• Lucid Dreaming - Dream Views

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    1. Summary - December 2015

      by , 12-31-2015 at 02:14 PM
      Writing everything out like this in short summaries is very therapeutic. Recurring character is recurring.

      I am drifting over the water. I am dead. I am missing my other body, but what is it? Invisible, impossible, immortal. it is the body which grants me power.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      A single note, at the bottom of one of my journal pages. 'I don't remember why we were in the submarine'.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      Hypnagogia. A single voice on the edge of sleep.
      "Fall back into my tentacles."
      "Excuse me!?" I stammer, but darkness envelops me.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      I am walking with my brother, advising him about some personal struggles he is having. I get him to a read from a poetry book that he has been assigned for school. I haven't read it, but I'm surprised at how good the content is, and relevant to his problems. I tell him to read one passage a day and meditate on its meaning.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      He's under house arrest. Had we been stealing things? I feel like it must have been for a good cause.
      Eggs! Oh man, I want some eggs. He is quickly forgotten in my pursuit of eggs.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      A man and a woman have kidnapped me, ferreting me away into the nearby forest. They need time to cast their teleportation spell, but a warrior woman has followed us looking for me. I manage to sight her through the trees. She looks exactly like me. Perhaps I should have struggled. The spell is cast and the dream shifts.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      I shift, and find myself in a forest. He is here with me, the Sentinel. There isn't a doubt in my mind that it is him. We smile at each other and talk a little, but mostly there is just a silent knowing.
      I have to climb a tree. One of the branches is on an incline and is long, sturdy and straight, but it is broken right up near the trunk. I am small, perhaps it will hold my weight a while, but not for long. He watches me, giving the occasional word of advice. He feels I should abandon that path altogether and climb up the smaller, but more secure network of branches to the side. I think that I can make the best of both.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      "It's 5:70pm," someone says. For some reason, it doesn't strike me as odd.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      I am walking down a street, but I can empathically sense everything about the occupants of the houses without seeing them. One of my friends arrive, so I tell him all about it, forgetting that it is quite normal for a dream.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      We are soldiers in a five-man squad. Zombies attack. I climb to elevation and use my rifle to pick them off. It does not take us long to dispatch them, but our commanding officer informs us that we cannot move on until we find our final party member who has gone missing during the raid. We look around us but cannot see him. Other squads past by and radio messages are sent out, but nobody knows where he is. I think about what I know of him to try and work out where he could have gone. All I know is that his name is Horse, because he is a horse.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      I am in a fantasy game world. A quest giver keeps telling me to take a Potion of Patience and sit still for a while. I should have taken their advice.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      I'm walking, but my vision and cognition are still very hazy.
      "Sentinel? I wonder if you can hear me," I say.
      "I can always hear you," he replies, a voice in my mind. My attention is piqued.
      "Let me go somewhere quieter away from all these people so we can talk," I say. A nice idea, but I am distracted easily. There are people listening to music, and I dance and sing along, thoroughly enjoying it. When I feel I have spent enough time intruding on their space, I turn around. There is figure concealed by shadows smoking and observing in silence. I thank him for letting me enjoy this time, and move on.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      The kingdom is fleeing at the behest of the Queen. A bushfire approaches and threatens their lives. The young royal advisor frantically suggests that we should check on the Watchers, the entities which look over our kingdom, before we leave in case their loyalty should wander in our absence. I go up to their chamber, overlooking the town. The walls are carved stone and the room is well lit. The door opens before me, bidding me entrance. On a stone plinth sits a thick tome. The Book of Kings! I am excited to see it in person. The Watchers fill the pages with information when they wish to communicate with the royals of the kingdom. My mother may be the Queen, but I am not of royal blood. This is a great honour. I sit down, filled with anticipation. The advisor returns, freaking out that we should become trapped in here by the Watchers and never allowed to leave. I snicker under my breath.
      "Just approach the door and it will open for you," I say aloud. But in my head, I think 'Or rather, they will open it for you'.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      I'm taken to a bar by some friends. One by one, people from my past begin to arrive. It feels as if this has been arranged.
      We go outside to observe a ceremony. Hundreds of people are amassed on the banks of a river as a a boat comes through and the ritual begins. Everyone begins to glow red or blue and their abdomens look like interlocking fingers. Each chooses a partner and merges with them, before disappearing and ascending. One boy approaches me, but I ask him to keep his distance. Eventually they all disappear, and only a small number of us are left behind. They will return when the journey is over and they have seen what was intended.
      I seek out an older woman inside the tavern. She is the lover of a wise old Indian man. I ask her about the ceremony, but she does not want to say too much, and I do not want to appear ignorant. She says that the ritual requires the ingestion of a certain mushroom, and that they will return after its effects end. I ask her if she ever joined in the ceremony before, and she tells me that she has not.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      Hypnapompia. My cat is meowing, but it sounds more agitated than normal. My half-dreaming mind translates it into words as I border on the edge of sleep.
      "I'm sorry if I have offended your personality as a lion," she says in my dream.

      Updated 03-26-2016 at 05:05 AM by 89402

      dream fragment
    2. Yosif and the Temple of Apollo

      by , 06-08-2015 at 11:00 AM
      A slightly disturbing dream, but with all characters displaying a lot of agency and independence. The Sentinel also makes an appearance, a speechless recurring entity who seems to only appear in times of danger.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      I was sitting by the side of the road in my hometown with two friends. We were watching a television signal, using road signs to change programme, but the device was not always sensitive to understand our commands. We stood up and walked along the northern side of the river. I was only a child, and my two companions were comprised of my younger brother and the young daughter of a family friend.

      I saw a list of names scroll through my mind. One name in particular I recognised; Yosif. We happened to be walking past his house. It was white weatherboard at the top of a hillside garden overlooking the river. He came out to greet us. He looked to be in his late forties, but took good care of his physique. He was of Mediteranean background, with olive skin, slick dark hair and a slight accent. I placed him in my memory; he had been a GP at a medical clinic a few towns over whom I had visited many years back. Despite being certain of this information in the dream, I know of nobody named of this description or profession in waking life.

      Innocently, I told him that I had seen him once when I was unwell. He looked uncertain, but my young friend confirmed my memory. He invited us into his house, telling us that the television signal was much stronger inside. We laughed and followed him up through his garden. He took my brother's hand to help lead the way. I didn't know this man well and didn't really feel like spending time in his home, but I wasn't suspicious of him and didn't want to be impolite.

      From the road, his home and garden seemed to be thriving, but walking up through the windy brick paths it became apparent that it had fallen into disarray. Weeds struggled up through the dry earth, the grass was left dying, and the few standard roses still remaining were losing their leaves. Even the house itself was not looking healthy. The white weatherboards were dirty and some had rotted away. He picked up my friend and rested her on his hip, leading us through the garage behind his house. He opened a wooden gate for us, and held it open as we walked through. The dream characters of my brother and friend merged into a single 'child' entity, and the third position of our trio was filled by a young man whom we knew and trusted. He always appeared in dreams to aid me in times of danger, often long before I had even become aware of the threat.

      As soon as I stepped through the door, I felt something was wrong. It was naught but a high-fenced pen. I turned to object to Yosif, only to see the door being closed behind me. I kicked with enough force to stagger him and made my escape. Yosif was distraught that I had spoiled his game. He started busying himself about the house while crying and tearing his hair. I hid nearby in the garden. I heard a woman's voice from inside his house, but she was speaking to me telepathically. I was annoyed at first, believing her to be his well-meaning but ultimately complicit wife.

      "He drowns the children in a deep puddle beside the fence. Sometimes, he likes to submerge his own face in the water as well so that he can share in their experience." She told me. "The weeds in the puddle are a greater hazard than the water itself. The children choke on them."
      On this information, I rushed over to the puddle and started to clear all the vegetation, raking the mud below. The water was grey like run-off and I couldn't see below the surface. She cautioned me against trying.
      "Afterwards, he buries their bodies beneath the puddle so the other children have to look at the faces of the dead while they drown."

      Disturbing, to say the least.

      She told me to go and stay out of sight while she made a phone call and then rushed from the house across to the neighbouring property.
      "I'm coming with you," I said, and cut across the garden to join her. I assumed she was going to call the police. I was relieved my older friend had appeared and been caught as well. He wouldn't go down easily, and may intimidate Yosif long enough for the cops to arrive.

      I followed the woman into her home, an impressive mansion. There were many well-kept sprawling rooms devoted to displays of cultural artefacts which were open to the public. It was much like a small museum. She ducked into a side room and began to speak hastily on the phone. I looked around. This area contained many pieces of Japanese origin; scrolls of calligraphy and maritime implements. There was a scale model of an ancient Japanese whaling ship which caught my attention.

      I noticed a man in one of the rooms with an attendant. He looked to be her adult son; spiky blonde hair and well-built. He had a tattoo of lettering in black and red across his chest. As he was putting on his robes, I saw this his right hand and most of his right leg were missing, but he still had his foot and could move it at will. When he had finished dressing, he looked quite scholarly, and I followed him from his room.

      "Excuse me, but could you tell me what this place is?" I asked.
      "This is the Temple of Apollo," he said, unsure as to how I could be here without knowing where I was. The artefacts in this room definitely had a more European flavour, but I didn't notice anything distinctly Hellenistic.
      "Oh, I didn't realise given the asian influence in the other room," I said and walked off. He followed curiously.
      "This wasn't here yesterday. They must have changed it," he said.

      The museum was quite intriguing and had many patrons. There were model ships and spaceliners, bottles of googly eyes in every size, and fantastic pieces of antique art; a conglomeration of humanity's existence.
    3. Leaving It All Behind

      by , 04-27-2015 at 09:21 AM
      A very vivid dream with high continuity. My dreaming personality is a little more extravagant and dramatic than my waking personality. I also have a nice little freak-out when I forget that in a dream, people communicate telepathically/empathically. Weirdly enough, it is only when I type this entry up six months later that I realise that the family at the end are very familiar.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      I was in a large, detailed town. The landscape was shaped like a bubble, with the edges of the town curving up towards the sky as though it were situated within a basin. The town proper was quite dense and centralised, comprised of public buildings and several private homes. Apartment complexes stretched up the far side of the basin on the outskirts of the town. I had a home here, several levels tall. I shared it with room mates. Behind my home were several statelier buildings and quiet winding streets.

      My recall begins in my bedroom on the top floor. The town is sunny and pleasant, but I am routinely aware of a presence observing me through one of the windows. When I look out, my vision zooms to a location on the other side of the town. I see a shadow shift on a ledge as someone leaves the area, but I am not fast enough to catch a glimpse of my observer.

      I walk out onto my balcony. It overlooks a public sports oval. There is a crowd gathered there, some of their number are wearing costumes. They are rehearsing for an event the next day where many would come to revel in their self-pity and cling to their vices. They were a harmless lot, ultimately likeable, but foolish. For many years I had known them well, and counted myself as one of them, but no longer.

      I return inside. I am with a small group of my friends, none of whom I know in the waking world. They are all male and dressed in Victorian-era clothing. They seem taken aback when I announce that I will not be joining the festivities this year.
      "Tomorrow, I will be out on my balcony, smoking. If anyone should care to join me, then they would be most welcome," I say, taking a puff from my cigar. One of the younger gentlemen piped up in response.
      "Smoking? Whatever for?"
      "For grandeur." I declare. They chuckle. My closest friend is sitting beside me. He shakes his head at me, but laughs all the same.

      I go outside onto a lower balcony with him. The evening air is enlivening. I get a better look at him now that we are alone. He is a spritely, middle-aged man with a grand moustache and a quick wit. He is always impeccable dressed, but never too extravagant. He sits in silence, drawing from a large, glowing cigar.
      "I'm going to miss these, you know," I say to him, fondly lighting a cigar of my own.
      I look out across the town. The lights are off in the apartments across the basin, but the town below is still full of life.

      I find myself down in the town proper. Three single-levelled buildings are arranged around a common square. The left-most structure is the workshop of a local artist and jewellery designer. She has wicked red hair, and a strong but gentle presence. I notice a young girl smoking cigarettes and dawdling around her building. When the girl finished smoking, the artist burst from her workshop and berated the girl for the lingering smell.

      I had known better, but it struck me as odd that I had already known without being told. I walk around the side of the building. One of my teachers approaches, a wise woman, well-revered by the town. I addressed my concern to her in regards to my own foresight. I was so shocked that I could know what somebody had been thinking without interacting with them. The artist was passing by as I was speaking, and stopped out of curiosity. I had asked the wise woman many questions in the past, but this one surprised her. They exchanged a curious glance, and then looked back at me, puzzled. I felt that it wasn't my experience that they found bizarre, but why now I should fail to understand it.

      I was going somewhere. I would lose something.

      "We should sit over there and have a smoke," a youthful friend suggested to me. I had been deep in thought. We were in a large hall with others, waiting for the rain to pass. Night had fallen and I had been gazing out the great, vast windows before me. This was a familiar place.
      "They're covered in water," a female friend replied. She was right. A few benches were situated on the wooden verandah outside. It artistically swept around the extended wings of the house. But for all its clever design, the walkway did not extend far enough and the eaves were too shallow; rain water dripped down onto the benches.

      I returned home, sharing a few friendly words with my house mates. I proceeded upstairs to my hammock. I was uneasy about the open window through which I could be viewed, but was relieved to find it had already been closed and the blind pulled down.

      The dream shifts, and I am on the rear-most carriage of a speeding train, right where I expected to be. I had caught this train many times before, and even had a good rapport with the rear guard. I rushed to the back of the train. Below the raised platform where the guard would sit, there was a thick, steel archway with a blue, metal door. It served little purpose other than my own.

      I was reaching my end, somehow content with my own undoing. I had known this was coming for a while, and now the time had come to the face the music. I began to speak, a conversation I can hardly remember.
      "We all come to our end eventually, don't we?" I say.
      "What do you mean?" the guard replied from above. I rushed behind the door and fastened it behind me. The train was picking up speed, but I wanted to delay my moment of passing for just a few minutes longer.
      "We degrade, don't we? It's a natural process. Why should we fight it? Would it not be more logical to embrace this demise?" I continued my rhetoric. I had already resolved that it would be this way, and chosen this place because it would quicken the process. Despite my verbose monologuing, my stomach still sank when I began to see the effects unfolding before me.

      I held out my left arm and rolled back the sleeve. It was fading away, turning bony and pale, but also ethereal; shrinking and vanishing before my eyes. I tried to remove my watch, but it too was disappearing and hanging limply around my skeletal wrist.
      "Surely it would be better not to fight it, don't you think?" I asked to my final witness, captivated by the sight before me.
      "I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear what you said," the guard replied. I was snapped from my self-indulgent trance. The wind was roaring, but the guard's ears were keen. They heard every one of my final words, knew in their heart that I was misguided, and would feign deafness now rather than extend advice. My ego was inflamed.

      We were slowing past a station. I deftly rolled from the train and skidded for some metres before coming to a stop near a family of three waiting patiently with their luggage. The train slowed to a halt beside me, the guard and driver both now in the engine. The guard, while distinctly the same person, was now a young female with straight brown hair. I stood up and marched over to them in rage.
      "Fuck you, you piece of shit!" I screamed. They seemed rather unfazed.
      Though still angry, the next few moments were filled with remorse for my behaviour. I felt compelled to apologise to the mundane folk - a rotund man and his wife - for shouting obscenities in front of their son.

      Updated 01-02-2016 at 11:10 AM by 89402

      non-lucid , memorable