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    Memorable Dreams

    1. A Place with a Mind of its Own

      by , 07-14-2020 at 08:23 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      (Note: The longer my dreams are, the harder it is for me to remember details, particularly conversations, and this was a long one. Thereís several hoursí worth of material here that I can only remember happened at all because I can remember remembering it in a later part of the dream, and this does raise questions of whether they ever actually played out. But, for what itís worth, it doesnít feel to me as if thatís what happened, and I do have many cases of knowing dream memory is working in that way to compare it to.)

      The earliest part I can remember is of a disaster taking place, a flood sweeping through a public building of some kind. Everybody is trying to get out. Iím one of the last out, but I wait, holding the door open so that the waters donít forcibly close it and trap the one person whoís still there. It took him a while to believe this was actually happening (understandable, considering how weird it is), so he didnít get out as quickly as everyone else.

      After this series of events is the biggest memory gap, which seems to mainly consist of meeting up with a large group of people and preparing for some kind of expedition together. I become lucid not long before weíre going to set off, although itís not so much me realizing that itís a dream as it is the unconscious knowledge that itís a dream, which Iíve been acting on this whole time, becoming conscious. And this sort of makes it feel as if Iíve been lucid the whole time, if that makes sense.

      Iím looking out the window of a house onto the rolling fields beyond as it happens. I still have some preparation to do here, though, so Iím still here packing as everybody else is leaving. Iím taking my hiking backpack, the black one with yellow trim. It occurs to me to wonder whether I need to do this in a dream, since I can just make things appear if I need them. But I have the impression, based on earlier conversations, that I might not be able to do that in some of the places weíre going, and so Iíll want to make sure I have essentials with me, at least. The last thing I grab is my brown aviator-style jacket, which I fold and pack into the backpack before buckling it and heading downstairs and outside.

      I can just see somebody disappearing past the other side of the house, down a broad stone staircase. Thatís where everybodyís gone. I try flying part of the way, but perhaps because of the hiking backpackóeven though it doesnít feel heavyóitís hard to get more than a couple feet off the ground. But flying seems to be slower than running anyway, so I just run around the side and down the stairs.

      Iím now in an area with several platforms rising a distance above the ground. Next to one on the far side is a cliff wall with a small tunnel partway up, a little above head height. A young women is nearby Ė it seems she had to stop to do something before going onward. I jump onto one of the platforms, where I see some piled-up clothing. I recognize it as a kind of uniform for us to wear. It looks a bit like a karate gi: loose pants and a shirt that ties around the front, white, though a little discolored with age and threadbare in places. On some of the edges, flowers are embroidered in pale colors. I put it on over my clothing.

      Jumping onto the last platform and up to the tunnelótaking off the backpack and pushing it in firstóis practically effortless, much easier than it would be in waking life, which makes it kind of fun. The tunnel is not tall enough to walk in, and it narrows considerably not far ahead, so I push the backpack in ahead of me. It barely fits, and I can see it slide down once it gets past the narrow point, where the tunnel slopes downward. I barely fit, too Ė I actually have to turn my head to the side to squeeze through. But soon, itís large enough to where I can crawl again, and then walk upright.

      The tunnel is made of squares of some smooth material, solid black in the center but with a stripe of red-orange around the edges that glows, lighting the way. As I walk, it slopes further downward and eventually drops me into a corridor with a grimy, institutional feel to it. All dimly and artificially lit, as if Iím somewhere underground.

      It has a distinctly unpleasant vibe Ė although part of the reason may be because of what I know about this place. It is actually a sentient environment, and not a very nice one, and now that Iím inside of it, itís going to be tracking my every move and shaping itself according to my actions and reactions. Itís not the destination Ė just somewhere we have to pass through on the way. Thereíll be a test at the end that has to be passed before we can get out Ė but this place doesnít like people leaving it and will be actively throwing obstacles in our way.

      My backpack isnít here Ė the place probably hid it somewhere, and so Iíll have to be on the lookout for it. I turn towards the right, reading the plates on the doors as I go by, deciding which room to enter first. The place looks to be some sort of school judging by what they say.

      As I walk, faint, unpleasant feeling-tones arise, like the ghosts of memories with an archaic, dark quality to them, although they definitely don't involve my personal past Ė not in this lifetime, anyway. Or maybe theyíre anticipations of what Iíll find here, behind the doors. Or maybe both. I also see a set of stairs leading downwards, but I donít want to leave this floor just yet.

      After reaching the end of the corridor, I head back, still making up my mind. Itís not terribly important where I go first, but I am aware that, as the first deliberate choice I make here, it will give the place some insight into me, will establish the course of how things will go. I decide on a room about midway between the end of the corridor and where I started from labelled ďFaculty Lounge.Ē

      As I open the door, Iím surprised by what I see. Itís a little room, somewhat like the bedroom of a hostel, with two bunk beds, a table off to one side and some assorted furniture Ė overall, quite nice apart from the lack of windows. But the really surprising thing is that itís already occupied by two people from the group I started with.

      Sam is thereóSam, maker of ukuleles, fixer of anything with strings and frets, host of concerts and an accomplished musician in his own right. His dog is there with him. The other person isnít waking-life familiar, although he does somewhat resemble one of my coworkers, with dark hair, pale skin and some kind of facial hair, I think. A dog has come in with me as well, a large, black one. I donít pay much attention to it besides noting that itís mine and hoping that the room isnít going to be too crowded now.

      Sam greets me Ė but he uses a different name, a manís name. They must be seeing this place and this situation differently than I do, I realize. It had been mentioned at the earlier gatherings that it would appear differently to everybody Ė but I had assumed that we would also be going through it alone, individually, and so it hadnít occurred to me that Iíd find myself in this kind of situation. But I can roll with it.

      We talk for a little while. At one point, one of them advises me to be careful not to give this place ďthe impression that Iím somebody it can f*** with.Ē Sam mentions that heís working on a puzzleóit seems to be set up on the table thereóand I say Iíll leave him to it. I mention, though, that Iím good with puzzles, and he invites me to come help put it together. This must be part of their test, I realize Ė and it strikes me that maybe it isnít a coincidence I ended up here to help them with it, although from everything Iíve heard, it would be uncharacteristically benevolent for the place to intentionally direct me to them.

      The puzzle seems to mainly feature cute baby animals, and it is close to being finished. I help assemble the remaining pieces as Sam tells me some anecdotes heís heard about a 20th century Viennese composer. He canít remember which one theyíre about. I notice, though, that the bottom edge of the puzzle isnít complete. Sam is stirring some sort of gooey blue liquid, and I realize that that will also be part of it: the tests, though different, all have one thing in common: incorporating two bowls of these brightly colored mixtures into them somehow.

      14.7.20
    2. Darkness and Light and Cellos

      by , 05-16-2020 at 10:00 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      I am hanging out with co-workers and getting to know somebody whoís apparently just been hired. Her name is Marie, and sheís from Canada. In addition to working here, sheís a grad student working on a music degree, which she's now almost done with. She's currently working on the composition that will be her thesis. She shows it to me Ė via some sort of electronic device, I think.

      The music is notated on manuscript paper, but instead of the usual note shapes, there are little horizontal rectangles that stretch out for as long as the note is held, rather like a midi display. The inside of each rectangle is patterned in ways that indicate something about the music. I hear it in my head as I read, with the patterns calling up images and connotations in relation to it.

      The first bar begins with two long Gs an octave apart played by instruments in the violin family Ė I donít identify them explicitly in the dream, but given that itís written in the bass clef, almost certainly cellos. The rectangles contain the patterns signifying darkness and light. The impression this makes is hard to describe. Poignant, maybe Ė a suggestion of a cavernous space vast enough to hold them both at once. It continues, but I canít remember the part after that so well.

      16.5.20
    3. The End of the World (again)

      by , 05-10-2020 at 09:34 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      In the earliest part of the dream I can remember well, Iím with a group of people from work. Weíre in a house rather than an office, a mostly empty one thatís not in the best condition and which strikes me as reminiscent of somewhere in the past (it's not a vague memory in the dream Ė rather, my waking self canít pin it down to anywhere familiar). Thereís something in the way everything is happening that suggests weíre maintaining order in the midst of a chaotic situation and extemporizing as necessary. Some disaster has struck the world Ė although it seems less like this is the aftermath than that it was so bad that what remained of humanity actually had to flee to some sort of parallel dimension.

      Kate, the director, tells us we should all go outside to see something. Stepping out of the house, I can see what looks like a large town square across the street, round-ish in shape, possibly cobbled. Above the old-fashioned buildings on the opposite side, the sky is turning pink and purple in a certain area. In the middle of it, a black spot appears, clearly visible against the light. I recognize it, as does everybody there: this was what happened before, the thing that came and destroyed the world.

      But something is different this time: instead of appearing large and far away, the spot now seems to be quite close, in the square itself. Somehow, I know that I can make things turn out differently this time around. I run towards it, the others not far behind.

      The dark sphere is floating there, too high to jump for but close to a flagpole on the far side. I scale it. The flag, which is dark blue, isnít flying Ė rather, it seems to be tied to the pole, and (on later reflection) entirely too large for it. The thing actually looks more like a mast than a flagpole. But I manage to make it up with no trouble until I'm level with the sphere. Itís very small now, smaller than a cotton ball. I reach out and grab it, enclosing it in my hand.

      The moment I touch it, it changes, becoming material, taking on a definite shape. It has become a key on a keyring.

      I know what to do now: the keyhole canít be too far away. I actually find it on the way back down, on the base of the pole. I put it in and turn, and keep turning. And as I do, something is happening to the building closest to the pole: the whole faÁade is unfolding, revealing a large airplane inside. It looks like a typical jet, but in the dream, it strikes me like something out of another era, concealed here for who knows how long.

      A dirty, light brown liquid is pooled near the nose. An inner voice that seems to belong to the plane itself tells me that it needs an oil change. I think that it probably needs rather more than that, considering how long itís been here. But Iím aware that this situation is out of my hands now. It will be others who fix it up and who make use of it somehow to avert disaster. Iíve done what I can.

      10.5.20
    4. The Moon above a Grove of Palms

      by , 12-09-2018 at 07:41 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      As usual, I seem to have become aware that Iím dreaming without being able to remember how it happened. Iím in a house along with two other people. I believe that theyíre other dreamersónot sure now on what basis.

      In one part early on, Iím looking at a still scene in front of me, like a picture. It takes me a couple minutes to puzzle out whatís happening in it. A young man is shown looking into a body of water like a lake. The sky is colorful and full of varied light, with a couple odd-shaped clouds in the foreground. I figure out that the cloud that looks like a unicornís head is going towards the cloud shaped like a dragonís, which represents an attack on the sun by the moon, and the man is watching it through the reflections in the water.

      When Iíve realized this, the scene comes to life in front of me. The clouds converge, and the sky darkens, with the moon appearing. It behaves strangely at first before taking up a normal course in the sky. The man gets up and heads in the direction it has gone. Heís going to try to fix the situation.

      A lot of the dream faded from memory when I woke up, but in the subsequent parts, I was with the two dreamers. I only remember one person well, a guy. He is apparently already familiar with this legendóI get the impression he knows a lot of them.

      At some point quite a bit later on, the others are somewhere else, fighting a monster of some kind. I guess some people donít feel like theyíve really accomplished something unless thereís an epic boss battle at the endóbut I just donít find those things very interesting. While thatís going on, Iím standing near a grove of palm trees, above which the moon is floating in the form of a little, glowing crescent shape. Once we get ahold of that, weíve won. According to the man, however, thereís something odd about the palm leaves, and a person will die if they touch them. But they just look like normal palm leaves to me, and so I figure Iíll take my chances with them. Anyway, I can fly in from above and avoid the leaves that way.

      First step: make wings. Iíve been using shortcuts so much lately I figure that this time, Iíll do the full procedure like I used to. I stand facing my shadow on the ground, and will it to grow wings. Immediately, I see them unfolding, and unfolding further, out to their usual considerable span.

      But this timeóperhaps in response to my wanting to get a better view of what happens when I do thisóthere are also reflective surfaces nearby, although I canít say now just what they were. I can see the wings themselves reflected in themóand since Iíve never set an intention for anything beyond generic wings, itís a bit of a surprise to see how theyíre turning outóred-gold in color, and faintly glowing. I climb up onto a nearby objectóagain, I canít remember specifically what it wasóand from there, hover over to the trees and grab the crescent moon.

      In the process, though, I brush the tips of a couple palm leaves. And, perhaps because of tható or perhaps notó I soon find the dream fading around me until Iím in complete darkness. Iím still lucid, though. It feels as if Iím moving forward, but with nothing visible except for occasional faint shapes in the darkness, itís impossible to tellóor, for that matter, tell how much time is passing. But after a while, I feel like itís a good time to go back. I open my eyes, intending to be in the previous setting.

      And Iím there, as before, and so are the two people. I can remember even less of this later part than I can the previous oneóalthough I can recall the second person definitely being female in this one, whereas I can remember nothing at all about them from the first. Thereís a series of events involving a deep pit filled with boiling water that opened up in the house. At some later part, the others seem to have lost lucidity. They're acting somewhat zombie-like, and are unresponsive to my efforts to get their attention. Not long after that, I wake up.

      8.12.18
    5. Sinister Device

      by , 06-05-2018 at 09:42 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      Iím 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. Itís a little room with a bed, a sink and various other useful things along the walls. I set my things down. It looks like nobodyís claimed this one yet. Iím glad because I like room #2ótheyíre all pretty similar, but I just like this one more for some reason.

      I look at the bedójust a molded bit of plastic, no sheets on it yet. Itís pretty uncomfortable. I could have brought some extra bedclothes, knowing in advance that it would be, but I figured Iíd 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 havenít happened yet. If dťjŗ 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 stoneólittle things like my being the first one here and the outcome of one very big thing thatís still a long way in the future.

      Somewhere out in space, thereís 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 itónot 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 doesnít bother me too much. An unmanned climate monitoring satellite isnít a bad place for the thing for the time being. Theyíve 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 satelliteóit is a matter of when rather than ifóthereís only so much damage it can do.

      That wonít 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 theyíre dealing with. And thatís when theyíll come to me. I have some kind of connection with this thing, which is how I know all this, and Iím the only one who has a chance of destroying it. I wonít have to bother about getting it back. All I have to do is make sure Iím ready when the time comes.

      Someone else enters the roomóa young woman, tall with short, blonde hair and a punk-ish look. Iím one of four people who have just been brought here, possibly as some kind of training program, and sheís 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 testósomething they needed a blood sample for. She hasnít got the results back yet. I donít 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 arenít actually in space nowóweíre parked. Itís definitely not earth, though: we move through the air like swimming, as if gravity is very low here. Itís dark out, and thereís 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 ideaóshe can probably move faster that way.

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

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

      5.6.18
    6. Apocalypse LOL

      by , 04-28-2018 at 10:39 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      In the dream, Iím watching a film. I think I was watching it on a screen at first, but in the part I can remember well, Iím just standing on scene, watching as events unfoldóor, 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 heís 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 lifeóor at least youíd 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. Iím 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 whoís driving comments on it. I tell her sheís got the name wrongósheís 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.

      Iím also laughing because Iím 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. Iím still laughing too hard to speak, and so itís someone else in the car who says it: ďI found Waldo.Ē They also seem to find the whole thing funny.

      28.4.18
      Categories
      non-lucid , memorable
    7. Was That the Fourth Wall Back There?

      by , 04-24-2018 at 02:10 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      This dream was interesting: it was like I was playing out a role in a story, aware that it was a story (but not aware that it was a dream). It was being narratedónot by anybody present, but a voice that I could talk to and that seemed to be indicating what I should be doing as much as describing it.

      The setting was a building like an airport - at least, in the only part I can remember. But it only appeared that way from the standpoint of the people there: it was really two separate buildings, split by a wall they couldnít see. Inside the wall were rooms where there were peopleópeople who could see through the wall and observe what was happening on both sides, and people in offices who were presumably working to keep the place going. The cameraófor lack of a better wordóseemed to make a point of showing this area, even though nothing much was happening there. At one point, it slowly panned across it so that you could see all the people as well as a window showing an entire world outside that didnít exist from the standpoint of the people in the building where I was.

      Right now, Iím concerned with getting into a special event thatís being held by people whose land borders mine. I approach a man I knowómaybe in his late 30s, wearing some kind of complex, vaguely tribal outfitóand ask him if he can take me along. Heís happy to accept. He just seems to be a good-natured person who likes helping people get what they want. He probably thinks I just want to get in with a certain crowd, but I have other reasons for needing to be there (unfortunately, not ones I can remember after waking up).

      Heís going there now, and Iíll be coming along on a Ė well, Iím not entirely sure what it is. It has a special name (that I forgot) and seems to be a bit like a jet ski, but attached to a helicopter and with things like leather shields Iím supposed to hold onto. As I look it over, Iím glad this is going to be broadcast over the radio because that gives everyone in the audience a chance to imagine something less stupid-looking. But I get on it, and we head off.

      24.4.18
      Tags: narration, story, wall
      Categories
      non-lucid , memorable
    8. Political Poem; And each time, it grew colder

      by , 03-18-2018 at 11:58 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      I seem to be back in my old house in M---, in the dining room/weight room area (an odd combination that is actually true to life rather than your standard oneiric mash-up). I'm reading a poem that is supposedly by Heine. It’s a sort of varied, complex, allusive thing that somehow manages to be beautiful while also having real matter to it. But as incredible as it is, there’s also a real sense it which it doesn’t speak to modern people anymore. That means there’s an opportunity for a modern take—which is an intimidating prospect since whatever I’d write would inevitably be held up next to this one.

      While pursuing this line of thought, I’ve gotten up and started walking towards the front door. The part about the different Chinese dynasties—well, no question what that would have to be now. In the original, it was totally an indirect criticism of his government—you had to be indirect about it in those days.

      I now seem to be packing for a trip I’m going to take with some friends. The next part I remember clearly is being in a train station rather like the one in Kassel, waiting for my train. But I notice I haven’t brought my heavy coat with me, and since we’ll be camping, I could really be missing it if the weather turns cold. I also have some plastic boxes, one of which is filled with cheese? Why is this even here?

      Looking at an analog clock, I see I still have 20 minutes left before my train arrives, and that’s enough time to pack more sensibly since I only have to go down a hallway to get to my house. I picture the hallway: it’s reminiscent of the one between Penn Station and Madison Square Gardens in NYC.

      There seems to be another shift here: I’m now watching a video— like animated drawings, black and white. It’s about three girls, one of whom I know is me, although they are all represented identically. There is also music in the background: a bouzouki playing a cheerful melody.

      According to the narration, the three girls created a world together. But this doesn’t seem quite right to me. The images are definitely showing them doing it one at a time, but the narration seems to be referring to it as a single event. Perhaps the video is just showing it that way in order to make the levels of ontological priority clear? No, the video clarifies, it really did happen three separate times. The one who is me did it the first time, and then, a while later, each of the others—but it was somehow harder for them because each time, it had grown colder there.

      And now I actually seem to be there, walking through the scenery as it’s snow falls. There are graves there, marked by headstones—the graves of the two other girls, I realize. This does not compute—especially the incongruity with the background music, which has failed to reflect the dark turn this scene has taken and is continuing on as cheerfully as before—and I wake up.

      But the last phrase of the music was still clear enough in my memory to where I was able to record it:



      As of waking up, it was on its second repetition. My guess is that this isn’t an original creation. It just seems so familiar—but then, so many things in dreams do.

      18.3.18

      Updated 08-05-2018 at 02:49 AM by 75857

      Categories
      non-lucid , memorable
    9. A Doomed Encounter; Your Turn

      by , 02-12-2018 at 10:48 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      A meeting is taking place beside a river between a knight and a woman. His name is Gawain. Her name is Lotus. It seems like the beginning of a relationship between them. But she can see into the future, and she knows that one day, he will kill her. And yet, she doesn't attempt to break things off.

      I am seeing things from his perspective and from hers, and also from somewhere outside of it, where I donít like the way things are going. And so I pull the scene apart, untangling all the little mental streams that are contributing to it and recombining them into three separate bundles. It will be easier to work with this way, I figure. Now I am in the kitchen of my old house in M--- with my mother, preparing a meal. Iím making the salads. But as I tear the lettuce into smaller pieces, I can still see the river there, and a little point of red light shining in the grass beside it. Itís easy to see and easy to avoid, but it still makes me uneasy.

      In a different dream, Iím in a grocery store, although the building seems to be serving multiple functions. Iím there shopping with Saimiís little sister, who seems to be around seven years old. After a while, I figure Iíll let her take care of a few things. She gets to do something all on her own, I get to read for a little bitóit seems like a pretty good arrangement. I tell her to pick out some plumsómaybe three, whatever kind looks niceóand I sit down at a table there with my book of Rilkeís poetry, which I apparently have with me. She goes off and comes back a few minutes later with a single plum in a plastic bag. She places it on the table and then leaves again. A few minutes later, sheís back with another plum in a bag. Kids. You know thereís got to be some sort of weird logic behind this.

      But now something else seems to be happening: thereís going to be a horse race here, inside the building, and Saimiís little sister is participating, along with three other people. But the horse sheís on is a rather strange one: it seems to be made of some embroidered red material with yellow patterns in it, while still behaving like a living horse. But the race doesnít begin immediately, and I awaken before it actually takes place.
    10. I Guess You Can borrow That; Return With Lucidity

      by , 01-31-2018 at 05:06 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      I am traveling in a foreign country, driving a car down a dirt road—although there’s a bit of a traffic jam at the moment, and nobody is actually moving except the pedestrians, who walk between the cars and on the side of the road. Two women wearing some kind of sari-like traditional dress walk past. I think about giving them a lift—something I wouldn’t ordinarily consider doing, but they seem particularly trustworthy somehow.

      At some point, I suddenly find that the car is full of people, and I’m in the backseat. The two people in the front seats are wearing police uniforms, and two or three other people are standing between the rows of seats. I ask a man in a white business-type shirt standing to my left if this is a police chase, and he confirms that it is. I have heard about this—of officers requisitioning vehicles so they can go after somebody who would otherwise escape them. I suppose that’s OK—not that I get any choice in the matter.

      The next thing I remember is walking through a public building, talking with the same man. He’s asking me questions. One is, essentially, whether I can take any time off work. I reply that I can’t. I’m working remotely even now, on this trip. He is concerned that I’m not recovering from something, which he seems to feel is my fault, and wants me to undergo a scan of some kind—he’s holding the equipment now, beside a machine there. This is a little exasperating, as I’m already pretty sure this has to do with some kind of control issue, which isn't exactly news. But what’s more troubling is the fact that he’s mentioning things that happened since the car chase, and I don’t remember anything between now and then. I try to determine how big of a memory gap I’m dealing with. Very shortly afterwards, I conclude that this is not something it’s possible to do without knowing what happened during that time. And at that point, I wake up.

      It’s an hour or so after that—after recording the dream and after listening to people being typically noisy atypically early downstairs—that my cell phone rings. Or vibrates, rather, since that’s the setting I keep it on. I’m annoyed since I was almost asleep, and this is such a good opportunity for having a lucid dream. If I ignore it and don’t move, it’ll stop soon enough. But it doesn’t stop after the normal number of rings, and so I finally give up on the dream and get up to shut it off. And that’s when I realize—this is a dream.

      This is the part where I figure out what to do, now that I have this opportunity. And right now, what I want to do is go back to the setting of the last dream and figure out what was going on there. I head over to the window and step onto the windowsill, disregarding the glass pane, which obligingly acts as though it didn’t exist.

      It is dark out, but the setting I see before me has nothing else in common with what I’d ordinarily see out my window. For one thing, it’s a long way down—the ledge where I’m perched isn’t as high as an airplane would fly, perhaps, but it can’t be that much closer to the earth. The landscape spread out before me is also unfamiliar, and remarkably strange. The ground is uniformly flat, with nothing but houses and trees as far as the eye can see. But every so often, there are tall, thin spires, each set of them closely grouped, apparently made of rock— like giant needles stuck into the earth. Their tips are about level with where I am—in other words, incredibly high—and they’re so disproportionate to the rest of the landscape that they look unnatural.

      Looks like I’ll be flying, then. But first—I will it to become daytime and wait for a little while. Nothing happens. Well, that was probably a little unrealistic, but it was worth a try. Anyway, I can see just fine, even with no discernible source of light: everything below me and in the distance is clear and crisply outlined. But seen with night-vision, it’s all dark blue, which will make it less interesting to fly over. (Later on, after waking up, I’ll recall that I intentionally enabled myself to see in the dark in a lucid dream a couple months ago—could it be that it was a lasting modification? That would be interesting.)

      I ready myself and launch outwards, extending a set of muscles I only have in dreams, when I choose to: wings. It’s a smooth glide for the most part. There isn’t much in the way of wind up here—as empty and still and silent as it is on the ground far below. Trees, houses, more trees, more houses, and the nearest set of spires, coming ever closer. It’s an odd feeling, being up here in this lonely place, poised and sharply aware and secure somehow.

      The next part is difficult to remember—I’m not exactly sure how I managed to find my way back to the building from the first dream, but it seemed to involve flying in a pattern around the spires—a little like dialing the combination of a lock, a little like grabbing the fabric of dream-space and twisting it in exactly the right way. But one way or another, I'm there. The building was full of people before, but now it is dark and empty. And a woman with brown skin and dark hair is standing beside me there—she will take me to the man I want to speak to.

      And that’s the point where it would be best to end this account, I think….

      (29.1.18)

      Updated 01-31-2018 at 05:24 AM by 75857

      Categories
      lucid , non-lucid , memorable