Recent DJ Posts

lucid: in what felt like a costco-ish parking lot, very bright outside. as me and my partner walked toward the building, away from our car, i looked up at what i knew to be a street sweeping sign (though this wasn't a residential area so it doesn't make sense after being awake) and it read:

Tues-Thurs
Tues

made no sense but it looked right!

Morning of January 5, 2017. Thursday.



My wife and family and I are living back on Gellibrand Street in Clayfield. When the mail goes, there are several items. I firstly focus on a large package.

The package turns out to contain a book we did not order or expect to get, possibly because of being members of a book-of-the-month club. It is a very large and thick book with shiny gilded pages with the title of “Return of the Fairy Tale”. It seemingly includes fairy tales as well as poems and folk tales. I read one poem as our youngest daughter listens (though I cannot recall its content). I am not sure if we should keep the book as I seem to remember that Zsuzsanna has an older edition of the same book. We look for it and it is found near the bottom of her wardrobe. I ask her if we should keep the new edition we just received and it seems that we will. The older edition has a slightly different cover but is about the same size.

After this, I go onto our porch to look at our other mail. There are two postcards from Margaret. In one, she starts off by talking about seeing her “pale face” looking back at her (from a mirror I assume). She writes that she is sorry to hear about my sister (Marilyn).

Apparently, I had also written to a man in India of whom I had not written to in over twenty years. I had asked him about his address (which makes no sense because if I did not know his address he likely would not have gotten my letter). On his postcard, in somewhat sloppy handwriting, he only writes:

“I do not remember my other address. I would like a comfy.”

I am not sure what he means by “comfy”; if he means a footrest or some sort of apparel. (In real life years ago he had asked me to send him auto repair books and I did not have any.)

I also notice a couple loose letters which are older love letters from Zsuzsanna though I am puzzled as to why they are with the recent mail. One letter includes a couple drawings. I had been sitting on the left end of the couch on the porch (liminal space) during this last segment.

---

• The fifteen rupee tiger stamp is a sublimated coalescence prompt (as a tiger can swallow the dream self back into full consciousness) and additionally, mail usually symbolizes communication between the dream self and either the conscious self identity or the collective unconscious. Even so, and even containing the same dreaming and waking metaphors (and overall meaning) since earliest childhood, this dream’s rendering is unique.
• Regardless of the nature of the book, a book usually links to conscious self identity (and critical thinking skills that are not wholly feasible in non-lucid dreams). Gilded pages relate to dawning awareness and sentience (as sunbeams coming in through a bedroom window).
• The other book being in the wardrobe is a dream sign, as Zsuzsanna gets clothes from her wardrobe shortly after waking.
• Most dreams, when waking prompts are not more direct or jolting, are to subliminally inform the dreamer to wake as in this case. This same “call to waking” (waking transition with waking metaphors) can be seen in tens of thousands of my dreams documented and studied over fifty years, and in very specific layered (redundant) ways (and often “no-brainers” that I easily grasped as a child).
• Even “comfy” can be considered a dream sign, as it can refer to pillows and being in bed.
• Even the line about not remembering the other address is a direct reference to the amnesic nature of the personified subconscious (dream self).

---

Scotland sometime in the 1700s, I'm in the stables brushing a horse and speaking with a young man I've just been riding with. He's about to inherit some position from his father and he's extremely uncomfortable about it, particularly about how little education he's had - less for its own sake, and more to do with how others will see him. The conversation's wandered around a bit on the subject of education, and I've just mentioned Jim, a servant I grew up with in the American colonies who's devoted to learning, more so than anyone I ever knew. Brilliant man. The man I'm talking to asks how much schooling he'd had - none. I feel vaguely ashamed about that, for my home and for myself for not thinking about this when we were younger - Jim certainly would have wanted to go to school and it had never occurred to me to think about that. If he'd been white, he'd almost certainly have gone to a college.

Two dull scenes I'm noting for the character who appears in both - at the end of the previous scene I went to sleep and "dreamed" of a long-haired old man who was a teacher in a modern classroom, who said that the two times are only nine steps apart, so it's silly to make such a fuss. At this point I was fully aware the classroom scene was a dream and had modern memories, but didn't believe the Scotland scene was a dream - I considered the classroom dream a way of communicating with this man while I was in the past. Woke up (really), went back to sleep, and some scenes later I was forging a series of swords - masterpieces. The same old man appeared, this time as the master of the forge, and was so impressed that he insisted I destroy one of them by peeling back layers of metal so he could see the core, see what I'd done.

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

I'm reading a letter from an old friend. She's telling me she's spent the last six years in Vienna, and that she's devoting this lifetime (meaning however long this particular identity lasts her) to the study of music. She uses a word that specifically means playing instruments rather than singing, and she says she's giving her voice a break after "those swan songs" in Canada. She's studying the piano, which reminds her of me - she asks if I remember the old spinet I used to play for them.

Scene changes when I think about when and where that had been. There's an image of a little room, dark for just a second, then lit up with this golden light in shapes created by a lantern - this incredibly intricate fantasy scene, silhouettes of people and leaves, and an impression of bars, as if inside a birdcage.

There's a woman having a sort of Cinderella transformation - rags to ballgown - but she doesn't seem in the least bit impressed by it. I'm vaguely annoyed at her lack of reaction, but on with the show. She enters a throne room and asks something of the king, who says "But first answer me this. When did you become the Evil Queen?" She doesn't know what to make of this. She says, "I'm not a queen." "Your father is dead," says the king - her father was also a ruler, she became queen the moment he died. The king here holds out a collection of brown papers. He says it's something her father had been putting together the night he died - last night - something urgent, something for her, since she'd been away on this mission.

I'm looking at a book containing a moving image representing En - a small boat on a river, stylized lotus flowers, a lot of gold paint. The color's faded and chipped in places, but still beautiful.

A musician's writing a letter to a friend of his, trying to comfort his friend, and he's thinking about how limited words are, how it can't replicate the sort of things he'd do if he was there in person, even the simple act of putting on a familiar tune. He goes to the gramophone and puts on the tune he was thinking of, and sits to listen to it before he continues writing, thinking that perhaps the feeling he gets from this song will come across in his words.

A couple. A blonde woman is laying out cards on the floor in five columns, representing the guy's past relationships; he's lying on his back next to her, not looking. She observes that his two longest relationships followed the exact same pattern: lasted the same amount of time, ended the same way, with the same warning signs beforehand. She says based on that pattern, if (event) happens at (time into relationship), he might as well bail immediately.

One of the shorter columns is unique in that every card represents things going well, and she wonders why he'd split up with that guy. Privately, she's realizing that he ended things shortly after he'd had some non-romantic encounter with her, and she's wondering if she was the reason for the split. But out loud she just points out how odd it looks that they broke it off considering it seemed to be going so well. He teases her, saying "yeah, I'm starting to miss a bit of swordplay" - part of the joke here is that the guy in question also did something involving literal swords - and she hits him, lightly, on the arm; then she puts the cards down and straddles him, and says something along the lines of "Not like that. I mean, you had a different dynamic than you did with anyone else. Not in a good way. I mean, I liked him, when he was alive - oh, god." He's laughing at her. What she'd been trying to say by 'not in a good way' was that although the two of them clearly got along, they hadn't seemed really emotionally attached, but she's stumbling over this conversation. He assures her, yes, the guy in question had indeed been great when he was alive - teasing her about her reluctance to sound disrespectful of the dead - he was lovely and wonderful and all that, and she's also lovely and wonderful and all that. There's a lot of laughing from both of them over how ridiculous this conversation is.

Dream - Lucid

I was running through some area of the Magic Kingdom in Disney world with my friend, Leigh. It was evening, and there were lots of people around (obviously...I mean...it was Disney World). Leigh was running in front of me. She turned to the left and towards the entrance to a ride. I followed suit. I was really excited...I love Disney World, and haven't been since I was a little kid!

We ran into the entrance, and ran down lots of off-white stairs with many other people. I started to think about how we got there; apparently, Leigh had won two free tickets. Well I can live with that. But then, I started to wonder if I was dreaming, because this was so exciting and surreal. It felt kinda dream-like, though I honestly hoped it wasn't a dream because I was having so much fun. I tested by trying to stick my fingers through my palms. It failed, so I didn't try another RC; I figured I should just live in the moment and enjoy it, dream or not.

As I was RCing, we had gotten to the bottom of the all the staircases. We saw a closed gate at the bottom with I think a guy standing in front of it. There was a sign on the gate.

Then, I was laying in bed somewhere, writing letters to my friend, Aaron. I was suggesting that I liked him and wanted to be with him, but not going right out and saying it; I was using very poetic language. But at the same time, it's like I was watching it happen to someone else. It was me, but it wasn't me. I remember Aaron was in a bed too, though I don't think the same bed. If it was the same bed, he wasn't trying anything with me. I remember seeing a girl I went to high school with, Maegan, sitting on some stairs.

Then, I was waking up in a bed, very groggy, and Aaron was next to me, though there was a certain unspoken "distance" between us, like we were only friends and he respected it. My mom was there too, laying in her bed. She asked me what I dreamed about, and I told her, through mostly closed lips and gritted teeth (I felt like I couldn't open my mouth all the way for some reason)
"Disney World and sex." though I didn't mean to say "sex", but it came out that way since my lips were closed and my teeth were gritted. I knew Aaron had heard me, but it was too late to take it back now. I think I went back to sleep.

I then remember waking with Aaron again, extremely groggy, and getting up to use the bathroom. I slipped big empty M&M bags on my feet, or maybe it was already unwrapped wrapping paper. At any rate, I was shuffling to the bathroom with them on my feet.

I then was sitting on the stairs on the back patio area at my house, and the letter writing thing was still going on. I then felt like it was me but wasn't me falling in love with Aaron. I saw him from the viewpoint of myself sitting on the stairs next to him, watching him play the acoustic guitar. Most of the focus was on his hands strumming the strings. I thought something along the lines of
Sometimes, you find love when you least expect it.