Sweven

My dream priority for last night was to be immersed in healing spaces as I've caught the flu, I think.

Hypnagogic sound: A voice close to my ear slowly whispered 'Mom'.

Chimes
Riffle empty drawers, for what? Poke through empty cupboards, for what? Slink through little lightless rooms, for what? Outside, shy bells giggle. Smile and step out into the shade of a weeping tree. Leaves trembling, tinkling chimes. Inhale a thousand songs.

4th Dimension Stir Fry?
Blocks of green, white, orange, and purple hiss and stir. Some twist, deform, disappear. Reappear in a shimmering wink. Where do they go? There loops a soundtrack to accompany the languid sink into insanity. Cotton Eye Joe.

So, if I consider these dreams, I'm possibly being told I need sound nature, healing chimes, vegetables, and hillbilly music?

No dreams recalled August 28th.

This morning:

Carving
Capstones, last minute carved, all around. Invisible in a corner. Mind a flurry of light and languages. Hands a flurry of anxiety fed ingenuity. Completion. Success. Breathe once again.

Magicians
Trails of broken bodies. Voracious politicians and self seeking spellcasters are the guilty. To a train station they are tracked by detective magicians. Battle. Bullets and left glamour against the trio of wizards right. In the end the world knows none the better as politicians conjure concealing lies.

Unwoven
Caught in a cob web of tripwires woven. Some self spun. Most laid by illusions labeled love. With painfully soft caution, pace. Suddenly she slips through. Accusation. I am the spidery which kept us caught? I think not. We become unwoven. Life is lucidity.

Forgotten dream. Typed out two dreams at 1:45am but it seems I forgot to save them. Or perhaps I wrote them during a false awakening? Must remember to reality check when writing. As I wrote there was the strong sensation that I'd been lucid but could not recall the dream.
!Remembered when I started reading other dream journal posts!

Dream Maps
Ethereal rovers design four dimensional maps. Upon them we place stars where we are and where we have been. In secret slits of space and time lie dream views. They are the beyond. But our stars will not set or slip through. Strange discussions. A man, draped in centuries of stars, stands, "Share not the spells spoken in dreams. Share not the spells cast here." We vow silence. Set our stars.
-I believe this dream was born out of the envy I felt reading the dreams of someone who dreams of other dreamers. There were many dream viewsers in this space and it WAS beautiful.


Moved
Fledglings released. Beloved and I take flight. Touch nothing. Move nothing. Take nothing. Escape to fresh spaces and faces. Here the earth sighs eternal Indian summer. Hide in a single story house in which several stories secretly unfold. Sometimes windows are doors.

No dreams remembered on the morning of the 25th.
This morning, the 26th

LUCID: Winter Wander

Sunbathers scattered across summery sands. Lake, shimmering cliffs and vales of ice. Sprays of mist spew upward from the sheen. Refracted sunlight shifts into ghosts of geometric shapes. No phone. No camera. It is uncaptured.

Scale rugged ways. Up here the world is chill. Run the ridge of a deep plowed trail. Far below, specks of children play away the day. Thin ice sheet reaches opposite ridge. Run back and forth. Each step a crackle. Scolded. Retreat to ridge. Run with the wild ire of a foal set free.

Waterfall roars right. To behold it, people stream down iced cliffs. Friend follows their current. I refuse. Run my ridge and reach an uncle's home. His house overflows with children. Help him herd them until the sky grows bruised.

Where is my cliff crossing friend? Lost? Fallen? Fractured? Dead? Fear. Cousin accompanies into snow and shadow. Dunes stand deep. Slog and seek. Fear spirals. Spirals. Spirals. Peaks. Not even dancing moonbow magic shifts the sorrow. "It's okay. The aliens got him. He's alive out there, somewhere," Cousin reassures. Aliens? Fear? Sorrow?

A stealthy finger through palm. "OH! We're dreaming." Declaration unacknowledged. Cousin is gone. All are gone. Wander on. Search for other dream-swept souls.

Non lucid dreams from August 24th


The Falls
Speed a desert highway. Road switches to stream. Nearly drive off a dead-end, a waterfall roaring down into a misty eternity. In the shallows laughs little cousin. Brother, despising any hints of happiness, shoves her. Both fumble to the edge. Cousin dodges. Brother slips. He slides and grips for dear life. All souls see. Not one soul shifts to save him. Mother's sings wasted threats.

Round Room
Round rooms sweeten whispers. I dare not speak. Sneak through throngs of artists, poets, and players. Spiral through a sea of bold, bright vitality. Don't want to contaminate them with the dim shallows of my soul. I am found. Cheered to sing until my song silvers with molten full moon grace. This IS my place.

Dream post 4:30 am after cat zoomies woke me.

Eyes refuse to see. Limbs refuse to stretch. Familiar gritty feeling prompts a pointer though palm. Dreaming? We are particles woke too soon. We will not solidify. Behold sketchy, backward hands. Universal snore rips us further into pieces.

Wake.

Chant dreamy charms. Misted curtains shift. I am in bed. Thoughts outside my head. Snap back. Roll. Feet slap floor. "I'm dreaming already?" Finger through palm and... yes. "I'm seeming to be dreaming." Step. Particles again. Wobble in and out of this specter frame of flesh. Pull it together. Dreaming. Dreaming. I am one.

Slink through sterile, soul-less rooms. Lean on a wall. Fall through to something new, a mall. Introductions to one and all. Ignored. Only acknowledgement by a twig of guy spewing carnal propositions. "I'm Sweven. Lucid. There are better things to do than sex." "Like what?" I shrug.

Move along. Goals. Where are my goals. None. Mind swims with base desires. Seek some soul to know. None. "I'm Sweven. Dreaming," I remind this world. Cast for a curvy girl with hints of gothic grace. She blooms from rabble. Her eyes find mine. We greet with lips. No. She is far to fair to bring so low. Farwell. She falls away. Create my own satisfaction. Breath takes me there. Softly so as not to slip awake. Sigh. Shut out the world.

Alone with storms and whipping weeds. From irate sky ropes rip down and dance as double helixes. They come. Raging. Roaring. Ragged souls. Fear finds me. Quick finger through the palm is calming. "Come. Do it. I'm Sweven. Dreaming," I sing to the storms. The ropes surround, cocoon around. Collapse in from the sky. Rain of tangled snakes. Swift shadow.

Lucidity lost. What farthing is this? Wade through gold, rolling green, sweet serene. An offering of bread. I am welcomed. Wander free to find my place amidst holey hills.

19th

Mes
Amusement parked. Keep a keen eye trained upon niece, nephew, and a toddler I. Little me sees the me, now grown. The tie that binds feels thready fine at best.


20th

Abandoned
Upon a winter whipped cliff a mother leaves us three. We brave the blizzard and happen across a hovel of a store. Strangers permit us shelter and sustenance.

Shutt Bridge
A great river swollen. Our pass is bent, bowed by a slush of trash and trees ripped free. "Go ahead. Go across," badgers she. Cedar eyes shine straight into mine. They nearly convince me. Trust her and maybe die. Mistrust her and stay alive.


21st

Beyond
In a house unhomely, chaos cavorts. Recoil from touch. Sound is too much. Air is thin, stained with nonsensical twangs. Sanctuary! But no. Barricaded with a woman. She feeds her baby milk clots and crushed pink pills. They are beyond. Beyond me. Beyond my voice. Beyond they, past checkerboard glass, heaven whirls black with buzzards.


22nd - Went on a short vacation with a sister and dreams were lost.

Sunday 18th

A mountain range of notebooks surrounds. One word is all I want. Where in all these scarps and spines does it hide? Just one word. One. But wait. Was I not just laying in bed? Was I not just mouthing lucid mantras? Yes. I was. How did I get here? Now the room stands empty but for I. These are not my floors, windows, or walls. What? Could it be?

A finger is pushed through the putty of my palm. No pain. Could it be? A finger is pushed into the webs of my wrist and pulled up my forearm. The feeling? My finger pushing upstream in a tickling current.

It is. This is a dream! A wash of cautious joy. Roam the empty halls of a stranger house. What wonders lie behind this simple slab? Open the door only to see a similarly empty night. Leap from a step to soar to distant stars. But slowly I slip. Toes touch deep green. They slide past. I am swallowed by the supple flesh of an ether earth.

Spin like a feather through a thousand cicada songs settled safe behind a patchwork void. Dreaming. Dreaming. Dreaming. Embrace the fall.

Here, the spirit is a dim blue-black. Smooth, straight trunks stand as far as can be perceived. They stretch eternally up into a swarthy yawn of heaven, branches unseen. Such solitude. Should I fear? No. Dreaming. Dreaming. Dreaming. Be polite. "I am Sweven. I am dreaming. I am thankful to be here." Silence replies.
A palm placed upon a trunk. A rush of falling leaves. Stand knee deep in teal. Touch another trunk. Another rush. Another wade through the weep. Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall. Now love the lazy rain of a million leaves. Teal strips with golden veins that twinkle as they twirl. Stride soft through the magic of this moment. But then steps sink. Deeper. Deeper. Deeper. Drift like a whisper through the earth. Back to black.

Freefall. The void roars and writhes. Should I fear? No. Dreaming. Dreaming. Dreaming. Laugh. Relish the fall.

Here, the spirit is as grim as a long forgotten graveyard. Clusters of gnarled trees. Naked branches, as crooked as some souls I know, stretch bold but broken. Silence is sharp. Solitude is stark. All is terrible and sacred. Push a finger through a palm. I am safe. Dreaming. Dreaming. Dreaming. I am safe. Step... but no step comes. Instead a twitch like a matrix glitch takes me to the next kink of tree. Awe. I've not known this before. I glitch on.

Senses tingle. Glitch toward the sensation of some soul. It is still. Atop spidery thin legs, as long as trees are tall, is a human-ish shape. Trench coat drapes. Tendrils of shadow tresses spill from under a not quite cowboy hat. Indiscernible eyes sit in ashen face angles. Neither young nor old... safe nor scary, it stands still still. A statue? I glitch past.

"You. Come back," a rustling voice sings. I turn. Trench coat thing is perched upon tree trunk throne. "You. Sit on my lap."

I laugh, a shrill and serrated thing that shrapnels about the dream. I shrink away from my own sound then glitch on. But what does it really want, that spindly thing with its leaf rustle voice? Finger through palm. I'm dreaming. Dreaming. Dreaming. I've nothing to fear and curiosity to sate. Glitch back to the thing on the throne. "I'm Sweven dreaming."

"You. Sit on my lap," it greets. It musters a grin, or perhaps a grimace.

Dreaming. Dreaming. Dreaming. I sit on it's lap. We are face to face... then suddenly not. Like a child on a nightmare Santa's lap, I'm caught. Arms like ropes encircle. Crushing. Tight. Hooks from the top of its bony thighs rip up into the phantom bottoms of mine. We tip backward. Thrown into another night.

I wake.

Post 5:30am dream.
It took 18 days but I finally achieved lucidity. I am terribly thankful for this. I'd begun to worry that I could not intentionally lucid dream anymore. I've proven myself wrong.

Sunday 19th

Sunless
Sunflowers hunched, stare at earth instead of sky. Desperately seek the reason why they no longer upturn their shining faces to the sun.


Re-Departed
He, who departed too soon, returns. Deep within churns, "I thought he died." But his laughter and his smile soften such severe thoughts. We enjoy his return. We savor his hugs. We simply love and are beloved. But then he is re-departed... too soon.

Friday 16th

Vultures & Swine
Vultures circle, wheeling, whipping, and chopping away chunks of childhood sky. "Hide!" someone cries. "When pigs fly," says I. "But they are flying. Right above us. Hide!" the someone cries again. Never!" I declare. "What are you doing here? FUCK OFF!" my ragged voice serenades those unwanted. To punctuate I flip twin birds at flying swine. They circle closer. Closer. Set hoof to the north. Trot this way. They hunt a murder suspect connected to the bloodlines of my yester-home.

Some Hero
A flash dead, red, and black slashes back stampedes empire cats.

Old Trail
In a neighborhood freshly stolen and stacked and old time trail still slithers. Its tail is slender but its head is a swollen graveyard of metal beasts and burdens.


Saturday 17th

Arid
Brooks and beds are coughing dust. Wells are sad and scabbed with rust. Green grows ever dimmer. From above, they laugh at our arid mother. Below, laughter is softly smothered by serpents of twisted sand.

Ice Cave
In cherished caves of ice we shine. Swing from icicle to icicle. Slide from sheet to sheet. A lone scruff tumbles in to stake a claim. I raise false swords and whetted words. He tumbles away. We return to our play.

I can not find the little black book into which I scribble my dreams. So I'll add Thurs night and add the others when I find them.

Dog Days
She is a stray, a barrel of strained golden retriever fur. Twenty pups reside within. Her future is death. In giving birth. Or struggling to sustain. Or starvation of over half. We take up the monumental task of keeping all alive. Ensuing dog days and nights are draining.

Doctors
Whuniverse Con? Am not a fan but the con name sits sideways with me. "It should be WHOniverse, with an O," I challenge all who clap eyes on me. Eyes fall.
We Breach a wall. Friend near faints as five doctors take the stage. A sixth, unknown, takes center, star of the show. When done, sixth strides into his time worn tardis... which disappears. Crowd splits in fascination and fear. Sixth is THE one. The chaos is fun. But friend is undone that she was not chosen companion.

I decided to start flexing some dream muscles by becoming a dream Olympian just for funsies and to work at dream intent. I'm not typically an Olympics watcher but there were so many reality checkable moments and memes from these that I wish I'd thought to dream Olympian along with them instead of after.

At the start of the week I shall select a random Olympic sport. I will fix my dream intent on being a competitor in that sport for the rest of the week. I have the opportunities to win the following awards:
GOLD- I compete in-dream in an Olympics as an athlete in the chosen sport
SILVER - I engage in-dream in the chosen sport but outside of the Olympics
BRONZE - I see or experience the sport in dream but am not a competitor

Aug 11th - 17th The almighty Wheel of Names has deemed Figure Skating as the Olympic sport.
0 medals this week.
Nearly a bronze, I went to watch Olympics with a class but they actually were watching Dune.
And early this morning (the 18th and a day too late) I lucidly tried skating in a dream.

Aug 18th-24th The almighty Wheel of Names has deemed Sailing as the Olympic sport.

-lights the Dream Olympic torch-

Litterfall
Bedroom carpet is oak leaves. Beneath slithers a world of worms. Some, various shapes of pasta. Some, elongated leeches, seeking. Others bulge blue with clitellums of slime and sundew spines. I collect. Inspect. Retrospect.

Dance On
They dance clockwise, two lines of humans hopping and whirling to haunted voices. I long to be part of the pomp. I've neither dress nor dance steps to match. I step in, none the less, stomping, shimmying, and spinning with fierce abandon. I disrupt the flow, I know, but care not. Others flutter to fringes. I dance on until the final mingled note of the last song.

Dog Day
A dog drowns, dragged under by the waves and wrath of a wild river. Aside, someone yells, "We can just refilm the dog scenes without the dog." Film crew falls back to their efforts. The rest lament the lost as the show goes on.

Re Risen
A home to the four footed, the six footed, and the feathered, has fallen. There is no sympathy for the 'soul-less' as the true soul-less step sightlessly around. Alone, I right the left, and yell, "Re-root! Re-rise!" After a tiny eternal time, roots grip ground. It stands, though at a one o'clock lean. It is re-risen!

Shifty
He took a nurse's face and fled. First a woman. Then man. Then child. He hid in a room with Fox and Scull. Salvation slides nigh but the lift lurched to a halt. He morphs into of clear blue gel blob. Slip through crack. Splat. He makes eternal escape.

Resurrection
At long last I wrench free my grandmothers home from the greedy grip of those with low respect. I'm greeted by shrapnel glass, scarred floors, walls of gaping dark sockets. It is a wooden corpse. It is my wooden corpse. Time to raise the dead.

Green Whisperer
She sings with flowers and speaks slow, soft words with trees. All with the touch of a golden glowing hand. She tries to save all that is good, growing, and green.

C-Wing
Sawbones swerve and c-wing patients test my patience. Time is a decrepit snake, slitering on and on and on... until a tender turns up. She dumps a tangle of threads onto the bed. They are the tatters of the dead. And now they all are mine.

Switched
Mirror, mirror, little mantis. Let us play a game. You swerve, I swerve. You step, I step. You pray, I pray. Let us see if friendship follows. DRIFT. Souls shift. And now I am magnificent. See through compound eyes. Behold the fleshy, foul creature across, caught without a prayer. Feel the insatiable urge to eat the twinkle from its eyes. Delicious despise.