• 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. Tea with the Dead

      by , 07-15-2021 at 05:22 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      I am in what looks to be some kind of large home improvement store, having travelled here to meet up with some people. It is a very large store: towards the back, the aisles actually turn into streets, which is where I need to go. Iíve been this way enough times to where Iíve got the route memorized, and when I reach the signpost with a number of street signs, I take a left onto Montaigne Street.

      Montaigne street has a rather sleazy vibe, with a sort of over-the-top neon-over-historic-district aesthetic. But it seems completely confined to this particular street, and then itís back into plain downtown area. However, something is strange: the street Iím looking for doesnít seem to be here. This is an area full of little winding streets, so I look around for a bit to make sure I havenít missed it, then head back out to where the store begins and go along Montaigne Street all over again. But the street really seems to have gone now.

      I go back to the store area and browse the stationary near the front as I consider what to do next. Maybe I forgot to check something, and the meet-ups arenít happening right now. Itís going to be a few hours before I head back, and I need to figure out what Iím going to do for dinner at some point. I also decide, in a moment of latent lucidity, that Iím going to change the name of Montaigne Street to Montero Street, as that seems to fit it better. In the end, I just decide to look around the store for a while longer.

      Towards one corner, I find a series of furnished rooms. Theyíre a bit like display rooms you might actually find in a home improvement store showing off appliances or furnishings, only these ones seem to be set up as miniature haunted houses. I enter the room on the far end first, one thatís almost completely dark. This one seems to have a ďpet ghostĒ theme. As I explore the various furniture and parts of the room, certain things happen, triggered by my presence, such as noises or motion, and even the visible ghosts of cats. But I donít find the place scary at all. Itís actually rather relaxing. I lie on the bed in the corner for a while listening to things rustle and thinking about dead pets from times gone by.

      After a while, I move on, going into a couple more rooms I can no longer remember before heading into whatís clearly set up as a haunted nursery. This room has a lot more light coming in, so itís easy to see the furnishings, most prominently, a young childís bed Ė not actually a crib, but something that seems made for children about that age, maybe from an earlier era. The bed is dishevelled, and there are several piles of feces either on it or on the floor nearby, hinting towards neglect. It doesnít really look real and definitely doesnít smell real.

      As I examine a chest on the side of the room facing the store, I suddenly see a large group of ghosts standing together, looking in my direction. One of them, an older gentleman in a suit, gestures that I should come over to them. I do, and they lead me to a long table set up for a meal. It seems that the store has staffed their haunted rooms with real ghosts, and now that theyíre off-duty, theyíre closing up the rooms and inviting me to eat with them.

      Itís only once were seated and the meal begins Ė tea and pastries Ė that they begin talking, or possibly thatís just when I become able to understand them. The older gentleman is seated on my left, and we have a conversation in which I distinctly remember telling him about my cat, Thomas, who died 12 years ago.

      At some point, the scene changes Ė the implication seems to be that time has passed, and Iím travelling somewhere with three or four of them. One opens the back door of a black car, and another climbs in. I realize Iím supposed to get in as well. I notice Iím wearing a smooth black coat coming down somewhere between my knees and waist and a pair of black leather gloves.

      The scene changes further after that to a completely new setting Ė and while the store, at least, was almost certainly located in the U.S., this place has more the vibe of a developing country, possibly in the Caribbean. The man showing me around takes me past an area where many small boats are docked. He seems to feel this is a touristy area, not really representative of the place itself.

      At a clothing market, somebody comes up to him. It seems heís needed somewhere immediately, so it looks like Iím going to be on my own for the next couple hours. We agree to meet back up here in that general timeframe Ė this doesnít seem to be a place where people make appointments more precise than that.

      15.7.21
      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. Eight Ways of Dying

      by , 04-15-2018 at 09:14 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      I am going on a trip with some other peopleóvague impressions of preparation, of using a computer in a lab to take care of some paperwork I need for itósome kind of registration, maybe.

      It seems to be a long trip. We are traveling by car, and after a while, we stop at a gas station. I go inside to find something to eat and am pleasantly surprised to discover they have marzipan here. I pick out a couple small bars of it, along with some other food for the road.

      A little while later, Iím in a room belonging to my friend Ninaóit seems to be in the same building, with the gas station just on the other side of a door. Iím examining some small statues on the shelves. The statues illustrate the ďeight ways of dyingĒówhich actually seems to signify ways of living, the idea being that theyíre lifestyles that donít really deserve to be called living.

      There are two complete sets of the eight, and they both go about illustrating them in different ways. I looked at all of the statues, but the only one I remember vividly was the eighth one of the second set, which I was looking at as I woke up. The key symbol seems to be a snail, representing an unthinking, animal-like life. But while the sculptor of the first set has just portrayed the snail, the sculptor of the secondówho seems to have a more fanciful take on things in generalóhas portrayed the snail crawling over a human corpse in a colorful stage of decomposition. Whereís Nina so I can ask her about these, I wonder.

      I can also vaguely remember a couple other statues, also from the second set. The second statue showed a woman lying on a massage table surrounded by jars and bottles and things, and the fourth didnít seem to have any living figures at all, but looked like a mineralogistís work table mightórocks of various kinds scattered over it and a jar of rocks in the center.

      15.4.18

      (Note: I think the Buddhist ideas here are pretty clear, but it may be less obvious that itís also drawing pretty heavily from Plato.)
      Tags: car, snail, statues, travel
      Categories
      non-lucid
    5. A Direct Path

      by , 02-22-2018 at 06:29 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      Almost all of the details of this dream faded from memory when I woke up. All I can remember of the earlier parts was of a complicated plotline that seemed to involve three main character and ended with everybody getting onto buses.

      I was watching everything take place, and I knew that something was going to happen soonósome conflict, I think. I now had a sort of abstract representation in front of me, a rectangular box filled with a blue sand-like substance. It was arranged in little wavy lines, most of them going only a short distance before being interrupted by other little wavy lines going in different directions. I traced a wavy line going all the way from one corner of the rectangle to the opposite one, cutting across the other lines. This would allow the people in the dream to move into action quickly once it became necessary. Their reinforcements would be able to arrive in the same amount of time as it would have taken them to travel along only one of the hundreds of tiny lines.

      22.2.18
      Tags: blue, buses, lines, travel
      Categories
      non-lucid , dream fragment
    6. 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