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WAKING LIFE DREAMING LUCID
BOLD IF IT FEELS PARTICULARLY SIGNIFICANT

From the night before last

A friend of mine from waking life was with me. (He was someone I had feelings of being in love with which had been returned to a tentative extent. It was not explored more than mentally and somewhat emotionally. The timing was not right for ethical reasons. We explored each others’ minds, to the extent I could at that time and it was exhilarating.)

We were outside, in the large front area of an old looking house. The house had perhaps that pinky colored brick (which inspires me with a deep feeling of beauty in waking life) used on two ends to create rounded walls, like they were slightly punched out of the house like columns, their windows facing us. Something about that shape was important. I felt a connection to family past.

Outside, where we were, was beautiful and warm. Like a cool summer day at sunset, when the colors are deep and warm and have the feint feeling of being lit from the inside. We were standing under an umbrella-ing tree. The greens and oranges and browns infused around and through us, as if it was a time when the smells come alive to flow slowly through the warm air.

There was some specific reason (the architecture, I think) that he didn’t like it. I told him I thought houses like these were beautiful! Told him about when I’d been in another one like it, I think with family, and how wonderful it was. Though I didn't feel angry or scared, the feeling of my awareness of his (sometimes pushy) tendency to criticize was with me.

I was exuberant about the love I’d experienced in that house, though I could feel something darker inside this particular, extraordinarily similar house as we stood outside. I didn’t feel very threatened by the darkness, more just aware and happily reliving parts of the joyful memories inside the other house. The memories were infused with a sense of family and connection and freedom of expression. Curious, I want to call it almost doula-like love with a lot of feminine energy.

I find myself flying through a dreamscape, that is very vivid and yet closer to hypnagogia than an actual dream. I see gorgeous places and I start thinking how to paint them in my mind, because at this point I know that I'm not awake, and honestly I don't know exactly where I was. Somewhere between dreaming and awake I suppose. In this place I can paint beautiful things. Everything and anything that I think suddenly manifests, I am in control of what I am seeing. Like I am conducting and controlling the hypnagogia somehow. Each image I see is so incredible, that I take a moment to memorize it, and observe it's finest details. It has an infinite resolution. I know in my heart that I can paint such things as I see them in my mind, and I become sad that I can not so clearly see...truly see...when I am awake. I test myself. I imagine a group of people and I pose them in different ways and observe them at extreme angles as if I were below them looking up, or above them looking down. The perspective is all perfect, and I tell myself that I need to remember this when I wake up. How to see...while awake. How to tap into this place of pure inspiration. Either my own subconscious or the whole of the collective consciousness. Perhaps this is akashia. I examine every detail and notice things I never noticed before, like the structure of the big toe, and how the heel looks when viewed from a certain angle. Then I go on to imagine the most beautiful scenes I can think of. I don't even have to try, I just think, "imagine something beautiful" and it happens, and what I see is so stunning that it would bring me to tears. Not only because of it's beauty but also because I know that I could never create anything so masterful, so absolutely divine. I am the tortured artist, blessed with visions of beauty beyond measure and compare, yet without the skill to be able to recreate such visions on paper or canvas. The frustration of knowing that these things are here...in my head...inside me...and yet I cannot see them while awake. I cannot use them to help me to create. Instead all I have are vague impressions, outlines, misconceptions about form and shape. True testament to how I live my life.