non-lucid

Foragers
Sisters three are starved. The fragrance of free food will not be ignored. Two weave past stops and through shops to find their fare. Third parts with bills to get her fill.

Cousin Son
I am a parent. Cousin becomes son. His mind, a masterpiece of meandering whims. A slave to his senses. He heeds with his eyes. His face must be forced toward my own before he will hear my voice. Aunt rescues him back from the mean hearted methods that must be used to maintain his composure.

Bee-ing.
Pick about posies. Sweep all shapes of bees into tiny jars. So caught up in the chore that the shire can't be seen past a handbasket of bees.

Not much to my recall this morning. Just flickers of things that I hope will trigger a fuller recall later.

1- Weight and depth lie behind parallel lines chalked upon a black board.

2- A Gandalf-esque shadow crosses my path but there is no wizard to be seen.

3 - Bliss is found in nonsensical sounds.

Betrothal
Such strangeness to be betrothed to a stranger. This union feels useless. Laughter erupts from my knotted gut. Walk out. Grin at the gathering. They glare back, strangers wrapped in Sunday best. My promised pleas for return. I run. Escape harder for the drama of it all. Find more feeling under wild skies and winding dirt roads.

Kin
Impatiently we await the arrival of all kin. Our golden seats never truly fill. One comes. One goes. We are never all there. We are never collected. We never commence.

Jaws
But for an immense jaw, the rest of her is plain. Teeth, like crackled spades shine our way. In friendship? In threat? We can not say. Snake closer. Can not angle my eyes away from the anomaly that is her mouth.

Ponies and Dragons
I know this prancing place with its waning wicks, somber songs, spirits swilling spirits. I desire sustenance, not possession. There is nothing to nourish me here. Slip through splintered portals. Step sudden into the bright. My soul alights. "Is this the Dragon?" I ask a dancer-by. A nod. A smile. A nudge into the spree. I am embraced entirely.

Note: Finally, without a doubt, made it into the Shire. There have been fleeting instances where I perhaps have been there. But they went without confirmations so I could not rightly claim them. But last night, I was there. I can confidently check 'Visit Middle Earth' and 'Visit the Shire' off my list. Now to get to that big birthday bash in Hobbiton. So close yet so far away.

No dreams recalled on the morning of the 9th.

September 10th

Stranger Party
Roused by shimmers of 'Sing around the Posy'. Know not where I am going or from where I have come. Sing our way to some stranger party. We never arrive.

Flickering Sea
Hundreds of candlesticks blaze cross twilit undulations of a clipped crop. On the fringe of this flickering sea of memories are faces. Some smile Some weep. Some seem asleep. Some stay as simple as sunless stones. I keep lighting fires.

Cast Away
Wind pours through labyrinth alleys. Like jilted rats, people scatter at sight of twisting grey. A baby is abandoned, blanket wound, near trampled. I carry the cast away. Barely elude the loveless stroke of seething heaven.

No dream recollections for the 11th.

Dreams from the 7th Drifters
Snow swift. Cars drift. Shelter in some random roadside lot. Majestic snow ploughed mountains call. Step up the steeper side... then slide. Other sanctuary seekers follow suit. We slide away the frigid day.

The Blessing
Secret spaces. Eager faces. Voices, hopeful, hushed. Spirits are alight while we plot out the night. Past Overhill we will quest for a blessing.

Nothing recalled this morning of the 8th.

Hockey Hill
Nephew and I occupy some fresh new space. It seems slung onto the side of a victorian frame. Deliveries, non stop, of hockey flyers, tickets, equipment. They become a hill of unwanted hockey slop. Who do the deliverers think lives here?

Old Friend
A familiar old field. A very old friend. Walk. Talk. Laugh. Here lies an ease, like the comfortable chorus of some distant childhood hymn. We are grateful, in these golden hours, for reunification. But a familiar storm surges and screams us apart. "See you next lifetime?" inquires old friend. Hands clasp. Shake. Our paths surge apart once again.

Millar's
Return to the corner store in which I first worked. Wrapped in a miserable maze of aisles and piles of unpriced produce. One cash register is replaced by three small tablets. Numbers bewilder both the tablets and my tangled mind. Malfunctions all around. Strive to serve the same two customers for two hours straight. They patiently wait. I loath this place.

Quest
Mandalorian soars. Settle. Sky streaked scarlet. Earth unstable, cracks, crumbles, conforms. No escape. Execution of this quest means execution of an entire world... stranded included. Set out to find a beautiful view to escort us to our ends.

Friends?
Upon claustrophobic intersection the players set their stage. Stop and stare at the scene, some dark and dreary form of Friends. Their dire jam? Their tiny car has only five seats. Whatever shall they do?

Old Rock
Rollick about a festival dedicated to decades old rock. Stars are ragged, leather bound and silver crowned, crooning cob web breath. Danced backstage. Intoxicated by centuries of dim rock star shine I am near intertwined into an orgy of motley proportions. An anchor saves the day.

Walkers
Walk roads familiar yet unfamiliar. Waterfalls and rivers unwind where once stood only marsh and murky wood. Wander onto a dirt road with ditches drenched in wildflower dapples. Ahead lumbers a barefoot lady. Clumps of nonsense drip from her lips. We speak not, least not to each other. Copses collapse before rolling fields of green and sheets of summery sky. Wonder if the Shire's nearby.

Sibling Storm
Clouds rush. Crush into a twisted gob of angry grey. Stash siblings safe underearth. Spin. Face the storm. Stare straight into each others scorn. Sky shifts, roars, lurches near. I fall to fear. Fear? Fear! Breath through cinched nostrils and smile. But all hope of lucid schemes is stolen by siblings wild in the wind.

I remembered two more dreams this morning and now regret not writing them down.

Cipher
Shadow mothers make shallow embrace. Filthy hands make feeble homes. My own hands can not come clean. Ring of black clogged pores clots my palm. Mother shrugs. I push out the dirt, rinse the filth away. But look now. Life lines have deformed into triangle with one hat, one tie, one blazing eye. Mother shrugs. I try scratch the cipher away. Out, damned shape. The deformation will not be undone.

September 2nd

Race and Relative
Why are we even here? The dull of the drag, the roar of the pace, the stench of the race has never been our place. From relatives, retreat. Sighted by stumpy aunt. Can't escape smug salutations she spits our way. Depart. Neath narrow rounds of steps is relatively relativeless sanctuary.

Sky Eyed
I am sharp arc of heaven. She, a splay of sheerest soul through which all is unhidden. Shapes shift and spirits drift. All dance to find the fire. Insubstantial eyes behold the bottled beast. Descend. Take up the threat again. Quench its warful thirst before it bursts. Flee back to eternity.

Lippy
Success found in Auto Sales. It is not the success Ken and Jay desired. Next move? Be fired. Shifty hearts and shady lips smother merchandise with a million kiss prints. Sit back. Wait for the blaze.

Snappers
Water runs rare. Turtle dens bared. Pluck encrusted shells from dreams and dust. Locked in torpor, they are typed, tucked, filed. Time trips. Heaven cries. Waters rise. Entice the eyes of the sleeping to wake and thank their saviors. Instead they rage, revile, snap. The gored deliver the gorers back.

Respite
Sister begs for a scrap of respite. Though we see and feel her plight she is unpermitted all repose.

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.