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    1. The Samurai

      by , 11-30-2015 at 11:38 AM
      This feels like only the beginning of a story arc. I'm going to tell this dream in two parts, the first was a dream from my adolescent journal, the second was from adulthood. I never had much interest at all in samurai and Japanese maritime culture, as I've mentioned in my other journals, and yet this theme keeps returning with vengeance. I'm always sabotaging the plans of aliens I meet as well, benevolent and malevolent alike.

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

      Dream #1 - May 2008

      The beginnings of the dream are blurred. I was running. I don't know why and I don't know where I was going. A few other escapees fled with me. It was important that they didn't see us. I knew it would only be minutes before they appeared. We arrived at the river bank in my home town. Perfect, this was my turf, I knew how to blend in. It was as my friend as me where we should go, when a group of our pursuers appeared from around a corner. One of them was dressed in the armour of a samurai, but I somehow doubted that that's what he truly was. Despite the fact that we were enemies, I couldn't help sensing that we had a mutual understanding of each other. I was worried that could play to my disadvantage, but luckily they did not see us.

      The dream shifted and I was a soldier fighting an uphill battle. Neither side was gaining ground and we were both gradually losing troops. We managed to take the school on the hill top which was overlooking the ocean and the enemy's home islands. A flying saucer sat silently nearby. I entered to find a man I knew well. He was one of our enemies and despite claiming that he wanted peace, he was only after victory. He told me that he was going to take any people who wanted to leave to his land where they would have a much better life. I didn't believe him and quickly left.

      I walked through the environment until suddenly I realised that the Samurai was behind me. We both drew our swords, prepared to fight, and the battle began. I had trained hard for this but his skills were incredible. He was fast but strong and could predict my moves before I made them. I could barely defend myself from his blows. I decided to use my ability, and suddenly turned invisible. Even though he could not see me, he still managed to block every single one of my attacks all while lecturing me on 'fighting dirty'. I kept up the barrage without success.

      It was then that he brought his leg up and attempted to kick me in the stomach. He knew that if I bled I couldn't remain invisible! He kicked at me again and again until eventually I flinched long enough for him to draw his dagger and plunge it into my side. The invisibility fell. I removed the dagger and broke into a run, realising that I couldn't win. I dashed up an embankment, turning invisible again in an attempt to flee.
      "So predictable," I heard him say aloud as he followed. I looked down at my hands and realised that the invisibility was no longer working. I reached the top of the embankment and climbed up onto a balcony, hoping he would run past below and I would be able to slip away, but he knew exactly where I was. He stood beneath me and looked up. I expected him to continue his attack, but he stopped, nodded in acknowledgement, and then walked away.

      I ran back to the alien saucer and slipped into the control room. The man's plans were the crash the ship into the school with dozens of my own people aboard. I changed its pre-flight path to the enemy island and ran into the cabin to drag my friends off this suicide ship. When I told them what I knew they didn't believe me. I could hear the countdown in the background and they still refused to move, so I pushed them off. I pulled the man into a headlock and leapt off the saucer as it rose into the air and promptly smashed into the island. My people cheered, but in all the confusion, the man had escaped again.

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

      Remember the Japanese whaling ships from the Temple of Apollo and the small dream-town in Tasmania? It gets relevant.

      Dream 2 - November 2015

      I was in a darkened building with many others. The dream was hazy and indistinct, and then suddenly I realised that I was in a single room alone and the visuals became very crisp and focused. This whole house was mine. The room was empty, but the moments sitting in silence without distractions fixed my cohesion. I was aware that people may be able to see me through the huge windows. I went to close the blinds, but then changed my mind, and pushed out through the doors. The call to adventure was answered.

      I was living opposite the city cemetery. It was night time, but I could see clearly. I wandered the dream world for a while, speaking to my friends and investigating the detailed houses that lined the street. As I wandered, I eventually came to a sunlit park full of people. Some wandered the paths and some sat on the benches, enjoying the beautiful weather.

      The dream transitioned while I was here. I found myself on a steep, grassy hillside and knew instantly that I have been moved. I tried to right myself and teleport back, but I could not change location. I looked up towards the top of the bluff. A samurai was waiting for me. I walked up to him, and he turned around in silence, leading me over the crest of the hill. On the cliff-side above us were vast rock paintings left here from a previous civilisation. There were humans mingling with winged bird-like creatures. They reminded me of djinn from Sumerian mythology. I looked around, amazed at the vividness of my surroundings.

      The samurai led along the bluff until a small Japanese town came into view. It is nestled along the coast line, a fishing village. There were a few high-rise buildings constructed out of bamboo and light materials. I asked him what one of the buildings was for and he said that it was a place for doctors. I could see people awakening on Japanese-style futons within the rooms, and others receiving massage treatment from practitioners. I did not know much about their culture, but felt blessed to have such an excellent guide. He took me down into the town. We passed by the open doorways of peoples' homes. The townsfolk here were all wary of me. I stopped in the middle of a complex of washing lines, quite content with the idea of living here and becoming a part of the town. Sheets billow in the breeze, suspended all around me. I am introduced to a wise old man, who speaks with the samurai, and a strangely familiar male youth comes out to join us.

      The dream fades and changes. One rather mundane dream in between I have omitted. I wish it had all ended there, and not in the way it does. I am on an airport runway, walking back to the terminal. My family is here, but they are like puppets; intangible, not at all right. They don't fit in with the scene. It is more solid than they are. They rush ahead, and then return, changing my direction.
      "We're going the wrong way," I say.
      "No, no. We are going to get on this plane," they say as a single unit. I start following them, but become so sluggish. Movement is so difficult. I am drained of energy, my feet begin to drag, my speech is slurred. One of the flight assistants opens the tape so I may step past. My family were faders in comparison and I cannot see them now. I try to say something, but I am so groggy, and fall away fatigued. My energy is gone. I have been fooled, but am not even allowed to see the face of my attacker.

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

      Dream 3 - December 2015

      Only a fragment from a larger, hazy dream. My friends invited me to their cabins, but I arrive and realise it was only a gesture and that they weren't really interested in spending time with me. I leave and along my way, I encounter the Samurai again. This dream is not like the others. It is not vivid, and feels more like a normal subconscious dream. A montage plays out. I am male, and have been training with him for many months. I have been wearing heavy armour that he bestowed upon me throughout our training. It looks very fierce, with spikes lining the leg guards and pauldrons. It is impractical and actually inhibits my abilities, but I persist. My talents develop, and when I eventually remove the armour, I am stronger than ever.

      I am myself again. We are walking down a street together in silence.
      'I am dreaming!' I suddenly think to myself excitedly, but the dream is too hazy and unstable, and it is lost.

      Updated 03-26-2016 at 05:04 AM by 89402

      Categories
      memorable
    2. Rakshis and the Serpent

      by , 09-01-2015 at 11:00 AM
      This dream was fun, and one of many that featured friendly serpents.

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

      One of my friends was looking for information on Rakshis. I assumed that she was referring to Rakshasas from Hindu mythology, and I excitedly suggested that I may have a book about them in my library. She pointed to a book in front of us, and we flicked through the pages together. This book featured information about the Egyptian pantheon. We looked through for information on Horus, or 'Hortet' as he was called here, but found very little that was specific. I turned to look at the cover, and the title illustrated that the book was about the esoteric significance of sexual love or energy as it was expressed between different mythological figures. Interesting enough, but not what we needed. I did have a book that would be more useful to my friend, but it was not on this plane, so I shifted us both over.

      We appeared in a vibrant, high-detailed world. We were in a a great, high-ceilinged, conical, brass structure. Grated metallic platforms lead over a bubbling stream which ran through the building. It was lush with vegetation and sun-kissed pond life. We were standing before the exit. Light poured in through the opening, and the stream flowed gently out and down the hillside beyond. Forested hills rolled away towards the horizon beyond. My friend knelt before the book and scanned through it. I recommended she find what she was looking for as soon as possible as we could not stay in this place long.

      Already, I could see the spiky backs of crocodiles bobbing in the stream, waiting for their moment to emerge. I told her to run back through the building and leave, and she obeyed without question. I was now there with my friend the Sentinel in the form of a dark slate-grey serpent. The enemy was approaching now and we were in danger. I scooped up the snake and ran back across the platforms to the elevator in the centre of the conical building. It would return me to my own world. The elevator was quite open, ringed with ornate brass bars to keep the occupants from stepping off the side. I dashed inside and closed the gate behind me. I wanted to take the serpent with me, but after I released my grasp on him, he slipped through the bars of the door. I felt anxiety rising that he would be crushed by the mechanics of the elevator and that I would only be able to look on helplessly. Despite my fears, he was perfectly fine, slithering around the bars without difficulty.

      The enemies approached as the elevator descended. I knew they were there, but I could not see them. As I slowly descended from view, I saw the serpent coiled and reared up, cobra hood open, defending my path from our pursuers.

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

      Categories
      non-lucid , memorable
    3. Summoned to Tasmania

      by , 07-23-2015 at 10:41 AM
      Very high-detail dream. Characters demonstrate agency and the Sentinel makes another appearance, this time speaking to the other dream characters. I also engage my sense of smell in the dream.

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

      I am on facebook when I realised that one of my friends had changed her name to 'Vivian'. I feel quite annoyed that she has taken my name, even though it is my screen name an not my birth name. Focusing on the post causes me to be transported to her location in a small Tasmanian mountain town. I appeared near her in a house that was being used as a small, local day spa business. The visuals were extremely detailed, I felt as though I were actually there. The windows were fogged from the condensation. The staff asked us to be quiet so as to maintain the spiritual ambiance.

      I followed her outside onto the street. It was quiet. The forested hillside across the river was cloaked in mist. Huge red stringy-bark eucalypts rose up amongst the greenery. I breathed in deeply and savoured the fresh, crisp air. I was going to say that I could smell the trees, but I realised that the scent of the air was quite neutral. I could physically feel the air rushing through my nostrils as I inhaled, and I hazard to guess that I was actually performing this action in the waking world. Despite the lack of scent, I was still very much aware of the sensation of smelling. I continued on down the quiet street with her.

      "Did you really bring me here?" I asked. She didn't answer, but glanced at me awkwardly. "Am I really here?" I asked again. I seemed to be intangible to her.
      "I don't know," she replied.
      "But you answered me! So I must exist." I felt like my logic was flawless.

      The town was reminiscent of the one in which we both grew up in. We wandered the streets for a while. There were many shops, but most were closed. I was still astounded at the level of detail here. We met a spritely man with grey hair. He was a priest and seemed to be in his mid 60s. He was one of the only people we had encountered in this town and he greeted us as we passed. My friend suggested I see their local museum while I was here. It was small and quaint. Even though we were in Tasmania, it featured an old Japanese boat, possibly used for whaling, and a preserved bronze figurehead of a tentacled sea monster.

      The dream changed slightly. I was in a building that I believe to be my home. The priest had returned with five others. One was a dark-haired woman and there was a younger man who worked as a lawyer. They were all wearing white robes and gathered close around me. They seemed friendly but were very curious about me for some reason. They discussed me but I was unsure what they were talking about. The Sentinel appeared behind me in the form of a female, someone I believed to be a relative.
      "She is already pregnant," she said, dashing their plans. They were dismayed.
      "What do we do now? We're running out of time." The woman said to the others. I was under the impression that they needed a body, or perhaps to conceive a child, in order to extend their lifetime, and the priest was reaching his deadline.

      The others left, talking amongst themselves with no more interest in me, but the priest remained. We spoke briefly, and then he began to fit and convulse. His robes had darkened from white to black. I rushed over and supported his body to help him, even though I was aware that it may have been a ploy. He recovered quickly, thanked me for my assistance and then left.

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

      Categories
      non-lucid , memorable
    4. 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.
    5. 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

      Categories
      non-lucid , memorable