Forward and Backward in Time

A very intense night with two lucid dreams that both appear to have contained strong telepathic and precognitive elements.

May 19, 2013

I’m in a dark room observing a woman working on our Screenplay. She is me and yet she isn’t. She is keying in corrections marked by someone else in green and/or orange ink. She moves over to the computer to pull up Screenwriter and, conscious of being a little cold, I get up and leave the room, thinking I’ll go find my brown wrap. I find myself in an expansive white courtyard belonging to a very large white building, which is now behind me and stretching far away to my left. It’s a perfectly clear day.  As I walk parallel to the wall on my right, I’m increasingly filled with a sense of well being and sheer, joyful presence. The feeling intensifies to the point where I have to give expression to it by quickening my pace and extending both arms before me, thinking that if this was a dream I could fly, just take off right now. I’m completely surprised when I lift off the ground. This can’t be happening! I’m awake, so I can’t possibly be flying! It must be the sudden, powerful wind lifting me up.  I wrestle with fear as the wind flings me beneath a covered section of the courtyard. For a moment it looks as though I’m going to be bashed against the edge of a gilded white wall, but at the last minute I somehow avoid that fate and, propelling myself backward slightly, grab hold of an exposed white beam. I cling to it, watching in trepidation as more white structures folded up against the the ceiling are pulled down by the force of the wind. I can only describe them as frameworks that snap down but also look as though they can move along hidden rails. I’m afraid one will slide toward me, forcing me to let go of my beam, in which case the wind will snatch me away.

I hang there for a while but when the situation shows no sign of improving, I give up and let go, because I can’t stay there forever. The sky is still blue but the tornado-like wind propels me over the courtyard, where I cling for a moment to thick silver cords strung between two poles, before just as quickly letting go of them, chastising myself for touching what might be live electrical wires. I’m terrified of being swept out to sea by this relentless wind because beyond terraced white rooftops and colorful foliage, I glimpse an endless expanse of ocean. I also catch a glimpse of the shiny blue skirt belonging to the dress, or gown, I’m wearing as I coast through the air, leaning back against it. If I surrender , I’ll shoot straight out to sea as fast as a bullet and then, when the wind inevitably dies down, I’ll fall, have nothing to hold onto, and die. Because I’m awake, I know for an absolute fact that I’m awake, that this isn’t a dream because it doesn’t feel like a dream at all. I don’t remember going to bed or falling asleep, so how can I possibly be dreaming?! Not remembering is as disturbing as anything else. It’s really frightening, but would be even more so if Mario’s email hadn’t been fresh in my mind talking about what I have believed for some time—that everything really IS a dream, waking reality included, it is ALL a dream! I don’t merely think it, I’m experiencing the indelible proof of it. It’s as scary as it is elating and I wish I had someone to help me deal with it, to offer me some guidance, but I’m on my own, and I let go. There’s nothing to do but surrender to the wind.

I rush toward the ocean across the rooftops, but catch myself for a moment on a large red frond-like leaf, and see a man walking along a road in my direction. He’s tall, ideally built, with shoulder-length hair, yet he’s odd, and has a dangerous aura as a wild animal is threatening without being evil or hostile. His clothes seem more like a skin and don’t look like any style I can describe. Then I become aware that he has an enormous erection thrusting out of his pants. Yet it is no ordinary penis because there are vines twining around it that are also part of him. I think—My God, look at that cock! just as he sees me and heads my way. I let go of the red palm frond and face him as he says something to me. I’m trying to wrap my brain around being penetrated by such an immense cock, there’s no way! I reply tartly—I’ll bet you do! but when he speaks again it’s in Spanish, which surprises and delights me. I declare—Español! The language of my childhood puts me more at ease. Abbey Dore painted Green ManThen I notice a woman walking right up to me beside him, at the same time that I realize they’re both made of clay. They’re like life-size, sophisticated claymation people clad in leaves with bright flower-like details. I remark—But you’re made of clay, I’m not like you. I see in the man’s eyes that he understands me as he reaches out a hand to touch the bare skin of one of my thighs, a reverent expression on his face. I, too, am aware of how fine, almost luminous, my skin is, so fine it nearly shimmers with a transcendent aura alongside their dull, heavy, jungle green-brown clay bodies. I phase out of the dream.

Did I imagine or dream I walked into a small, one-story building akin to an empty post office and see James standing there waiting for me and running to him, really seeing each other?

I’m with Stinger, we’re talking outside, when Arthur, who was curled at my feet, wakes up, only he looks like a really big lanky Dalmation with a very long nose. I stroke and kiss him and say—Isn’t it wonderful that I know and love you as my Arthur? That even though you look completely different, I still recognize your being? Yet I also hope he’ll change back to looking like my Arthur again because I miss his adorable face. Then the man who seems to be leading the tour, or the game, instructs everyone to lie face down on the model train, that proceeds to cross a narrow bridge suspended high above a light-blue body of water by intricate, web-like grids. I tell Stinger to follow because it’s fun being in a game, and I’m confident Arthur will hop on after us. I’m very conscious of lying on this small but real train moving through a narrow, tight space suspended in mid air, aware of the mechanics of it, which could fail and trap us, but I’m confident that won’t happen as we coil along slow as a serpent.

We arrive somewhere, and I’m delighted to see my Dalmation Arthur made it with us. As we cross the patio of a one story house on our right, I see a man walking along a hill that rises straight up from the lawn on our left. I become lucid as I very deliberately take a few steps toward him and ask—Who are you? I glance back at Stinger to make sure he’s paying attention. When I look back, the light-haired man has transformed into a big beautiful male deer looking down at me and speaking with a man’s voice. He tells me his name. I hear it clearly, and I seem to remember he said Sebastian Ro___? It’s a foreign, maybe Nordic name. Behind him, other wild animals line the ledge-like hill before us, including two large male lions who dominate my attention because they’re fighting, loudly and dangerously. Sebastian Vrancx Landscape With a Deer Hunt

This may be a dream, but it still seems like a good idea to get the crowd of people we arrived with into the house, and I proceed to herd them inside. I enter as well and stand at the open glass door. As they file past me, I recite in a humorous sing-song—Lions, and tigers and bears, oh my! Once everyone is inside, the dimly lit space is a bit crowded. I leave the people standing there obediently shoulder-to-shoulder as I proceed to lock all the glass doors, sliding the rectangular black locks, pointed like an arrow at one end, into place. Some doors are already locked so when I slide the lock it actually opens the door and I have to lock it again.

There is an adjoining room with two more glass doors, and after locking the one leading outside, I walk through the one in the back that leads into an inner courtyard. Stinger, and one or two women, follow me. I turn to him and look him square in the eye as I command—Remember his name when you wake up, Sebastian, Sebastian Ro__. Remember that! He repeats the name, and the women begin chanting it, over and over again, until it sounds to me like they’re changing the name and I tell them that’s enough, afraid they’ll confuse me… Then I’m back inside, walking down a corridor. I know that in waking reality it’s early in the morning but I feel securely rooted in this dream, not afraid of waking up. I’m also aware this lucid dream has gone on for so long, I won’t remember parts of it. I’m with a woman, and as we pass a hanging decoration—colorful miniatures of people and objects I know are meant to be year round Christmas ornaments—we comment on how lovely it is, and how we wish we could bring it with us into waking reality. I tell her—It’s just like what my niece says, and give her the example of how in one dream Emily, who is twelve years old and a natural lucid dreamer, was given a dog as a present and she thought—But it’s just a dream, disappointed because it meant she couldn’t really keep it.

Dream Notes: 

1st Dream

The day after the first dream, massive tornadoes hit the mid west. I could have asked the dream “What is causing this frightening wind?” but fear interfered with my lucidity.  I have never before experienced fear at the onset of a lucid dream. It seems clear to me now that I was convinced I was awake because I knew the terrifying wind I was experiencing was a real threat which, like the killer tornadoes, struck abruptly. It’s as though the fear of hundreds of people was broadcast on the Other Side before it happened in waking reality and I picked up on it, loud and clear. In the future, I hope to be able to better distinguish between dream states so that when I find myself in a similar hyper-real-feeling dream, I retain the presence of mind to ask the Dream questions which might help explain what is happening, and why. I like to think that in the future, when going OBE is as natural as logging onto the Internet, precognitive dreams will serve as “forecasts” that can help people.

In the first dream, there was a crystal clear quality to the air and visuals I have experienced only a few times. I hate to use the word higher but I think I was on another level of the Other Side. Consider the crude heavy Claymation couple vs. my light, almost luminous skin: the forces of nature, of corporeal substance vs. higher vibrational bodies. Some of the carved faces of the mythical Green Man look very much like the clay-like stuck on features I saw on the man’s face, and the colors I perceived are the red, green and yellow associated with Osiris, the original Green Man, who is associated with the Celtic Wild Man; that could have been hair covering his whole body. Very interesting that this archetypal figure appeared in my dream, with the ancient Egyptian touch of Amun-Min’s erect, vegetative penis. Min is the verile form of Amun-Re, essentially associated with the conception of the physical world and command of its cycles of death and resurrection. My skin compared to his seems to express how the dreaming Self transcends the cycles of death and rebirth embodied by these figures which is a property of physical matter and of the physical body, all creations of the Inner Self.

2nd Dream

I find the snake train crossing high over a river through web-like beams supporting it very interesting. The train can be likened to our Inner Self and its compartments to all the lives/forms it takes, and how our conscious understanding mysteriously bridges the two worlds, the two banks of the river of Life, and of course the web is the Magic Pattern. I’m not surprised this crossing brought me to what appears to be past life information.

I Googled Sebastian, Nordic, deer, and found this, interesting because of the deer, the arrow shaped locks, the battling lions, the endangered people, and the “ro” of his last name since he was a Baroque painter:

Sebastian Vrancx – Flemish Baroque Painter 1573-1647

His most famous painting is Landscape with a Deer Hunt. He is esteemed as one of the main painters of battle scenes. Most of his pictures represent scenes of war, such as the sack of towns, and allegorical subjects.

That it involves a painter doesn’t surprise me either because during WBTB I was thinking about the forthcoming IASD Psiber Dream Conference, which got me to thinking about the precognitive dream contest and how I won 2nd place because the 1st place winner became lucid for an instant and saw the actual name of the painter, Vermeer. So maybe I honed in on this other painter for two reasons, because it relates to my soul’s history, and because I was thinking about painters.

Dream Notes Update May 24, 2013

Turns out Sebastian was an interesting character, and his wife’s name was Maria Pamphi. He was a member of the Violieren, a movement that played an important part in the literary scene of the Dutch Golden Age experimenting in poetry and drama. He collaborated with numerous leading Dutch artists, experimenting in a wide variety of genres. He essentially created the battle scene genre in the Netherlands, for which he was unrivaled, displaying, in amazing detail, and with superbly animated figures, the brutality of war and its innocent victims. He visited Italy between 1596-1601, was a member of the Fraternity of St. Peter and St. Paul, and Chief Dean of Antwerp’s guild of St. Luke. He had a long successful and diverse career.

So why am I dreaming about this man? Is he a past/parallel life? Why did he show up in my dream, with his reddish hair, and then turn into a deer and tell me his name, enabling me to find him on Google? He must have some relevance to my Inner Self. What is curious is that, after having played a few Battlefield video games, and similar games, I’ve been thinking even more than usual about adamant pacifists who insist no war is a good war. And yet if we are not willing to kill to prevent even more death and atrocity, we are like a body without an immune system, weak and doomed. Everyone pretty much agrees it’s okay to kill in self defense, but aren’t certain battles the equivalent of self defense on a societal scale? I’ve been thinking lately that it’s no more wrong to fight certain evil minded people than it is for my body’s white blood cells to attack dangerous, potentially fatal viruses. So maybe this Sebastian self showed up now as a reflection of my internal obsession with battles.