healing energy I’m completely immersed in—It’s all mine! All mine! For a moment, I wonder if I’m being arrogant, but then I know it’s simply true—this energy, the dark sky, me, we are all connected. Then I see the moon, which feels very close, and yet it looks as it actually would from where I live on earth, waning but still clearly visible. Fine shafts of golden light radiate from the moon’s dark side that reach out and touch the fingertips of my left hand. (The fine shafts of light resemble the effect produced when I squint my eyes while looking directly at a bright light.) It is a brief but powerful contact, I know this, and my dream hands actually feel hot, so full of energy they almost hurt…

I seem to descend as I transition to an indoor scene. I’m floating, in a spiraling clockwise direction, about a foot or two above the floor, traversing a dimly lit space, where I see a dark figure seated at a white table. I say politely but loudly, “Hello!” as I float past the silent silhouette, hoping to engage it in conversation. It doesn’t respond, and I ask, “Are you a DC? Are you a Dream Character?” I glide above a young woman sitting alone with a desultory look on her face, and a bored, almost resigned air about her. The nature of the place is hard to identify, public yet also residential, and maybe educational and/or a waiting room of sorts. Everything is white. I don’t have control of my dream body, and drift into waking. This dream lasted only about 10-15 minutes clock time. When I woke, there was no sign of my gas. My stomach felt fine, no more bloating, discomfort, nothing. It did not return.

A Memory of Ancient Egypt

I’m outside X’s house. We are happily talking. I enter his home, in search of something. I experience an awkward shock when his wife enters the airy, spacious room holding a glass of water, or some other liquid. She is wearing an ankle length tunic dress of a single color, perhaps a light-green, with some subtle pattern sewn into the fabric. I know she is aware that X and I had illicit feelings for each other once. At first I think her smile is sardonic, in a pained, somewhat angry way, but we end up walking rather companionably toward the front door, remarking on the heat of the day, and how being near water makes it so much more bearable, but never uncomfortably humid. We pass a breathtaking sight—a large, and not very deep pool of sparkling blue water. A single long white step leads down from the living area almost directly into the pool. This side of the living area is completely open to a view of sunlit water, with the feel of a garden extending beyond it on both sides. The woman and I end up sitting facing each other in a shady alcove adjoining the front entrance, conversing, and pleasantly relaxed. She is still X’s wife, but she seems a slightly different woman now. She confesses to me that every night she watches the distant figures of my husband and I, whenever we pass in front one of our large white home’s various windows. She compliments the robe I wear on some occasions, but what really entrances her, what she praises with deep emotion, is my grace. She says, “All your movements are filled with such a beautiful, natural grace.” She is being very flattering, and I think I should also compliment her, but I somehow know it isn’t necessary for me to do so, that it actually wouldn’t be correct to put her on my level. Instead, I say earnestly, “You and your husband must come and have dinner with us one night” and though she seems more than agreeable to this, she is not sure when that could be, because her husband is away for weeks at a time, and this has something to do with his work and his art. I get the impression he works at night, or in the dark. So I suggest brunch one afternoon instead. “I’m sure we will find the right opportunity,” I conclude…

I go and find X again. He is seated with a small group of his co-workers. They are all wearing white uniforms that look dusty. They are on break, perhaps eating and drinking while they consult small tablets, or other items related to their work. I tell him I saw his wife, but I am really there to inspect the progress of the work. As I descend a steep wooden plank, notched as though with shallow steps, I hear his voice following me down the shaft telling me what his wife told him—that the gods gave them their son to be their great comfort in life. He also complains that she is too traditional, too sedate, or something to that effect. I listen sympathetically, but then become distracted by the debris littering the descending plank—art supplies, construction tools, pieces of paper, so much stuff, I can barely prevent myself from slipping. I call up to them in a commanding voice, “Clean up these steps! They are a hazard!” and phase out of the dream in the way I do after a “true” dream.

Dream Notes:

This dream is a mysterious gem, with countless parallels to ancient Egypt—the tunic dress; the dry heat relieved by the proximity of water, which still doesn’t make the air humid; the spacious airy home opening out onto a pool and garden; the large white house with white walls, also a reference to the ancient name for Memphis/Cairo “White Wall”; the lavish, almost ritual praise of a lower-ranking woman addressing a noble woman or a queen, referencing her ritual robe or cloak; the Windows of Appearance where, beginning in the 18th Dynasty, pharaoh and his queen showed themselves to the public; reference to working for weeks at a time in the dark, exactly what the artists who painted tombs did for days at a time before returning home for a prolonged rest, their white clothing dirty with rock dust; the tablets they sketched their designs and notes on; reference to “the gods”; the wooden plank leading across, or down, into the tomb’s different chambers; a noble woman or queen inspecting the progress of her tomb. X must have been the artist in charge, ranking above the others, and living in more luxury. X is a real life friend of mine who also loves ancient Egypt.

The Source of all Form

Note: I am now waiting up to 5 months before posting my lucid dreams. This means I am always approximately 25 lucid dreams behind.

November 5, 2013
Last dream of the night.

Stinger (my husband) and I are leaving our house at night. In the front yard to the right of the door, the long black early 20th century woman’s coat he bought me at an antique mall years ago is standing upright on its own. There is the suggestion of a head half rising out of the coat wearing a black hat. Hanging across the back of the coat (between where the shoulder blades would be) is a heart-shaped purse with a red jewel in the center. As we hurry down the driveway, I see the eerie Halloween-like decoration turn its head to watch us. I ask Stinger if he saw that, but he didn’t… Almost immediately, we are returning home. The driveway and house are very similar to our waking reality home except that some details and directions are slightly shifted. As we walk by the black coat-figure, I remark that maybe we should have left it out for Halloween, and it turns its head to watch us as we walk past it and enter the house. I am also watching it closely, alarmed and yet thrilled by this evidence that it is alive, a spirit. I’m desperately trying to get Stinger to become aware of it, but he doesn’t seem to believe me.

As we stand just inside the open door, I watch the figure come to life completely, as though no longer interested in trying to scare us. It is holding a long black umbrella, and I watch in fascination as it heads down the long black driveway shooting objects in its path with an energy that emanates from the tip of the umbrella like water and fire combined. I cry, “You go, Susie S. Mayo!” (a possible other lifetime of mine). But as her rampage continues, I yell, “Stop that! Just move on, Susie!” She turns to face me, and abruptly transforms into a little girl dressed just like Alice in wonderland, in a blue Victorian dress with white accents. I cry, “Okay, Alice, go down your rabbit hole!” Full of energy, she shoots/runs eastward straight through the woodpile, which comes tumbling down after her. I say to Stinger, “You heard that commotion, right? That was the spirit running through your stack of firewood!” I think she’s gone, but abruptly she comes shooting back, and runs straight into the house, where she stands before us smiling defiantly up at me. I’m not scared of her but I am a little concerned that this restless, seemingly trapped spirit has entered our home and might prove difficult to extricate. As I talk to this invisible presence, Stinger watches my face, and I wonder if he thinks I’ve lost my mind because I’m talking to thin air. I lift my right hand with the palm facing the ghost’s face and say, “In the name of God, I command you…” I can tell from her contemptuous expression she believes I’m going to try and exorcise her like a demon, but I continue, “…I command you to be free!” Her face softens with surprise, and almost pleasure at this unexpected approach. I conclude, “Go find love. Go find those who love you and who you love!”

Even as I speak, the little girl becomes a tall heavily built man with dark hair who appears to me in black-in-white. He looms over me, but not threateningly. He reaches out to touch my raised hand with one of his. There is a very real sensation of warmth, with a slight frisson as of an electric current. We are both very interested in our ability to touch like this, and he communicates to me that normally he can’t feel anyone, and I admit this is the first time I’ve done this as well, meaning touched a spirit. I become aware then of two other black-and-white men in dark suits (who are almost like cartoons but who are decidedly real) standing beside Stinger, who appears unaware of them. I understand they are some sort of “Other Side police” who arrived to help, but who now just watch me because I appear to have the situation under control. I telepathically receive the information that they are now taking him back to Allegheny. I ask the man, “What is Allegheny?” and Stinger tells me some famous science fiction authors wrote about this place even as I receive images/impressions of large, fern-like leaves; of ancient, timeless plants, as though this soul began there and so it is like home. The “police guides” assure me that “she will like it there”. I see this “place”, blue sky and green land, yet it is not literally sky and land but rather the womb, or potential, of these things. And on the left he/she, so far away he/she is small as a doll, stands naked in what looks like a shining but slightly opaque square crystal the color of a jewel looking out upon this lovely “resort spa” that is not a resort at all but the way I am personally perceiving what a somehow know to be the lovely, restful, colorful, endless, liquid-solid living source of all things and forms.

After the spirit vanishes, I close the front door and walk to the other side of the house and Stinger steps out of a room in the corridor to greet me, smiling. He says something about the two men hanging around earlier because they sensed a disturbance, but every time they were going to take action, they realized I was handling the situation myself and so did not interfere. He looks very proud of me as he grabs me by the shoulders and leads me back to the front of the house as I exclaim, “Thank God! It would have been awful if you didn’t realize what was happening and just thought I had gone crazy because I was talking to empty air.” As we pass the area before the front door where it all happened, I think how the experience felt just like a lucid dream, except that I was awake. Stinger is not wearing a shirt and as we embrace, I distinctly feel his warmth… I phase out of this semi-lucid dream.

Earlier in the night… I enter a silent spacious room that is dark except for the light shining in from street lamps even though I see no lamps outside the glass walls. It is a gallery of sorts but I have eyes only for the huge and beautiful multi-winged yellow-and-white “butterfly” perched on a disc, or large “plate” decorated/engraved and resting as the primary exhibit on a circular stand. Then I look up. On the back wall, high up near the ceiling, I see other similarly magnificently big “alien butterflies” perched on the frames of paintings, which I can’t make out because the light does not quite reach that far. I notice the gallery is full of other people now…

Dream Notes:

Yesterday, I was thinking of visiting the town in West Virginia where lived Susie S. Mayo, a possible parallel/past life of mine:  Yesterday evening I was talking to Stinger about possibly visiting the grave of Susie S. Mayo in West Virginia. That is why she was on my mind in the final dream.

The source of all form, where I perceived the man-woman cocooned as though in a chrysalis of pure beautiful colors/powers, seems to relate to the golden multi-winged butterflies, a familiar form and yet also mysteriously, magically different from the butterflies of earth, life as I currently experience it. Those butterflies were amazing, alien looking, like no earthly creatures. Seeing them, perched on wooden frames hung high on a dark wall, is not an image I will ever forget. Central to the scene was that circular disc, like a Sun Dial… a Life Dial? Was the principal “butterfly”, our immortal soul, turning the dial to other incarnations/lifetimes represented by the butterflies perched on wooden frames symbolizing the confines of time, space and matter?

Exercising My Dream Body

September 22, 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dream Notes:

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

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

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

The Inner Self

September 20, 2013 – Full Moon

WILD: Suddenly I realize my body is falling asleep and I’m still consciously surfing black and white hynagogic waves as I experience the tell-tale vibrations, which begin with what feels like a hand resting for a moment with gentle encouragement on the top of my head. The HI is a roiling black and white “sea” of blurred, and then briefly distinct faces, including a dark-haired woman I follow to the left of my peripheral vision. I’m relishing that rushing sense of motion, like a wind blowing through my physical body my awareness rides deeper and deeper into mind space. The vibrations, the tingling, the motion, all naturally occurring, supplement-free, so wonderful. Motorway Over-passSoon the sense of moving through space becomes riding through a city at night as though I’m lying down in a car, only there is no apparent vehicle around me. As the scenery flows by, a man’s disembodied voice fills the world speaking slowly and distinctly. I understand one sentence but can’t make out the next, and this pattern of coherence and incoherence continues for some time. I “drive” beneath an expressway ramp past a large white warehouse-type building. I see everything clearly, including a three quarters moon shining in the black sky just beneath a white bridge. I wonder at the fact that I’m seeing this moon in this dream sky when there’s a full moon in the sky where my physical body is sleeping. I feel the “car” rising off the street like an airplane taking off as the voice intones, “There are some who live/exist forever (implying there are some who don’t?) and then two clear words separated by a few indistinct others “Victorians… Egyptologists”.

I become aware that what is now a discernible car around me is back on the ground and turning into the parking lot of what appears to be a brightly lit convenience store. It is still night in the city. Sensing my dream body, I turn to look behind me, and gasp when I see the white face of a person sitting in the back seat. At once, the brightness of the face dims into the pleasant countenance of a young boy. I believe we say “hello” to each other, at which point I lose visuals and tell him, “I’ve lost all visuals” fully expecting him to understand and maybe even help me recover them, which I do an instant later as the car pulls closer to the light spilling from the store and parks before it. I’m sitting in the driver’s seat thinking I actually managed a WILD as I raise my hands before me to stabilize the dream. I’m wearing fine sage-green gloves, decorated with a faint delicate gold embroidery, that leave my fingertips exposed. I declare, “I’m dreaming” and exit the car along with an older man who was ostensibly driving. He approaches the brightly lit store with the boy walking behind me. As I glance back at him I see, across the street, two identical brick houses, slightly more rectangular than square, with a wooden door in the center of each one. They are sealed tight, no discernible windows, and I think they may be important. I look at my hands again and repeat, “I’m dreaming” as I follow the man into the store. I then turn to the boy and ask him “Who are you?” as I offer him my hand. He replies, “Keith” and I begin waking.

DILD: I’m sitting in what feels like a closed-in porch with another man beside me, both of us facing a younger man who is sitting at a round table biting into a sandwich bun. It is no ordinary burger because I know that mixed into the ground meat are portions of a film/movie, what was left of it after it was edited of all the content he does not wish to see. I tell him, “That’s gross! You don’t even know what you’re eating! It’s wrong to do that to a movie. You need to see the complete picture.”


As I speak, I notice a stiff tail sticking out of the back of the bun, curled up like a scorpion’s, but I know it belongs to the fish whose head I saw him bite into tentatively. As I watch, I realize the fish is squirming out from between the bread buns because it’s still alive! I cry, “Oh my God, that fish is still alive!” as it slips off the table.


As I become aware that I’m dreaming, the man who was seated silently beside me stands and faces me, his expression and stance aggressive, even hostile. I say, “This is a dream, you know” which only seems to make him even angrier. I back away from him but he follows me, his face mere inches from mine, his cheeks bulging slightly as though with pent up rage. As I back away from him I think—Okay, if that’s how he wants to play it. I warn him, “I’m going to kill you” as I raise my right hand to direct a destructive force into his chest. His ugly smile deepens but I’ve already lowered my hand. “But I won’t do it,” I say, “because I love you.” My words immediately defuse his hostility and he presses his back against the door, his furious expression slackening into one resembling an infant’s, full of mingled need and wonder. We’re standing in what I can only describe as a rib cage made of off-white metal, and through the slats I can see out to an adjoining porch area. The man has his back up against the structure’s “backbone” and mysteriously recognizing it, I declare, “That’s your spine of lives!” I move toward and past him so I can kneel and run my fingertips from just below the top to just above the bottom of this backbone/tree as I exclaim, “Look at all the lives you’ve lived!” Through the wall “slats” I see that the porch and garden outside are milling with people. “Come outside and look at all your lives!” I urge him.

Once outside, I study all the different people with pleasure, curious and fascinated by their presence. The lighting is clear and I can see that everyone looks slightly different, yet also somewhat similar, and they’re all dressed in different styles reflecting a variety of historical time periods and cultures. There seem to be a lot more men than women, but I reason that these lifetimes closest to him now are the ones that most resonate with his current male ego. I make a sharp left turn and walk deeper into this space, which leads to a more enclosed space in which I notice a seated man in a dark suit. I walk up to him and ask him a question which I recall relates to the man whose lives are all gathered here, “Who is he?” and he replies a touch sarcastically, “Obviously the one who’s dead.” I then ask him, “Is it true these are all the souls, all the lifetimes, contained by, who share, one Inner Self?” But before he can answer, I sense I need to add, “Don’t give me the definition of Inner Self, I already know what it means technically. What I want to know is if what I asked you is true.” He says simply, “Of course.” I crouch before him and listen attentively as he talks to me, explaining how things work. I recall him saying, “After five years, you get arms.” I understand that means five years of just being looked at and observing without being able to do anything; without any power. “And after fifty years you get longer arms.” Meaning your reach, or something to that effect, grows much bigger. I feel perfectly rooted in the dream as he speaks, although eventually I no longer see a man sitting in a chair but a green object that does not have any equivalent in waking reality and from which his voice continues emanating. I hear him say, “We light a pyre/fire.” I worry for an instant that he means all the lives of this Inner Self will be destroyed as it once again reunites with its Divine source. But his next words relieve me of this concern, “At first it was hard to break my fast, but now I can have all the steak I want.” I ask him something else and he replies, “Ask Level.” Suddenly I see the back of his dark head again because he is lying face down on the concrete/stone. As I watch, his face burrows into the ground and he disappears very much like a creepy corpse sinking back down into its grave. I blame the horror movie twist on my subconscious as a result of having grown up with Hollywood films that tend to make anything paranormal seem ghoulish.The conversation is obviously over.

The atmosphere is now a grayish-white and the dream is quite literally dissolving as my clothes flow down off me as if liquefied, exposing me so that I begin to worry I might be vulnerable. I proceed into the main porch area, still milling with bodies/incarnations, but it’s definitely time to wake up because I don’t want to forget what the man said to me. I command myself to, “Wake up! Wake up!” I can sense my body on the bed, but for a few moments I remain trapped in void space, unable to wrench myself free of the dream. A final “Wake up!” does the trick and I manage to reenter my body. After a moment, I’m able to open my eyes. It’s a little past 7:00.

Dream Notes: The majority of the images in this dream relate to birth, death and resurrection; to the multitude of lives lived by one Inner Self. I don’t know who the man eating the fish sandwich was, if he was a soul I was helping “cross over” or not. I can say no more, really. I feel a dream so rich in symbolism, and in which all my questions were answered, would only be diminished by analysis because it is eloquent enough.

The Ancient Mirror

August 21, 2013: Full Blue Moon

Stinger and I are in the process of securing a very desirable property on a tree-lined street in, I realize with surprised trepidation, the heart of Washington D.C. As we enter a building with our agent, we are both pleased with our success but also determined he understand we still want to live in the country; there’s no way we’re moving full time to the city. Stinger is wearing a dark suit and as I follow him to the front desk, I look around me, feeling very present in what now feels like a hotel. When I make some comment he barely glances at me as he says coldly—Did I say something to you? He’s busy filling out a form and does not want me there. I smile and—once more looking around me at the sunlit hallway, standing where it divides in a right angle into two short corridors leading to glass door exits—I reply—Okay… and you know what, I’m going out flying, because this is a dream. My attitude is knock yourself out, I have something better to do. I start toward one of the exits and am somewhat amazed, as well as very pleased, when after an instant’s hesitation, he follows me!

The double doors open onto a rural landscape and an open field that looks as though it was recently covered with wildflowers but has since been hayed and is now brownish gold. I say—This is perfect! I break into a run, Superman it up into the sky, and Stinger follows me up! We’re flying through the sky together! It’s wonderful, and a little funny too because he’s wearing a business suit, which looks brown now. There is a flock of large white and golden-brown geese on the ground below us, and some of them take wing now to fly up around us. They are very intent on us, and one of them flies right up to Stinger and latches onto the back of his neck with its beak, pulling his flesh out slightly while applying a firm pressure. I worry it might be hurting him but I don’t interfere, sensing this might be a very good thing; the goose might be healing or energizing him. I recognize the area of the body the ancient Egyptians believed was where the soul enters the body. I’m very curious, watching to see how Stinger will react, but he merely accepts it. The goose finally releases him, but now Stinger is holding it in his arms. I say—Okay, let go of it and let’s keep flying. We’re thousands of feet above the ground, the earth is a flat map of marshy land, vivid greens and narrower strips of blue, very much like a river delta. Stinger releases the goose, and we watch it plummet like a rock straight down toward the ground. I worry the poor thing won’t be able to get it’s wings working before it makes impact, and it looks like it’s going to miss landing in water. We watch it falling and when it’s far, far below is, we at last see it spread its wings and begin placidly flying again, which is nice. As we soar together through the blue sky, I turn in the air and, looking back at Stinger, ask him—What color was that goose? He replies—Red. I say—Really? To me it was yellow. I’m trying to determine if we see things the same in this dream. But in waking reality, we often don’t see the exact same color, so it doesn’t seem to prove much. We’re suddenly just a few yards above the ground, and there are a lot of animals down there (it feels like Africa) congregating around a tree. Stinger isn’t wearing a suit anymore; he’s dressed in field clothes and a hat, the kind he might have worn when he lived in Africa. He touches ground and says something to the effect of—Go away, to which I reply happily—Okay! and take off on my own.

I lose all visuals but instead of darkness I’m immersed in a bright heavenly blue color. It’s very strange because there is an oval or egg shaped opening directly before me I can see through to a space beyond the blue but that is still part of it, but there’s still not really anything to look at except a slightly darker blue but which is very faint and pix-elated, like a dry brush stroke, or a very, very far away cloud. I’m still lucid, fully rooted in the dream, which feels very stable as I wonder how I can get through this blue. Void space is usually black or filled with stars. After a short while, a scene literally forms out of the blue as below me I see two very real looking brick fences or walls parallel to each other, the outer one slightly taller, which seem to front a long structure. I’m able to quickly fly between them and through am opening in the innermost one. I land in a very pleasant and very long open air courtyard area of sorts. I remember seeing but can’t identify elegant black wrought iron details. The clear sunny atmosphere is part of this location’s elegant wealth. Yet even as I turn right and begin walking, I’m suddenly inside and the atmosphere is dark and shadowy, the muted illumination hinting at a time before electricity. Some of the tables to my right are occupied by dark figures, but I’m primarily aware of myself. I’m very tall and very slender, and I’m conscious of being in a constant state of sexual arousal, which I have well under control but which is definitely there, and stoked by the sense of eyes on me as I walk, displaying myself and my availability. I’m wearing a long dark-red dress with a subtle gleam to the material held up by thin straps, the bodice and ankle-length skirt meeting tightly at my waist contributing to my contained excitement.

I come to the end of the broad isle where it is much darker and suddenly see a large mirror hanging on the stone wall. I walk right up to it curiously, and am astonished to see that I don’t look remotely like myself in this life. The tall thin body and face are most decidedly not my own. I study my reflection closely. It is that of an older woman with small, almost pinched features framed with branching wrinkles. I’m somewhat dismayed to observe that not only am I not very attractive, I’m seriously getting up in years. Who I see reflected before me is someone completely unknown to me. I step even closer to the mirror to study this woman, wondering what incarnation she hails from, what past or parallel life. The curious thing is, I distinctly sense that her looks don’t affect her contentment, her quiet, if somewhat resigned, pride in herself and what she has to offer. I understand that in this place there are still people who will take pleasure in her, who will use her, satisfying her own needs in the process, and that this is enough for her. I get the sense of an ancient location where she is akin to an offering made to a temple; she has no other life and does not desire one. She is glad to be in service here. Obeying some unknown impulse, I open my mouth wide, so wide that my jaw dislocates like a snake’s, and in the black cavernous opening I perceive a substance akin to quicksilver that also possesses the muted glowing softness of a pearl, its dark-green depths lightening on the surface to jade. And from this liquid mist (for lack of a better way to describe it) another egg-shaped face emerges or is born, as though rising from the black depths of my throat. I’m slightly amused by the ghoulish scene, but primarily I’m intrigued by the appearance of what I take to be another incarnation, just one of innumerable others. Staring at what feels like a very ancient egg-like embryo of another me, who once was or still is somewhere, I phase out of the dream.

Dream Notes:

In Ancient Egypt the goose could symbolize the soul, and the “eggs of the Goose” were pharaoh’s children. The goose here seems to represent our Inner Self, and its eggs our individual lives.

My Dream Partner, James commented:

“You rising above the earth with Stinger could represent your physical deaths. A Goose representing Stinger’s Inner Self latches onto the back of his neck, a place indicative of the connection point between body and soul. There is a potential mirror image here. Correct me if I’m wrong, but in Physical Matter Reality (PMR), the soul’s entry point into flesh is behind the neck. Perhaps the reciprocal is true: in Non Physical Matter Reality (NPMR) that area behind the neck might represent a connection point to the physical body? The goose extracts the dead physical aspect of Stinger’s body and falls to the earth, apparently dead and/or in danger of death. Just before hitting the earth, it flies again, symbolic of re-birth or reincarnation into his next life. Then there is the aspect of Stinger telling you to just go on without him. To me, this element of the dream summarizes the possibility that when you each face your respective physical deaths in this incarnation, Stinger will have another run through PMR, whereas you won’t fall back to earth, and will be given the challenge of acclimating to NPMR.

If indeed any of my interpretation is correct, it surely is not some imminent prediction of death. I suspect, and hope, your physical deaths are a long way off. Your projection into that past life you saw in the mirror seemed to be from a time very long ago. And I think this potential projection of the future is far off as well. Why dream about this now? Maybe you sense that exploring on the Other Side, as we are doing, is one mandatory step toward “graduating” to that plane?”

Stinger was holding the Goose in his arms like a baby.. When you look at a river delta from space, it resembles an artery and veins, the physical body… And the Inner Self sends a piece of itself back “down” to earth…

UPDATE – Added September 24, 2013:

Stinger and I went to the emergency room yesterday because his breathing was not getting any better after 3 days of his bronchitis medication. We knew we had reason to worry because 12 years ago, shortly before we met, his right lung collapsed as a result of a lingering cough that irritated the pollop on his lung and caused it “burst” and deflate his lung. His right lung had, in fact, collapsed. If not caught within a matter of days, it cannot be re-inflated. Last time, he had to spend a week in the hospital, but technology has improved such that they were able to re-inflate it and leave a temporary tube in his chest that lets air out but not in. He’s home now and in no pain at all. After the scary part was all over and we were waiting to be released, he checked his emails and discovered that the magazine Wildlife Professional had published the interview they did with him.

In the dream the goose latched onto the back of his neck, then he held it in his arms, then we watched it fall, down, down, down, and there was concern it would crash to earth and never fly/rise again. This is what happened to his lung, it fell/collapsed and there was the threat it would be too late to re-inflate it, and the doctor indicated there were other factors that could have made the event fatal, but we caught the issue in time, just as the goose stopped falling and began flying again. Then in my dream Stinger landed on the ground where I literally saw him surrounded by wildlife dressed in field clothes, which belong to his work, his profession. At the beginning of the dream he was filling out form at a front desk, which in reality turned out to be a hospital, not a hotel. And I was so happy when instead of remaining there he came out flying with me. In reality, we were thrilled he did not need to spend a week in the hospital but that instead we could leave that very day.

Before we knew whether or not the procedure would work, I suffered a real stab of fear remembering this dream, but what kept me calm was knowing the goose did not fall to its death but spread its wings to keep flying.

I told Stinger about the dream, confessing I hadn’t mentioned it before because I didn’t want to worry him or myself. It was so metaphorical and yet so obvious, I slipped it under the subconscious rug, not wanting to think about it.

UPDATE Added October 9, 2013

Stinger’s lung collapsed again and he underwent the surgical treatment for his condition to prevent this from happening again. On his last day in the hospital, in search of some ice tea for him, I ended up in a part of the complex I had never been in before, on a second floor walking along a window looking down at a long brick patio with black wrought iron tables, and a brick wall with an arched opening leading into it. I wondered why it looked so familiar, and then suddenly realized I was seeing the location from my dream, just as it had appeared to me in the dream, sunny and deserted:

brickwall&patio-sm“After a short while, a scene literally forms out of the blue as below me I see two very real looking brick fences or walls parallel to each other, the outer one slightly taller, which seem to front a long structure. I’m able to quickly fly between them and through an opening in the innermost one. I land in a very pleasant and very long open air courtyard area of sorts. I remember seeing but can’t identify elegant black wrought iron details. The clear sunny atmosphere is part of this location’s elegant wealth…”

I was definitely in a heightened state during this ordeal, which hadn’t happened yet, but which mysteriously got broadcast loud and clear to my consciousness exactly two months before it all began happening. My Inner Self sent me a dream postcard metaphorically summarizing the experience that added a life-affirming magic to it.


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.

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.

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.


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.

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.

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.

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.


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.

An Ancient Struggle

July 6, 2013

Running, escaping with a young woman through a door into a stairwell leading deep down into the building but there is no landing. We retrace our steps and emerge on an open air ledge-like balcony. Confronting us are a man and a woman floating in the sky a few yards away, both of them clearly hostile. I become lucid and think—Okay, this is a good time to practice my conjuring skills.

My companion is struck by the enemy female with a dark ball and so I intend-conjure a shield to deflect the “mud” ball flung at me by the man, and it sort of works. I then intend an explosive energy to enter the man’s mind and weaken him. I see the energy as red and that I succeed in diffusing his power.

woodblock-shoki-closeup-ichiban-antiquesAbruptly, he and I are sitting partially unclothed on the ledge-balcony and I am stroking his very small and very soft penis in gentle little upward teasing motions. He is utterly pacified with pleasure now; no more aggressive evil energy emanates from him. I am becoming sexually aroused but I sense, I know, there is no fulfillment-penetration ever to be had here. Then his hostile female companion reappears and tells the man what I’m trying to do, control him. He opens his eyes and stares directly at me, his face blackening in growing rage and evil power resembling an ancient Japanese demon painting. I cower submissively, gazing beseechingly into his eyes. After a few long nerve racking moments, during which I don’t feel inclined or even able to assert my defensive powers, he suddenly sees me and becomes human again, at which point I resume my petting of his impotent penis with his passive approval.

After a mysterious passage of time, I sit up like a Buddha and begin jigging gently up and down, swaying a little as I sing-chant an Oriental sounding ritual song. I am smiling, feeling at once playful and seriously conscious of the fact that I am remembering-channeling a past, very ancient life in which I experienced this power struggle. I either managed to handle it because of my spiritual connection to higher dimensions, or I died and ascended, both possible fates represented by the wide open pale sky before and all around me where I sit/float very high up on a ledge-balcony adjoining a large structure behind me, perhaps a temple or a tomb.