• Lucid Dreaming - Dream Views

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    1. clxxxvii. Chemistry, Stacked paintings, Dark highway, Level-locked

      by , 11-08-2020 at 12:44 AM
      5th November 2020 (DFLN)


      At the end of a dream I was with H, watching a video of a guy in a labcoat mixing something together in some ceramic mugs he'd previously joined together (ceramic seamless welding technique or something).

      The labcoat made me do a RC but for some reason I didn't focus enough on it and so I didn't realise I was dreaming.


      In a room, in our house? I remember my paintings are all here. Some of them are stacked on top of each other and I notice one of the "eye" paintings is lying atop the pile. One of the other paintings in the same style/series is nearby or under that one.

      7th November 2020


      Left it too long and recall was poor. At an apartment building which goes quite a way up. I'm in a floor high up with someone else and we are trying to keep social distancing up while doing something? But eventually we end up breaking it and I think I was there to do some kind of trade or exchange.

      Possibly from a different segment or dream but in some other part I recall being with mom and dad, on a highway or something. It's night time and I'm not sure if we actually were in a car at any point but I don't recall other cars or people. There's a junction or bridge over another highway section but the bridge is damaged/ruined and is actually mostly rubble. I remember street lights and that sort of thing being on.


      Earlier fragment. I'm a level 60 death knight character in WoW and apparently I can't level up any further (my experience bar is absent). The highest level characters I remember seeing are level 70 and I remember seeing an undead player character that had an elite portrait frame.

      I remember getting on a slow gryphon and flying around an area very much like Dun Morogh but on further thought may have been mixed with Wintersrping.


      - Recall actually hasn't been particularly poor or anything lately, even with early morning working days, but most of the time I've been far too tired when I wake up to push myself to actually write down the recall and by the time I have a chance I've usually left it too late.

      - I think my RC was a bit weak in part because in the dream I was feeling a bit self-conscious while doing it. Generally I don't feel so self-conscious anymore when doing RCs when H is also around, but I guess some leftover part of that still persists for the moment.

      - The eye paintings have had some special and unspoken significance to me lately. I don't know why exactly, as I also never really thought "I really love eyes" but they certainly seem to have some sort of appeal to me, as I have been noticing it's a frequent subject matter in my work.

      - The ceramic joining thing made complete sense to me while I was dreaming and even after waking up it seemed to make sense and I remember thinking "what a good way of fixing ceramic objects", but I slowly realised it actually didn't make any sense and in itself could have been its own dream sign.

      Updated 11-08-2020 at 12:47 AM by 95293 (title, extra notes)

      dream fragment , side notes , non-lucid
    2. cxxviii.

      by , 08-01-2020 at 11:36 AM
      4th June


      Me, H and some other hundred workmen were redoing tiles, mostly on walls, of some cathedral/palace place.

      There was a Lord Durnstam, who had a black and gold crown. He was king of the local region. During a break, which had no set time, I wandered the main where most of the workmen were. Many walls had enormous and ornate wooden bookcases and in some vaulted alcoves there were a number of great paintings all sort of a standard size. The themes were mostly random, but pertaining to Durnstam. They were all privately commissioned by him and I wondered who the artist was.

      When I started working on the tiles at the start of the dream, the place seemed moodier and poorly lit. There was this contractor next to me, a woman with faded blonde hair which was tied back, though her hair wasn't that long anyway. She had cream colour pants and a white tank top.

      I didn't know what to do for whatever reason, or I was confused; so she started sort of poking fun about it but in a playful way. In any case I left this small room and turned around the corner looking for H, finding H immediately.

      I asked for help and he sort of rolled his eyes but got up and followed me. We went back to that small room with the lady, who was still there and working. H gave me a bit flat screwdriver to remove the mortar with. I said it wouldn't do, and asked where the electrician's chisel was. H said it would be too vicious but I didn't believe so. In any case, I started to remove mortar. But it wasn't like proper mortar, it was brittle yes, but also sort of soft. Part of me wondered how it was working at all or how it had remained in place undisturbed.

      Then the hall scene, while walking around, I was holding the screwdriver or maybe a big steel crowbar. It felt heavy but both not enough and too much to actually be either of those items; I don't remember my clothes.

      By the end of the dream I was in some side wing of the place. There were modern windows, big and plain. But the light mood was again poor and dark. The worker woman had followed for some time but H wasn't around anymore, having returned to working elsewhere. Then my old friend Da replaced the woman at some point and he was eating a sandwich, which he then passed me and then I had one of my own. I tried doing work while eating but it wasn't going to do, so I stopped trying to multitask like this and just held his sandwich and ate mine.

      Then at some point there was a big black man, sitting somewhere on the other side of the room, by the windows. He got up and started singing as he did. It was Gregory Porter and in the dream I heard the lyrics clearly, but I don't remember them anymore. They were some sort of comment on society as a whole.

      Earlier I remember on this side wing hall there were miniscule 1cm tiles all along the wall, making one long continuous mosaic. I thought I'd start on that wall from the bottom and said I was wanting to do these. Some worker walked past and almost laughed. The woman was still with me and pointed out it would be a nightmare to redo because I'd have to do the whole lot once I started. I was confused and up to that point hadn't realised the mosaic was proper tiles, explaining that I thought it was vinyl (lino cover).

      - Although this dream wasn't super vivid, some of the recall was quite detailed. The whole dream was quite long and felt like it took a while.
      - In reality there is no such place as Durnstam so there couldn't possibly be a Lord Durnstam.
      - The guy that sang like Gregory Porter, I don't remember him looking like the actual person; I remember the dream character as being a bit bigger and more athletic. Curiously enough this seems to relate to something I read only recently about gymnasts and musicians.
      - Unfortunately, song and lyrics and generally speaking, harmony and music, tend to be some of the first things I lose memory of on awakening.
      - The whole dream probably came about as we had recently been doing some tile-related work in our home.
      - I seem to remember the Lord was present in the main hall, but I may have just seen a portrait of him.
    3. Thursday, March 7

      by , 03-19-2019 at 06:33 AM
      I am doing an escape room with Melissa, Brooke, and possibly Breezy. This place looks like an actual house, with a few rooms that we can go into. The house seems very tidy and sort of minimalistic, though not without adornments, and has an antiquated feeling to it, as if lived in by an older person. I get the sense of some sort of travel theme, aided by a huge map of the world taking up almost a whole wall. We are trying to escape now, and it seems like I’m doing a lot of it. It’s not that they aren’t or can’t, it’s just that I can excel in a small group of familiar people. I end up moving a bunch of hanging paintings. One has a clue written in red ink on its back side. Many reveal a tiny, circular light bulb protruding from the wall behind. I imagine that these will all light up later and serve as a clue one way or another. I like that the clues flow easily, even if somewhat too easily, and aren’t disjointed. I had moved a small realistic painting of a brown bear (the bear on a slight incline, seemingly in motion, very realistic, and cropped fairly close). One clue mentioned something ‘dreary’, which we noticed with some excitement was referencing a very large and impressionistic painting of people that looked dreary indeed. (*As I write this, I think it may have been moving this painting that revealed the map). I think we are supposed to place small pins in certain spots on the map. The map is now gone? and there are just little holes in the white/tan wall. There seems to be three different clusters of holes, and I think the pin needs to be placed in the correct hole. Melissa guesses the first placement correctly, after which a recorded voice from a speaker tells us we’ve gotten it correct. We try the other ones but never get a response. I end up telling our situation the female employee on the other end of the radio. She’s quiet for a second and then I hear her say to someone else “I have no idea.” I also don’t really know what there is for them to do when a piece of the game simply isn’t working. At this point, I’m thinking we’ll just have them tell us the answers to this part. I also notice that Melissa and Brooke seem to be off doing something else. I hear them talking and laughing in another room. Then it becomes more quiet, and I go look. Melissa is laying in a small bed in an alcove in the wall just big enough for it. I notice a gap between the far and the wall along the head of the bed (which is reminiscent to me of the sleeping quarters on a boat). Melissa looks grumpy, her face sort of flushed and pouting, her gaze diverted. I go to kiss her but she moves so that we kiss each other on the cheek instead. At this point, I notice that her eyes are a little misty. I was what’s wrong and she keeps saying nothing, etc. I finally get it out of her that she’s upset that the puzzle room is not working as it’s supposed to. It irritates me because it’s such a trivial thing to let yourself get upset over. I go back into the other room now, and I don’t think we even have radio contact with this girl. She said she was going to call the shoe room? This room is behind the other. There’s a writing desk and an old corded phone that I see but never hear. While waiting, I start opening drawers, but find nothing. I’m wondering how much further this puzzle room will go into the house. I notice a bathroom and a room or two off of this one. I never do hear the phone. Earlier, I noticed a timer with a green ‘70’. I thought that meant we were doing really well on time.

      I am at Walmart? with Melissa, buying only two things. We are at the end of what is apparently the only line, behind a family of four that looks nice enough but also a little privileged. The woman notices how we only have two items and offers for us to just throw it in with their stuff. I was going to use a gift card, and I’m not sure how much is on it exactly, so I’m not sure how that’d work.

      I am outside of a grocery store. I run up to the entrance, pushing a cart, and ask the younger looking boy employee if they do valet, with an absurd touch of humor. I then leave the cart and run inside to retrieve what I’ve forgotten.

      I am watching (on the news or some kind of video?) cars driving in both directions on a freeway through a snowstorm. Someone is commenting on how it’s almost been the worst winter when, sure enough, a car starts to drift and ends up impacting a school bus. Then school bus then takes out another vehicle and the whole thing exponentiates into an event that just made it the worst winter to date.
    4. Like mesas and sunsets, but more so

      by , 03-03-2018 at 11:41 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      Once again, my memory only picks up partway through what seems to be a large, complex plot mostly full of unfamiliar people and settings. This setting, from what I recall, visually resembled an exaggerated version of the American Southwest—think mesas and sunsets, but more so— although the action and characters didn’t seem to match up with it in any discernible way.

      My friend Ona and I are swimming in an indoor pool when two men we’re acquainted with who are cousins arrive and say that they’ve reserved it for a period of time, starting now. I can see from a chart with colored boxes on a grid that they have, so Ona and I get out and sit at a table in a sort of an adjoining area overlooking the pool. There’s a hint of past antagonism or rivalry with these men, one of them in particular, having to do with things from the earlier part of the dream I forgot.

      After a little while, the other man comes over to the table. He has something for us: some ara and a loaf of fresh bread, which we accept. He doesn’t say it, but this seems to be a sort of apology for us having to leave the pool.

      Somewhere along the course of us sitting there, the area transforms into an ornate theater, where people are starting to come in. As before, we’re in a sort of raised area, this time above where the stage and the lower seats are, but there are other seating areas wrapping around it in a semicircle. Many of the people seem to disapprove of us drinking alcohol, which doesn’t really bother us, and, in any case, has happened plenty of times before. But we aren’t bothering anybody, and if they don't like it, that’s their problem. But still—even though I want to like the guy who gave us this and believe that it was a sincerely meant gift, there's also the possibility that his beastly cousin put him up to it because he knew we’d get flak for it. I examine the glass: it’s quite pretty, with some transparent colored parts in an art nouveau-like abstract pattern—and above that, a silhouette of the Prague skyline. The golden city and one of its golden ages. I briefly wonder if he has a whole stockpile of these just for giving away to people.

      The next part of the dream involves the production itself, which doesn’t seem to be taking place on a stage, but rather along a street—a straight, flat dirt road with low buildings on either side, again, with a Southwestern vibe. The audience and actors alike are here—or some of the actors, anyway. The protagonist, a woman in a green dress, will be passing along here and looking into some of the shops, having some improvised dialogue with the shopkeepers, but she isn’t here yet.

      I know this actress personally and find her unpleasant—this also seems to go back to the earlier, forgotten parts of the dream—so I’m going to mess with her a little bit. I go to one of the shops, which is selling art, and rearrange it so that a collection of pictures titled “Halloween Bestiary” is on display on a small stand outside the door. I then flip the latch on the shop door, which is hanging open, so that the it will lock automatically the next time someone closes it. I then make sure I’m out of the way by the time the actress playing the shopkeeper arrives.

      The woman soon notices the door and is alarmed. If she can’t take the woman in the green dress inside to look at things and is stuck with the Halloween Bestiary pieces outside, the script would require her to pretend to like them, which would irritate her to no end. She is relieved that it’s still open—but just then, my aunt steps out of the shop and closes the door behind her, oblivious to the trouble she’s just set in motion.

    5. Conserve Merriment; Diversionary Tactics

      by , 02-17-2018 at 10:42 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      I am in what seems to be a dorm room set up for three people, although there are only two of us living there. Above the doorways, I can see red text continually scrolling by, which is then replaced by new text—records of conversations, it seems. On the walls, there are a few posters, different pictures, but all with the words “conserve merriment” at the bottom. This is a reference to something familiar to the person I am in the dream. I walk from the room where I am to the one where my flatmate is sitting.

      He/she—this person seems rather androgynous, and the dream itself offers no clues—wants to know if I’m interested in going to do something with him/her. I reflect that I do seem to have been learning more from the things I spend my free time doing than from my actual classes. But I still feel reluctant. It has to do with things I experienced before getting here, I tell my flatmate. In a way, it’s like I’m telling about everything that’s happened to me up until now, but all compressed into a sentence or two—a lifetime spent as a fugitive, never being able to stay in any one place for long, just one bad thing after another.

      And then he/she replies: “Is that all?” And actually, when you put like that, it really doesn’t seem so bad. Sure, I guess I’ll go to your thing.

      We then talk for a bit about the place we’re at, which is called Campa Piri, and another place I can’t remember the name of now. Then I find myself reading a transcript of the conversation rather than experiencing it. I glance a bit further on, where we’re talking about yet another nearby place called Stone Sway and joking about how it totally sounds like a double entendre. And at that point, I wake up.

      In the next dream of the night, I also seem to be a different person—a young boy staying at a large house with a group of other people, all adults, apparently. There was a lot that happened in the early parts of this dream that I can no longer remember, but it seemed to involve finding some kind of special thing in this house—I want to say it was a book, but I’m not entirely sure, and so from here on out it will be known as the MacGuffin.

      We are all preparing to leave, and it seems that my uncle—my actual uncle, the only familiar person in this dream—is going to be taking the MacGuffin back with him. I don’t like this: I think that it would be better off in the hands of literally anyone else in the world, and it really ought to stay in the house here. But he’s intent on it and, as usual, impervious to arguments.

      He’ll also be taking all the paintings that were in the dining room. It’s a wood-paneled room with a long, wooden table in the middle of it, and pretty much all the space on the walls was taken up with paintings, which illustrated various stories. But now he has them stacked in a closet there, ready to be taken out to the car. I’m not happy about this either. I tell him that he wouldn’t have the space to hang them up, and they’d probably just sit in his house, not even properly stored. He claims he’ll hang them up, but I don’t believe him. What strikes me as particularly unfair about this is that it was only by means of the paintings that we had managed to understand the MacGuffin’s true nature and gain possession of it—possibly from some dark sorcerer type, but that’s also escaped my memory. If the paintings aren’t available, the MacGuffin may never be able to make its way into the hands of someone more suitable in the future.

      But then it occurs to me—I can make sure the paintings never make it to his house. There are many people here who also feel this isn’t right, and with their cooperation, we can have the paintings mysteriously back on their walls. Maybe we can spook him into returning the MacGuffin. I pull someone aside to tell them my idea, and pretty soon, the plan is ready to be put into action. But we need a diversion so we can get our hands on the paintings.

      It’s announced that I’m going to be talking about a painting in a nearby room, and so everybody—minus a few co-conspirators—files in and sits down in rows of chairs. I have the painting there at the front of the room: a fairly small one of a winter scene with trees. I begin talking. I am a kid and don’t know a thing about painting, but I confidently B.S. my way through it.

      Just as I’m explaining how the branches of the trees in the painting are reminiscent of the branches of knowledge, continually reaching out and producing new shoots, an older man with short, white hair stands up and approaches me. He is a professor of art history, and he thinks that the branches are nothing of the sort. I tell him that that’s what one of my philosophy professors had said about them. I definitely have the impression that he, too, is in on it, and that this, too, is part of the diversion.

      Once I’m done, we head out towards the door. This requires us to pass through the dining room, which I had forgotten about, but I see that the walls there are still bare. That’s good—right now, it’s still too early. But I’m sure the paintings will be back up once everyone’s gone through.

    6. Artists, me, the student, and a teacher.

      by , 10-18-2016 at 10:31 AM
      Day 4.

      A full non lucid dream.

      I was a girl, and I was around 17 years old, I had black long hair, and I loved art. I wanted to be an artist. So I entered an Art Academy. My permanent teacher. Was an Artist himself, and was still fully active with making art. He got two students he would teach art, and that were me and a other girl.

      The other girl was one year older then me. (18) she had orange curly hair. She looked a little like a lion.

      The teacher had black long hair till beneath his shoulders. He was around 24 year, and pretty handsome..

      The girl was totally into him, so she tried to flirt with him a lot... But we can't have any love with teachers. It is prohibited, so I try to keep my distance.

      But what I noticed, was that the girl wasn't really experienced with art, and almost had nothing she knew about art history.
      I really wondered how she entered this Art Academy. You need a portfolio..So I wonder if she had anything good enough to enter?

      Anyways, me trying to do what is told, took a big sheet of paper, and I begin to draw rouch sketches of the things I saw in the big white room. (that was the first task, draw what you see in the room)
      The other girl still hadn't begun the task we had to do.

      The teacher scolded her for not doing his command, and that she had to get started and not get so clingy on him. (She is around him all the time, she is like sticking gum) it didn't bother me much. She can do whatever she wants...but I hope she does something what has to do with art. What she came for..

      a little while later, the girl had to go somewheere for a meet up, so he left.
      The place was only for me, drawing what I see. And the teacher working on his own things.

      It was so quiet. only sounds of paper sounds, and writing sounds. I was almost done with my drawings.
      So I had nothing to do. I just take a look at the room, and there were various painting hanging on the wall of famous artists. But I also noticed some who are aren't famous, but I totally knew them.

      As a little kid, I always took all the artbooks in the library with me, and looked page for page at all the art that was made. I never got bored, and found all the art wonderful. I also remembered them perfectly who made the art.

      I loved art because there always is a story behind it. And that story is made with colors, stripes, and various other things to make that story. You can also draw your emotions with it. There is much you can do iwht drawing. It's the same for tattoos. Although I don't know if I want one yet. Maybe later in the future. I am still too young for it.

      Back to present. I watched a painting in the room. It was my most favorite of all. It was dark painting with a burned down forest, and a white dressed woman sitting next to a pool of black water.

      I was absorbed in the painting, till the teacher suddenly stood next to me, watching the painting with me.

      He asks me, "do you like this painting? You know who made it?"

      "Yes.... I really like it. It is so dark, like I can feel it through, and I am standing there. I can feel all the emotion." "Also... The artist who made it is ......."

      Him, "Yes, you are right with the emotion. I also can feel it and be absorbed with it, as If I am standing there, feeling pain. It's that this is on my top 1 most emotions painting. And the artist isn't that famous, but you still know the name who made it, that is incredible."

      His compliment skips a beat.... "I-it's nothing.. I saw it in a artbook when I was young, and it became my motivation to make my own art like it."

      "Mmmmmm, interesting. I'll help you reach your goal since you are my student."

      "Y-yes!! Thank you very much, please take good care of me!! I'm looking forward to it."

      He smiles and says, "haha, take good care of me too, I am looking forward to it."

      It was already time to go home, but full of happiness. (I wonder what kind of art he makes?)

      The next day we begun painting what we feel. Put your emotions on the painting. I was happy with this task, because it is what painted the painting I love the most. It will be a good experience! The other girl was not that happy like I was, and only stood there bored, with her phone in her hand. Chatting with her friends. (I don't like her that much... Why is she even here if she doesn't do anything?)

      Well, I'll ignore her. I started thinking of my emotions. Trying to think of colors that would fit them. When I know what I am going to use, I get started with mixing colors.

      While I was painting, the teacher entered the room after he brought some paperwork to the director. The orangehair girl, immediately putted her phone away, and jumped like, on his shoulders. The teacher was totally annoyed with it, but stayed calm. He tried to get the girl started with her painting.
      They sure look lovely dovey though.... Not that I mind... I think. (Argh, what am I saying? I shouldn't think anything about it, a relationship with a teacher is forbidden, so she can't, and.....I can't.)

      I was still painting my emotion that I suddenly noticed that I used more dark colors, because of how annoyed I was with the girl.

      (Whoops! I wasn't planning to paint colors of annoyance...)

      The teacher saw my shocked look, and begun walking towards me. (Whaaaaa nooo, don't look pls! It is totally messed up..) I say that on the inside, but on the outside I try to stay calm.

      He then stood next to me, observing my painting. (Ahhh, he is so close! Wait.. Why am I freaking out? It is just a teacher!)

      I step a little bit away to keep the distance.

      He doesn't notice a thing.

      "Hooooooo, so first happy feelings and then suddenly you get a turn of emotion of annoyance.." "I wonder why you suddenly got annoyed? I wonder if it is the girl who doesn't do what is told and is too lazy to do anything?"

      "......" (I had no words, he knew exactly what I was thinking..) I stayed silent for a while, finding words to say.
      He breaked the ice, "Haha, it's okay. I am also worried that she can be thrown out of the academy if she doesn't do anything, I am trying to get her to work."

      I answer, "Yeah, but I also wonder how she entered here, can you tell me?"

      The teacher stares to emptiness, and answers, "That is classified information, I am sorry I can't tell you."

      "Oh... No worries, it's okay." (Classified information huh....)

      Later on the day, the girl still didn't do much, and tried to flirt with the teacher again. He tried to get her off his back, and working on his paperwork he has to finish. Me, already done with my painting, and totally satisfied...Even though some colors of annoyance weren't meant to be here. I am ok with it.

      On a nearby green sofa, I layed down, and let my thoughts out for a while. This sofa is soft... I am little sleepy.. But I try to stay awake, I am in school, I can't fall asleep at this place. I stared at the ceiling, and walked with my eyes from up to bottom, observing it. When I noticed there was a painting hanged up in the middle of it. I instantly knew which artist made the painting. It was again on of my favorite paintings after the dark painting.

      This painting is very old, and a reference of the style that was used in the stone age, were people drew drawings on stone.

      This was a painting made with tools direct out of the nature. Like stones with colors, and the colors of plants. It is overall orange-brown, and used with more dark brown for the figure of the face of a man with a large chin. There were also white spots overall on the painting. As if the man in the painting drew on himself with patrons. While staring at the painting I closed my eyes.

      A while later I woke up, because I heard someone calling out my name.

      ".....!! .......!!!! ...!!"


      I get a blurry vision of a figure with black long hair. Sitting next me.


      I opened my eyes instantly, and could see better this time. Did I fall asleep?? Damn! I didn't plan to fall asleep at school!!

      I sit up. And he asks, "haha, did you have a nice nap? The other girl is already gone."

      "Whaaaa, sorry! I didn't mean to sleep here, I was just laying, an staring at the painting on the ceiling, and instantly fell asleep without noticing."

      I apologize countless times.

      "Haha, it's okay, if you are tired you should sleep. Don't push yourself too hard, you have to be healthy to make good paintings. You can always nap here if you feel like it."

      "......Alright, thank you for being so kind."

      Then he asks me a question.

      "So, do you know who made the painting, hanged up on the ceiling?"

      "Yeah... It is '.......' from Africa. I remember every artist and painting I see, even the more unpopular ones."

      "Haha, you know pretty well, you really like arthistory, don't you?"

      "..yeah, it tells everything about a story. It fascinates me."

      It stays silent for a while. And then I think about that I should go home to make dinner.

      "I should go teacher, I had a great day! Teach me more tomorrow!"

      I stand up, and walk away to take my jacket and bag. When I try to escape the room, the teacher grabs my arm, and pulls me to him, kissing me on the lips. (Whaaaaaa???!!!! What's happening?) I try to push him away, but that didn't work, because of his strong arms. (A teacher kissing a student? That is forbidden right? Why is he kissing me?) I then stare to his eyes, when he opens them. I see my reflection cleary into his grey eyes.

      It's there that I woke up... Why at that moment? I wanted more... Anyways, hope you liked it^^.
      *Sorry if grammar isn't correct!! If there is anything wrong, you can tell me!! thank you*
    7. 16-07-10 Dreams on Demand

      by , 07-13-2016 at 06:48 PM
      Lots of dreams today. My sleeping "pattern" is getting more f*cked up by the day. I sleep from 5 to 15 these days (5AM to 3PM). And when I wake, I can "choose" to re-enter a dream in seconds, "on demand". My memories of these dreams are crystal clear after I wake.

      In the first dream I had traveled back in time, and witnessed my own birth. I was talking to a doctor. Suddenly, he got an alert and rushed to the delivery room. I followed him through a narrow, white corridor, while recording him with my smartphone. I remembered an earlier scene, in which someone showed me a (real, not digital) photo album with pictures from my birth... and the picture I looked at was one of the doctor running through a narrow, white corridor in front of whoever took the picture - exactly what I was seeing right now. After waking up, I concluded I had to have been the one who took the pictures before I traveled back. Temporal paradox! We were in the next room, and the baby was born. Somehow, my mother (or father) weren't there. I said something to the doctor. Perhaps I suggested naming him (me), because my mother wasn't there anyway.

      I was a character in an RPG game. We were in some kind of dark, partially flooded dungeon. Two guys went on ahead to retrieve an item (they had to get in the water, and dive under some kind of gate/fence) - but didn't return. I went after them. I dived, swam and retrieved the item they wanted. The boss and our mage were indeed dead. When we got back, another person said he could use the item to forge some kind of armor for me. I wasn't sure if that was a good idea. It was still early in the game.

      The dream took place in a post-apocalyptic desert. We (me and another guy) were in the dunes, surrounded by tall "zombies" of sorts (a kind of mythical undead, not your average zombies). We found a Jeep, and used it to drive through and away from the Z's. I had a lot of fun with this, driving up and jumping down the dunes while driving with one hand. We got to an large abandoned city, covered half in sand. I descended down some rubble, onto the street. Suddenly, a guy appeared on top of the rubble we came from. He was some kind of badass, and owner of Jeep we stole to escape. We seemed understanding of our situation. I think he had a rifle (AR15 type), and started to explain to us how to use it. Given his apparent experience and air of badassary, we decided to listen.

      In this dream, there was a guy who had stolen something, or was transporting something. He'd swallowed it, or carried it under his skin like some drug dealers do (or like the opera singer in "The Fifth Element". I was just an observer, not an actual character. The badass future version of Claire Bennet had captured him. She said she would cut it out of him, but she said it in such a menacing way, you had to feel sorry for the poor guy.

      I was looking at a painting, and discarded it for another painting. I was using them to travel through time.

      I was watching a movie with my mother. At some point I thought I recognized "Caroline", a girl I used to know in middle school. My mom said it wasn't her. It probably wasn't.
    8. Fragments

      by , 09-05-2015 at 05:16 PM
      I'm on a lake. In the lake, there's a small island; there's an enormous tree whose roots cover almost the entire island; at the base of the tree, there's a standing mirror, silver in color this time; and in front of the mirror, there are two steel bars. There's a steel vine covered in thorns that's wrapped around the bars in an arch, serving as a lock. I unwind the thorny vine and remove it. The mirror's open now.

      Traveling through the basement of a ruined mansion, where the walls have crumbled so much there's a sense of open air and greenery, there's a painting of Joan of Arc commissioned by the woman who used to own this estate, and I'm pleased to see she had it painted so that Joan resembles the commissioner herself. This would be considered disrespectful, which is why it was hidden away in the basement.

      I'm in an open, airy, bright library where some event is going on, some new release that's drawn in a lot of upper class, scholarly types. It's interrupted by a woman who's some kind of monster I'm familiar with, delivering a hostile message to me and leaving again. She frightened most of the people into backing away. I'm thinking, although these things are hostile and my automatic reaction to them is equally hostile, they only exist because of my "tainted blood," which was what originally created her kind, generations back; thinking about that, there's a shift in attitude, I start to pity them. They're essentially my responsibility, though they're not aware of it.
    9. The Power of the Masters

      by , 08-07-2015 at 06:03 PM
      Morning of August 7, 2015. Friday.

      This was an atypical extraordinary dream that was quite long and exhausting. I can only relate some scenes as much of it was abstract.

      In one part of my dream, my wife Zsuzsanna (though at a much younger age before we met) seemed to be oddly played by the role of a white female; actress Mary Beth McDonough. After a time, she is more like a composite. As most people have learned over time from my extensive online journal, it is ludicrous that anyone other than the dreamer could associate or “interpret” anything in his or her dream. The idea is so preposterous (not to mention disturbing) that I could fill an entire book with how wrong this concept is. In fact, this tiny little facet of just one dream proves that.

      No one but me could possibly relate why this dream facet manifested. It is because of one minor association between my wife and Mary Beth McDonough that only I could know, that being the deer symbol. This is because both my wife and her had photographs taken of feeding and petting a deer around the same age, and that is obviously the first thing that comes to mind for me.

      No one but me could decode the next scene, either. Over time, I am concerned about this character’s safety. Her “parents” (though they seem completely unfamiliar) talk to me about her future and for a time, it almost seems as if I am the father. The male is dressed as in the painting “My Father Was Big As A Tree” from 1955 and does not remove his hat.

      Something happens to where her fake father seems to be causing her trouble or preventing her spiritual growth by preaching some form of skewed Christianity. She sits on the couch with her arms folded much of the time. I begin to develop a special discernment that I cannot call lucidity, because I am not lucid. I tell the male that it is impossible for him to alter the destiny of a master since the patterns exist in the world itself. I become angry.

      In this way as if noticing me as who I am for the first time (related to any faux back story), he seems to see me in a different light as I feel, for whatever reason, that I need to protect the actress (who is looking more like my wife-to-be). I feel an exhausting level of energy and blow out towards him as he shouts “Manny! Manny!” to his wife, and he transforms into a butterfly under my will as he escapes through the front open doorway of the unfamiliar residence. I expect him to not make it across the front yard.

      “That girl was ta…” (thunder). Police cars take my schoolmate away. I want to live in the sky, away from humanity and those who so effortlessly prey on the innocent without remorse..and all the while playing the victim. I saw the signs and no one ever listened. No one ever does.

      From here, I reach down and feel my left leg and notice it has transformed into a deer’s leg and I can clearly feel the foot. It seems very intriguing and vivid and I brush over the fur on my left leg. My wife is herself again and I am once again thankful that no other path would ever have given me life.

      I then see myself in a painting where I am separated from humanity by a gulf that will always be reflected in “Alien Child” (as the original artist apparently saw himself). The painting “Alien Child” burns and so does “Hostile Butterflies”.

      Only I know…

    10. The building on the lake

      by , 09-24-2014 at 04:59 PM
      A woman's looking over a small art collection - sketches of the building she's in from various earlier eras, collected in a large book. On the wall directly over the book is a recent painting of this same building, but showing it thousands of years earlier when there was a lake here, with the door opening directly onto the water. She finds this painting a little funny - unlike the historical sketches, she believes this one's a sort of what-if image. The building's old but it's not that old. But the man who commissioned the painting, the owner of this place, she's thinking of him as being oddly precise about where the lake should be in relation to the building; as far as she's aware there's no evidence that there was ever really a lake here at all. The title of the painting is Lake Hae or Hayle or something along those lines. Although the building in the painting and the building in modern times are identical, somehow in the painting it gives the impression of being someplace sacred.

      She turns the pages of the book - she's careful with it, it's very valuable. After the sketches of the building there are a series of anatomical sketches and portraits. She's on a page showing several sketches of an old man, mostly bald and with a sort of rounded profile. As a disembodied observer, I'm fond of the sketch, sort of nostalgic about it - both about the subject and about the sketch itself. She keeps turning the pages, and there's a sketch of a young man with a very square jaw; looking at him changes the scene.

      Still in the same room, but a couple centuries earlier; the walls are lined with bookshelves. There's a woman sketching, holding a conversation with a man sitting in a chair. A servant comes into the room - he's that young man from the sketch - and the man in the chair stands up to speak with him. A man all in black and with very long black hair, he's the same man who owned this building and that art collection in modern times.

      Updated 09-24-2014 at 05:19 PM by 64691

    11. Fragments

      by , 01-08-2014 at 06:43 AM
      I'm using a tea cup to catch rain that contains some kind of power.

      There's a very important (possibly sacred) torch that I was meant to do something with (I have a vague impression of something involving the sky) but, while standing at the edge of a cliff, I've managed to drop the torch, and I'm watching it fall into the waves and go out. "Oops."

      A group of five people in a car, on a road trip. They stop at a sushi place and one of them goes off to try to pick up a woman he saw outside. Two of the others say something, sheepish, about how they've been hitting the 'family' note a little too much on this trip, it must have freaked him out, and now he's proving to himself how unattached to them he is. They don't mind.

      There's a portrait, tall and very narrow, of a woman standing in front of a Buddhist grave marker. The woman who was the subject of the portrait is standing in front of the painting, looking at it. A strange reptile-like creature steps out of the painting of the grave, and I know this is her dead son.

      There's a memory gap - next fragment I remember clearly is in a dark space with three exits, an entrance to an afterlife, and the woman's talking with her son, who now looks more or less as he did in life - human - although there are shadows clinging to him in a shape suggesting a tail, and he's standing halfway in one of those three exits, with flames around his feet. They'd been saying something about how that exit's not for her, after she tried to hug him and he stopped her. She says, "Mommas hurt, darling. Men die." Then she vanishes.
    12. “Rescuing” parts of paintings, and other surreal elements

      by , 08-29-2013 at 02:29 PM
      Morning of August 29, 2013. Thursday.

      One part of my dream is related to seeing a park as if in a documentary (although it seems I am actually there at times). The first person seems normal other than having about three large layers of completely loose skin on the right side of his head, which also have a bit of hair. Mostly, there are interviews regarding the day-to-day challenges of life. Parts of the skin actually seem slightly larger than his head in particular areas.

      Later on, the deformities become more and more diverse. There is a person who is like Schlitzie the pinhead.

      One of the people looks very small (only about two feet tall) and also as if he has a mostly blue body and a head that looks like a baby bird with fuzzy fly-like (but not bulging) eyes and a straight black fuzzy beak instead of a mouth but yet is also more mouse-like overall than bird-like. (He looks a little like the Muppet Gonzo crossed with the aliens at the end of Star Trek’s “Cat’s Paw” episode in some ways.) However, this still does not seem all that unusual to me. I focus on the rather bizarre imagery and think that he is probably no different than other people in terms of mind, thought, and desires (even though the brain would be very small).

      There is another section of my dream that seems to have no direct connection to any aspect of my usual thoughts and aspirations. I work for various well-known actors, one of them a young Sean Connery. My job is to “rescue” certain parts of paintings (almost as if they were “alive” in some way), such as the Mona Lisa, supposedly owned by Sean Connery who I later see at a larger open area in a park near at least two picnic tables with several other people gathered - and other paintings that are in museums in real life, but owned by actors in my dream. There are several repeating scenarios in terms of main ideas, but very diverse in imagery and even mood at times.

      A strange, very unattractive, unkempt, and chubby woman (about forty) has the Mona Lisa. I need to get in and get out of her house safely, taking the parts of the painting that need to be “rescued”, which in this case, are the lips; upper lip and bottom lip separately. I have special weapons and items to help me in my work. I use a special, rather complex knife to cut out the upper lip, which seems more and more three-dimensional and a piece of art and sculpture in itself. The same is true for the taking out of the bottom lip, which I do without too much trouble. The female thief is very angry, but I manage to stop her from killing me by running a two-toned (in color, purple and white) retractable rod through her upper body, which takes a few attempts. The rod is like a more complex device that is somewhat antenna-like in that the two differently-colored sections can collapse into each other for ease of carrying on a mission. The woman is not even hurt that much it seems (even though I am certain there were wounds through her whole body), but I manage to get away with the stolen “art”. It seems likely that she is part of a gang of art thieves.

      I vaguely worry that people at the park gathering will eat the cake (or “lips”), which now looks like sections of fancy cupcakes that I try to arrange a bit more neatly near the edge of the picnic table, with a few crumbs falling away here and there - even some of the several layers not quite “in line” - and I will not get any recognition of my accomplishments (or having risked my life) in my work and special missions. (I may be the only active agent of such missions.) People meander about, oblivious to the art recovery. I think of trying to get Sean’s attention, but I do not actually attempt it. However, it does seem I am paid somehow, and I eventually understand that I now have $600.00 in my wallet (along with other papers, which possibly relate to spying) as I shift into a different dream.

      My dream that followed the above one is fairly simple; involving mostly walking about in various locations with the pinhead I knew in real life.

      Known precognitive/postcognitive elements:

      As usual (but only occasionally documented online), there were very precise precognitive and postcognitive elements relating to real life:

      1. Page 11 (half the “master number” and a “key” itself) of a library book (I had not seen) my wife and sons had been working with is called “Let’s Eat Cake!” (with pictures of cupcakes everywhere) and in the list it has “Can you spot…” and “a mouse?” (regarding the “freak” mouse/bird/human creature) following. This is also comparable to the concept of being a spy or detective and finding certain hidden things by separating them from the more complex setups.

      2. The next page (which they had spent time trying to work out and my wife said she “had in her mind” for awhile) has “Can you spot…” followed by both “a cupcake” and “a pair of wax lips”. In the actual photo, the pair of wax lips has, under it, a device that looks very similar to the “weapon”/rod from my dream and is also of the same two colors (purple and white).

    13. Paintings - Almost lucid

      by , 09-14-2011 at 04:38 PM (Curiouser and Curiouser)
      I kind of sort of did it!

      At one point in the night I half woke up and remembered what to do, so I told myself I would become lucid. I felt sleep paralysis set in and realized I was dreaming. Unfortunately everything stayed black and I eventually lost lucidity.

      But still! Yay!

      As for my dreams, the most vivid one I remember was in M's room. Since I am visiting family I told myself that the next time I saw M I would be dreaming, since that's the only place I will see him for the next few weeks - but it didn't work. Anyway, in the dream M's room was covered in multiple very large, colorful, beautiful paintings. Two of them were paintings I had done, but they were mediocre compare to the one on the other wall. I looked at it for a long time. It blended into the wall behind it on the edges.

      Unfortunately I don't have time to write any more now - maybe later.
      lucid , non-lucid
    14. Mood-Sensitive Oil Paintings

      by , 07-28-2011 at 06:59 PM (...from the dark corners of my mind...)
      DJ Log: July 28, 2011 – 7:00AM (USA Eastern)
      Text color legend: • NON-DREAMNOTESDREAMLUCID

      I am sitting on the floor in front of a laptop on a low table, talking with a guy about work-related stuff on a software-based phone. There is a blue velvet sofa to my left and a matching love seat directly across the room. A bookshelf stereo system is on a table beside the love seat and there are large speakers sitting on the floor on both sides. The carpet is light tan and the walls are snow white. There are two oil paintings hanging on the wall which have peaceful, abstract swirls of color on them, primarily shades of blue and green. The paintings are perfect mirror-images of each other.

      As I am talking on the phone, my brother walks into the room and turns on the stereo which is sitting on the other side of the room. I yell at him to turn it down, but he just gives me a dirty look and turns it up even louder. I yell at him again, "Turn it down or I will come over there and break the speakers." He gives me a defiant look and starts head-banging to the music. The paintings on the wall now have a fiery red, orange, and yellow scheme to them.

      Becoming angry, I lay the phone headset down, then go over and pick up the stereo off the table and rip all the wires out of the back. When I get back to the phone, my mom is sitting on the next couch, giving me a strange look. As soon as I pick up the headset for the phone, she starts talking loudly on a cordless phone. I look at her with a WTF look, and then I notice that the paintings now have a fiery mushroom cloud on them.

      Now enraged, I throw my headset down on the table again and slam the lid shut on the laptop. Walking into the kitchen, I forcefully remove the cordless phone cradle from the wall and smash it all over the floor. I throw a childish temper tantrum and stomp all over the broken pieces while screaming at the top of my lungs. After a moment, I run back into my bedroom and slam the door shut, then I wake up.
    15. My sister paintings, My fathers race and Vikings

      by , 07-03-2011 at 10:15 PM (Tomas's DJ - "Exploration of the inner Self")
      *I am at some construction place. It seems like there is some supermarket being build or so. At one point I can see thick metal wires going up from the ground and it could be some 30 meters high. Around each of them are spined two plastic, orange pipes with holes as if some DNA model. I return to the place later and those pipes are already drowned in concrete. The construction must have progressed greatly. I am there with someone else. I am not sure who it is, feels as an old friend. I am on the top of the concrete block and I can see the pairs of holes to the concrete where the pipes were. I think it must be some kind of ventilation system. We are thinking of throwing something in, but because we don’t know what is it for we don’t do it.
      **I walk down a long street, and there are many small houses along the street. I don’t think I live in the house where I am going, but I go there because of some pictures or painting. I remember that I have been there once or twice before. There are two girls waiting for me there. It’s a nice modern house but for some reason it feels like it has been build really quickly. I walk up the stairs made of light wood which are turning 180 degrees. There is a huge sliding glass door leading to a kitchen. The kitchen is nice and bright with a wooden floor. I look right and see a small room at the end, some 15m away... so I walk towards it, I fell thats where I need to go. I enter the room, its small room looking like an atelier or so. There are the two girls. I always bring a few canvases and these two girls paint some painting on it for my flat. One of the girls is my sister. There is also some Brazilian girl living next door and she is making eyes on me, but my sister and the other girl say that she is pretty easy. She asks me to go for a coffee with her. She also says that she lives somewhere near Sheffield, which is near German borders. She says she will call me.
      Then **I walk down a long street, and there are many small houses around the street. I don’t think I live in the house where I am going, but I go there because of some pictures or painting. I remember I have been there once or twice before. There are two girls waiting for me there. It’s a nice modern house. I walk up the stairs made of light wood which are turning 180 degrees. There is a huge sliding glass door leading to a kitchen. Then I turn right, which leads to a small room. The kitchen is nicely bright with wooden floor. Then I entre the small room and I always bring few canvases and these two girls paint some painting for my flat. One of the girls is my sister. There is some Brazilian girl living next door and she is making eyes on me, but my sister and the other girl say that she is pretty easy. She asks me to go for a coffee with her. She also says that she lives somewhere near Sheffield, which is near German borders. She says she will call me.
      Then I am in my sister’s room in Zasada, but it is mine now. I think I am ill and my sister offers that she paints a picture for me. Then I go to sleep and when I wake up I see that she painted on the wall. I admire those paintings because it looks really well. On the left of the Window that faces our green house, there is a really good painting of a stylistic giraffe. It is partially like robot; with its head down as if through the window and its head is in between the window and radiator. I really admire how good it is. On the opposite wall there is some abstract painting. It is very colourful, yellow, orange, blue, and green. But then I think I go to sleep again or walk out of the room. When I wake up or come back to the room it’s all different and it surprises me greatly. So I do reality check, just in case, I look at my hands and both thumbs are to the right. So I realise it is a dream!!! And my mom walks in the room. And I am so excited that I tell my mum “Mom I am dreaming, I am dreaming!” ( I am very excited about it). I tell me sister to continue painting....and I wake up.

      ***I am at some area that reminds me of Berany. It’s a hill with a road running in serpentines up the hill and a running and cycling race is taking place there. There is my brother and my father with me. We tease each other about the race and my father suggests that one of us will race. We have to let the bike tune up and it takes approximately 30 min. When I come back, it looks like my dad is going to race as he already has a number on him. I say that I want to go too, so he says I need to go to register in the office. I walk there but the lady says that it’s too late now even for the run.
      Next I am running up the hill so I can see the race, but there I see two men in some Viking suit running up and down the hill in a kind of fight. The one that is at the bottom of the slope throws his wide, undecorated sword at the other one but misses. Then the one high on the slope throws his sword at the bottom one and hits him in his ankle. I don’t think they notice me. As I run I pick up one of the swords but drop it a few meters later. The two warriors notice and run after me. I keep running and because I know the place I lose them. I am running very fast. As I run I also pick up a green blanket (???) but also drop it. When I return to the bottom of the hill, there is my dad without the number and he tells me that he raced already. He says that it was very difficult. We are going home, we live in a little house nearby and there are two huge stones in front of the house. I still have a feeling that those warriors are hunting me. I slide between the stones. I am wearing jeans and jacket and as I slide through there is something that looks like pea & ham and it messes my trousers. But I think its ok and it washes away easily.

      Updated 07-06-2011 at 09:55 PM by 43244

      lucid , non-lucid , memorable , dream fragment
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