Hard Workers

June 3, 2013

Suddenly, I’m standing in the rec room facing the Bay Windows and my brother, Mario, who is standing a few feet away. I lucidly pull myself into the dream by walking right up to him so our faces are very close. We look directly at each other. His tone a blend of wonder and uncertainty, he says something to the effect of—It’s really happening! I reply at once—Yes, we’re together in a lucid dream! I’m longing to fly straight through the windows and away over the trees, and I want him to come with me. But even though he’s still standing there, his expression is rather blank now and I suspect he’s lost lucidity. I think I grip his arms and try to bring him back, but I lose the dream scene. Nevertheless, I remain aware of being asleep and wanting to enter the dream again.

I find myself standing in a room that feels rather like the break room of a building, a plain and sprawling one, with doors down the hall, rather like a university floor with professors’ and administrative offices. Belly dancer in purple costumeThere are two women in the room talking as I fully embed myself in the dream scene feeling very conscious of my dream body, clad in flowing pants and a short top that exposes my waist and belly area, intensifying the delicious dream feeling of potentially unrestrained sensuality. I sense men in the building, I even hear a man’s voice coming from down the hall, and I see no reason not to have some erotic fun in this dream. I leave the room and walk down the hallway in the direction of the voice, but first I enter a small room on the right. It is sparsely furnished, the dominant object a large file cabinet at the far right of the space. I set aside my sexual intentions for a moment in favor of seeing if I can discover some information about James and me. Vintage file cabinetI intend a file in the cabinet to offer me information about our first connection. I open a middle drawer on the left but it is empty. I open the middle drawer on the right. Folders. I pick one near the back at random, the tab of which reads JUICES, and open it. A white page with two or three areas of writing, in which I clearly see the word INDIA written in capital letters. Interesting! I put the folder back, leave the room and open the first door I pass. There are two boys lying on the beds as though in a school dormitory. I say—Oh my, you’re really young. They look at me with shy interest, and the second boy is quite attractive. I consider maybe educating him in the sensual arts, but I lose the dream.

I have lost the dream scene, but I am still aware of being asleep and wanting to enter the dream again. It’s night and I’m standing on the grass outside a white building belonging to what distinctly feels like a college campus. As two people talk quietly, I become aware of a really broad black tree trunk growing at a slight left angle out of the ground a few feet away from me. VLUU L100, M100  / Samsung L100, M100Seeing it and becoming lucid and stepping into the dream scene are one seamless, quietly joyful act. The tree itself seemed to help pull me into the dream. I am immediately in love and in awe of this impressively broad yet also graceful, sensual tree, the top of which is lost in darkness. Far away, and extending from horizon to horizon, is a sky filled with tiny bright white stars, so many of them. I feel I could follow this beautiful black giant tree all the way up to the moon. I float up off the ground, but an invisible dream wind pushes me gently to the left. Enjoying the effortless flight while gazing in awe at the starry universe, I begin singing—The hills are alive with the sound of music, a song they have sung for a thousand years… At first I have perfect pitch, but as soon as I become conscious of this, I lose it and think—I can’t even sing in a lucid dream. I float down to a white walkway between two wings of a long white single story building, landing where the path branches at a right angle in two directions. A young woman is standing there who informs me how so few of these trees die of old age anymore, and looking up, I see high above the rooftop the silhouettes of sharp, dead, skyward facing branches. Though I share her sadness, I’m not surprised considering the state of the waking reality world. I take the right hand path but as I’m walking away she gets my attention again. She is holding several of the same object in her hands, one of which she wants to give me. I sense it’s made of wood and is sharp, something akin to a ritual knife, too big to be a letter opener, and it’s carved. I tell her to toss it to me, I can catch it, I think, but she shakes her head, oh no, and it probably wouldn’t be a good idea, I agree.

I turn away and floating slightly off the ground hold a little wooden Hand of Fatima out before me. It is missing the heart, but I think I can easily add one if I want to. I’m also thinking it can guide me to the moon. © Natalia Bratslavsky - Fotolia.comI find myself out in a more open area flanked by two to three story golden-brown stone houses. As I land beside two people talking on the path, I lose my grip on the scene, but I don’t wake up. I deliberately hold on to the scene, fully intending to embed myself in it again. As I wait, a dark-haired, not very tall man in a white shirt appears, heading in my direction, and I pull myself into the dream by walking toward him. We meet on the path and I ask him—Is India older than ancient Egypt? He replies—Oh no, it dates to the palaios* age, and the two were like tacks to a magnetic. I’m distracted from his intriguing response by how tenuous my presence in the dream scene is, because it shouldn’t be this way, and I remember to look at my hands, which are normal tonight, and lift my shirt to squeeze my breasts, deepening techniques that work to stabilize me. Meanwhile, this professor who is very familiar to me, who I am very fond of, has seated himself and is watching me with a subtle, patient good humor. I ask him—Is it possible to get to the moon? He chuckles, and I laugh at myself. Of course it is, because anything is possible here. Then suddenly I find myself asking him—Is it okay for me to do Galantamine twice a month? He shakes his head and answers—No, no, we are hard workers here. I insist, a little dismayed—So it’s not okay for me to do Galantamine twice a month? He emphatically repeats his reply—No, we are hard workers here. He is clearly telling me not to do it, that it’s not right for me because I don’t need it. The feeling I have for him is of a student for a major professor. I understand he’s telling me that I’m doing very well, and will continue to make progress if I keep working hard, as I have been doing, and that taking Galantamine to lucid dream would be, for me personally, a form of cheating that would not help me advance.

*Palaios is actually a Greek word that means “old”. I don’t know Greek.

Dream Notes (1+ month later): Since this dream, the number of lucid dreams I have every month has tripled and, in many respects, “deepened” and “expanded”; it’s hard to describe. I am a firm believer in quality vs. quantity, but I have come to believe, because it is happening, that there is no reason I cannot have many rich and rewarding lucid dreams a month if I really want to.

I know some wonderful lucid dreamers who use supplements regularly, but I personally don’t feel the need to use them. Lucid dreaming, like everything else, is very much a personal journey and we each have to do what feels right and works for us. I am always wary of anything that drains me physically; it was a major red flag for me not feeling energized after lucid dreaming. It can be argued that the dream character who told me not to use Galantamine was my own subconscious, but that is neither here nor there; the result of listening to “him” because I felt “he” was right, has been extremely positive.

Let It All Out

May 9, 2013

8 mg. Galantamine at 2:45.

Lay awake for a long time and had some vivid HI and audio:

Lying in bed, I hear my mother’s voice in the room, “Dame un besito, Mari. Good night” and I’m surprised to realize I must have been talking to her on speaker phone (as I often do in WR) ever since I took the G and got into bed. I’m thrilled by the sensation, like a plane accelerating as it lifts off, beginning somewhere around my heart and moving up my head. Off we go into the living darkness of HI but still awake.

I’m sort of dreaming about making something in the kitchen, but I’m in the rec room and decide to run into the kitchen from there, only my body is all wobbly. I realize I’m dreaming, and make an effort to stay out of body as I get the wonderful feeling of gravity falling away from beneath me, but no go.

HI Night ClubThe roiling black-and-white of HI is like being in a really dark nightclub crowded with attractive men and women, like a cosmic dance floor as I move very closely among them, their faces turning and changing as the Beatles play, “Come on come on, baby, twist and shout, come on come on, baby, let it all out!” and I’m dancing, shaking my shoulders, knowing I can wriggle out of my body, I feel it working, but I’m afraid to actually sit up and open my eyes lest it wake me up, so again, no go.

Then I’m lying on my side on the rec room couch watching and listening to a strange, thin, blue-skinned woman I vaguely equate with Stinger’s mother. She’s discoursing on something, looking typically uncertain and slightly agitated. As I look and listen, I abruptly realize where I am and demand, “Come here, I need your help.” She stops talking but shows no sign of obeying. “Come here,” I insist, holding out my hands. “I need you to help pull me out of my body.” She finally complies and oh the joy of finally feeling myself get up and out of my body. She lets go of me and backs away but I follow her, still needing to grab hold of her upper arms to stabilize and root myself in the dream. I deliberately look over at the Bay windows where I saw Papi the other night, and take a few steps toward them, tempted to just fly out the windows, but I’m afraid doing so will wipe away my visuals, so I turn my head and look at the other side of the room. I remember the door I saw at the foot of the bed in that dream with Papi and abandon the weird blue lady to go and stand before the wall. There is no door there now, but I’m so close I find myself walking right into the wall. Why not, James does it all the time! There’s whiteness and a sense of substance without resistance.

I am somewhere else, a large square space of gray concrete and spacious rooms opening off it on the left, with a wide corridor stretching out ahead of me that opens onto another room directly ahead of me. At first I have to struggle to hold on to the visual and succeed in doing so only with my left eye. Okay, so it’s like I’m wearing a pirate patch, I can handle that. There’s music playing which permeates the entire location, as though it is its very bones or soul, and as I walk across the hard, slightly cool floor looking around me at other people milling about in colorful clothing, I begin singing. Soon I have full visuals and I’m singing as I drift around like an actress in a musical. I have perfect pitch, and my original lyrics flow out of me effortlessly in perfect time and harmony with the ambient music. It’s not a pop song, not classical, not rock, it’s a controlled yet expansive song of joy at being there out of body in a lucid dream. The beautiful ballerina poses in a white dress, on pointes. Looks in the cameraAnd as I sing (in WR I am not at all musically inclined though I love music) I gravitate toward the room filled with ballerinas in white stage outfits, and one of them is standing on the threshold looking at me as I study her. I’m tempted to walk in there, I used to love ballet and even took classes, but no, that’s the past. I move on and call out, “James?!” I look into a shadowy, slightly cavernous space that seems to be a kitchen, except the little boy lying on the counter looks more like he’s being operated on by the middle aged female chef. I consider asking her if she knows where I can find James, but discard the notion right away and avoid the room.

I return to the main interior “courtyard” and spotting and old-fashioned black rotary phone on a table have the fun idea of trying to call James on it. I move to the table and kneel on top of it. I take a moment to look at my hands, raising them before me to help keep the dream stable. I’m both surprised and amused to see that my fingers are much shorter then normal. “Oh my, look at these stumps” which I think might have something to do with having become lucid with the aid of a chemical rather than naturally, or with not being as deeply rooted in the dream as I could be. I look down at the phone and before picking up the receiver make it a point to look across the room and out a window at a nocturnal residential neighborhood, focusing on a house across the street with a gabled roof; I see the details clearly. I pick up the receiver, put my finger in one of the bottom rotary holes, and turn it once. I listen, but there is no dial tone; nothing is happening, so I hang up, encouraged to do so by a woman who suddenly steps up to the table wanting to know what the heck I’m doing.

I feel myself losing the dream and become conscious of my body on the bed but suddenly, thank God, I’m back standing in the middle of the space. I’ve lost all visuals, but at least I’m still asleep and I can feel the cool hard floor beneath my bare feet as I walk, using the sensation to reground myself in the LD. But as no visuals seem forthcoming here anymore, I think, what the hell, and launch myself in the general direction of a window into the darkness. I’m sucked into space toward a concentrated white point of light sort of like a waning moon, and then I’m soaring, “rocketing” through the darkness. “Michael! James! I’m in hyperspace!” I cry, surrounded by violet swirls of light, one section of which begins assuming the form, encouraged by my will and intent, of a man’s upper body. “James!” It could be him hearing my call wherever he might be in the dream space. I reach for him, he reaches for me, I feel his arms in my hands and his hands on my arms, and then we’re pressed against each other, and then we’re kissing, and oh my God, it feels so very real, his lips, his tongue, his mouth, the most real-feeling kiss I’ve experienced in a lucid dream that I can remember. As we descend into a scene, I find myself looking at a man with light, short hair and a pale, sober face, definitely not James, but right now I don’t care because we’ve landed in a small park of sorts. It’s night time, and there are two or more couples hanging out there, but all I really notice is the squat, broad leafless tree whose medium-thick limbs seem to have “caught” us as I nearly impale myself on a sharp cut off branch. The sharp pain is deliciously real and there’s only one thing I want now. I drape my naked body over a low limb, feeling it pressing into my belly as I hang limp, arms and legs dangling, and wait for my hyperspace date to have his way with me. He kneels behind me and begins stimulating me with his mouth. It feels fantastic but it’s not enough. “Oh come on!” I plead.  He doesn’t listen and, I have to admit, what he’s doing feels good enough to wake me up; I don’t care, I simply go with the intensifying pleasure, which stays with me as I phase out of the dream a little before 6:00.

LD vs. LSD

LSD’s value is in being a shortcut to the unconscious, so that one enters the realm of intuition unhampered… The chemical did not reveal an unknown world. What it did was to shut out the quotidian world as an interference and leave you alone with your dreams and fantasies… But the drug effect does not strengthen the desire to turn the dream, the vision, into reality. It is passive. I have to go on in my own ways… seeking wholeness not by a passive dreaming that drugs give, but by an active, dynamic dreaming that is connected with life, interrelated… which we can enjoy with the awakened senses. — Anaïs Nin

Anais Nïn was speaking of the creative process, but her words can be applied to Lucid Dreaming, which is indeed “active and dynamic”, providing not merely a shortcut but direct access to the unconscious. And just as with LSD, what each person experiences in a LD is mysteriously related to their waking reality thoughts, feelings and beliefs. Yet unlike an acid trip—which only appears to transform the world while physically draining us—a lucid dream infuses us with energy by fully immersing us in our innate creativity.

Walking on a DreamI had always believed in the Divine unity of everything, but one night tripping on acid in Tropical Park, Florida, I actually experienced a beatific sense of wholeness I didn’t have to make any effort to defend from my modern, too often cynical reason: the drug’s energy destroyed all doubts like a laser beam. I felt as through I had become my real self. “It’s all so simple!” I flung my arms around my date’s neck, an action I kept repeating because our embrace was the very core of the night to which I naturally returned as the tide ebbs and flows. I would run off to enjoy the playground, skipping down the asphalt path as if it was the yellow brick road, then fly back to rest against his chest and feel his arms around me as the whole marvelous world. “It’s so simple!” I kept repeating. “Why, how, have they complicated it so much?!” I could not for the life of me understand how mankind had managed to mess life up so badly when it was divinely simple.

I saw a Volkswagen with ears and a tail attached to it and couldn’t stop laughing for a long time. It seemed such a perfect symbol of how ridiculous modern men could be, driving a mouse around, vitally cowards deep inside despite all their superficial sophistication. As we walked through the vast park, completely deserted at that time of night, I was torn between my date’s golden-haired smiling warmth and a deep, deep love for my shadow. Shadow DanceThere were no words to describe it, I just knew it was the real me. I thought—I should always think like my shadow. It is absolutely pure and fearless, and it’s me, the real me! I could ignore my jeans, sagging like old flesh, and my earth-brown boots because I was truly that slender darkness dancing on the grass with no worries, no problems whatsoever. I stood for a long time before the calm, luminous beauty of water. Tall thick blades of grass rising from the lake evoked the columns of an ancient temple, and I imagined that humanity in its youth had perceived reality the way I did when I was tripping, as absolutely magical. The deep water universe gave birth to galaxies of light when I threw in a stone and made a wish, perfectly confident all I hoped and desired would eventually flow my way if I truly believed it was possible.

My date was straight and drove us to Key Biscayne. Street signs were ahead of us and then behind us in the same instant. When we began ascending onto a freeway, spiraling up and up, I felt as though I had died, left all gravity behind, and was floating as a single cell into the stream of lights flowing swift as blood through an eternal, endless body of darkness. Moonlit OceanWe parked the car right in front of the ocean and lay on its hood staring up at the sky. Soft, dark clouds wafted around the full moon like furs slipping off a woman’s smooth white shoulder. My breathing and the rhythm of the tide were one and the same, the living space of my chest rising up into the earth’s atmosphere. The whole world was my body. When I sat up, my date began massaging my shoulders and back. I closed my eyes and the pressure of his thumbs and fingers caused three dimensional scenes to flash behind my eyelids in countless small squares that advanced and then receded to be replaced by another honeycomb-like wall of colorful, crystal-clear images. My skin, muscles and bone felt like tense bands of energy in which were stored faces, furnished interiors, breathtaking landscapes, everything! Later, we leaned against the car kissing. I was wearing a long necklace of golden fish and I dangled it in front of his face teasingly. “These are the keys to the kingdom,” I said. “Will you come with me?” To which he replied, pressing his body against mine, “Sure, let’s go.”

It wasn’t until I had my first lucid dream years later that I experienced a comparable feeling of union with my environment inseparable from a sense of absolute, timeless freedom. LSD offered me some teasing glimpses of a transcendent state of being, breathtaking shortcuts to enlightenment, my personal path to which is now paved with the magical stepping stones of lucid dreams. A vital difference between LD and LSD is that I don’t come down after a lucid dream or suffer any adverse side effects, on the contrary. Certain drugs can help “blow your mind” and break down emotional and conceptual barriers, but so too can “waking up” in your dreams. The LD “high” has the potential to weave together night and day, our conscious and subconscious minds, our ego and Inner Self, in a creativity promoting, life enhancing sustainable practice. My best LD’s are hands down more intense, more memorable than my best acid trips because I have some ability to shape the experience, and that really is the key. Tripping was essentially passive, the result of my brain’s chemistry temporarily altered by an external influence. When I lucid dream, the opposite happens—something inside me, that is me, sparks my awareness of being in a dream, of the dream, empowering me to thoughtfully and sensually engage with it. When I LD, I can question and learn from the dream and, if need be, lovingly transform it, because what is really happening is that I’m transforming myself.

A WILD Night

Note: Bed 10:00, I capsule of Galantamind (4mg Galantamine, 100 mg Choline, 50 mg Vitamin B-5) at 2:00:

I catch and ride several hypnagogic waves, the first few ones vivid but fleeting, people, a conversation with a smiling blonde man, etc. that end abruptly, as though I hit a neurological wall. After about 2 hours of intermittently changing positions—on stomach left and right, on side left and right with left arm bent, right arm straight along my body then down on the bed, one pillow then two, etc.—I’m following a man up a back staircase deep in a building thinking that my new video game (Deus Ex Human Revolution) has suddenly gotten dimmer, more realistically dark, before I realize I’m heading into a dream; I can feel the resistance-reality intensifying with every step and I’m determined to make it up to the top into a dream… Phase out but not a complete loss because I experience that rushing sense of motion akin to a black river flowing up through me. Here we go! Calmly I experience the sense of motion, amused by the action-adventure sixties style soundtrack accompanying it. The speed slows down and now I’m “hovering” as though deep in starless space witnessing the slow formation, very close up and vast at the same time, of what appears to be a mummy’s face. I’m facing a colossal mummified countenance very slowly revealing part of itself without completely doing so, and there may be more than one. I’m not frightened or disgusted, it feels natural; I had been thinking about my desire to discover the truth of ancient Egypt, if the pyramids were in fact something more than tombs, etc.

Back in bed, another hypnagogic wave transforms into a sensation of sexual desire. I am the darkness that is in constant flowing motion with colors existing just below its “surface” that aren’t quite manifesting, and this motion is music-dance, that’s what I am, what the darkness is. I somehow locate my hips in this “body of darkness” and sway them welcoming, filled with rising desire. I have a fleeting thought I’m inviting unsavory forces to penetrate me (a recurring concern, from my Catholic SC?) but I know my husband is sleeping behind me, turned toward me, I can feel his presence-warmth and I let it flow toward me and into me, become one with me, and it is such a pleasurable, wonderful, arousing and reassuring sensation. I am not filled by him, I can never be filled, but some of his “dark energy” merges with a part of mine and it feels fantastic, a dance without limbs, sex without organs, the soul of the music permeating everything.

Landing in bet yet again, aroused, I try and hold on to a hypnagogic scene in which I’m lying on top of a woman and kissing her, so nice (an experience I’ve also enjoyed very much in WR) but no luck. Another hypnagogic scene of a city sidewalk at night. I’m walking along it, seeing more details, willing myself into the scene. Suddenly, I’m lying across the sidewalk looking up at the silhouette of a man dressed all in black (leather?) with dark, shoulder-length hair. He’s looking directly down at me. I can’t see his eyes but his stare anchors me, solidifies the scene-dream. One of my Guardian Lords? But even as I wonder this, his dark, featureless face seems to be shifting, changing, perhaps becoming something unsavory, and I really shouldn’t be concentrating on it or I’ll wake myself up. Then I clearly hear my mother’s voice. Mami! I get up and follow its unique, beloved ring and call out to her again as I see her standing somewhere that is now clearly lit. She’s speaking animatedly in Spanish and listening to her is rooting me in the dream even as I drift up away from her while responding to her in Spanish. Abruptly I see my right hand, maybe both my hands, drift up in front of me, a faint, ghostly white… I’m dreaming! But I’m barely there yet. I touch my upper body, making an effort to solidify my dream body as I fly over a forest of sorts, the atmosphere that luminous dusk of so many LD’s. At the same time I command the dream, still speaking Spanish (which I find surprising, amusing and pleasing because the words come out without hesitation when in WR it’s my second language) to form the (purple) portal in the sky leading to the pyramids. I’ve accomplished a WILD and I feel I can sustain the dream even as I’m aware of a constricting sensation in my throat and know it’s because of the way my head is positioned on the pillow. I reach a clearing in a soft, water-color kind of world, and the dream fades.