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?

Healing Myself in a Humanoid World

October 21, 2013

I believe I’m lying in my lucid dreaming bed in the dark rec room. I feel something jump on the bed with me. Oh, God, it must be the cat bringing me a mouse she caught. But as the presence snuggles close to my right side, I feel my dog’s silky soft fur. As I pet him, I encounter something sharp for an instant, but that’s okay, it’s Arthur, even though I wonder how on earth he managed to get out of his crate. But it seems the cat is also on the bed with me, and maybe even a dead mouse? Groping for it, I seem to find it’s stiff little body and push it off the bed. I don’t remember falling asleep after WBTB. I’m convinced I’m awake, but then I remember my intent to always do a reality check when I sleep in this room. Is Arthur really here? I turn my face to look at him and instead see myself; a faint but clear image of my own face and silvery-gold bangs along with my reclining body in my skimpy nightshirt. This is a dream! Okay, now I can move more freely. I throw off the sheets and sit up. Where the Bay Windows are in reality, across the room on my left, there is just one long window glass showing a daylight scene. I say to my pets, “Let’s go!” and they follow me outside. The glass offers us no resistance.

I am nowhere near my waking reality home. An expansive landscape stretches out beneath, before and above me. I seem to be standing on a brown stone ledge, part of some vast canyon I can’t see an end to. I step off the ledge intending to float, not to fall, and I do so for a few moments before I begin ascending, pulled up and up by that natural lucid force that is the opposite of gravity. I sense my pets still behind me and I don’t want to go too high; I want to study the scene I’m in. (The photo below is a very rough approximation of the shape of the dwellings which were floating in mid air.)

My intent stops my ascent and I begin flying/coasting to the left as I look down. I see a fascinating architecture, very organic, dwellings which appear carved out of the mountain. They strike me as multiple residences, built one on top of the other from a smooth deep-brown stone. They are taller than they are broad and two or three “home levels” adjoin each other while leaving a space of blue sky between each “townhouse” complex. I see it all with that detailed and vivid clarity of lucidity, and it occurs to me I should try to find words to describe it all now I will remember when I wake. What looks like one long off-white and slightly textured, stiff yet also supple “curtain” hangs over and joins all the individual “balcony” facades. These long “window blinds” distinguish each vertical section from the other. I notice small actual windows as well (or what I identify as windows) that are black with glimmering silver borders made of little spheres or metallic beads. Everything looks very organic and yet also somehow futuristic, part of the “canyon” wall yet also appearing suspended in the sky. It occurs to me I am seeing a community in a world much more in harmony with the planet.

I don’t notice the transformation but my pets are now two human companions, both female, who I am very familiar with in the dream space but do not recall from waking reality. It makes sense they are following me, learning from me, as I end up inside one of these dwellings, which is obviously someone’s home. There is a long main area cluttered with an eclectic assortment of furniture that all looks hand-made from natural materials, but there is nothing crude or unsophisticated about each piece, on the contrary. They might be antiques of a sort. Then abruptly I remember my healing intent. I look down at my left wrist just below my thumb. My flesh there is as pale and thin as very fine paper beneath which I see a light yellow mustard colored fluid like puss. I’m surprised because the issue involves my tendon, not an infection. I purposefully retrace my steps, followed by my anonymous friends, and open a drawer in a small dark-blue table I remembered passing. I pull out a small object with a long narrow handle, and a dark silver-gray metal cutting edge in the shape of a double ax with some lines engraved on it that might be ancient writing. The edges of this odd instrument (not a knife, not a letter opener) look like they might not be sharp enough for my purpose, but when I place one side against my skin, it seems to sharpen in response. Without concern for the pain, if there even will be any pain in a lucid dream, I slice open my flesh directly over the problem area, making a vertical incision, and all the yellow puss begins flowing out, painlessly. I return to the back of the room, where I stand over a sink washing out the infection, but there is a lot of yellowish puss coming out. I don’t want to wake up because I’m too focused on dealing with this, so when the flow lets up somewhat, I decide that’s good enough and move to another part of the house.

When the female owner of the residence returns, not at all upset at finding strangers in her home, and begins speaking amiably with my two companions, I am on the other side of the main room, standing on some elevated landing, picking up a communication from a dreamer friend. I can see his distant figure moving through a sunlit space, and I know, of course, it’s morning where he is. He communicates to me that it’s 8:30-9:00. He is doing something. Where he is seems flooded with light. This is a brief but vivid, yet also elusive, broadcast, after which I return to the action of the dream.

I go and stand before the dark-haired pleasantly smiling woman who lives here as she talks to my friends. I think we should leave, so I fly up to a high window, which is only partially ajar, and though I’m confident I can manipulate my dream body over the sharp edge and through the narrow opening, I know my companions won’t find it so easy or pleasant, and they tell me as much. So I relent and follow them into the woman’s bedroom. It is somewhat cluttered but in a rather pleasing and, once again, eclectic fashion. The detail I most clearly remember is a necklace made of some kind of individual dark-red stones carved into a geometric shape with several sides. Everywhere there is the sense of natural materials and deep natural earth tones. My wrist is still open and oozing slightly, so even though I smile to myself at the notion of my dream body needing it, I ask the home owner if she has a band-aid. Almost instantly she has procured and placed a slightly transparent blue-white band-aid over my open wound which covers it even though it is located higher, more over my thumb than my wrist. I very much like the look of it. I move about the room curiously, dividing my attention between the various objects and the face of our remarkably accommodating hostess, conscious of not wanting to focus for too long on anything in order to keep the dream stable. I ask her, “What is this place? I mean, what country, what State?” She replies, as though these terms don’t really mean anything to her, “Well, the International Post Office is nearby, with a clinic attached to it.” She then says something about a virus or illness caused by turtles after they emerged from caves or underground passages where they had been living. At this point I spot a painting, not very good, of a washed out ocean scene. It hangs, unframed, a canvas of gray-whites and faint touches of blue, in an alcove of sorts. I tell my companions, “We’ll go through there!” We bid our hostess farewell and I promptly superman through the canvas, which has the texture of a very thin screen I easily break through. My friends inquire, “Where are we going to get to?” as I begin passing through the back of the painting (there is actually a dark space between the front and the back.) Already seeing air and sky, I reply, “Outside!” And there we are. It is not the ocean scene of the canvas, it is the same organic “canyon” community. I ask one of my student friends, “What was I doing in the house all that time you two were talking to the woman?” One of them replies, “You were asking the woman about her day.” I say urgently, “No, she was asking me about my day, and before that I was doing something else on the other side of the house.” I phase out of the dream.

Dream Notes:

When I woke from this dream, I began exercising my left wrist, moving it in ways I have not been able to move it in weeks. It was easier to ignore the problem than it was when my right wrist exhibited a similar but much worse painful stiffness, full-blown tendinitis. Yet the problem with my left wrist felt like it could become almost as bad if I didn’t deal with it. After the dream, I was able to exercise it and feel the tendon’s stretch and massage it. Now, the following day, I’m using my hand as though nothing is wrong. There is still a stiffness, a slight resistance, and pain if I knock it against something, but I am able to use it normally. It seems the dream healing made it possible for me to exercise the tendon and muscles by reducing the inflammation and pain. I also feel as though the blue-white band-aid placed there by the woman from this alternate world is acting like an advanced form of healing band-aid. We have band-aids that contain a solution to prevent infection. I think this dream band-aid is still releasing a warming, healing energy into the affected area and making my physical therapy possible. If I did not make the effort to use my wrist normally and exercise it every now and then, I do not believe the dream healing would be effective. My dream and my physical body must work together. I also know my wrist is not healed yet, even though it feels stronger and better. I will need to keep working on it as I did on the tendinitis in my right wrist that took a few months, and several lucid dreams, to deal with. Last night was the first important treatment.

A dreaming friend of mine indicated he got the impression that I was not in the future but in a humanoid world in another dimension, or a parallel earth with a different development of civilization. I found this observation remarkably plausible, because the planet resembled earth and yet there was much about it that felt “other”. I always tend to think past-future, but I have, in fact, been places in lucid dreams before that felt like alternate humanoid worlds.

This friend also observed, “At that time when you felt I connected with you, I was writing my e-mail about my first WBTB rec room experience. I live in a house which is flooded with light. It is very bright inside.” It seems I picked up on those moments when he was writing me, and the feel of where he was, loud and clear!

I find the little double ax knife I used to slice my wrist open extremely interesting. It was inscribed with some form of linear writing or symbols I couldn’t make any sense of. It strikes me as something akin to a Minoan artifact. The double ax featured prominently in that culture. If I was in an alternate earth time-line, it seems civilization took a much better, more holistic, earth-friendly turn somewhere along the way.

Archetypes and Alien Embassies

June 13, 2013

Just before Wake Back to Bed, between 2:10 and 2:45, I had one of those rare exceptionally real-feeling, semi-lucid dreams. It’s the middle of the night but I’m up and in the rec room with Arthur. It feels very real; I’m sure I’m awake. I say to Arthur—You want to go for a quick pee before we go back to bed? He looks delighted, this is a new treat, as he always sleeps straight through the night. So we run happily together into the sun room, where I stop abruptly, and pick him up, crouching as I look out the windows in surprise.  A small military plane has just landed in our driveway, and unloaded young troops I clearly see crossing the yard just outside. They appear to be practicing night maneuvers; they convey no sense of danger or urgency, only a perfectly disciplined purpose. My eye is drawn to the face of a young woman in the line. Her expression sober, she’s holding a rifle and staring straight ahead of her into the darkness, obviously not afraid of it. I admire how she’s up in the dead of the night—a time I associate with feeling weak and vulnerable, when life’s fears gang up on our mortal selves—at the same time identifying with her calm, focused, wide awake control as qualities I have begun to embrace through my lucid dreaming practice and Wake Back to Bed ritual. Arthur is squirming in my arms, really wanting to go out as I promised him he could, but I can’t let him outside because larger dogs have accompanied the squadron, canine soldiers, and a few feet beyond the door, in the middle of the courtyard-driveway, a large black dog is standing next to the tall, broad-shouldered silhouette of a troop commander. Somehow it makes sense that a piece of the army has chosen our property for a training mission, I am actually pleased, even honored to be able to assist our troops in this way. I’m crouching in the room as I look out the windows, keeping respectfully out of sight, and Stinger is there now with me as I become aware of crouching in shallow, reedy water observing the troops.

The next thing I know, Stinger and I are standing in the sun room before a female commander who is seated at a small table addressing us. There is a feminine quality to her, and yet she looks more like a man with a pointed red-orange beard. She is the troop commander and absolutely sure of herself. She came to investigate a “relic” we found on our property, which has proved to be exactly what Stinger estimated it was in his report, a fact which has seriously impressed her. I feel proud of my husband but not at all surprised that his assessment was spot-on.

redbook-2The androgynous commander is holding a book bound in fine red leather that is central to what she is telling us about, speaking in a controlled, serious yet animated way. As she and Stinger continue talking, I sit down with the book and begin looking through it, semi-lucid now as I wonder at how real this all feels, which means a part of me (which doesn’t quite break through the surface) understands it’s a dream. Yet a better way to describe it is that I was aware of being in Mind Space vs. Waking Reality. The book feels perfectly real, absolutely solid, as I run my fingertips along the smooth red leather cover, and then, opening it, over the slightly raised engraved sketches on different pages, sketched in black with some red highlights. I’m conscious of the invisible troops surrounding the sun room watching me, and wonder if they think I’m feigning my rapt interest in the book, but I’m not. Though in Waking Reality I would feel self conscious, in Mind Space I am quite relaxed and genuinely engrossed in the book. The commander tells Stinger he-she is leaving the book with us so we can make an exact replica, not merely a copy, and I’m surprised; I understand this is an honor, an expression of complete trust in our stewardship of this highly important object.

© determined - know without being told that what I’m holding in my hands, with such visual and tactile presence, is the metaphysical tale of a soul—represented by a woman who is every single me that ever was and will be—and its relationship with God, which entails confronting the devil, but the only figure illustrated is hers-mine. God is invisibly present before and beside her on the white pages, while the devil takes form only in small details, which manifest on her form, as mouse-like ears or horns on her head, for example. She is drawn in a flowing yet precise cartoon-like fashion, her face and profile masterfully animated and rendered. About half-way, or a little more, into the book, I believe it ends, and in a sense it does, for the moment, because there are only white pages beyond that point. And yet as I flip through them, I realize they are all illustrated, or will be. The final page of the tale shows her standing and smiling into the book, the look on her face absolutely joyful.

After Wake Back to Bed a lucid dream buried in other dreams. I’m in a dark interstellar spaceship that has landed. My brain likens it to the U.S.S. Enterprise even as I know it’s not because it’s real. I’m standing near the front, essentially the bridge or cockpit, and can see through the open door on my right. It’s night outside on this world. I spend a few “minutes” talking to someone on the dark ship about our “mission”—mysteriously equivalent to the plot of a film that is also actually happening. I tell my invisible companion on the ship that I’m finally beginning to understand what’s going on and step out onto the “gangplank” leading down. The ship has landed at the edge of a colossal “compound”, a one-story structure with three sides bordering a large open space. Attached to the interior right end of this sprawling dark structure, very close to where the ship has landed, is a small building from which a woman I recognize, because she came on the ship with us, emerges and stands at the top of the steps waiting for me. This is her world, to which she brought us as its ambassador.Türe in die Freiheit It comes to me in a perfectly lucid flash of comprehension that on every inhabited world in the known universe there is an embassy attached to exactly the same kind of complex. As I walk up the steps and enter the building—a curious blend of manor house meets small church—I wonder at this seeming lack of imagination, as though the production company got lazy, or didn’t have enough funds, to finance different sets for each planet. But just as quickly I comprehend there is a reason for this uniformity. My companion reinforces my “reasoning” by telling me that the compound to which the embassies are connected are made of the same red-and-white diamond tiles everywhere for a reason, the exact word she uses to describe it escaping me now, perhaps “energetic.” The alien embassy’s entrance foyer is a cross between an atmospherically lit hotel lobby and a dark pub, very pleasant. I slip into full lucidity as I look around me appreciatively. I’m distinctly conscious of starting up a broad wooden staircase with my female guide/companion/crew member/passenger. I remark on the interesting phenomena of the embassy appearing to be a rather small building from the outside when on the inside, as I begin to sense, it is really much taller and larger, potentially vast. She replies—Oh, I don’t know, I think it’s cozy. I agree, but to me it still feels bigger inside than it looks from the outside. The staircase makes a sharp left-hand, pyramid-like turn as I very consciously look around me, taking in the details and feel of the place, with its high, Cathedral ceiling and smooth dark wooden construction. I say—Yes, it’s very quaint, like a Swiss chalet.

I don’t remember what happened once I reached the second floor of this interstellar embassy. The next thing I recall is a false awakening, getting out of bed and crawling on my hands and knees through a scene that feels like a pavilion-garden, inside yet outside, to Stinger, who is clad in flowing white, eager to tell him about my dream. But he sends me back to bed, and I understand there is still enough time in the night to keep dreaming, a little upset at myself for being so oddly out of it.

I enter a bedroom I know is mine. The door is large and dense, a dark silver, maybe carved, a foreign look and feel to it. I want to close it all the way to block out the sound of people out in the courtyard talking, and yet I also need to leave it slightly ajar so as not to lock something or someone out: Mami, who enters and seats herself. She watches as I quickly begin writing my lucid dream down on a dark green-brown cloth with a pen-pencil-stick that is nearly the same color. I begin very near the top edge of the cloth spread out on a table and it begins fraying, the pressure of my penmanship loosening the threads, revealing their varied colors as they curl up, rising like plant seedlings, which gives the cloth an even more earthy appearance. Concerned about losing my dream notes, I carefully rip the layer of cloth off the more solid wood-colored parchment beneath, and keep writing. I become aware of a handsome blonde man in the room to my right who, smiling, proceeds to turn on the television on the wall just beginning to air the show he and Mami were both waiting to watch. I perceive what the broadcast is about as a vision—my new dress, made specifically for me, exhibited on the edge of a bright white stage. It is the most beautiful garment I have ever seen. It is supple as cloth but made up of small, shining, geometrically cut precious stones of every color, although gold and blue and red predominate. It begins high at the neck and falls, gently formfitting, all the way to the floor. It gleams and clings as though alive but is the exact opposite of a cold reptilian skin. I can scarcely believe this dress is meant for me. My sister is going to model it before I take possession of it.

Before waking, a Hypnagogic Image of the wooded gravel country road I walk on every morning, and an ageless woman dressed in flowing white standing on the right side, clearly visible against the dark-green trees, looking directly at me.

Dream Notes:


Carl Jung, who the figure in the dream did indeed resemble, is, of course, the author of the famous Red Book, his life’s work, which my husband Stinger gave me as a gift shortly after we moved to our dream home. “In Jungian analysis… marriage symbolizes the potential for union between God and the individual.” When I was flipping through all the white pages yet to come, I did not pause on the next one, I did not feel the need to exert any control or impose myself on the book at all, I just knew it would keep going, effortlessly, magically, with no end, really, since on the last page I was looking back into the book.

The spectacular jeweled dress could represent my Divine form-self, the substance and colors of creation flowing from God-Consciousness-Being, invisible in itself (the white “mannequin” was headless) yet the source, the eternal “fabric” of all manifest experience. “The cutting and shaping of precious stones signifies the soul shaped from the rough, irregular, dark stone into the gem, regular in shape and reflecting divine light… Jewels symbolize hidden treasures of knowledge and truth, but also earthly love and riches” the marriage of heaven and earth, spirituality with sensuality, the Creator with creation.

This is the first time I have been lucidly conscious of apparently traveling to another world. The homogeneous appearance of the energy complexes to which the millions of potential interstellar embassies are attached is interesting because M-theory suggests that all sub-atomic matter in the Universe is connected by, and consists of, a giant membrane of energy. Inside, the embassies themselves, I somehow knew, were unique, reflecting the laws, “architecture”, of their worlds, but they were all attached to the same three-sided structure-source-energy.

Our schooling in waking reality is marked by graduations, moving from one grade, one level of learning, to the next, and I feel last night marked an important milestone in my spiritual development. Instead of a diploma, I was handed a Red Book—the unending chronicle of my soul. And just as I traveled across the world to Egypt the day of my high school graduation, I seemed to have journeyed to another world last night, lucidly for the first time. Pretty cool!

UPDATE – August 16, 2015:

My interpretation of this night of dreaming, especially with the Book, developed over time. The following excerpt is taken from my new book Lucid Dreams and the Holy Spirit, in which I speak about these dreams:

I will admit that I felt encouraged, and rather proud of myself after this dream, singled out by “higher powers” for some sort of spiritual promotion. This dream seemed to indicate that, at long last, I was making some real progress in my life-long battle with the demons of doubts and fears, and all the character weaknesses they breed, which can become our soul’s worst enemies. I don’t think I was wrong about that, but I do see now that the Book I was given to keep, and make my own, is the Book, the Holy Bible, the Word of God. In my dream, I felt God’s Presence on every pure white page, but perhaps one reason so many pages were blank is because I had not yet begun reading it for myself.

The reason Christ comes to meet us in Scripture is not merely to inform us, but to transform us. Therefore, the spiritual understanding of Scripture, or the allegorical meaning, is never just something detached, historical or catechetical. God speaks to us through Scripture and awaits personal response. Spiritual understanding of Scripture and the process of conversion are one and the same… We don’t reach out to take the meaning of the text and try to apply it to our lives. Rather, when we put ourselves before God in the Bible, the Spirit that dwells in the words reaches out and assimilates us to Himself. God’s word is alive and efficacious… This power… is a testimony of their divine origin.”i

I can now sum up my dream in a few words: Read the Word of God, and feel it come alive in your heart as it speaks directly and personally to your soul.

In my dream, the Book was also meant for my husband, and by extension for everyone, but I proudly claimed it all for myself. The Holy Spirit has been extremely patient with me, for the truth is that, in certain respects, I have always been vain, and considered myself extra special, God only knows why. Each of us has a personal relationship with God and his Word, so what I held in my hands in the dream was, indeed, the journey of my soul. But I conveniently made light of the several illustrations where the devil’s continued influence on me was expressed by little red horns on my head, and other telling details. Nevertheless, the end result was positive—I stood looking back into the Book smiling beatifically.

It took much longer than it should have, but I am at last properly educating myself with God’s own Words. When I read the Gospels, I feel the Lord speaking directly to my soul, and it often makes me cry for joy, mingled with shame and regret, at how long I denied myself His intimate Presence and support.

Like many, I thought I could bootstrap my way to an understanding of spiritual truths through my reasoning powers alone, largely unaware of the actual content of God’s special revelation in the Bible… I was constantly seeking the truth, but usually through my own feeble efforts and presumptuous ponderings, and without studying the Bible itself or examining Christian doctrine more carefully… When it finally dawned on me that I was holding in my hands a written communication from the God of the universe, my life changed.”ii

I see the spectacular jeweled dress as representing my Spirit, which is one with God, the source, the eternal “fabric” of all manifest experience. For me, the dress expresses the marriage of heaven and earth, spirituality with sensuality, the Creator with His creation.

The cutting and shaping of precious stones signifies the soul shaped from the rough, irregular, dark stone into the gem, regular in shape and reflecting divine light… Jewels symbolize hidden treasures of knowledge and truth, but also earthly love and riches”iii

When I was writing down my dream about the Book during my false awakening, my pencil cut into the fabric like a seamstress working on a living dress. Almost exactly one year after this dream, I came upon the following passage in the autobiography of Saint Therese of Lisieux:

O my God! I don’t ask you to make Profession. I will wait as long as you desire, but what I don’t want is to be the cause of my separation from You through my fault. I will take great care, therefore, to make a beautiful dress enriched with priceless stones, and when You find it sufficiently adorned, I am certain all the creatures in the world will not prevent You from coming down to me to unite me to Yourself forever, O my Beloved!”iv

iMarcellino D’Ambrosio, When the Church Was Young:Voices of the Early Fathers, Kindle Edition, Locations 1756-1766

iiDavid Limbaugh, Jesus on Trial: A Lawyer Affirms the Truth of the Gospel, Locations 146-147, 190-191, 350-351

iiiJ.C. Cooper, An Illustrated Encyclopedia of Traditional Symbols, Thames & Hudson, Ltd., London

ivSt. Therese of Lisieux, Story of a Soul, Third Edition, Translated from the Original Manuscripts by John Clarke, O.C.D. , ICS Publications, page 158

Dead World & the Senses

September 11, 2012
I fly out of a ledge of sorts fully lucid. Mario, my brother, remains behind. I fly a ways before realizing he is more than hesitating; he isn’t coming. I call to him to come flying with me. “Come on, Mario, this is a lucid dream, come flying with me!” He’s a distant figure on this ledge, an opening in a wall, through which he sends tiny bubbles my way, shining, ephemeral pieces of his essence which is all he seems to have the courage or desire or ability to send flying with me. It’s not good enough, I keep calling out to him to come flying with me as I catch one of these “bubbles” (as insubstantial as the 3D image of tiny fish swimming out of the television screen I reached for last night in waking reality) and the fact that I do this at last gets him to respond. He comes flying out of the alcove and hovers beside me, doing a little awkward dip but otherwise doing just fine. I say, “See, I knew you could do it!”

Someone I identify as Lourdes, my sister, is with us. The three of us are flying together in a dream, which is special enough. Before falling asleep, I was thinking about experimenting with my senses in a lucid dream, and I begin to do just that, encouraging my siblings to do the same as we coast along. Touch… I slap Mario’s arm and feel the resistance and texture. Hearing… I can seem to hear myself talking to them. Sight is a given. Taste… there’s no food around. I ask them if they can smell anything as I inhale, but pick up no discernible scents. Lourdes surprises me by declaring that she can smell smoke. “Smoke?” I ask even as beyond her through a glass wall I see a fire burning, one of at least half a dozen small and steady, contained fires burning at the center of shallow circular “mounds”. These fires are separated by several yards and stretch out almost as far as I can see to what might be the sea in the distance.

I pause our relaxed flight to look carefully around me. We’re in a long building and I can clearly see metal beams and infrastructure. We’re in an open section that serves as a main corridor to which I see no beginning or end. To what feels like the north, very far away, a suggestion of shapes on the horizon is what appears to be a city, or the ruins of one. I am very clearly, lucidly there. I remember what I perceived as the ruins of a train track, a broken end jutting up and out—a visual equivalent of the knowledge I was looking at the remains of a dead or dying world. I tell my siblings to look carefully around us so that when we wake up we can remember what we’re seeing and compare notes. I say, “So there are two glass walls on either side of us” and realize that’s not the case. Across from the glass wall I suddenly see an opening that appears to lead outside.

I think Mario wants to keep going down the corridor but I don’t want to risk becoming trapped so we all head out. But what appeared to be open space is still enclosed in the sense that a large cave is outside yet also inside, yet it’s a man-made structure. However, there’s a narrow gray-blue river running through the space we can follow. I have the idea that the city in the distance is where we might find answers to where we are, and meanwhile we can possibly have a little lucid fun playing in the water. Mario and Lourdes (or people I identify as my brother and sister) are still with me as we explore the enigma of the dream scene. Mario veers off to a ledge and I remind them to look at their hands, as I do briefly before squeezing my breasts, perfunctorily practicing deepening techniques. I’m well rooted in lucidity but the dream is going on for so long I think I might not be able to remember it all, which I in fact believe I don’t. Then I see what Mario is looking at, a chicken man! The disturbing hybrid seems frightened of us and is trying to crawl back into a rock, a mutation of a man’s head with the suggestion of a chicken’s body and much bigger duck-like feet, something out of a Simpson’s cartoon but real. I’m wondering now if the fires we saw belong to an abandoned or dying factory. I don’t know what happens but suddenly we’re flying back the way we came at a much faster rate. I remark “I wish we could find a restaurant so I can experiment with my dream taste buds” and a woman, one of a crowd of people walking just below us, hears me and says there’s no chance of that happening, meaning no resource would ever be used there to experience anything new.

I’m flying blind at high speed when I abruptly spot what looks like a pink message slip attached to a locker and grab it as I zoom past. The name “Betsie” is clearly written on it. I don’t understand how or why I saw this particular detail of all the many I passed by in the dark, but there’s a reason, and it has something to do with the whole problem. I think I may have been exiting the lucid dream along one of those mysterious tunnels I’ve often encountered on the Other Side because this is where it gets weird… The woman I’m with now is saying it’s all about Betsie, this extraordinarily beautiful woman who is permitted to call a council, or something, to inform it of a life-endangering problem. I lead my two female companions (no longer my siblings) up to a higher level and from there to a roof top where we can talk in private. The dark-haired young woman is really upset because she had to take all her money out of her account; she couldn’t afford rent but her funds were connected to her roommate’s and she didn’t tell her. Suddenly she falls off the roof and hits the ground stories below. I say to the remaining woman “she woke up for sure” and warn her not to get too emotional because she’ll wake up too. Yet when I fly down to the flat, broken figure I’m surprised to see it open its eyes. She’s supposedly still lucid but I don’t recall if anything happened before my own lucidity slipped away. I know the dream lasted about an hour because I fell asleep shortly after looking at the clock at 2:45 and when I woke it was 3:55.

After recording the lucid dream and going back to sleep I find myself in dreams the first of which I remember involved giving two women bobby pins to put on their white sleeves that will remind them to do research on any coming disasters that might have led to the state of the world I saw in my lucid dream (something like that!) Then I’m riding in a well lit spacious train or subway car; I remember reds and yellows. To my left there are two men, a blonde man half facing away from me who I “recognize” as important. I can tell he’s aware of me but is pretending not to be even as I see his head turn slightly in my direction now and then. I’m acutely aware of his eyes. To my right there’s a person accompanying a small black-baby-creature-thing who tells his guardian I was his grad student. I’m surprised and delighted by this statement, a fact I communicate to my female companion before I ask the indescribable black-infant-professor-thing what my area of study was. He replies without hesitation, “Hapuseneb.” I know he’s telling the truth then, because that’s the name I’ve chosen for one of my Guardian Lords.

Dream Note: Not the first lucid dream I’ve had with a dystopian setting or feel, although usually they involve coastal areas flooding. I don’t see it so much as a “vision” of the future as an undeniable aspect of the present, what’s already happening, as it becomes more and more obvious that our oil driven civilization is not sustainable. Increasing hardships and strained resources, perhaps spreading even to presently more affluent countries, seem inevitable during the painfully slow transition to more sustainable forms of energy and a more enlightened global economy.

I don’t know (yet) why I saw the name or letters B e t s i e. I’ve learned that when I hear or see a specific word in a dream, I’m sometimes condensing several words into one, for example, “You’re in Algeria” to “Ugia.”

That last bit on a train strikes me as the ride back to “normal” dreams supervised by one of my Guardian Lords.