• Lucid Dreaming - Dream Views




    View RSS Feed

    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. In a Dark Place

      by , 09-09-2018 at 02:45 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      There is a woman—some dark entity had reached out for her, badly frightening her. She has shut herself away somewhere to get away from it, but it can still reach her. I can hear her screaming there—but I’m on my way to help her.

      The first thing I have to do is get out of a sort of wooden elevator running down the center of the building. I seem to have entered this way, going down, but none of the doors are opening. Somehow, I can see perfectly fine into the space beyond the shaft, but the walls are definitely there, and the doors are not only solid but quite heavy. I’m alone here in the elevator, but in communication with someone else—someone I know to be my mother, although she isn’t my actual, waking life mother. She seems to be playing some kind of guiding or teaching role.

      Above my head, everything just fades into darkness, like the heights of a cavern. Apparently, it doesn’t occur to most people who come here to look up for a while, and so this comes as a bit of a shock to them, but I can remember having been through this series of events before, and so this place holds no surprises for me. Besides that, I have access to a deeper understanding of the space I’m in: it’s defined by solfege, as if the intervals and their syllables are acting as some kind of abstract structural parameters, and they are also structuring what I am able to do in it and do to it.

      Once I finally manage to get out, I find myself in what seems to be an iteration of my old house in M---. This version looks twisted, hollowed out, dark—actually, there doesn’t seem to be a source of light anywhere, which would explain why, even though I feel vividly present here, it has an odd visual quality to it, and the only non-black color I can see here is blue. I’m using night vision. The blue is brightest in the fog hovering throughout the house, moving as though stirred by currents of air. When this fog is concentrated, it indicates the presence of a ghost—or perhaps it simply is the ghost.

      This whole place gives off a decidedly creepy vibe—a palpable sense of decay and malevolence. But the fact that I already know where all the dangers are takes the edge off the creepiness, as does the fact that this seems to be a case where there is no outcome but success. I already know things are going to turn out fine, and so I don’t let the place bother me too much.

      Now the person who is my mother is physically here with me, a couple rooms away—although, either because the walls are in ruins or because I can see through these ones too, she’s still visible from where I’m looking around the living room. Nothing much seems to be happening at the moment. I’m just keeping an eye on the blue fog. There are some mirrors there in the room: I use them to check my form as I practice jumping from side to side, moving between stances I might need to use later.

      (7.9.18)
    2. The Big Picture

      by , 09-01-2018 at 02:35 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      In this dream, I seem to have been selected to contribute to some collaborative project that has to do with “Game of Thrones” and a couple of prominent political figures, including Trump. I think there are 25 of us in all, but I don’t actually meet with the others—I just have an interview with someone, and that’s it. It’s in a large, modern building, and I recall being in an elevator at some point, deciding that I’ll go to join the others and see the complete work. It seems a little strange to me that I should be playing a part in this—I haven’t watched or read “Game of Thrones,” and I don’t seem to be personally involved in these matters the way everybody else is. But I’m curious enough to go anyway.

      I join the others in a room with a large screen on one wall. It’s divided up into smaller rectangles of various sizes and proportions on which video loops are being played. I can see my own contribution among them, in the upper central area, showing the collapse of a temple-like building with hundreds of statues in front of it, among other images.

      Then it starts playing, and my part comes first. In the narration, I recognize what I had said in the interview, now in a more polished form. It’s now clear that what I provided was the prologue, tracing out the historical background of the story told in all the subsequent parts, setting the stage for it. That makes a lot of sense, actually—now I can see how it’s relevant, even though it doesn’t directly concern the characters that the story is focused on.

      (30.8.18)
      Categories
      non-lucid
    3. From Map to Territory

      by , 08-09-2018 at 04:11 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      In the earliest part of the dream I can remember, I'm reading a news article online. It’s about an odd discovery that was recently made—what seemed to be a fossilized person on a bicycle.

      I pull up a map website so that I can have a better idea of where the places I’m reading about are. It starts off as a map of Europe—more or less. The only major difference I can remember was seeing a series of small countries along the (more or less) Baltic Coast.

      The place I’m interested in is further west of that, around Luxembourg, I'd say. I zoom in until it’s more like looking at a satellite map, and I can see the spot the story is talking about: a place in the woods where the grass gives way to gray rock, and in the rock, the figure of the cyclist can be clearly seen in profile, looking rather cartoonish.

      I look up and find I’m not looking at a screen on a computer anymore: I’m actually there in the forest. And there’s only one way that’s possible: I’m dreaming.

      The gray rock isn’t there anymore. There’s just forest in every direction—deciduous forest, with foliage that isn’t so thick it blocks out the sunlight. I pick a direction and start walking, not having any particular goal in mind.

      The forest is quiet and still: there don’t seem to be any animals around. The only notable feature of this place is the mushrooms I see growing in small groups among the undergrowth every few meters. They’re red with white spots—obviously fly-agaric. I recall a recent discussion on DreamViews about hallucinogens in lucid dreams: what would happen if I ate one? I’ve never been curious enough to try it before—I wasn’t even curious enough to read the thread, for that matter—but here they are, and here I am. Guess I’m going to find out.

      I get down close to a group of them, pull a piece off a small one and put it in my mouth. But then I see that the mushrooms aren’t mushrooms anymore: they’re red flowers now, poppies by the looks of it. Still in an experimental frame of mind, I pull off some petals and chew on them. They’re completely flavorless and slightly cool. It is an extraordinarily realistic experience of eating flower petals.

      Shortly afterwards, I wake up.

      (7.8.18)
    4. A King and a Cat

      by , 08-03-2018 at 02:44 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      I start out in an apartment that seems to be mine, but doesn’t resemble anywhere I’ve ever lived. Hearing a commotion outside, I go out to investigate. I walk across a grassy lawn to where it overhangs a sidewalk. It seems coming from the direction of the train station, which is just down the street. I recall that today is the day the king is supposed to return from a trip abroad: there are probably many people there to greet him.

      Sure enough, I soon see him walking by, just like any other person might, alone except for three dogs. One of the dogs, a large and muscular one, is headed directly my way. I’m not threatened by it, though: I don't read any aggression in its behavior, only curiosity.

      It’s sniffing me over as he approaches to get it back under control. We exchange a few words. He knows who I am—I get the impression this country is on the small side, and he probably knows everyone here—and he says that he’s honored that I’m residing in his country (I am a foreigner here and not a citizen). He tells me he's happy to be the host of someone favored by the cat god. This is a chaotic, cat-like being that comes around—like any other cat—when it feels like it and not before. It appears to have taken a liking to me, and there’s now some kind of deeper bond between us. It also seems to be associated with the key of B major, whatever that means.

      The king is about to leave, but the dog breaks away again to continue to inspect me. He once again gets it under control and asks in a casual way what a sky bicycle actually looks like. This odd form of transportation has to do with the cat somehow—the thing apparently has a whole mythology of its own. I reply that I don’t know, as sky bicycles only take a definite form when several people are looking at one at the same time.

      (31.7.18)
      Categories
      non-lucid
    5. Conversations with Critters

      by , 07-31-2018 at 02:06 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      I manage to maintain awareness while falling asleep quite early in the night and find myself in a house. As with most lucid dreams that are on the long side and include a lot of conversation, I can only remember some parts of it clearly, and without clear context.

      The house is not a familiar one, although its layout seems slightly reminiscent of Katya’s house. I’m in what would be the front room with two other people—one man and one woman—and three dogs. I can feel a connection with one of the dogs—a medium-sized one, possibly a Border Collie—and I sense that he’s somehow mediating between me and the rest of the dream. I think it’s likely that the other dogs were doing the same for the other people and somehow making it possible for us to be together here.

      One of the dogs is briefing us all about something. He’s a very large dog with short hair, probably a Great Dane. He communicates with us for a while—I don’t think he actually spoke, but my memory is fuzzy on how it happened. At one point, he mentions something about a llama farm, then cuts himself off and lays down. I realized this was something he didn’t want me and the other woman to know about, but he had let it slip, and now he’s sad about it. He refuses to say anything else, so I go into an adjoining room so he can talk to the man in private. In the meantime, I strike up a conversation with a bird on the windowsill.

      It’s a small bird, a bit like a titmouse but pure white. It seems friendly, and has an odd habit of repeating each phrase after it says it. After a bit, it flies off: it’s decided it wants to catch me some kind of small marine crustacean that it eats—as a kind of gift, I suppose. Aww.

      (26.7.18)
      Tags: birds, dogs, gift, house
      Categories
      lucid
    6. Greensleeves, Green Door

      by , 07-13-2018 at 01:18 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      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)
      Categories
      lucid
    7. What a Rude Statue

      by , 07-05-2018 at 01:35 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      The dream seemed to begin like some sort of flight simulator game, but—after a series of events I can no longer remember—I realize I’m dreaming.

      I’m in an unfamiliar city. It’s a place with a charming atmosphere—lots of greenery and a small harbor that almost divides it in two, with the main part of the city built on a hill with a steep incline. I fly—without my customary wings, since I was already flying to begin with—enjoying my surroundings. Every corner I turn results in a new, interesting view as I circle around, gradually moving up the hill.

      At one point, I notice a series of staircases to my right leading directly to the hilltop. It reminds me a little of the Bergpark—and that gives me an idea. I could find the Herkules statue and have a conversation with him. That would be an interesting thing to do in a dream.

      I fly up the staircases and find myself in a small park where a number of people are walking around. There is no Herkules Statue, but I do see a statue slightly off to the left—although monument might be the better word since it’s basically just a bronze head on a pedestal, a man wearing what looks like a conquistador helmet.

      I walk over to it, look at the head and ask: “So, is there anything you want to say to me?”

      The head comes to life. It says: “What the f*** are you doing here?” in what is quite possibly a Cockney accent. I’m a bit taken aback but still proceed to have a conversation with him—as best I can. I’m finding the accent difficult, and the background noise from the other people here isn’t helping.

      After a bit, three young women come up and join in the conversation. I recognize them the way one normally recognizes people in non-lucid dreams, although none of them seem to be people familiar to me in waking life. The only one whose appearance I can remember was a middle-eastern looking woman with thick, dark hair going down a little past her shoulders. Unfortunately, pretty much everything we said there faded from memory by the time I woke up.

      As the conversation ends, the bronze head offers to kiss a coin for each of us—this seems to be a good luck ritual of the sort that often develops around statues. The others produce coins, and I figure I’ll go along with it, too. Without looking, I stick my hand into a pocket which I expect I have—even though I don’t ordinarily wear clothing with pockets where this would be possible, it’s a pretty reliable method of materializing objects that might conceivably be in one. I feel around the various objects there for a coin. As I do, I recall the Soviet Kopeck that mysteriously turned up in my last batch of laundry—my aunt had been washing some really old stuff, I guess—and, unsurprisingly, that’s what the coin I eventually find turns out to be.

      Once that’s over, I’m once again faced with the decision of what to do. As I fly back down the hillside, it occurs to me that this might be a good opportunity to find some people I'd like to speak to. I fly all the way down to the harbor and, since the ground is flat here, I land and walk. I call out their names and try to find them among the crowd, or among the people on the boats. But I don’t see them there, and before long, I wake up.

      (3.7.18)

      Updated 08-05-2018 at 02:46 AM by 75857

      Categories
      lucid
    8. Interrupted Lesson; Beyond the Outskirts

      by , 06-21-2018 at 01:44 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      I’m in a study, sitting at a desk facing a wall. A man is sitting to my left. This seems to be some kind of music lesson: we have sheets of manuscript paper in front of us, and I’m doing some sort of exercise where I fill in bits of the melodies that aren’t written. I’m having trouble figuring out how to notate the rhythm I have in mind, but after moving to something else for a little while, I come back and manage it easily. I write the notes in with a red pen, very neatly.

      The lesson’s almost over when a young girl, 7 or 8, runs into the room and lies down on the desk in front of us—the man’s daughter. She seems to be in a silly mood. She speaks to him in German - we've been speaking English until now - and he answers. She moves across the room, and they have an exchange in which he asks her questions, but she just gives nonsense answers and giggles (and totally ignores me). I just watch and pet the cat, a gray tabby that’s also entered the room, not at all put out by the interruption. Before long, a woman who seems to be a nanny comes in, presumably for the girl.

      I wake up.

      In the next dream, I’m staying in a large hotel with my parents. As I walk through the lobby, towards the staircase, I see a number of men dressed in suits of armor decorated with intricate patterns and women in white ballerina’s outfits with similar patterns in silver. Some sort of wedding party, I figure.

      After a quick trip to the room, which is at the end of a hallway, my mother and I seem to be walking out, away from the city center and towards the outskirts. This is Wilhelmshöhe, apparently—although it would be hard to find a place that looks less like the actual place of that name. There’s less and less to see as we walk along. Less traffic, too. A man drives a horse-drawn carriage past and gives us a peculiar look. Somehow, I have the feeling that we’re expected here, and he’s a part of it.

      And, an unknown period of time after that, I’ve been transported to a different place, a large building full of people getting ready to something to begin. I’m a part of it, too, now. A man is explaining to me what’s going on in a mixture of French and German. That seems to be the norm here, and I slip into it too as I speak with him.

      I comment at one point that something he just said sounded more like how people talk in movies than in real life—or dreams, I add. Because I do know it’s a dream by now, although I’m not sure just when the realization hit me. But I’m going along with it because it looks like some interesting and possibly important things are going on here.

      Unusually for a lucid dream, it was difficult to remember much of what happened—some details stood out, but a lot of it just blurred together. The man I’ve been talking to seems to be in charge and has us carry out different tasks, and give answers to questions. I seem to be apart from the others somehow, involved, but playing a different role.

      (17.6.18)
      Categories
      lucid , non-lucid
    9. Shop of Shiny Things

      by , 06-13-2018 at 04:15 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      In this dream, I ampart of a group, possibly of students, although we seem to be doing whatever it is we’re doing out in the streets of a city rather than in a classroom. At some point, I go into a shop with a few others. It’s selling clothing—skirts mostly, long, summer-y ones that look handmade, in a variety of colors and patterns, but some belts and scarves and things as well.

      The things in the shop don’t seem to be in any particular order: in one part of the room is a big pile of loosely-folded skirts. I think one skirt looks interesting and pull it out to get a closer look, but it now seems to be a sheepskin vest with pictures and words on it, not really like anything else in the shop. I put it back.

      I then look at a display of jewelry on one wall. It all appears to be carved out of some kind of iridescent mineral of many colors—definitely something natural, judging by the variations. Next to the jewelry are some plectra made from the same material. A young woman from the class tells me that there are more in another part of the room, so I go to look at those as well.

      I find one plectrum there that’s blue, in a kind of boomerang shape. It looks interesting, but I’m concerned that it’s too blunt. Another is a brilliant red with little flecks of black and white on the edges and basically triangular, but with slightly concave edges going up to the point. I’ll buy that one, I decide.

      12.6.18
      Categories
      non-lucid
    10. Problem Solved

      by , 06-11-2018 at 02:28 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      This was a dream from early in the night, which may explain some of the peculiarities. I—and I may or may not have been me—mention some ongoing problem to my mother—who definitely wasn’t my actual mother. Neither of us actually seem to be represented visually in the dream: I perceive her as a powerful and protective energy, and I am observing somewhere from outside of the “I” character—I guess whom I also recognize by ‘feel’. The only clear imagery from this part I can recall is the setting—the basement of my old house in M---.

      I guess I was just complaining about it, but she takes it as a call to action and immediately sets to work. She first does something to me to keep me from interfering in any way—like an abstract version of shutting me up in a room. It had been a problem that I considered tough and protracted—I can’t remember any more about it than that—but she takes care of it with astonishing ease. And then she lets me go.

      But I manage to get into some kind of trouble again not long after that—in a forest, almost falling into a freezing-cold river I don’t see because of the snow covering it. Fortunately, she comes along and is able to get me somewhere safer, but I can’t convince her I’m not getting into dangerous situations in purpose, and so she does the shutting-in-room thing again.

      9.6.18
      Categories
      non-lucid
    11. Sinister Device

      by , 06-05-2018 at 09:42 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      I’m walking down the metallic corridor of a spaceship, carrying a small backpack and some other item with me. I spot a door on the left-hand side and walk in. It’s a little room with a bed, a sink and various other useful things along the walls. I set my things down. It looks like nobody’s claimed this one yet. I’m glad because I like room #2—they’re all pretty similar, but I just like this one more for some reason.

      I look at the bed—just a molded bit of plastic, no sheets on it yet. It’s pretty uncomfortable. I could have brought some extra bedclothes, knowing in advance that it would be, but I figured I’d just pick some up along the way.

      All of this is so familiar to me because I can remember all of it happening before, even the things that haven’t happened yet. If déjà vu is like seeing a firefly flickering in the darkness, this is like being in broad daylight. I remember all of it, although not everything seems to be set in stone—little things like my being the first one here and the outcome of one very big thing that’s still a long way in the future.

      Somewhere out in space, there’s an odd device wired into the workings of a satellite devoted to climate monitoring. The device had originally been with me, but some time back, in the midst of a chaotic situation, some group had managed to get their hands on it—not a hostile group, exactly, but not overly friendly either. They had managed to figure out that it was a powerful device and even how to get it to do some interesting things, but they really have no idea what it was capable of.

      This situation doesn’t bother me too much. An unmanned climate monitoring satellite isn’t a bad place for the thing for the time being. They’ve taken great pains to keep it a secret, and nobody is likely to find it there. And when it leaves dormancy and begins to destroy the satellite—it is a matter of when rather than if—there’s only so much damage it can do.

      That won’t be for a while yet. It will also take a while for them to trace it back to the device and figure out just what they’re dealing with. And that’s when they’ll come to me. I have some kind of connection with this thing, which is how I know all this, and I’m the only one who has a chance of destroying it. I won’t have to bother about getting it back. All I have to do is make sure I’m ready when the time comes.

      Someone else enters the room—a young woman, tall with short, blonde hair and a punk-ish look. I’m one of four people who have just been brought here, possibly as some kind of training program, and she’s another of them. She tells me the people in charge here found something out about her past and are making her take some kind of test—something they needed a blood sample for. She hasn’t got the results back yet. I don’t know anyone here that well yet, but I have the impression she just needs someone to talk to.

      We go out together, through a door in the ceiling. We aren’t actually in space now—we’re parked. It’s definitely not earth, though: we move through the air like swimming, as if gravity is very low here. It’s dark out, and there’s nobody else around. Not far from us is a park with a playground. We float over to it. I notice my companion is wearing a purple pair of flippers, which strikes me as a smart idea—she can probably move faster that way.

      I grab ahold of a colorful children’s play structure and maneuver through a hole in it. Might as well get a feel for what it’s like moving through the air like this. I think that this, in a way, is also preparation for what I’ll eventually have to do.

      The woman heads back to the spaceship at some point, but I stay out a bit longer.

      5.6.18
    12. Watching From the Window

      by , 06-04-2018 at 08:11 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      I’m sitting at a table by a window in what seems to be a coffee shop/bookshop, looking down at the streets below—a couple floors below, I’d say. The people in the room are seated at couches on both sides of the tables, and it seems to be pretty full right now. The street below is has broad sidewalks on either side of the road and mostly tall buildings with shop windows along the side of it I can see - a city center vibe. And while this is supposedly Prague—it seems I’ve come here for a week or so—it doesn’t resemble anywhere in particular.

      It’s early evening. The streetlights have come on and snow is falling, and I spend a while just watching people go by. I think about how I could watch the snow fall from where I’m staying as well. It would also be nice in its own way, but there wouldn’t be anywhere near as much going on.

      4.6.18

      Updated 06-05-2018 at 09:45 PM by 75857

      Categories
      non-lucid
    13. Academic Weirdness

      by , 06-01-2018 at 02:40 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      I am in a small classroom in a university, but it’s not lecture I’m attending here: it’s a theatrical performance.

      There are about a dozen of us in the audience, as well as three dogs, two of them large ones, which is almost enough to make the room crowded. Both the main actors are here already too, in the front of the room. It seems they’re performing “Faust”- or something Faust-ish, at any rate. Both the main characters are being played by women, the title role by Hélène Grimaud, although it’s not clear whether it’s actually the pianist or just a well-known actress who happens to have that name.

      There’s also a woman in the back who seems to be involved in some official capacity. She’s the one responsible for checking tickets—at least theoretically. I’m hoping that remains theoretical since I don’t actually have a ticket. The prevailing system here seems to work like train tickets, where the ticket is good for a certain range of dates. While I do have one on hand, it’s good for three weeks in November, and it’s still October now.

      She begins by giving a short speech, which she records using a small camera. Predictably, the smaller dog, which is hers, sticks its face directly in it at one point. Things come to a halt for a bit as the audience makes a fuss over all the dogs and encourages her to get them on film. But eventually, the performance itself gets underway.

      For a while, it’s just the two leads talking, but very clever dialogue. At one point, the Mephistopheles(-ish) character begins asking for members of the audience to volunteer. And, as people begin to get more comfortable, they begin to participate more. Soon—what with the intimate space and the lack of separation between us and the performers— it’s as if we’re a part of the performance rather than just observing it.

      I look out the (partially frosted glass?) wall at a man walking by—he probably thinks this is a rather odd lesson, given that it’s probably not obvious at first glance that it’s a performance. But actually, he seems to be part of the performance as well. He enters the room, placing some notes and a glass with some white wine in it on a lectern, and beings to talk about philosophy.

      One of the audience members comments on the wineglass. The newcomer enters into a hilarious dialogue with them, still in a philosophical vein, all in a complete deadpan. I recall him claiming that he wasn’t the same person he was a couple of drinks ago. Another half-dozen people seem to have joined the audience at some point, which is more than enough to make the room crowded. At some point, I wake up.

      After writing everything down, I fall asleep again and find myself in a continuation of the dream. I seem to have watched the rest of the performance, as well as the lecture taking place in the room afterwards—apparently a Marxist interpretation of diabetes, which I’ve stayed to listen to out of a combination of morbid curiosity and a lack of anywhere better to be. But I have a class I need to get to soon, and I want to get some coffee first, so I gather my stuff together and cut out early.

      Once outside, it occurs to me that I don’t actually know where this class is going to be held. I find my notebook in my messenger bag and look through it, but it only looks like I’ve got last semester’s schedule written here—not this one’s. But I do recall receiving an email from somebody mentioning the class’s location, so I can check on that—but it will have to be on my laptop, since I can’t access that particular account on my phone.

      My room isn’t far from here—it’s in a large building just down the street. I enter and make my way up to my room. It’s a tiny room, and unlike anywhere I’ve actually lived, but it all seems familiar and somehow pleasant. I put what seems to be my cast-iron shrine teapot on a hotplate on the top of a small, precarious-looking shelf to one side of my desk to boil water for coffee and sit down to find the email.

      According to the email, the class is taking place at St. John’s Observatory—so not on campus, then, since I would have seen it if it were. I pull up a map website to find out where it is. To my own amusement, I initially mistype "Kassel"—the place I have apparently decided I am—as "Kessel" (kettle, that is).

      Based on the pictures my search has turned up, the place I’m going to is a greenhouse as well as an observatory: it’s a small building with mostly glass walls, through which greenery can be seen. I’m not sure where it is relative to me just yet, though, and it’s now 17:00, when the class was supposed to begin. Maybe that won’t matter so much on the first day? But then it occurs to me: I’m in Germany. Akademisches Viertel. That means I still have time to get there.
    14. Select Your Symbolism

      by , 04-29-2018 at 07:40 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      I’m walking through an unfamiliar urban area. It’s fairly busy traffic-wise, but there are some young men kicking a soccer ball around in the streets. Occasionally, someone has to run out into the street and bring it back before a car gets to it. This strikes me as a little dangerous.

      Eventually, I find myself walking down into a large lecture hall, mainly white with light-colored wooden seats on either side of a central aisle. There’s a projection screen down in front, and everybody is watching a movie on it. The front area looks mostly full, but there are entire rows of empty seats closer to the back, so I sit down in a row on the left side.

      It seems I have the option to select how I want the movie rendered—it’s a little like a menu popping up on a computer, but more abstract. There are three options. In the first option, I would only perceive those aspects of it that are capable of being represented in the available medium. In the second option, the basic narrative pattern of the story would be preserved, but with the unrepresentable parts of it translated into a form that the medium can handle. That's the option I choose. I can’t remember what the third one was.

      As I watch, it quickly becomes apparent that the movie is something provisional rather than a finished creation. The screen shows static pictures representing the characters on a white background as their dialogue is spoken. I notice, however, that the acoustics in this room are incredible. It’s a high-ceilinged room, and the sound just fills it. I can feel a shift in my awareness, as it it’s expanding to fill the room as well.

      29.4.18
      Categories
      non-lucid
    15. Apocalypse LOL

      by , 04-28-2018 at 10:39 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      In the dream, I’m watching a film. I think I was watching it on a screen at first, but in the part I can remember well, I’m just standing on scene, watching as events unfold—or, rather, fail to unfold, as this seems to be the kind of film where nothing much happens.

      The main (and only present) character, a man, is in a kind of apartment with a desk or a dresser that he’s sitting at. There are no walls: I can see directly into the strange landscape beyond, where the horizon is dominated by mountain peaks, including two volcanoes. The action is divided into distinct segments, with each one ending anticlimactically. In the last one, the man calls his girlfriend on his cellphone, but nobody picks up. This seems to illustrate the unremitting futility of life—or at least you’d think it does, based on the dramatic treatment it gets.

      But once that comes to an end, all sorts of odd things start happening: a nearby pool of water starts to bubble, and one of the volcanoes erupts. I’m now in the backseat of a car with several other people, trying to get somewhere safe. But then the other volcano, which is straight ahead of us, also begins to erupt, the bright magma spilling over the rim. The woman who’s driving comments on it. I tell her she’s got the name wrong—she’s thinking of the other volcano. The one ahead of us is Vesuvius. And then I start laughing because of course what matters in this situation is making sure we get the name of the volcano that kills us right.

      I’m also laughing because I’m fully aware of how ridiculous this geography is. I know none of this is real, and that makes it hilarious. As if in acknowledgement, all kinds of odd and impossible things are appearing out of nowhere around us, even as I watch. A gigantic man wearing a striped shirt materializes off to our left, over a large body of water. He steps from island to island, striding in the same direction our car is going. I’m still laughing too hard to speak, and so it’s someone else in the car who says it: “I found Waldo.” They also seem to find the whole thing funny.

      28.4.18
      Categories
      non-lucid , memorable
    Page 1 of 3 1 2 3 LastLast