Morning of June 29, 2018. Friday. I had been listening to one of my latest music productions, which has somewhat of a carnival sound, though has a strong reggae rhythm. It seems to be late morning. The setting is implied to be our current home. There is an unfamiliar male present in our bedroom, though I do not see him as an intruder. (This is the interconsciousness avatar.) Sitting on the edge of the bureau near the west window in our lounge room is the ventriloquist dummy I had as a boy. It was known as “Willie Talk”. As the music becomes louder, the dummy starts moving, taking on the essence of a marionette being controlled by an invisible force. (In the back of my mind however, I am vaguely aware I am causing this to happen.) It almost seems to have a human essence, though still moves like a marionette. The dummy eventually jumps forward onto the floor and starts dancing to the music. There is an amazingly vivid presence of rhythm and energy. He circles around the couch, in a marching jig toward our bed and I wake around this time. A ventriloquist dummy is an emergent consciousness simulacrum (see notes below), which is a form of neural energy that links the dream self, by way of the transpersonal interconsciousness, by way of the preconscious, to the conscious self identity. It is triggered by the reticular formation of the human brain and serves the same purpose as a preconscious or RAS avatar, that is, to initiate consciousness and the ability to physically move. In many cases, such an avatar is seen as going “back” to bed, though in some lucid dreams, it is seen as “waking” and leaving its bed, which is obvious autosymbolism for the level of dream self presence in the dream state. In other cases, it merges into the dreamer (such as in my “Part-Robot-Girl?” from November 17, 1989), an example of waking process coalescence (another very common factor of my dreams). This dream is a specific type of vestibular system correlation autosymbolism, of which goes from inactive (static) to dynamic as I move toward the preconscious modulation of the waking process (by way of reticular formation mediation). It is mostly an autosymbolic rendering of thoughts like “I have to get up now” that pass through the mind prior to waking for the day. Autosymbolism is very easy to trace back to the underlying cause. In simple terms, this means that my perception of my illusory dream body is not viably physical (as my physical body is asleep and beyond my immediate control), and as a result, my non-lucid association with my dream self’s “body” is ambiguous and is projected into the concept of a doll (serving as an emergent consciousness simulacrum), which then dances as waking process autosymbolism, even heading “back” towards our bed. (I have had many dreams like this since childhood, so I know exactly what it means, as I have been aware of the same process in subliminal, liminal, and lucid dreaming scenarios, simultaneously understanding the meaning, so even my need to explain it in the first place should be unnecessary to anyone of reasonable intelligence.) To validate this (and perhaps develop a better understanding of what dreams are and what they are doing) and what I have written in thousands of other dream journal entries, see “The Preconscious Mind and Gamma Band Activity in the Reticular Activating System”. This dream has ZERO to do with memory processing or waking life symbolism as disinformation agents claim (neither of which is even typically possible other than in apex lucidity). They are both autosymbolic and literal events synthesized in REAL TIME (mainly by the preconscious and interconsciousness) while experiencing REM sleep. Although this particular dream is not directly related to waking life (at this time), it most certainly has cause and meaning as all dreams do and most dreams are far easier to decode than most people habitually pretend. #stop_dream_disinfo_now (On Twitter)
As usual, I find myself lucid in a dream without being able to remember how it happened. I am on a stage, a raised platform at one end of a tall, rectangular room with no windows and a door at the far end—picture a racquetball court and you’ll have a pretty good idea of the layout and size. The area where I am is lit while the area where the audience is sitting is darker, with some light shining in from the doorway. I’m singing up here and simultaneously trying my hardest to get my bouzouki to show up so I can accompany myself on it. I look around the stage area periodically, whenever I get the chance, but it just doesn’t seem to be turning up. I notice a couple guys in the audience heading for the door. Annoyed, I will them back to their seats, but they seem to sense what I’m doing and bolt. Oh, well. In the meantime, though, my efforts to materialize myself some accompaniment seem to have paid off. There is now an array of stringed and fretted instruments in the center of the stage, a dozen or so, leaning against stands or lying on chairs. Many of them are exotic instruments I don’t recognize, and unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be a bouzouki among them. I settle for the closest match— some kind of lute, judging by the angled neck and larger body. Maybe I can intend it to have a string configuration I can work with. I pick it up and sit down in the chair it was on to play. I was singing “Greensleeves” before, and so I start again from the beginning, this time accompanying myself. Alas, my love, you do me wrong To cast me off discourteously… This is more like it. It seems to work best if I don’t focus too much on what I’m doing with my hands and let it take care of itself, like a spot of localized non-lucidity. Partway through the song, though, I find myself in another room—there seems to be a small memory gap, but I’m guessing this was a false awakening I managed to identify as another dream straightaway. This room is very similar to the one I was just in—it could be the same one if not for the lack of a raised stage area and the fact that there is now a door where the opening was. It’s a metal door painted bright green. The room is empty apart from a mat on the floor which is furnished like a bed. Looking at it stirs faint memories of sleepovers with friends—nice memories, ones I haven’t thought about in a long time. Much of the wooden floor is covered by a rug patterned with dragons—the Asian sort—in red, blue and green. As I look at it, they move and shift in mesmerizing ways, and the perspective flattens a little as the rug occupies my field of vision. I think to myself: I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming. I don’t want to get so absorbed in it that I lose awareness. I look away to consider the door and what might be beyond it. Thoughts come to me—memories, almost, if I took them more seriously—of rooms and people beyond. But that’s a rather serious-looking door. I wake up. (11.7.18)
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