lucid

Who is she, tucked in her long and too-thin casket? Sit aside the mourners. Not a souls is known, not even my own, I think.

A jittery man, red jumpsuit wrapped, plays broken keys, spews spoken hymns. Red backs into the bed. It tips. It rocks. The death mask within un-wrinkles with shock. Her brows twitch. Her lips narrow. Is she alive? Dead? Undead?

The assembled are unbothered.

Look back. Sleeper has shifted. She is mother, face convulsing, eyes rolling in REM rage. Stab of fear. Wash of revulsion.

Seek solace from the mourners. They are unmoved.

Breathe through the shock. Call upon cautious disbelief. This can't be real. Fumble through a reality check, "It's a dream. Of course it is. Just a dream. Just a dream."

Look back. Mother contorts into grandmother. Heavily painted eyes rip open. She sits up. Face bitter. We lock eyes. She gives an unloving grin full of secrets, full of sin. My soul prickles with dread.

The crowd are statues. "This is a dream!" I scream.

Look back. Grandmother contorts into Yubaba. We stand suddenly face to face. "Give me a hug," she croaks through wrinkles, rippling wild. Recoil. Then, through the fear comes clambering some calm. I claim, "This is dream." Step toward the arisen. Fall into embrace. Frighteningly, absolute nothing inhabits her hold. Yubaba pulls away. She floats away. Red still croons fragmented tunes. The undead gives gifts to the statues still littered about.

Slip into an icy, analytical space. "This is a dream. The walking dead. The waking dead. Re-awakening?"

Forked tongue splits a grin. Seeds of lies are sewn. Silence is safety. A sister and I Trip backward in time. We stroll our old halls. They are crowded, cold. Suddenly behold that I am birthday bare. I can't seem to care. This must be a dream. Reality Check. Yes! We are dreaming.

No assertations. Instead, simply know and follow the flow of this cliche scene. Sister is frantic to find me attire. Allow her lead. Door to door to door. All locked. Floor to floor to floor. Half-cocked. Each turn sees us ignored.

Suddenly he strides, dream within a dream. His eyes of twilight and his scarecrow grin cast magic across my lucid skin. His coat is offered. I accept. He goes his own way. His lingering scent leaves me wrapped in vulgar yearnings. But I am lucid. I know this trap. He is a sensual distraction. Reality check. Walk away.

Sister wanders off to find some ride. I wait, dance half naked outside the institute of my youth. I'm dreaming. Dreaming. Dreaming. Sister seems long gone. Bid the sun farewell. Pluck it from the sky. Admire its sharp shine in the hollow of my hand. Make a lucid wish. Now, blow out the sun. It lilts slowly away like a mess of milkweed fluff. Fall madly in love with its simple grace.

Catch a luscious scent. Feel a hungry leer. Surge of temptation. I know he is near. "Who are we?" I ask. No answer. I spin. Fall flat on my back. Laughing, I stand, slip off the jacket, "Take it back? I am naked, not afraid." No answer. Toss the jacket onto rocks. Into silken grass I sprawl. Allow whatever will come, to come. I slip... sink... and fall.

What the Feck!
Discussing dreams and reality checks. Kay laughs out, "What the Feck. What the heck and what the fuck mixed. What the feck! Reality check! For those WTF moments." It should work. Rhymes have a way of worming into simple brains like mine. We test her spell. Surprise! "We're in a dream! It works!" I cheer with childlike glee. A sudden swell of clarity. And then, because no dreams were recalled during earlier wakings, a passionate declaration, "I'll remember ALL my dreams if I wake up right now!"

I woke and dreams came flooding.

Today is my birthday. Curl into some closet but she finds me, as mothers always do. Her smile is gold, eyes emerald sparks. She beckons. With reluctance, I obey. She has gotten me the greatest gift, she says. Peripherally, the greatest gift grins. Look away, away, away. Play blind, blubbering fool til gold is tarnished and emerald sparks sputter out. Why so cruel? Why does my bastard heart want her to hurt?

Hear the greatest gift. I ask who is watching Batman. See the greatest gift, all grins and ghoul green hair. "Hey," I say, "Aren't you that guy who was in Star Wars? Han Solo?" The greatest gift laughs mirthlessly "You're kidding me, right?" I give up the fight to hold firm the jagged stone about my soul. The wall barricading my heart falls broken. I laugh, "Yes. I'm kidding. I know you you are. But it's not my birthday..."

Familiar feeling flutters...

"I know who you are! How are you here?" Look to mother, "How are you here?" Finger slip through palm. "Yes!" Understand exactly where we stand, mid dream. Dance around the green haired gift. We laugh like an improbable mob of joker jedi. Then the greatest gift drifts away.

Two Tails
Feel the surreal familiarity of this fog, float on the fringe of a dream. From all directions at once, she struts, little mist cat of two tails. We will converse once the weight of this world makes us real. But fog lifts, we slip away, victims of the stirring day.

A glimmer of lucidity this morning, perhaps just a notch or two above hypnagogia.

Dreamed Oct 23 2024

Roam the city on a hill. Streets are a clutter of shops, shoppers, shooters, droppers. No way is out of the way. Sink from the blight into swift sweeping twilight. From dim, to dark, to dire. Retreat. Re-clamber to the crown. The world is shut. Claustrophobic press of flesh is faded. Dread desolate slabs of concrete upon which one may make home.

Centre cracks a sneer. Slip between its lips, past cobweb arcades, soul-less store fronts, yawning caves that once shone seductive songs. Bag wrapped bodies clog the innards of this slow dying beast. Asleep? Dead? A body bag woman rises and races. I flee. At stair top we stand face to face. She begs for change or coffee. "I think I gave you change already," I inform. She smiles, "Yes, I think you did." We part, she back to bag rows and I through emergency exit scream.

Stumble out onto a simmering shore of blush and blues. The world is warm and awash in succulent unsettlery. To the right lies a lake sleek and sheer. A many tiered waterfall twinkles awake. Snatches of past life songs twinkle awake within. To the left, cross lazy sands, are souls of several earthen shades beautiful beyond the spell of bastard words. Behind stands a cave, a gaping cavity of glittering stone and gentle swells. From supple waves young men rise, only so high as to reveal their eyes, silver with ravenous glints. Oh to be their sustenance.

Right left stands he of moonlit skin and star frost eye. He asks where we are and how we arrived. I know neither. Finger through palm. Pinch of the nose. Mild surprise. "We're dreaming." No lust for control. Curiosity grows. Where this ride will guide us?

Ships swarm the horizon. Train of giant boxes slop into the water. They are a wall meant to sever earth from ocean, a drifting genocide. Warriors rise. Storms of arrows fly. They but slice softly into sea. And then...
Stillness...
Silence...
Surrender.

The wall surges closer.

I must do something yet nothing. Nudge Moonman. "Use your white savior powers to help," I jest, just a test. With a swift, "Okay," Moon leaps from the cliff, walks across water, faces the floating wall. As blocks swing close he sinks straight down. Rise again as each threat passes. He climbs a boat and calls, "Send explosives." Intentions for dynamite in his hand bestows upon him only a gas can. He christens the boat. "I need a light!"

Finger through the palm strengthens resolve. "Jump onto my hand!" I call to Moon. In a silly show of perspective forced, his feet find my hand. He lands, a tiny creature crouching in my palm. Pass him to the nearest warrior.

Now rises my warrior. How long has it been? Dance an ancient ritual, step, stomp, punch, spin, over and over and over again. Scream from the depths of my innermost hell. Streams of golden plasma spray from fingertips to swallow each ship. Each explodes, one after another, in fantastic plumes of flame and shadow. And then, quite simply, the swarm and their bobbing threat are gone. Turn to the earthen warriors. They are gone. Look for the light of Moon man. He is gone. I stand sole in this still simmering dawn.

"It's done, I suppose," I sigh to the morn. But there is still some stuff to this dream. Launch and laugh from a ledge, pristine. Slip from the sky. Spin so the spine leads the plummet into the next whatever that will have me.

Am I WILD?

A world of warped shadow and feeble matter falls in and out of focus. Fingers are spider legs. "Dreaming." Stumble on no feet. Mumble through madness. Stability escapes me. Struggle to soar. The darkness pulls me down and down and down.

Yon the crush of defeat and the gnarled arms of naked trees... the stars are singing. Singing! Their voices like the tinkle of thin ice on breathing shores. They dance, cluster, and call to me. The world sighs brighter but only a bit. Focus on the lights, the celestial sights that beckon me to their heavenly embrace. Nothing feet push up. Set off from shadow, Set sight on the stars. With blissful speed I spin and swerve into eternity. "We're lucid," I sing to everything and to nothing. And because I am WILD, I freefall, fire and ice through the twinkling heart of darkness.

Occurred Sept 22

Endless halls hold me captive at this gathering of dreamers. When finally I find my place it is too late. Ten's lecture is complete. A gloom hangs in the air, as thick and sticky as humid breath. Dreamers depart, stooped, depressed. Ten holds place, smile on his face. I ask him to tell his talk. He will not. Instead he blurts a list of words. "What?" He blurts again. "Oh..." The words are groups of animals. An eyebrow arches, asks if I catch his drift. I nod. Ten stands taller, grin slides wider, "What do you call a group of lucid dreamers?" "I don't know, what DO you call a group of lucid dreamers?" I ask, probing for the punchline. Ten lets loose laughter, "I thought YOU knew. Oh well. You'll figure it out." A preen, a pivot, he darts down the hall.

Hope for a familiar face. Find none. Settle in a circle of languid dreamers. They whisper in secretive spurts. I ask the message of Ten's talk. Eyes roll. Voices recoil. This glacial space is shortly spoiled by stomps and shouts on high. Up the stairs I fly. There stands Eleven, eyes of lightning, voice of thunder, before a table piled with toys. "YOU BROKE THE DEAL!" He screams and slaps toys to the floor. Young and old flinch. Within me flares an insane reflex, "What the HELL is going on here?" Eleven's tempest turns my way. "All I asked for payment was a Kylo Ren with sound effect lightsaber. THAT'S IT. THEY BROKE THE FUCKING DEAL... THOSE FUCKING SACKS OF..." I stand tall. Become a wall. "THEN LEAVE!" I match his thunder, "GO!" A preen, a pivot, he pounds down the hall.

Ten pops in, "Star Wars fans... I tell ya..." and pops out again.

Follow after Ten but find Eleven retreating into... a TARIDS? "What the..." Force a finger through my palm. Soft surge of relief. "I'm dreaming." Grin grows as bold as my lucid soul. "I'M DREAMING!" I yell to the TARDIS. Blue doors burst open. Out steps a mutant of a man, part Daemon, part Aragorn, all fury. His grin is a crack in time. His eyes burn Mordorian black. Weapons raised, one gun, one sword, he calls my name. Can not indulge in lucidity. Flee to warn the luminary of the shadow in our heart.

Bit of recall which may be associated to the above:
I recall being in the midst of orcs.

Such a long write up for such a fleeting glimmer of lucidity.
PS Happy Hobbit Day. Didn't make it to Bilbo's party last night. Tonight is another story.

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.

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.

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.