Moonwatcher

INT. SEASIDE VILLA - NIGHT

Rescue helicopters head out to sea on a mission during a storm. I know that their rotors have more than four blades a piece--even though they are in flight. (Perhaps my consciousness has a high frame rate or a high-speed shutter?) The waves encroach upon the house as the tide comes in. Peering out the open French windows, I worry about tsunamis, as in past dreams.

Dreams? You mean, like this one? Why, yes, this is a dream, isn't it?

Lucidity.

A wave washes toward the house, almost touching the wall. I ignore my surroundings and try to achieve stability by rubbing my hands together. This is the first time I actually remember to try the technique. I can feel my astral hands rubbing together, but I don't know if it helped me stay asleep. Next I try to spin around, but I can't. Then I awake.

As I lie awake, the purple afterglow remains a while: This time, instead of origami, it is an image of what looks like a hurricane seen from space, or a spiral galaxy, rotating counter-clockwise. I see individual flakes of purple or fat violet stars swirling lazily around at a period of perhaps ten seconds per rotation—although only about six seconds elapse. I close my eyes tightly and the image persists. The plane of the galaxy is tilted down about thirty degrees from edge-on. It finally fades. I note that the content of the purple window relates generally to the storm in the dream.

That thumping sound you hear is my patting myself on the back in congratulation for having averaged one LD per week in the past month!