Verre

Ritual: Went to bed 1am, woke at 2, too early to do anything, woke again at 5:40 with fresh NLD, so forced myself to get up and do a proper WBTB. Returned to bed at 6:15, did hybrid of SSILD and counting, but kept getting disturbed by environmental factors. Hard to sleep, eventually dozed off without awareness, finally woke at 7:20 and declared it a failed attempt. I could still squeeze in another hour of sleep though so I figured I'd just try FILD as a last resort.

After this things get confusing. My best guess is that I did FILD, then fell asleep and into a NLD, then... I woke up, or thought I did (might have been an FA), and did FILD again (possibly in the dream state). Then I noticed that my arm was lying free on the bed rather than tucked under my pillow as usual, so I thought, "Fine, I'll do the stupid nose pinch RC," and what do you know, I could breathe! So I knew I was dreaming, but I was very perplexed. I had just been doing FILD and hadn't observed any kind of transition or even a momentary lapse of awareness in which the transition could have occurred. How could I have fallen asleep and not realized it? In retrospect, I really do think that this started as an FA that I mistook for a real waking, so I did FILD without realizing that I was already dreaming. Hey, whatever works.

So I sat up, and immediately became more perplexed. I was in a bed, but it was not the one I had gone to sleep in, and the bedroom also bore no resemblance to mine in RL. I got up and started looking around, but then I realized that I recognized the place after all: hadn't I been having a non-lucid dream here, just before I woke up and tried that FILD attempt? (This also argues for the FILD-during-FA hypothesis, and it wouldn't be the first time I've had a "WILD" that was initiated from within an ongoing dream—a DIWILD?)

This is hard to confirm because I always have a hard time putting dream events in their proper sequence, but there were events I remembered taking place in this building that don't seem lucid and don't fit into my memory of the lucid episode, so I think that must be what happened. That is, all the previous events took place downstairs, but the entire lucid sequence took place upstairs in what I took to be the same house.

NLD: Earlier when I was downstairs, there had been some complicated narrative I don't recall, but it resulted in me opening the front door several times to let cats into the house. At one point there was a really big one, an orange tabby, both large-bodied and very plump. When I saw him sitting on the doorstep I thought he was the biggest cat I'd ever seen, and I invited him in and closed the door. But there had been two or three other orange tabbies of normal size sitting with him, so I relented and opened the door again to let them in too. "Okay, fine, we'll just let them all in." I knew we didn't have room for them all, but figured it wouldn't be fair to turn them away after I'd already let in others. We could sort it out later.

After this I stood in the entry and watched the extra-big cat ambling away down the hall. Now it was even larger than it had seemed at first, with a lean, bony frame that was not at all cat-like. In fact, I thought I recognized what it was, and said to someone standing nearby, "That cat looks an awful lot like a moose. You know, I think it might actually be just a moose with no horns." Only it was still orange, which seemed a very odd color for a moose.

DIWILD: So apparently this all happened earlier, before the FILD attempt, and afterwards I was convinced I was still in the same house. In the wall facing the end of the bed was a doorway to another room, and when I went inside, I encountered someone that I immediately recognized as the moose-cat from earlier, although now he was a human-looking man with orange hair. I was still curious, so I asked him, "Are you a cat or a moose?"

"I have three types of glands," he answered, and I had the impression he was suggesting that he was both, and something more besides, a protean type of creature.

The two of us sat down on the couch, and for a moment my dream libido took over, and I started making out with him. But as things got more intense I recognized that this was a distraction and would accomplish nothing useful. Didn't I have tasks to do? I remembered that last night I had been on DV looking over the monthly tasks for August, and there had been one that I particularly wanted to try out. This seemed like the perfect opportunity. So I disentangled myself from moose-cat-man's embrace and said firmly, "Tell me a word in a foreign language."

It was hard to make out what he said at first. It sounded like "Arab mormon."

"What?" I wasn't sure if I had heard him correctly.

This time he distinctly just said, "Mormon."

It didn't sound like a word in a foreign language, but whatever. Run with it. "Alright, now tell me what it means."

"A married man."

I wasn't very satisfied with this result and wanted to try again. Another DC was in this room, sitting on another small couch further along the same wall, so I went and sat down next to him. This time I made sure my instructions were more explicit from the start: "I want you to tell me a word in a foreign language, and then tell me what it means."

"Sprenn," he said promptly.

"Spread?" I repeated what I had thought I heard at first.

"Sprenn," he clarified, and helpfully spelled it for me. "S-P-R-E-N-N."

"Okay, what does it mean?"

At this he smiled coyly, as if embarrassed. "I'll... tell you later."

I had the impression it must be a word for something naughty, but I needed to find out. "Please?" I wheedled. He shook his head.

I decided to be more forceful. "Come on, you have to tell me!" I tried to think of how to back this up, and added, "It's my homework assignment."

He tried to explain in a roundabout way: "It has to do with the city of Myrkbalik, and the laws of Garibaldi."

The two names he mentioned sounded complicated, so I wanted to make sure I had heard them correctly. "What was the name of the city? Mrkbalik?" He nodded. "And the second name? Garibaldi? Garifaldo?" This reminded me of a name I had heard in waking life, so I tried to remember, then joked with him, "The laws of Janeane Garofolo?"

He laughed, though it wasn't clear whether or not he recognized the pop culture reference, and repeated the name for me. It still sounded closer to "Garibaldi" than anything, though I had so much to remember at this point that I didn't dare ask him to try to spell it. Already in the back of my mind I was cycling through data points "mormon... married man... sprenn... mrkbalik..." trying to make sure I would be able to preserve them through waking.

Mrkbalik... that's how it sounded, and I didn't ask him to confirm the spelling of that one either. But he had said it was a city name, and to my ears it sounded Russian or Eastern European. I had a sudden insight about this DC, and asked him, "You majored in Slavic studies, didn't you?" He confirmed this.

I felt as though this conversation was winding down, so I got up and crossed the room. Against the opposite wall was a sort of shelving unit, framing square cubbyholes about the size you might put a pair of shoes in, six cubbies high and six wide. It was resting on some elevated base so that the fourth row of cubbies up was equal with my eye level. I looked in this row and saw that a couple of the cubbies were inhabited by small kittens. Could the kittens talk, I wonder? If so, I might even try the task again. But as I was wondering this, the little grey tabby kitten in the cubby I was peering into addressed me first. It had a tiny creaky high-pitched voice, like you might expect of a kitten, and said something about how its eyes were damaged or hurting. I was troubled to hear this and wondered how I might help. Since this was a dream, I figured the most effective way to help the kitten would be to correct its expectations. I smiled and said encouragingly, "No, your eyes are perfectly fine!" We had a few more exchanges like this, where the kitten would say something upsetting and I tried to reassure it. I don't remember anything afterwards so around this time I guess I woke up, although I don't have a distinct sense of the moment when it happened.

Yesterday I came across the SSILD thread on the induction forum, and decided to try it out. Success!

Ritual: Slept about three hours, woke up with awareness of having dreamed though no recall of specifics, but figured since I had been in REM I might as well give the SSILD technique a try. Doing the sense-cycling delayed sleep onset more than I expected, even more than with my usual WILD technique of incremental counting, even though I kept reminding myself that I wasn't attempting to WILD. Interestingly, when I was starting to get closer to sleep I was experiencing much more vivid flashes of hypnogogic imagery than usual, which I attribute to having primed my attentiveness to it with the technique.

On the verge of falling asleep finally, when I sense that I'm in an empty room with plain white walls, and that it's substantial enough to enter as a dream space. "I can work with that," I say to myself, and close the door. The handle has a pleasing feeling of solidity and the door closes with lifelike sensations, so I know this is actually working.

WILD: What to do now? Well, I need traction, so I decide to just use my body a bit until I feel more substantial. Last night my husband showed me a video of a guy doing amazing acrobatic tricks on a pole, and that must have subconsciously inspired me, because without really thinking about it I start emulating him. It's fun because I could never do anything like this in RL (who could? It's real gravity defying stuff) and even in a dream it takes a bit of concentration, so it is a useful way to integrate myself better into this space. As I do it I remember to occasionally rub my hands in front of my face for more traction, and for some reason it occurs to me that it would be a good idea to feel my head, which I've never tried before, but the lifelike sensation of the shape of my head and texture of my hair is very helpful, they make this dream body I'm in feel more like "me." The vividness and clarity at this point is quite high, and I'm wondering what I look like. I see a mirror on the wall (the walls were featureless initially so the mirror seems to have manifested in response to my intention, though not before my eyes... it was just there once I decided to look for it) so all I have to do is position myself properly in order to see my reflection. I'm pleased with how much like me it actually looks, although my hair is different: loose, shoulder-length and with a layered, almost spiky cut. But the face looks just like mine, especially the eyes. It was remarkably like looking into a real mirror, which is not my usual experience of reflections in LDs.

Given how lifelike my body feels and my reflection looks, I decide to play with it a bit. A couple times in my LDs I've experimented with trying to create an extra set of arms, like you see on some representations of Hindu deities, and I want to try that again. I'm now standing on a sort of balance beam, looking at a second mirror that has manifested on the next wall (a little more conveniently positioned than the first) and I start waving my arms and trying to create a second pair. With a little concentration I have a partial success: I think I can see and feel a second pair, but they are moving in tandem with the first. To be more successful, they would have to move independently, all four arms moving simultaneously in separate directions. I try to get the second set to move independently from the first, but I can't figure out how to do it! I realize that I simply have no mental imprint of what this would be like. Perhaps with a little more creativity or effort I could get this going, but I sense that at this moment the strain might be close to disrupting the dream, so I give up the attempt, amused by how tricky this is, and re-stabilize.

What next? I remember my current task: "Creo vim." (I've been working through spell combinations from Ars Magica.) I anticipated this would be a fun one because I had no idea how it would manifest, and deliberately tried to avoid anticipating anything in particular, hoping the dream would surprise me. So I hold out my left hand and concentrate on the spell. Nothing happens at first. How should I do this? I wonder if I should be using my right hand (my dominant hand in waking life), but figure that since I instinctively started with my left, I should stick with it. "Creo vim," I murmur, since I've found that saying the name of the spell aloud can be an effective focus. A tiny bubble manifests in the air above my open palm. It looks like a soap bubble, and as I have this thought, it bursts like one. But I'm emboldened by the fact that something is happening, so I keep concentrating, and another bubble appears. It grows larger and slowly sinks until it is a half sphere sitting on my palm. From there it keeps growing, getting larger and lumpier and turning grey in color, but still completely weightless and seemingly inflated with air. When this mass is about a foot and a half in diameter, it lifts from my hand and sinks gently to the floor, and transforms into a small white goat.

The surroundings have changed around me while I was focused on the spell. I am no longer standing on a balance beam in a white room, now I am outdoors at night, standing on the ground, looking at this goat that has inexplicably appeared. My husband is lying next to me, asleep. Standing in front of me is a horse harnessed to a cart. I ponder the goat, wondering what it might signify. On the one hand, it is an extremely cute little goat, with long white fur and two straight horns that are only a few inches long. On the other hand, it subtly disturbs me for some reason I can't identify. I remembered a trial take of a commercial that I saw many years ago. The commercial was intended to advertise a financial services company, and was showing clips purporting to be the customers. The most memorable one was a dignified elderly gentleman who for some reason was accompanied by an equally dignified white goat. It was so random and surreal, elegantly and subtly satanic, that the image always stuck with me—though I learned later that the scene was cut from the final version out of concerns that people might be disturbed or distracted by the goat. So what to make of this little goat in front of me now? The goat itself was just standing quietly and not revealing anything, until before my eyes it abruptly transformed into a few pieces of ripe and runny brie cheese on a plain white plate. This was even more mystifying.

I wanted to ask someone's opinion about the goat and its transformation, but I looked around and couldn't see anyone else in this landscape. There was just me and my husband, but he was fast asleep and I didn't want to disturb him. Finally it occurred to me to ask the horse, as the only other creature around. I figured the question of the goat's moral status could be answered by how the horse responded to the cheese, so I picked up a piece from the plate and offered it to the horse to sniff. "What do you think?" I asked. The horse readily accepted the cheese and ate it with apparent relish. This seemed to speak well for the goat! "Want more?" I asked, offering the horse a second piece, which it consumed as eagerly as the first. I decided to try a bit myself, and found the taste and texture very much as I would have expected from a runny brie.

There was a cemetary nearby, surrounded by a low wall. I could see the tops of gravestones over the upper edge of the wall, and I instinctively knew that one of them was connected with the goat, so I should investigate it to find out more. The entrance to the cemetary was just across the lane on which the horse and cart were standing, so I walked around them and went inside. From my original glimpse across the wall I had made a mental note that the relevant gravestone was the fourth one in, so I counted the stones I passed until I reached the fourth. It was an old style of slab carved from reddish stone, only about two inches in width, about three feet tall, and with a simple curved top, unadorned except for the text that was carved on it. I knelt down and looked at the inscription. I was pleased to discover that I could read it easily, and one phrase that immediately caught my attention was "Ghast of Vail Light." I took this to be the title of the mysterious goat. It sounded a bit spooky after all, but I loved this phrase! I immediately determined to remember it. "Ghast of Vail Light," I repeated to myself several times, and even said aloud to myself, "Remember that." I wanted to get it just right. Was it spelled "Vail" and not "Vale"? I looked again at the inscription. The letters were remarkably stable, and the spelling was distinct: "Vail."

I hadn't done any tactile stabilization in a while, so I decided to run my hands over the face of the gravestone. It had the cool touch of real stone, smooth overall but a bit gritty in texture, like sandstone, and I could feel the indentations where the letters were carved in. I was still muttering to myself "Ghast of Vail Light." I didn't know how much longer the dream would go on, and wanted to make sure I wouldn't forget. But I concentrated so hard on the idea of remembering this phrase when I woke up, that it woke me up! I wasn't disappointed, though, because I had plenty to write about already.

Type: Procedural
Perspective: Character, adolescent boy

NLD: I'm a young boy with no parents who has been raised by relatives, perhaps an aunt and uncle. They've been very stingy, working me hard and giving me the minimum that I need to survive. Now I'm about twelve and they've decided that I'm old enough to strike out on my own, so I am preparing for the journey. It is winter, so I know that I'll need to pack carefully: I'll need a bundle light enough to carry but with the necessities to survive. I've already prepared most of it, and now I'm consolidating. I have a little backpack with my journal and a suede pocket with a zipper that holds my writing implements [RL: I have one like this], and a few more things I deem essential. I had a Hello Kitty riding glove in the backpack, a single one for the right hand, sized for a child's hand, and I realize it isn't essential—it isn't even mine—but sentimental; it belonged to a girl who was my best friend. The thumb is split at the seam and she lost the left-hand glove so she let me have it as a memento. But as I pack things from my room I come across a similar glove for the left hand, slightly different in color but with a matching Hello Kitty pattern. I wonder at first if it's the lost partner of the first glove, but the different hue suggests that the match is coincidental. Still, I decide that I can put them together and give them back to the girl. I won't have a memento of her anymore, but at least then there will be one less thing in my pack, and maybe she'll be able to use them again. They still look usable, even worn as they are.

I have a big heavy box, a long rectangle, with heavy glass partitions. I know I'll never be able to carry this, but the first part of my journey will be by wagon, so I'll load it on board and try to use up or trade away the contents before I have to go on foot. I forget what the original contents of the box are, but there are some empty spots and I also have a few bottles of beer, a light brew in clear glass bottles, so I'll consolidate by putting them in the empty spots. So now I have the heavy long box, my little backpack, and a bundle containing my clothes and bedding. Once I get rid of the heavy box, I'll be able to carry the rest. But I still need to worry about food.

There was another whole side plot earlier with my uncle, and me lying on my back in the water of a pool or pond, and him having compassion and perhaps even offering to let me have breakfast in the big house before I go, but I can't remember this well.

From the building where I was packing, which is on a hill next to another building (the big house where aunt and uncle live further off to the right) I go down the hill to the stable where I've been working. I've been working as a farmhand ever since I got big enough, but still being a young boy and small for my size, I've been able to squeeze into a tiny spot between the other hands on the seat of our crowded wagon. I figure the fact that I don't take up much room will come in handy when taking the wagon out.

I go through the stable saying goodbye to the animals. I also come across another girl I know (not the one I was thinking of earlier), a dark-haired, slightly older teenager leading a dark bay horse. I tell her I am leaving and we say goodbye. I wish I had something to give her, but figure she knows that I have very little and won't hold it against me that I didn't give her a parting gift.

In the back of the stable I say goodbye to a big gray rabbit who is in an empty open stall, then a few minutes later come across a little white rabbit at the bottom of a bucket with a few inches of water in it, so the rabbit is half-submerged. I worry that it can't get out [RL: this comes from the fact that I've found deck lizards in a bucket in my garden in this predicament a few times], so I reach in and lift it out. I want to take it over to the big rabbit where it might find a friend, but as I'm carrying it, it bites me. Being a wild rabbit who is undoubtedly frightened at being handled this is understandable, and I don't mind, though I worry that it might be carrying rabies or some other disease. The wound is on my thumb [RL: I have an old scar from a real rabbit bite there] but doesn't look deep. I set it down quickly and watch as it hops straight over to a bowl of cream that the cats have left uneaten in a bowl and consumes it all ravenously. I am somewhat reassured that it doesn't look rabid; its actions now seem very deliberate. I reflect how well-fed the cats are, that they would not even bother to finish this bowl of cream, compared to the little rabbit who doesn't even naturally like cream, but is probably devouring it because of such great hunger and thirst. I go back to the big rabbit and wonder if I can get him any food or some stalks to chew; he doesn't seem interested in the hay in this stall, but there were some larger, sweeter stalks, like corn or sugarcane, over where I found the little rabbit, so I bring some over.

Next I plan to feed the chickens. I have a shallow rectangular tray that I take back up to the building on the hill to prepare some foods, like cut up tomatoes, a hard-boiled egg for some reason, other vegetables and fruits. As I exit again carrying the tray, I'm standing for a moment just outside the building distracted by my thoughts when I feel someone press something into my left hand. It's not money, it's segments of something that has the texture of nuts. [Not any substance recognizable from RL.] I look up and find a tall young man with a dark beard [odd how often this archetype appears, I've never known someone with these features in RL]. He says his name is Keith, and this is for the food—he abruptly grabs a handful from the tray. I have the impression that he is starving but too honorable to just steal from me, so he has offered this token payment, but won't risk rejection by asking for the food. I feel sorry for him—and realize that I might soon be in the same boat, as he looks like a traveler—and offer, "Would you like any more? Take the hard-boiled egg." I figure that will offer him better nutrition than the handful of grapefruit or somesuch that he has grabbed in his haste. He thanks me and takes the egg and a few other things, and leaves.

As I continue down the hill back toward the stable, I reflect with satisfaction on the fact that I was not frightened or startled by his abrupt appearance, but kept my cool and even managed to be generous. I also remember two other occasions earlier when guys stopped by hoping for food in a similar manner. (I think this was a false memory, that is, I don't think these events actually occurred at any point earlier in the dream, they are just something I was "remembering" at this point.) I realize that all these hungry travelers probably means food is scarce on the road, and I'm going to have to deal with this very situation soon. It occurs to me that hard-boiled eggs might actually be a good thing for me to pack; they won't last long, but in this cold weather they might last two or three days, and they'll be great nutrition. However, that had been the only egg on my tray. How could I get some more? Would aunt and uncle let me have them? They're just eggs, but they've been so stingy in the past. Still, they did offer me breakfast. I hope they meant it; I should eat a big breakfast before I leave. I ate little yesterday and nothing so far today. What if leaving on a full belly meant the difference between life and death, adding another day before the possibility of starvation? But maybe they'd be more likely to let me have the eggs if I brought them myself to the house and only asked if I could boil them. I can probably get some from the hens in the stable: it's morning, some of them might have lain already. Could I even boil them myself, and avoid asking aunt and uncle altogether? But I'm not sure how I would start the fire, or find the pot to boil water in.

I set down the tray, and the chickens start eating. While they are occupied, I check their nests. Sure enough, I find an egg... and another... and another. Three eggs in this nest? This worries me actually—why hadn't the eggs been collected for the past few days? They should still be good to eat, but—had aunt and uncle been intending to let them hatch? If so, they might be angry with me for taking them; once they cooled down (they are still warm from the heat of their mother) they would no longer be viable. I'd better wait and ask, maybe the girl I ran into earlier will know. Also, are these even hen eggs? They are a bit larger and bluer than I would have expected. Could they be duck eggs? Without the fowls in their nest it's hard to know. But duck eggs might be better to bring, oilier and more nutritious, even if they taste a little odd. I go a little farther and find another bank of nests that I think are those of the chickens; so I conclude that I was right about the ducks; the chicken eggs are also about three to a nest.

I table the egg question, but there's something else I need, something that is in the building next to the one I live on on top of the hill. I call up and say I am from a radio station, HKWAN—the stable does double as this radio station so I am not lying about that, but fibbing a bit by suggesting I am an employee of it calling on official business—and ask for the password to get into the building. I wince a bit as I ask, knowing that the girl will never give it away to someone calling up on the phone, and sure enough, she says she can't. But then I realize, of course I still know the password to my own building, and maybe I can get what I need from there? I no longer remember what it was I thought I needed though, and around this point the dream ends.