OBE? WILD? DILD? What’s in a Name? AND Spiritual Warfare.

Lay awake for a while focusing my inner vision in the way that often generates a WILD.

I’m in a dark space, like adjoining bedrooms. I signal to a woman sitting on the bed—who seems to be waiting for me to do so—that she can begin. I take my place on the floor beside the bed, accompanied by another dark figure, as the woman strips off her clothes, and begins her performance. She mostly stands in place as she dances, with subtle, sensual movements of her arms and torso, which are white and smooth as embodied moonlight. She is slender, and I see the form of her breasts, but no actual nipples. I wonder why I told her to dance for me… She’s closer now, moving through me, and through the bed, at which point I notice she’s wearing a pointed “helmet” reminiscent of the headdresses worn by dancers in Thailand. As I watch her, it dawns on me that she’s my dream body, and that I can follow her out of my physical body, which I realize now is the figure I’ve been crouching beside all this time. My body is a featureless form clad in dark clothing, and I’m able to stand up, and move away from it, without any effort. But I lose the dream.

Still trying to WILD, I find myself in a similar dark room with a woman who distinctly resembles my maternal grandmother. We’re facing each other, almost embracing, but when I suddenly realize she merely represents my physical body, I begin pulling away from her, gently but firmly forcing her to crouch down on the floor against the wall as I separate myself from her, and fully enter the dream space. But no sooner have I done so than some repressive force presses up behind me, and slips heavy “arms” around my shoulders. I say, “My Lord, protect me!” and immediately understand that I’m in no danger – it’s just my physical body resisting the separation.

Still trying to WILD, I slip into a dream scene in which I’m running after a man, following him, as he busily moves from room to room of some industrial-like office building, urgently implementing some plan he has. For revenge? And suddenly I think—This is not my fight. Immediately becoming lucid, I leave him behind, and hurry out of the building through a gray metal door, relieved it was so easy to make it outside.

There is a subdued, somewhat overcast light, and I’m aware only of paths cutting through low hills immediately before me, and some people walking around purposefully. I declare, “My General!” addressing Jesus Christ. But then think I should add, to make myself clear, “My King, my Lord and my God, now and forever!”

I walk along a path, conscious of holding my purse, and of the action of walking, as I ask my Lord if he has any orders, any instructions for me. I focus on a passing woman who is tall, with very short hair, and who possesses an aura of authority, like a troop commander. But she doesn’t even glance at me so, as I continue walking, I ask, “Is there is anything I can do to help Sean move forward and progress in his relationship with you, Lord?” echoing one of the subjects foremost in my mind as I lay awake trying to WILD.

When I get no response of any kind as I keep walking beneath white trees (like the Dogwoods in bloom now on our property) I feel this lack of response is the response: “No, there’s nothing more you can do at the moment.” So I deliberately drop my purse, and begin rising slowly into the air, thinking—Alright, I’ll just relax and enjoy being here. There is a soft, muted golden light around and behind the trees, and I feel better and better, more and more wonderful, as I gradually ascend, turning gently in place, toward the open sky. I feel I want to go all the way up tonight, that I can simply leg go, completely surrender to and become one with this feeling of peace and well being expressed by my dream weightlessness, and I do…

Suddenly, still lucid, I find myself in the midst of an action packed scene taking place in a large, shadowy indoor space akin to a paranormal sports stadium. I’m surrounded by men belonging to two “soccer” teams getting ready to play each other, but I see only red uniforms around me. I’m talking to one man as I move about energetically. I tell him, “I’m tempted to stand behind the goal keeper, and keep out all the balls!” He responds by urging me to be careful, but I just laugh and say, “I’m in my dream body!” Meanwhile, I glimpse Sean standing somewhere to my left, and talking animatedly about Jesus. I can’t remember what he says, but it all seems to be good. He’s wearing red, like all the members of the team I’m supporting. The other team is invisible, for they don’t have physical bodies like we do.

Heading to one side of the space, I walk down a few steps, then stop to look back into the “inner field” where the match is taking place. I’m joyfully followed by a fully mature woman the size of a doll who leaps into my arms and cries, “You’re the best!” The best of something, but I don’t remember now what she said. I caress her sleek, soft black hair as I might a cat, while she talks to me. We are very dear to each other even though we haven’t been together in a long time.

My attention is drawn now to two women kneeling together, as though on a picnic blanket, waiting for the match to recommence. They are near the stairway I’m standing in, and cannot, for some reason, step out of. I’m helpless to do anything about it as I watch a man thrust a long knife beneath the right breast (cupped in a blue bra) of the woman kneeling on the right. A yellowish liquid mixed with blood pours from the wound. I somehow know – in that way of lucid dreams – that she is serving as the living tap for the “beer” everyone will be drinking. The man now smoothly slips his blade beneath the left breast of the other woman, and the same fount of fluid pours straight down from the wound. It is terrible to watch, but the women remain conscious, and look more uncomfortable than in pain.

I now understand this ritual strangely reflects the piercing of Christ’s side on the cross by the Roman soldier from which water and blood poured forth. The mysterious mystical cup of Redemption is the “beer” everyone will be drinking at the match. All of us, in one form or another, suffer with Christ in this life, even as He is the source of our Life, and the reason we, like these two women, will not die, but live forever. It is the presence of the opposing “team” that makes a cruelly sadistic and sexist mockery of that moment on the cross in the way I just observed, using helpless young women – easy victims in the dream space just as they are in waking reality.

I know who the opposing team is now, and they are invisible because they have no physical bodies as we humans do.

Dream Notes:

In lucid dreaming circles, people spend countless hours talking about whether an OBE (Out of Body Experience) is the same as a Lucid Dream, and if a WILD (Wake Induced Lucid Dream) is superior or inferior or more desirable than a DILD (Dream Induced Lucid Dream) since, supposedly, you have control over a WILD but not a DILD. And then there is the relationship between an OBE, and even a WILD, with the phenomena of Sleep Paralysis. On this particular night, I ran the full gauntlet of all of the above, which wove quite seamlessly into each other like stages, or steps, in the same mysterious process.

Personally, I believe there are degrees of separation, and that a DILD is simply not being conscious of the first stages of that separation.

The sensations of an OBE are akin to an old Apollo rocket, vibrations, loud noises, slow and dramatic.

A WILD is more like slipping into the seat of a spaceship cruising in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming – between the earth’s atmosphere and the starry universe – and timing it just right to land in one of the dream landscapes passing before us.

A DILD is my preferred method, and the most common in my dream practice. It’s like being a first class passenger suddenly landing in a dream vacation without any effort, as smoothly as being dropped off by a magical black limousine.

Regarding the two teams or sides pitted against each other – one of which was invisible – I really don’t need to explain it to Christians. Other religions also recognize that there are hostile non-physical entities/ forces/energies, etc. encountered by the dreaming soul. Even materialist/atheist lucid dreamers will agree that, in dreams, we can confront subconscious thoughts and impulses hindering us from being happier, more successful, etc. in waking life. The concept of the subconscious, bound to the physical body and brain, is essentially materialism trying to integrate the notion of spirituality.

As a Catholic because of my lucid dreams, I believe in spiritual warfare. 

B52 O.B.E.

After being awake for a while, I am instructed on how to leave my body by two people, men I think. Lying there listening to their instructions, I “let go” of my legs first as a roaring sound gets louder and louder—it’s like taking off an a B52 bomber plane! I feel that I know how to do this now, after the instruction I received. I’m aware of lying on my stomach, my arms around my pillow, as I begin “taking off.”

Very soon, I know I can raise myself up slightly on my elbows, and what I see is amazing. It’s as though I’m lying on the wing, or the flat nose, of this heavy, incredibly loud plane flying high above the earth. It’s rather dark, but there is an ambient light of sorts, because far below me I discern three narrow long black rectangles. When I raise myself up and look around, I’m surprised I didn’t feel there was any danger of actually trying to sit up with my physical body; I simply knew I wouldn’t wake up. The transition is such an incredibly powerful experience, that sense of take off, and the sound, like that of a massively powerful engine.

I raise my left hand, and for a moment one or two of my fingers look a little twisted, vine-like, but they quickly settle into normal focus. I feel very solidly in my dream body as I sit up, and look through the window into the cockpit. The interior looks more like the inside of a large car, with a front and back seat occupied by a handful of women. The young woman in the driver’s seat is the one most visible to me, and she just gazes at me. I consider entering the plane to find out who they are, but decide to remain outside. Eventually, I relish the sensation of falling back into midair at high speed.

The next thing I know, I’m walking through what feels like the old heart of a large city, like downtown Boston, a pedestrian dominated area lined with brightly lit store fronts. It’s night, but there are lots of lights, and people enjoying themselves. I abruptly become aware of the fact that I’m naked as a nice looking dark-haired man steps out of some establishment and sees me. I do not want to be naked in the dream space, because this will just invite all sorts of trouble with guys like him. He’s approaching me with obvious interest, but I turn around, and opening the trunk of a black vehicle, pull out what I want to wear – a white, sleeveless, ankle length tunic. The man is calling after me as I walk away with the dress, and slip it on. (In the dream I’m not surprised by how easily I produced exactly the dress I wanted, but this is something I have never done before in a lucid dream.) There’s something weird about the neckline, it feels like a really broad but constraining collar, so I look in a mirror a few yards away, and notice that the dress reflected is not white, and I’m not even sure that’s me in the mirror. The garment is red, gold and black. Oh well.

I’m walking through this same city, very aware of being out of body, but feeling rather aimless. I haven’t heard from Sean, so there was no plan, but then – when I see a tall brick facade across the street that has the promising look of the side of a great church – I decide, what the heck, I’m going to call out for him, and Illeana, and everyone else. I yell, “Sean! Illeana! James!” And I know I call out to more people, so I must have also yelled, “Olivia!” while crossing the street, and entering some other area. I notice a low fence in front of me as I spot a group of people walking alongside it toward the opening, and I feel they are responding to my call, coming to meet me. I’m amazed. Wow, did that really work? But when they walk right up to me, I’m disappointed, because I don’t seem to recognize any of them. At least I don’t think I do.

False awakening: I’ve moved a little ways from this group of people who seemed to respond to my call. Two men are talking to me, and one of them explains that instead of just yelling out names I should have “tuned into “gone into” my spirit; that I should have taken a more spiritual approach. I agree, and not wanting them to think I’m entirely clueless on this point, I tell him, “Look, just because you saw this lucid dream of mine doesn’t mean they’re all like that. There are more than one-hundred dreams on my Lucid Living Lucid Dreaming sight.” To which the same man replies, “I believe there’s more than three-hundred.” Wow, really?

Resisting Temptation

Later in the night, I become aware of deliberately walking through the door of a building like a university, where there are classes in progress, but there are also people, mainly young men, sitting around in the spacious entrance hall. I’m extremely conscious of my appearance – I’m in the prime of life, I know just what my face and hair and clothing look like, that I am deliberately very reserved, with an almost severe and sad expression, because part of me know I shouldn’t have come in here, but another part of couldn’t resist the temptation, so I am not happy about it or myself. I walk around a corner, open a classroom door, and look inside. A nice looking young man see me, and immediately reacts to the beauty of my face, despite its less than open expression, and immediately gets up to follow me. But I close the door on him as I slowly make my way out of the building again, reluctantly, thinking how much I miss men, and how they used to look at me when they saw my face.

The typical thing – compensating for lost youth, and the drug-like fix of men being attracted to me. But I made progress last night by resisting and being almost lucidly conscious of what I was doing and not getting trapped in this old weakness by giving into temptation. This is one of my strongest attachments to earth, the sins of the flesh, which I indulged in excessively, along with pride and vanity, which thrive on being desired and desirable to others, but in the wrong, superficial, ultimately destructive and profoundly unsatisfactory ways. When I was fully lucid earlier in the night, I was trying to be good, to be seen in the right way in the dream space, as purely my soul.

Lunar Healing – Night 1

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 11, 2013 – First Quarter Moon

Poem of Intent written the day before:

Lunar Healing Pool

I envision a personal pool outside time and the rec room
framed now with bricks instead of Egyptian limestone
an ardent spring of universes in its self-contained depths

Rising from the bed and brain in which I’m lucid dreaming
I’ll glide through the glass door to this pool of my imagining
and submerge my ageless body in its womb of darkness

A Divine life force reflected with intent by the moon of my mind
flowing into the creative channeling of my present physical form
will convey transcendent signals to my cells to right all wrongs

Surfing HI (hypnagogic imagery) between 3:30 and 5:00. After the first wave, I’m plunged into a mini-dream that seems to begin inside a dark church. Just outside it sits a cart (like the kind in the Middle Ages used to haul away the corpses of poor plague victims) with the single body of a man lying in it. I fling myself upon it, crying out my grief, in that instant merging with this young woman. Then I’m a disembodied awareness observing a man in the church peering out through a large keyhole at this woman as he realizes that she really did love his now dead son… I return to my own awareness in the gray-white limbo between waking and sleeping.

 

I ride the next HI into a WILD by listening attentively to the voice of a woman striving to communicate with me through the speaker I keep next to my lucid dreaming bed. I can hear her voice distinctly and “move” my attention toward it, able to grasp most of what she is saying. I am fully aware that listening to her is pulling me into a dream, as is the chaos of her little girl throwing a tantrum in the background. The sounds are completely real, and I get the feeling they’re broadcasting from as far away as Australia? I become aware of lying on a dream bed floating a few feet off the floor and moving in a circular clock-wise direction, sort of like a flying carpet taking off. I can see a room below me, colorless but distinct, furnished differently from the rec room, but I am confident I can “turn it into” the rec room as I look down on while sitting up. But then I lay back down again thinking it might be too soon. I repeat this action at least twice before making an effort to rise off the bed and walk into the scene, but the dream current reverses direction and I “land” on the shore between waking and sleeping.

Soon after, I become aware of working in the kitchen. I pull a small casserole out of the oven filled with baking spinach, just in time; it looks perfect. I transfer the spinach into a cast iron skillet to finish cooking it but notice a black string lying in the pan, and also that the kitchen is dark… Wait a minuteI must be dreaming. At once I walk out into the living room, which is not as dark; the house is lit as though by a dim ambient moonlight washing out all colors. It is my real house, and in my eagerness to see if the healing pool I envisioned is out in the courtyard, I fly into the rec room even though I know I risk destabilizing the dream by not walking instead. I fly over my lucid dreaming bed and intend to pass right through the glass door as I described myself doing in my Poem of Intent. The glass doesn’t really present a barrier but it takes a few seconds, and through the green curtain, as I pass through it, I see the pool, very close to where I imagined it would be but at a different angle, vertical to my perspective instead of horizontal. I see it clearly in a pale illumination akin to moonlight. It is the size of a narrow bathtub and lined with a white stone border. The whole courtyard is moon-white. As I float outside, I lose sight of the pool as I look down at a naked woman sitting parallel to the pool’s top edge, her legs slightly bent and her arms stretched out behind her in a pose people often adopt at the beach while sunbathing, only she is moon-bathing. There is something crude-looking about her profile but she is obviously me, some approximation of my “grosser” physical body, as opposed my light dream body floating just above it. Then once again the dream’s gravity catches me like a breaking wave and hauls me back to that shore between sleeping and waking.

Riding more HI, I am “plunged” into a dream scene where a man is aware of my efforts to WILD and is mysteriously assisting me. He tells me he is monitoring my blood pressure. As he helps me lie face down again on a narrow bed, I say, “Well, you know it’s going to skyrocket. That’s just how it is.” I distinctly feel one of his hands resting on my left leg as I sink back into HI, which soon resolves into a WILD again. I’m walking through my dark house into a bathroom that is across the hall from where it really is, like a reflection. The door is open onto the corridor, and I grip the left side of the frame to grab hold of the dream scene. I clearly see my hands, flesh-toned in the dimness. Yes, my hands… I should keep sight of them to ground me in the dream. I turn left and touch the wall as I deliberately walk, not fly, down to the end of the corridor, where I grip the edge of the wall. I make it almost all the way to rec room before I lose the dream, again.

Riding more HI, I find myself lying in bed. I get up to use the bathroom, but when I flip the light switch up nothing happens. Oh my God, reality check… this time I actually catch this recurring dream sign. I’m dreaming. I walk back out into a room that is a cross between my living room and a slightly larger public room. I lose almost all visuals, but I have already seen some people milling around so I reach out and ask with polite urgency, “Does anyone know how I can get some visuals?” I repeat this request several times as I walk around, and every time I ask this question, I see a little more of my environment in the form of distinct colors, first in a face and then in the electronic device a woman sitting at a small bar is holding on which are displayed red and yellow colors. I move over to the bar and, grabbing hold of it, I am almost completely present in the dream. A short older female bartender with cropped blonde hair walks up to me, and takes my hands for a moment in response to my query. She is very nice and I feel more present in the dream the longer I interact with her. When I ask my question again, she says, “Have you touched any objects sacred to us?” I regret to have to answer, “No” because I don’t think I have. Once again, I lose the dream.

At some indeterminate point in my HI surfing there occurred a distinct but hard to describe lucid experience. I am lying face down but instead of a bed beneath me there is what feels like a “portal” into another reality or world, and a woman facing “up” toward me is trying to pull me into it; trying to get me to join her there. Our dialogue purely telepathic, I receive images of disease, hardship, environmental poisoning, and I hastily inform her that I live up in the mountains, where conditions are still good. She replies that I am referring to my current reality but that in her world, which I am also inhabiting at the same time in a kind of parallel universe, the conditions are extremely harsh. Though I know she is right, I am intensely reluctant to immerse myself in an existence which is a negative reflection, the exact opposite, of the life I am fully conscious of now as Maria Isabel Pita.

Dream Notes:

I have never deliberately imagined and succeeded in “conjuring” a specific dream scene before, one that is a combination of my waking reality and my imagination. I am very excited that I succeeded in manifesting the moonlit healing pool I envisioned, and even saw what appeared to be my physical body sitting next to it, as though waiting for my dream body to arrive and perform the healing ritual I described in my Poem of Intent. On my first attempt, in a night of WILDS all interesting in their own way, like seeds of what’s to come. It is interesting to note that the pool was in the same spot and position where I often park my car, my physical vehicle. It was also right next to Stinger’s workshop, which also makes sense, since in these dreams I want to work on my physical body. Especially fascinating is that my waking self conceived of this pool and its purpose, and my dreaming self brought it forth but made some seemingly minor changes that are, in fact, symbolically relevant. This is the most consciously I have integrated my waking self and my dreaming self, and it is quite an exciting partnership! There seems no end to what this greater “I” can do.

The dreams were short but there was an intriguing recurring element that was not symbolic but quite literal:

  • the woman communicating with me through a speaker and pulling me into the dream space
  • the man helping me WILD and monitoring my blood pressure pressing my leg to root me in a dream
  • the bartender who took my hand to help me with visuals and asked about the sacred objects

All these dream entities seemed intent on helping me. I am learning to surf HI and to WILD on a more regular basis. Until recently, most of my lucid dreams were DILDs. If I can succeed in mastering WILDs, I feel I will have more success with manifesting intended locations and scenarios, so it’s important. And thrilling to be able to do it without any supplements at all.

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.”

FishSandwichCropped

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.

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.

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.