• Lucid Dreaming - Dream Views




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    The Fourth Factor

    What can I say? Some dreams just call out to be shared. I've always found it interesting to read about other people's dream lives, and now I'm giving them the same chance.

    1. Districts of Dream-Prague

      by , 07-05-2021 at 03:27 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      I am in Dream-Prague with Saimi, showing her some parts of the city I like. She and I have both just recently arrived there, although it seems as if weíre here for entirely different reasons, and the visits just happened to coincide. We seem to be in the northwest region of the city.

      The place Iím showing her now is one that not many people know about, a neighborhood of winding streets on a hill, neat rows of houses on either side of the streets Ė a quiet, peaceful place. The houses are covered with what look like enormous cobwebs, large enough to completely cover most of the roofs. I tell Saimi that in the early morning, when itís misty, they shine like silver.

      We then head down to the tram stop together. This, unlike the webbed streets, is a location thatís familiar to me from a previous iteration of Dream-Prague, although it doesnít correspond to any waking-life location. On that occasion, the whole area had a much rougher vibe and was also undergoing construction. Perhaps with this in mind, I pull out my cell phone to show Saimi a couple pictures of how it used to look.

      I input the password first, which isnít my waking-life password. This one is also six digits long, and the numbers signify a personally important date Ė thereís a charged quality to the memories the date pulls along with it. The date is December 22, I think (although I canít remember the year now, or precisely what the dateís significance was). When I find the pictures, I notice strings of triangular orange flags in some of them, which tells me that I must have taken them during the protests.

      The wait at the tram stop is rather long (justified in-dream, I think, by it being a weekend). Thereís a whole little scene here with a man whoís decided to teach his dog another song (it already knows two). Itís a large dog, but friendly: it puts its paws on me, almost knocking me over. The song heís chosen is one of those old, popular ones most people know: it has kind of a jazz standard feel to it, lots of seventh chords and a melancholy tone. The lyrics are in German. I donít remember what all of them are, though, and nobody there seems to know them all offhand, so I get my phone back out to look them up. While I do, a man in a red shirt sings a version of them in English Ė although I have the impression he only remembers about half of them and is making the rest up as he goes, and he also starts at the chorus for some reason.

      Once the tram arrives, I get my ticket punched Ė I just have a one-use one since I havenít been here long. The tram heads straight east, neither turning or changing height so that, as the ground level falls, weíre positioned high enough to see most of the city from above. I look out over it. Iím glad to be back here, and Iím already looking forward to walking around all these places again.

      Eventually, the landscape changes. We now seem to be going through a park, which is also familiar to me. Iím puzzled at first Ė I donít remember the tram going here. But I do remember seeing the tracks back when I worked in this place, and so it does make sense that it would go here.

      The plot seems to have changed now, with the dream partly drawing on memories of the old wildlife hospital, a different time and place. I still used to work here, although in the dream, it seems to be mostly a long-time crew instead of short-term volunteers. It seems as if this iteration also suffers from financial issues and is staffed at about half the level it should be to run it properly. This is currently relevant since the people on the tram are now coming to work here as well, which brings it about to where it should be Ė in fact, it seems as if Iím taking them here for that purpose.

      As we walk through the park, I lead the way. I find everybody together out back behind a building, where they're seated in rows on the ground. As I walk between the rows, I happen to glance down at my own legs and notice Iím wearing brown leather sandals and khaki pants that are cut off at the knee. Not far off is the man whoís in charge of this place, whoís grateful to have so many people coming. Thereís a sense that there was once some kind of past tension between us that was wrapped up in why I left, and heíd since come to recognize was his fault. But that all seems to be over now.

      Thereís conversation now, and something about a ceremony thatís going to take place soon, where Rae, NC and KDís daughter, will break a staff in two and then remake it.

      3.7.21
      Categories
      non-lucid
    2. A Place with a Mind of its Own

      by , 07-14-2020 at 08:23 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      (Note: The longer my dreams are, the harder it is for me to remember details, particularly conversations, and this was a long one. Thereís several hoursí worth of material here that I can only remember happened at all because I can remember remembering it in a later part of the dream, and this does raise questions of whether they ever actually played out. But, for what itís worth, it doesnít feel to me as if thatís what happened, and I do have many cases of knowing dream memory is working in that way to compare it to.)

      The earliest part I can remember is of a disaster taking place, a flood sweeping through a public building of some kind. Everybody is trying to get out. Iím one of the last out, but I wait, holding the door open so that the waters donít forcibly close it and trap the one person whoís still there. It took him a while to believe this was actually happening (understandable, considering how weird it is), so he didnít get out as quickly as everyone else.

      After this series of events is the biggest memory gap, which seems to mainly consist of meeting up with a large group of people and preparing for some kind of expedition together. I become lucid not long before weíre going to set off, although itís not so much me realizing that itís a dream as it is the unconscious knowledge that itís a dream, which Iíve been acting on this whole time, becoming conscious. And this sort of makes it feel as if Iíve been lucid the whole time, if that makes sense.

      Iím looking out the window of a house onto the rolling fields beyond as it happens. I still have some preparation to do here, though, so Iím still here packing as everybody else is leaving. Iím taking my hiking backpack, the black one with yellow trim. It occurs to me to wonder whether I need to do this in a dream, since I can just make things appear if I need them. But I have the impression, based on earlier conversations, that I might not be able to do that in some of the places weíre going, and so Iíll want to make sure I have essentials with me, at least. The last thing I grab is my brown aviator-style jacket, which I fold and pack into the backpack before buckling it and heading downstairs and outside.

      I can just see somebody disappearing past the other side of the house, down a broad stone staircase. Thatís where everybodyís gone. I try flying part of the way, but perhaps because of the hiking backpackóeven though it doesnít feel heavyóitís hard to get more than a couple feet off the ground. But flying seems to be slower than running anyway, so I just run around the side and down the stairs.

      Iím now in an area with several platforms rising a distance above the ground. Next to one on the far side is a cliff wall with a small tunnel partway up, a little above head height. A young women is nearby Ė it seems she had to stop to do something before going onward. I jump onto one of the platforms, where I see some piled-up clothing. I recognize it as a kind of uniform for us to wear. It looks a bit like a karate gi: loose pants and a shirt that ties around the front, white, though a little discolored with age and threadbare in places. On some of the edges, flowers are embroidered in pale colors. I put it on over my clothing.

      Jumping onto the last platform and up to the tunnelótaking off the backpack and pushing it in firstóis practically effortless, much easier than it would be in waking life, which makes it kind of fun. The tunnel is not tall enough to walk in, and it narrows considerably not far ahead, so I push the backpack in ahead of me. It barely fits, and I can see it slide down once it gets past the narrow point, where the tunnel slopes downward. I barely fit, too Ė I actually have to turn my head to the side to squeeze through. But soon, itís large enough to where I can crawl again, and then walk upright.

      The tunnel is made of squares of some smooth material, solid black in the center but with a stripe of red-orange around the edges that glows, lighting the way. As I walk, it slopes further downward and eventually drops me into a corridor with a grimy, institutional feel to it. All dimly and artificially lit, as if Iím somewhere underground.

      It has a distinctly unpleasant vibe Ė although part of the reason may be because of what I know about this place. It is actually a sentient environment, and not a very nice one, and now that Iím inside of it, itís going to be tracking my every move and shaping itself according to my actions and reactions. Itís not the destination Ė just somewhere we have to pass through on the way. Thereíll be a test at the end that has to be passed before we can get out Ė but this place doesnít like people leaving it and will be actively throwing obstacles in our way.

      My backpack isnít here Ė the place probably hid it somewhere, and so Iíll have to be on the lookout for it. I turn towards the right, reading the plates on the doors as I go by, deciding which room to enter first. The place looks to be some sort of school judging by what they say.

      As I walk, faint, unpleasant feeling-tones arise, like the ghosts of memories with an archaic, dark quality to them, although they definitely don't involve my personal past Ė not in this lifetime, anyway. Or maybe theyíre anticipations of what Iíll find here, behind the doors. Or maybe both. I also see a set of stairs leading downwards, but I donít want to leave this floor just yet.

      After reaching the end of the corridor, I head back, still making up my mind. Itís not terribly important where I go first, but I am aware that, as the first deliberate choice I make here, it will give the place some insight into me, will establish the course of how things will go. I decide on a room about midway between the end of the corridor and where I started from labelled ďFaculty Lounge.Ē

      As I open the door, Iím surprised by what I see. Itís a little room, somewhat like the bedroom of a hostel, with two bunk beds, a table off to one side and some assorted furniture Ė overall, quite nice apart from the lack of windows. But the really surprising thing is that itís already occupied by two people from the group I started with.

      Sam is thereóSam, maker of ukuleles, fixer of anything with strings and frets, host of concerts and an accomplished musician in his own right. His dog is there with him. The other person isnít waking-life familiar, although he does somewhat resemble one of my coworkers, with dark hair, pale skin and some kind of facial hair, I think. A dog has come in with me as well, a large, black one. I donít pay much attention to it besides noting that itís mine and hoping that the room isnít going to be too crowded now.

      Sam greets me Ė but he uses a different name, a manís name. They must be seeing this place and this situation differently than I do, I realize. It had been mentioned at the earlier gatherings that it would appear differently to everybody Ė but I had assumed that we would also be going through it alone, individually, and so it hadnít occurred to me that Iíd find myself in this kind of situation. But I can roll with it.

      We talk for a little while. At one point, one of them advises me to be careful not to give this place ďthe impression that Iím somebody it can f*** with.Ē Sam mentions that heís working on a puzzleóit seems to be set up on the table thereóand I say Iíll leave him to it. I mention, though, that Iím good with puzzles, and he invites me to come help put it together. This must be part of their test, I realize Ė and it strikes me that maybe it isnít a coincidence I ended up here to help them with it, although from everything Iíve heard, it would be uncharacteristically benevolent for the place to intentionally direct me to them.

      The puzzle seems to mainly feature cute baby animals, and it is close to being finished. I help assemble the remaining pieces as Sam tells me some anecdotes heís heard about a 20th century Viennese composer. He canít remember which one theyíre about. I notice, though, that the bottom edge of the puzzle isnít complete. Sam is stirring some sort of gooey blue liquid, and I realize that that will also be part of it: the tests, though different, all have one thing in common: incorporating two bowls of these brightly colored mixtures into them somehow.

      14.7.20
    3. Mostly Travel

      by , 02-09-2020 at 03:36 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      I have arrived in a green area shaded by trees. It seems that Iím traveling somewhere, and this is a stop along the way. The dream doesnít make it explicit, but this seems to be the Czech countryside in the early 20th century Ė more or less.

      Gradually, other people arrive. I converse with a woman there as we wait. A couple large dogs arrive as well and are running around getting in peopleís way. I order them to sit, figuring that theyíve just run here ahead of their masters, who wonít be far behind. They obey. One of them lies down, then rolls over on its back, obviously looking to get pet.

      The car arrives Ė a distinctly old-fashioned one. (Although there is some uncertainty there, as if the dream canít quite decide on what sort of vehicle it should be. They all tend to be more or less interchangeable in my dreams.) There isnít enough room in the car for everybody, but since I was there first, I get to be on its first trip. The woman I was talking to has to wait for its next one.

      I look around as we ride. The man next to me in the backseat is choosing the music that plays in the car via something rather like a touch-screen tablet framed in brown leather Ė much more aesthetic than the modern ones, I think to myself. Out the window, I see a turquoise river pouring over an oddly shaped stone formation into a lake Ė a place Iíve seen pictures of before but never visited. I turn around to continue to look through the back window as we drive by.

      Iím aware, as I look around, that in the not-so-distant future this area will be devastated by war. It adds a poignancy to being here in this beautiful place.

      The train Ė sure enough, itís decided it would rather be a train now Ė approaches a platform, stopping under a curved wooden roof from which flowering vines hang down. An invasive species, I note. Parasitic to boot. But quite pretty, and so you can understand why people let it grow like this. In the future, there will be more of a push against it Ė but not so much here as in other places. A brief image comes to me of the future, of its yellow flowers filled with ash.

      It now seems as if the woman from before is on the train too, and along with another passenger, we continue our conversation.

      When I woke up, I remembered the following melody:




      I donít think it was actually playing during any part of the dream Ė my impression is that it was connected to it somehow but happening on a different level of awareness. I find it rather odd that itís in C# major since thatís not a key I ordinarily have much to do with. Maybe I waited too long before transcribing it and my pitch memory was off? Or maybe it was just in C# major.

      -31/1/20
      Categories
      non-lucid
    4. A King and a Cat

      by , 08-03-2018 at 02:44 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      I start out in an apartment that seems to be mine, but doesnít resemble anywhere Iíve ever lived. Hearing a commotion outside, I go out to investigate. I walk across a grassy lawn to where it overhangs a sidewalk. It seems coming from the direction of the train station, which is just down the street. I recall that today is the day the king is supposed to return from a trip abroad: there are probably many people there to greet him.

      Sure enough, I soon see him walking by, just like any other person might, alone except for three dogs. One of the dogs, a large and muscular one, is headed directly my way. Iím not threatened by it, though: I don't read any aggression in its behavior, only curiosity.

      Itís sniffing me over as he approaches to get it back under control. We exchange a few words. He knows who I amóI get the impression this country is on the small side, and he probably knows everyone hereóand he says that heís honored that Iím residing in his country (I am a foreigner here and not a citizen). He tells me he's happy to be the host of someone favored by the cat god. This is a chaotic, cat-like being that comes aroundólike any other catówhen it feels like it and not before. It appears to have taken a liking to me, and thereís now some kind of deeper bond between us. It also seems to be associated with the key of B major, whatever that means.

      The king is about to leave, but the dog breaks away again to continue to inspect me. He once again gets it under control and asks in a casual way what a sky bicycle actually looks like. This odd form of transportation has to do with the cat somehowóthe thing apparently has a whole mythology of its own. I reply that I donít know, as sky bicycles only take a definite form when several people are looking at one at the same time.

      (31.7.18)
      Categories
      non-lucid
    5. Conversations with Critters

      by , 07-31-2018 at 02:06 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      I manage to maintain awareness while falling asleep quite early in the night and find myself in a house. As with most lucid dreams that are on the long side and include a lot of conversation, I can only remember some parts of it clearly, and without clear context.

      The house is not a familiar one, although its layout seems slightly reminiscent of Katyaís house. Iím in what would be the front room with two other peopleóone man and one womanóand three dogs. I can feel a connection with one of the dogsóa medium-sized one, possibly a Border Collieóand I sense that heís somehow mediating between me and the rest of the dream. I think itís likely that the other dogs were doing the same for the other people and somehow making it possible for us to be together here.

      One of the dogs is briefing us all about something. Heís a very large dog with short hair, probably a Great Dane. He communicates with us for a whileóI donít think he actually spoke, but my memory is fuzzy on how it happened. At one point, he mentions something about a llama farm, then cuts himself off and lays down. I realized this was something he didnít want me and the other woman to know about, but he had let it slip, and now heís sad about it. He refuses to say anything else, so I go into an adjoining room so he can talk to the man in private. In the meantime, I strike up a conversation with a bird on the windowsill.

      Itís a small bird, a bit like a titmouse but pure white. It seems friendly, and has an odd habit of repeating each phrase after it says it. After a bit, it flies off: itís decided it wants to catch me some kind of small marine crustacean that it eatsóas a kind of gift, I suppose. Aww.

      (26.7.18)
      Tags: birds, dogs, gift, house
      Categories
      lucid
    6. Academic Weirdness

      by , 06-01-2018 at 02:40 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      I am in a small classroom in a university, but itís not lecture Iím attending here: itís a theatrical performance.

      There are about a dozen of us in the audience, as well as three dogs, two of them large ones, which is almost enough to make the room crowded. Both the main actors are here already too, in the front of the room. It seems theyíre performing ďFaustĒ- or something Faust-ish, at any rate. Both the main characters are being played by women, the title role by HťlŤne Grimaud, although itís not clear whether itís actually the pianist or just a well-known actress who happens to have that name.

      Thereís also a woman in the back who seems to be involved in some official capacity. Sheís the one responsible for checking ticketsóat least theoretically. Iím hoping that remains theoretical since I donít actually have a ticket. The prevailing system here seems to work like train tickets, where the ticket is good for a certain range of dates. While I do have one on hand, itís good for three weeks in November, and itís still October now.

      She begins by giving a short speech, which she records using a small camera. Predictably, the smaller dog, which is hers, sticks its face directly in it at one point. Things come to a halt for a bit as the audience makes a fuss over all the dogs and encourages her to get them on film. But eventually, the performance itself gets underway.

      For a while, itís just the two leads talking, but very clever dialogue. At one point, the Mephistopheles(-ish) character begins asking for members of the audience to volunteer. And, as people begin to get more comfortable, they begin to participate more. Soonówhat with the intimate space and the lack of separation between us and the performersó itís as if weíre a part of the performance rather than just observing it.

      I look out the (partially frosted glass?) wall at a man walking byóhe probably thinks this is a rather odd lesson, given that itís probably not obvious at first glance that itís a performance. But actually, he seems to be part of the performance as well. He enters the room, placing some notes and a glass with some white wine in it on a lectern, and beings to talk about philosophy.

      One of the audience members comments on the wineglass. The newcomer enters into a hilarious dialogue with them, still in a philosophical vein, all in a complete deadpan. I recall him claiming that he wasnít the same person he was a couple of drinks ago. Another half-dozen people seem to have joined the audience at some point, which is more than enough to make the room crowded. At some point, I wake up.

      After writing everything down, I fall asleep again and find myself in a continuation of the dream. I seem to have watched the rest of the performance, as well as the lecture taking place in the room afterwardsóapparently a Marxist interpretation of diabetes, which Iíve stayed to listen to out of a combination of morbid curiosity and a lack of anywhere better to be. But I have a class I need to get to soon, and I want to get some coffee first, so I gather my stuff together and cut out early.

      Once outside, it occurs to me that I donít actually know where this class is going to be held. I find my notebook in my messenger bag and look through it, but it only looks like Iíve got last semesterís schedule written hereónot this oneís. But I do recall receiving an email from somebody mentioning the classís location, so I can check on thatóbut it will have to be on my laptop, since I canít access that particular account on my phone.

      My room isnít far from hereóitís in a large building just down the street. I enter and make my way up to my room. Itís a tiny room, and unlike anywhere Iíve actually lived, but it all seems familiar and somehow pleasant. I put what seems to be my cast-iron shrine teapot on a hotplate on the top of a small, precarious-looking shelf to one side of my desk to boil water for coffee and sit down to find the email.

      According to the email, the class is taking place at St. Johnís Observatoryóso not on campus, then, since I would have seen it if it were. I pull up a map website to find out where it is. To my own amusement, I initially mistype "Kassel"óthe place I have apparently decided I amóas "Kessel" (kettle, that is).

      Based on the pictures my search has turned up, the place Iím going to is a greenhouse as well as an observatory: itís a small building with mostly glass walls, through which greenery can be seen. Iím not sure where it is relative to me just yet, though, and itís now 17:00, when the class was supposed to begin. Maybe that wonít matter so much on the first day? But then it occurs to me: Iím in Germany. Akademisches Viertel. That means I still have time to get there.
    7. Insistent Melody; The Centipug

      by , 03-13-2018 at 10:19 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      I'm lying in the middle of a dark room, trying to sleep. But itís not very comfortable there since I donít have a pillow or blankets or anything else except the (possibly carpeted) floor. As I lie there, a piece of music comes into my mindóďNight on Bald Mountain.Ē Itís not as if Iím thinking of it: rather itís as if itís pushing all the other thoughts out of my head until itís the only thing there, even though it's clearly in my head and not actually playing.

      It plays for a few bars, and then, just as the horn blasts the first note of the melody, I hear a loud crash from outside. A jolt of alarmóbut it lasts only for a moment. The noise I heard sounds just like the falling branch did a couple weeks ago, when the winds came through, and it seems likely to me that thatís what happened now. But I reflect that that was odd, about it matching the melodyóalmost as if, on some level, I knew the crash was going to happen in advance.

      Iím not sure what series of events came in between this and the next dream I can remember clearly, but my memory picks up shortly after attaining lucidity somehow. I step through a door out into a hallwayótile floors, completely bare, and several wooden doors, including one with a window in it at the end of the hall. Through the window, I can see some sort of colorful projection on the wall, like a screen. I head towards it and open the door.

      The room turns out to be a mid-sized lecture hall, with the seats and desks in a semicircular amphitheater arrangement. A few students are scattered throughout, and although there doesnít seem to be a teacher here, a PowerPoint presentation is going. It seems to be a presentation on poetry.

      An idea occurs to me: Iíll write down what I see and then try to record as much of it as I can in my dream journal once Iím awake. Granted, most of it looks like the sort of word salad you might except the subconscious mind on autopilot to kick out, but it could still be interesting. I forage around for something to write on but turn up with nothing but a pencil and some kind of treated animal skin, which is pretty far from ideal, but I figure I can try writing on the leathery side. I slip into a seat in the back row and start taking notes.

      I have a good half ďpageĒ or so written by the time I wake upówith no warning, as usual. But I find I canít remember any of itónot even the one line that actually seemed striking to me as I was recording it. The only thing I can remember from the whole presentation was the centipug (to give an appropriate name to it)óthe clipart-ish picture of a pug with many sets of legs that was at the bottom of one of the slides. Funny how that works.

      13.3.18
    8. Up & Down the Street; Whose Dogs?

      by , 02-08-2018 at 07:00 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      I canít remember how the dream began, which means that I canít be sure whether I had realized I was dreaming and decided to fly around for a while or whether I had somehow realized that I could fly and stabilize my surroundings but not the full implications of it. But either way, thatís what I ended up doing.

      It seems to be early evening, and Iím on a street where all the buildings are lit up with small, multicolored lights. The street is steep and windingóa little reminiscent of Nerudova Street in its topography and architectureóand it has a vibrant and exciting atmosphere, as if itís a Saturday night and this is the place to go on a Saturday night.

      the adverse effects of B6-nerudova-ulice-prague-1909.jpg
      (Click to enlarge (because I can't figure out how to make it bigger here))

      I fly all the way up the street and then turn around and fly back down again. But it doesnít feel quite as real as I know it could be. I focus harder, and I imagine hearing music as I fly along, and that seems to helpóthis time, it feels as if Iím actually there. I fly back again, and this time I try it while spinning aroundósomething Iíve never done before. It turns out to be a lot of fun, seeing the ground change places with the sky.

      Sometime lateróin another dream, probablyóI'm on a bus on some kind of a trip. Iím with a large groupómany young children, some teenagers and a couple adults. There are also some children and teens there who are exchange students from another country. I have the impression this is a trip for the kids, and the teens and Iónot sure of my age in the dreamóare there to help out with it.

      At some point, we make a stop at a large grocery storeóthe sort thatís often still open in the middle of the night, which it seems to be now. A group of us, including me, goes in. But a womanómaybe the person in chargeóasks me if I could take the dog outside for a bit so she can have a chance to burn off some energy before weíre back on the bus. She has the dog thereóa big, black dog, female, I think. I agree to it.

      Once in front of the store, the dog goes sprinting off in a big loop, eventually coming back around to me. She immediately runs off again, and this time she returns carrying a stick in her mouth. Looks like weíre going to be playing fetch. But just then, I hear barking coming off from to my left. Two smaller dogs are thereóneither one on a leash, I noteóand the one that looks like a half-size pit bull is barking up a storm. I am instantly on alert: I have seen scenarios like this one end with furniture being toppled. But the black dog is not acting threatened or aggressive, and so it seems unlikely that a fightís going to break out. I have a vague impression of the dogsí owner nearbyóbut just then, my alarm wakes me.

      8.2.18
      Attached Thumbnails Attached Thumbnails the adverse effects of B6-nerudova.jpg