Shaman & Church Fountains

Note: I am now waiting 7 months before posting my lucid dreams, which means I am approximately 40 lucid dreams behind.

April 10, 2014

It was like someone slipped me some G last night, because after about 2:30 I lay awake, and eventually began getting on and off the hypnagogic roller coaster. At least four times, I fell asleep consciously, and lay listening to my body breathing in and out as darkness and light swirled before me, coalescing into scenes, and then abruptly deleting them. At certain points, it was like someone was playing with an old TV remote control as I heard, and saw, vivid black and white dream scenes, which were suddenly cut off. I was poised on this bridge between waking and sleeping for hours, wondering if anyone I knew was suffering from insomnia tonight, because this is unusual for me. I shifted my body’s sleeping position occasionally, but immediately found myself on the hypnagogic bridge again.

Finally, I have somehow embedded myself in the darkness of hypnagogia, as though by force of will; I managed to roll off a bridge into a dream scene. I feel myself in a room, even though I can’t see anything in the absolute darkness. But that doesn’t matter, because I can distinctly feel my dream body slumped on a floor. I also glimpse the faint light of a woman’s blonde hair, and distinctly sense her presence. I say, “Tilly, is that you?” I don’t wait for a response; the important thing is to fully enter the dream. I urge her to “Pull me up by my hair” and telepathically assure her that she won’t hurt me. I can feel – even see from outside my body – my long hair stretching upward, like the stream of a comet, as I feel a tug and a pull on it, which helps lift my body out from under me. I reach for support, and find it in the form of a small wooden table I catch a glimpse of as I brace myself on it, and finish leveraging myself up into a standing position. I can see something now – my mother, who is standing nearby and watching me pull myself fully into the dream. Mami is definitely there, but I can also tell that only a “portion of her consciousness” is with me, as often happens in my lucid dreams.

I’ve made it into a dream, but I can still barely see the room as my body begins doing that mysterious counterclockwise, out of body spin where I drift a foot or two above the floor, gliding slowly across the small space. I think out loud—What is it with this spin…? I can see a woman standing just in front of Mami, and finding the floor again, I declare, “It’s dark, let’s make light!” I close and my eyes, shape my hands into fists, and then I quickly open my eyes again, intending to emanate a burst of illumination from my palms, but the room remains dark. Oh well, we can simply leave! I glide down a stairwell, sensing the woman following me, and immediately perceive bright daylight between the cracks of a door. “Daylight!” I exclaim. Easily shoving the door open with both hands, I fly outside, and then glide slowly, and just slightly above, a vividly colorful scene which. At first, I perceive the dream scape through one or more long rectangular openings, as though I’m inside a hovering vehicle of some kind, which is passing silently over a throng of people, mostly men. I remark to my silent companion, “This is like a video game” because the colors are almost too bright, and the men’s facial complexion are at once a little too vivid and slightly blurry, in an artistic way.

Then the rectangular windows are gone, and I’m flying a few feet above the broad (packed dirt?) street of a city that feels foreign, modern but in a Third World kind of way. Suddenly, a woman’s arms slip around me, and I happily reciprocate, feeling the slenderness of her waist and enjoying the sensation of holding a woman in my arms instead of a man. I’m thinking it must be Tilly and I say, “Tilly?” We’re gliding smoothly above the street, and when she doesn’t reply, I draw back a little to look at her. At once I think—This can’t be Tilly.

She’s looking straight ahead, her dark eyes fixed on her goal as she speaks urgently, but also calmly and clearly, informing me that where she lives is under threat. I’m distracted from her words by how disturbingly thin she is, very much like a skeleton draped in colorful clothing. I focus on the tooth pressed against the bottom center of her chin… Something isn’t right. Her jaw bone is almost visible through her dry, desiccated skin, and I suffer the impression that I’m holding on to a dead woman who is still wearing her ritual burial clothing and adornments… that one tooth of hers does seem to be deliberately strapped to her head with a very thin cord. She says, “I live under threat by…” as she carries me somewhere, obviously feeling I can help, but I don’t really want to go with her. I break gently away from her, and fly off on my own. Selfish of me? But I don’t feel I can handle whatever that was all about right now.

Studying the city below me, I experience a strong impression that I’m in Pakistan, or somewhere in those environs. I alight on a sidewalk of sorts, and as men in brownish robes and turbans pass by without taking any notice of me, I abruptly remember my lunar healing pool intent. I remembered! Hagia Sophia museum. Istanbul, TurkeyImmediately – in the distance across a flat expanse of what might be sand – I see a white cathedral, its softly rounded central dome flanked by two shorter rectangular wings. The perfect place to find my pool of power! I close my eyes and will myself there. The technique works – when I open my eyes again, I am just outside the temple grounds, in which I see at least two stone fountains. These fountains appear designed to reflect natural rivers and creeks, for their water flowing down, and over, stone walls instead spraying in frothy jets into the air. I promptly attempt to fly to the fountains, but discover an invisible wall before me. I realize I’m trying to fly Superman-style. Pressing my arms to my sides, I try the dolphin kick method instead. Nothing happens; the invisible barrier is still there blocking my progress. I attempt willing myself to the fountains, but that doesn’t work either. I refuse to be deterred when I’m so close! I have a specific healing intent in mind, a very ambitious one. Damn it, I’m getting to those fountains! I turn and begin backstroking through the air. It’s slow going, but I’ll get their eventually. At last, I arrive at the fountains, and stand beside the one closest to me as I consider my options. The fountain is not very big, and the water looks rather shallow where it flows, a little too sedately, over sandstone openings and rocks. The fountain pool just beyond it, and slightly to my left, looks deeper, and the water flows in a slightly more lively fashion over more natural-looking stones. I decide it seems more promising, even though I’m not really sure how I can use it for my particular intent, which is to heal my periodontal condition, regenerating both gum and bone loss. As I move toward this second pool, I lose the dream.

Dream Notes:

It seems quite significant that I felt as though I could see the woman’s jaw bone, and that she had a tooth strapped to her head, since the healing intent I have been incubating for a  while now relates to my mouth, and my jaw bone specifically, to the bone loss there. Once you have periodontal disease, you can take measures to keep it under control, but you always “live under threat” of the bacteria that causes it, and if gum and bone loss have already occurred, it’s a day-to-day struggle to keep away the microscopic invaders. I have really strong teeth, I’ve never had a cavity – the tooth the skeletal woman wore was white, and looked to be in good condition. In which case, I have to wonder why she looked like a well preserved mummy. I distinctly remember the color red in her tunic, maybe even a feather or two adorning her, as though she had been ritually buried. There was something distinctly Shamanic about her appearance, and she was carrying me somewhere I didn’t feel I wanted to go.

I usually don’t run away like that in a lucid dream. I think part of me is not one-hundred percent sure this healing intent is realistic and possible, precisely because it seems a flagrant defiance of the natural order of things, which of course culminates in physical death. I think the mummy-woman was, in some sense, my own conflicted soul, torn between the rightness of embracing my mortality, and a stubborn, selfish desire to get my Spirit to help my dreaming mind heal myself of this non-life threatening condition. 

In life everything is a process. I know now, months later, that this dream also revealed how my soul wanted to get away from the currently popular Shamanic New Age approach to life and dream powers, and instead to fully embrace my not-so-politically-correct-these-days Christian faith in a loving Creator – no magic, no spells, no drug-induced rituals needed, simply “Ask and you shall receive.” I feel now that the fountains in my dream contained baptismal waters, shallow and not very strong at the time of the dream but soon to overflow. In this dream, my soul turned away from a selfish, and unnecessary, healing intent, which was threatening to lead me down the wrong path. In this dream, I made a choice, which bore glorious spiritual fruit less than a month later. 

At the time i had this dream, I was in danger of believing that I alone was capable of doing whatever I truly believed was possible in lucid dreams, that it was only a matter of formulating the right intent and carrying it out. I abandoned the skeletal woman with the tooth necklace, and was rewarded by a church surrounded by fountains – the fountains of God’s love, the source of all life, without which I have no power to do anything, to be anything, at all. The few times I have succeeded in healing myself and a loved one in lucid dreams, the need was pressing. In the case of wanting to heal my periodontal disease, it was only because I was annoyed by all the flossing and irrigating. It wasn’t because I truly needed to try and heal myself to be healthy and happy, it was because I wanted to prove it was possible to heal bone loss in a lucid dream – I wanted to prove that there are no limits to lucid dream healing powers. So why not arrest, and reverse, the aging process as well…? I was crossing a spiritually dangerous line believing I could, just because I could lucid dream, acquire and develop God-like powers, as if this bag-of-bones, and the finite brain inside my skull, could possibly be ready for such a responsibility. I was seeking to preserve my self, wrapped up in my dream powers with which I was in danger of arrogantly attempting to mummifying my self, this one ego, this one little life time, to the horror of my soul – my dream self in the arms of that Shamanic skeleton who escaped her, and flew straight to the church that appeared and the Spirit’s life-giving waters.

The Spirit of Evolution

Note: I am now waiting 6 months before posting my lucid dreams, which means I am approximately 35 lucid dreams behind.

March 12, 2014

I’m with another woman. We’re standing outside on the edge of a large pool of silver-white water, surrounded on three sides by tall and dark fence-like walls. On the fourth and back side is the building we seem to have emerged from. The moment I see the pool, I tell my companion I’m going swimming, and add, “I miss swimming! I used to swim all the time when I lived in Louisiana. We had five acres, and Stinger built me a pool that looked like a pond. Instead of a white concrete frame, the black liner provided a border, so that from a distance it looked like a natural pond, but the water was filtered clean.” (All true in waking reality).

I’m not sure if I was already lucid at this point, but as soon as I enter the pool, I know I’m dreaming. I still sense my female companion, who is also waist-deep in the water on my left, but my attention is quite naturally riveted on the huge silver fish directly facing me where it floats motionless in the middle of the pool, it’s wide jagged mouth above the water. The creature could swallow me whole without blinking, and it seems to be challenging me. I tell my silent friend, “I’m determined to go swimming. Nothing is going to stop me!” In an earlier dream, I had seen a spear with its head deeply embedded in the stone of a very high tower under siege. As I consider manifesting this spear now, I raise my right arm. I don’t see the weapon, but that doesn’t stop me from wading over to the prehistoric looking fish intending to throw my imaginary spear into its dark mouth, open as if preparing to devour me. The spear remains invisible and ineffectual as I pantomime throwing it. I am now standing directly in front of the gaping jaws that resemble a dark, narrow, and jagged portal. Still waist-deep in the water, I can see inside the monstrous fish, and I consider swimming through its dark insides and out the other end, treating it like just another barrier that isn’t really there because I’m dreaming. But the prospect isn’t very appealing, and I spontaneously find myself floating out of the water beyond the creature’s reach while trying to come up with another strategy.

I drift from left to right again over the pool, and then over the enclosure wall. The giant silver fish follows me, sort of fly-leaping out of the water directly over the wall. It lands upright on the dark grass at the same moment that I alight on the white sidewalk a few feet away. I think—Okay, I’ll fight you if that’s what you want… but I really don’t want to kill you… I approach the great standing fish, and the closer I get to it, the more I resist the idea of killing it. Close enough to touch it, I suddenly know in my heart what I want to do as I say, “I won’t kill you; I’ll transform you instead!” All it takes is my touch for this giant fish-monster to collapse at my feet. I kneel down, keeping my hands on its writhing silver body, as I think—When I turn it over, instead of fish guts, something else will fall out, not dark and slimy organs, but something else… As I upend the big silvery sack, the curled up body of a little girl tumbles out onto the grass. Her long slender limbs are bare, but her torso is wrapped as though in shadow. I spread her gently out across the grass, kneeling over her in wonder.

Grasping her pale, frail little hand, I tenderly run her palm over the cool and slightly prickly grass. “Feel this grass,” I murmur, “and this soft flower petal against your flesh…” I brush a white petal against the skin of her left hand, which is almost as soft as the flower. “Feel that…? Isn’t it wonderful to be out of the water at last?” The tactile sensations are as vivid for me as I desire them to be for her. All the magic and mystery of evolution, from prehistoric fish to human child, feels embodied in this little girl. I crouch over her, and kiss her smooth, silky soft cheek, which is a rosy color. I’m consumed by pure love and tenderness for this miracle of life, my heart is suffused with joy as I press my cheek very lightly against hers. She feels absolutely real, and weighs like a little girl of about five or six, as I stand, scooping her up in my arms.

I struggle for a moment, my dream body a little uncoordinated, but as she clings to me, frightened, I promise her, “I won’t drop you. I would never let you fall.” I rise slowly into the air, fly over the barrier, and back over the pool toward the building. I place my right hand on something, pushing it away and using the momentum to lower myself back to the ground, and enter the white structure. I fly through its familiar corridors with the little girl cradled in my arms. I recognize a long elevated area I pass on my left furnished with red and yellow gym-like equipment, as is the ledge directly before me. I make a sharp left, and in my mind’s eye see my waking reality sister engaged in a demonstration in a nearby stadium: she is showing off dream body coordination as she carries several objects at once while maintaining full control of her flying body. I am taking the child somewhere specific as I phase out of the dream.

Someone Else’s Reflection

February 8, 2014

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

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

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

Dream Notes:

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

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

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

Lunar Healing Night 2 + Visiting Ancient Egypt

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

January 21, 2014
Waning Gibbous, Void Moon

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

Lunar Healing Night 2

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

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

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

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

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

A Memory of Ancient Egypt

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

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

Dream Notes:

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

Inner Balance

Note: I am now waiting up to 7 months before posting my lucid dreams. This means I am always approximately 35 lucid dreams behind.

I’m the only person walking around in a large space. At first I believe it is an auditorium, but then I realize it is, or seems to be, the lead female performer’s home. She is singing lovely, rather folk-like songs as people lie around, perfectly relaxed, listening, while I busy myself making a movie that involves some very specific shots, my camera attached to a black rod. This gives me a reason not to simply be politely listening. When the woman moves from the front to the side of the room where there is a round wooden table, she seems to be more a teacher than a performer. She is speaking in another language, northern European, maybe Dutch, which seems to explain the feel of the place and the crowd—more open and in touch with ancient traditions than typical Americans. This may even be a class on working with the healing energy of sound and music. But it is not until it ends, and people are getting up to leave, that I realize I’m dreaming as I watch the teacher move down the right side of the room toward a curtained stage. The large stage behind a black curtain triggers my lucidity. I immediately feel that I can attempt to heal the stiffness in my left wrist on this stage. I quickly follow the woman, sensing that she is heading backstage through a door, but when I push the curtain aside I see the stage is blocked off by a metal barrier… I suffer a false awakening in which I’m urgently telling someone about my earlier dream of the human hummingbirds, and about another dream of a dark-haired man sitting in my room who rose and moved toward me in a passionate way. Then I see the teacher-singer close the door of her home for the night and quickly get up, crying out to her that I left some of my things on the stage and I need to retrieve them. Her door opens and I run into what is now a large and dim auditorium.

Acid vs. Alkaline

The stage is directly across from me. I want to fly toward it and so I do, re-entering the scene from my previous dream and becoming lucid in one seamless act. I land on the edge the stage a few feet away from a solid male presence occupying its center. Only the bottom half of his figure is illuminated, the rest of him is masked in darkness. I ask suspiciously, “Who are you?” I speak the first two words without a problem but the “you” is oddly clipped. “I’m suspicious of Dream Entities these days,” I explain, and repeat, “Who are you?” He replies, “Keith.” Surprised, I echo, “Keith? I’ve been told to expect Harris.” He then either steps forward, or the lighting changes, because I can see all of him now. His upper body is perfectly square, like a robot’s, a dark-green metal looking box with no head. I observe, “You don’t have a head and yet I can see it.” His handsome human male head is clearly visible to me with its blonde hair. It isn’t attached to the machine but rather “floats” just above it and is much more ethereal, yet also completely real and present.

Keith looks and moves like a regular person as he quickly sits down at a monitor and begins telling me things I need to know, explaining how I can acquire this information. I lean close to him, listening intently to his every word even as I keep looking around me to stabilize the dream. The scenery is that of a workshop with metal tools and containers, the colors red and dark-blue predominating in the form of handles, etc. He says something that sounds like “soya” and then I clearly make out “PBS” which is where I assume I will find a television special on the subject matter he is telling me about which relates to biology and two specific chemicals or chemical reactions. I need to know how these two elements work together; it is important for me… I slowly phase out of the dream into a false awakening, where I repeat to a woman, over and over again, the names of these two chemicals—one begins with or features a “k”—so as not to forget them. I wake for real.

Dream Notes:

I have been reading Secrets of Your Cells by Sondra Barrett and the night-before-last I had dreams that felt very much like being inside my body. I knew Keith was referring to my body and a balance that needed to be maintained. So I Googled “PBS” and “cellular health”. Keith’s message seems clear:

PBS (phosphate buffered saline) is a balanced salt solution commonly used to maintain pH and osmotic balance and provide cells with water and essential inorganic ions. PBS is generally used to maintain cells for the short term in a viable condition while the cells are manipulated outside of their regular growth environment… Cells must constantly maintain their pH in order to function properly. The acidic state of your body is referred to as its pH balance, rather like a swimming pool, and in actual fact, given that our bodies are made of 80% water, it’s quite a good analogy to draw. To have a balanced or neutral pH, your body’s pH level should register 7.4 pH; anything lower than that, and your body environment will be too acidic, and anything above that, it will be too alkaline. Do you remember at school when you used Litmus paper to measure for acidity? If so you’ll probably remember that blue Litmus paper turns red when exposed to acidic solutions, and red Litmus turns blue when exposed to alkaline solutions. It is this same balance of acid or alkaline that is important to your body and its immune system.


To maintain health, the diet should consist of 60% alkaline forming foods and 40% acid forming foods. A true alkalinizing diet is one that optimizes how cells receive nutrition. Once calories flow into cells then cell membranes must respond in order for genes to activate that regulate cellular activity and healthy function. This means you must have healthy cell membranes. You need the fatty acid DHA to make healthy cell membranes. You also need nutrients that specifically contribute to linking the fatty acids like DHA together – which are the phosphates. These are typically built from choline or other phosphate related nutrients. Phosphatidyl Serine is absolute gold as far as your cell membranes are concerned, especially those in your brain (regulating brain pH).


In general, choline intake is linked to dietary fat intake. Fat intake can be overdone, but it can also be underdone which would not be good for your health. Any time pH goes acid then overall cardio-health will be stressed. Eggs are one of the most helpful foods for maintaining cardiovascular health.


Talking with Reinaldo Arenas

Note: I am now waiting up to 6 months before posting my lucid dreams. This means I am always approximately 30 lucid dreams behind.

November 24, 2013

A staged performance I’m observing ends with the incisive and amusing but also rather acerbic comments of a Cuban man who seats himself on a couch to deliver them. The performance concluded, I leave with another man I somehow know. It is night time and we are walking toward the ocean as we discuss the end of the play. But as we pass a lit and open doorway, I turn back and tell my companion I would like to go backstage and say hello to the performer. “I will greet him for my mother. He will like that.” So we turn left into the luminous white corridor, make another left into a small sitting area, and then walk through an open door into a small kitchen. Reinaldo ArenasReinaldo Arenas seems to have prepared himself something to drink. He is facing the door, and the instant he looks my way I am struck by his absolute reality and presence. Reinaldo! His face is distinct and just how I remember it. I feel almost overcome with emotion; tears well up in my eyes as I approach him. I am wearing a long sky-blue skirt and a loose white shirt. The man who accompanied me introduces me, “This is Maria Pita” he says and Reinaldo, holding my eyes as he watches me approach, tells me, “You have a luminous presence.” We shake hands and I say, wanting to make sure he recognizes me, “Juana Rosa’s daughter.” I remain in the room with him and several other people as they converse. Reinaldo is berating himself for not being good enough, or better. I feel passionately compelled to interrupt him in his defense as I state with clear conviction, “Better men are overrated. Sometimes you have to be bad to be good.” Smiling, he slips an arm around my shoulders and we leave the kitchen. He says something which relates to that momentous day when he saved me from something bad. I reply, “I for one was very grateful.” We stand facing each other, our faces mere inches apart as he talks even while chewing on a cigarette, literally taking the whole thing into his mouth and speaking as it continues to smolder. I clearly see the mangled white object lying on his tongue. Then I seem to discern more than one, although now they look more like pills. Some people I sense are family members leave the kitchen and cross the room. Reinaldo is now reclining on the floor. I ask him where he lives and he replies New York. I say, “You must like it there, it’s very busy.” I want to tell him he can come and stay with us because in the dream my family and I have a very large house.

A false awakening in which Mami and I are sitting side-by-side on a couch, our heads touching, as I try to tell her about my dream with Reinaldo, thinking I just need to tell her about my dream with Reinaldo in waking reality because her dream self is distracted. At that point, I wake up for real.

Dream Notes:

Unbeknownst to me, Mami was just this week photocopying all of Reinaldo’s beautiful letters to her and re-reading them. In his words to her, his generous, beautiful spirit shines in an inspiring, uplifting way. I had no idea she was doing this. Reinaldo wrote many books, including El Color del Verano, his final memoir, where he says exactly what he thinks about many famous writers and people, scathing things, tearing them to pieces, hence his acerbic comments at the beginning of my dream, which also possibly related to the horrible Cuban male machismo which may have had something to do with his homosexuality. The only famous writer Reinaldo did not mention in this book was my mother, whom he adored.

When I was nineteen-years-old in Miami, I was unfortunately present the day when my new boyfriend (who unbeknownst to me was also Reinaldo’s lover) beat him up in a fit of jealous rage from which I naturally ran in terror, and which resulted in me breaking up with him. So perhaps Reinaldo did in fact save me from something bad. I will never forget the way he looked up at me from the floor, the sweetest expression of regret and apology on his face, his concern primarily for me.

In my dream, the way he ate up the cigarette, which was still burning, strikes me as a symbol for suicide, for not waiting for your life to burn out before you end it. (In an early poem of mine, I compare a burning cigarette to our physical life gradually burning away until it is finally extinguished). I did not know he committed suicide, I had always believed he died naturally of AIDS, but in fact he overdosed on pills and alcohol before the disease could kill him. He lived in a small apartment on the sixth floor of a building in New York in an area then known as “Hell’s Kitchen”. In the dream, I entered a kitchen where he stood, and had just prepared himself a drink. I also saw what looked like pills in his mouth. At the time of his death, his writing career was busier than ever, with several contracted books in the works. His having committed suicide may be one reason he was berating himself in the dream. It makes me happy how pleased he seemed when I fervently defended him with the statement, “Better men are overrated, sometimes you have to be bad to be good.”

Mami re-reading his letters this week may have “focused” his soul on hers, and because I am linked to Mami (in ways that are manifesting quite obviously in dreams lately) I picked up on his presence when I was on the Other Side (the dream space) and deliberately sought him out to greet him on her behalf. Or he may have became aware of my “luminous presence” through her soul reaching out to his in appreciation as she read his letters to her.

It meant a great deal to Mami that I was greeting Reinaldo on her behalf, and that it happened on the day of Christ the King. God Speed, Reinaldo!

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.