• Lucid Dreaming - Dream Views




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    1. Florence

      by , 10-19-2014 at 08:48 PM
      I'm someone playing cards with three other guys, and one of them mentions the (some surname beginning with T) manuscript. It's this anonymous collection of old medical notes. A few copies have been made of it, but it was never published, so it's very rare. I tell them a bit about that manuscript - I love having the chance to do so, I enjoy sharing stories from the past a great deal.

      During the war, it was an open secret that T. was seeing a certain woman. He always used a nickname when he mentioned her to others, but everyone knew. (As I'm saying this, I'm seeing an image of myself playing cards with T. in the past, much like the scene with these men now, both of us in uniform; and then an image of that woman walking down a street.) And she'd often go to his room to make use of his typewriter. (I'm seeing a typewriter that doesn't actually make sense for this time period.) For whatever reason, when he left to return to England those notes she'd been working on were mixed in with his typewriter and his other things. He didn't make it back to England of course, and when his things were eventually recovered, that anonymous manuscript was naturally associated with him. But the identity of the author of the T. manuscript is Florence Nightingale.

      This doesn't get the reaction from the other card players that I'd been hoping for - I get some odd looks but mostly they just seem bored. They change the subject, talking about pharmaceuticals. I'm disappointed - I'm reasonably certain Florence is still a household name, recent enough and well-known enough that I'd thought they would find this interesting, even though they were all born well after her death. It's always an isolating feeling when this happens - no one much cares about old dramas. But at least they only see it as the eccentricity of a history buff, and I don't have to worry about them seeing me as a threat.

      Updated 10-19-2014 at 09:04 PM by 64691

      Categories
      non-lucid
    2. Island Tribe, Storytelling, Pain

      by , 03-03-2013 at 02:30 AM
      This dream has three layers.
      In the first I am a man, a soldier, wearing a battered colonial uniform. Out of the corner of my eye I see the small weathered row boat that will take me across the water to the island. I know the kind people there will hide me. I have an old book open, laying page down across my knees. There's one last bit of evidence to link my name to this place. The spine (and one inch to either side) is covered in white leather with gold writing.
      I glance up before I take my knife to the back of the book and see the calm ocean and clear sky, an island crowned with trees, then to my right a narrow strip of beach. I press my blade into the cover and where the sharp edge meets its surface the dusty red cover begins to fray. My own self has a moment of worry. I can see the fibers beneath the leather separating. I'm damaging a valuable artifact!
      Then the character's personality supersedes my own. I realize it doesn't matter if I damage it, as it will never leave the island. Now I just have to destroy the leather...

      It has been 14 years since I went into hiding. I married an island woman and together we raised a daughter named Antila. Soon she will be initiated into the tribe. She is small-framed, like her mother, but with my coloring. Pale, flawless skin, gold-brown hair and eyes. She could be a self-centered snot.
      I see her now, some of her hair up in a gold-cross wire cage, a gold choker and an ankle-length white dress.
      I become Antila, running alongside a stone wall. It used to be a tunnel but now there's a jagged hole in the ceiling, as I pass I see a flash of vivid green foliage and a lacework of sky. I rush to the end and turn into the courtyard. This place has no roof, all the same stone with tree visible at every side. I see my father standing by the far wall with several others, the tribe elders. This is the Ritual of Choosing. On the wall behind him are engraved three animals, all in peaked stone windows. In one is a mammoth, the middle one I don't remember, and the last looks like a combination of a lion and a wolf. In the engraving of the lion-wolf a bright blue stone glimmers in the sun. I know he has chosen me.
      There's a lapse and I'm sitting on a stone bench, a dark haired muscular man settles down next to me. He washed ashore a few weeks ago and has yet to leave. In truth , the elders want to keep him here if he can't be judged honest. The last thing my father needs after 14 years of hiding is to be exposed by this man. We have a conversation, my father interrupts and calls the man away. I'm a little annoyed when I realize what he's saying. I'll talk to whoever a please!
      "What did I say to you? I warned you to stay away from my daughter."

      I rise into another layer of sleep but I believe I have woken up. The house is larger than it should be, and my sister is living with me. I try to tell my sister about the dream I'd been having. Being the soldier, then his daughter, then describing the tunnel and the engraved animals.
      "Do you know what plateaus are?" I ask her, but she just gives me a blank look. I try to describe where part of the village sits, and how the top of the plateau is subtly tiered, and covered in moss instead of grass.

      The dream slips and I am myself, back in the village. I'm standing in the tunnel and there are small rugs rolled up and piled together against the wall. A young man walks by and says something to tease me when the rugs roll from the careful pyramid I've been crafting. I glance at him, unamused. When he and his friends see that I'm not taking their good natured teasing as it is meant, they stop to help me pick up the rugs, smiling to show they meant nothing.
      As I see this scene the soldier from before is speaking about how I was forced to leave the island.
      "See what you made her leave? How different it is where you made her go? And you call me unkind for confining my family to this place. There is no cruelty here."
      The whole thing sends a ripple of grief through my chest, and with it I flip back to my house, I cover my face and cry.

      There's a third layer, but I don't remember this one very well, it was right before I woke up. All the people from the island, have come here to this place of cruelty. Some have found themselves imprisoned like they are animals, but I'm the only one that can see who they really are. A young man with shoulder-length white hair and a woman with long black hair huddle naked in a roofless cage, thick metal collars around their necks with chains bolted into the concrete.
      One second I think that this man looks exactly like Wolf. A DC I encounter often. I try to realize how untrue that opinion is, he really looks nothing like Wolf, but the dream takes hold of me and I cannot argue. It's nice, everything in the city is glistening with the recent rain. I see other people from the island, from one angle they look like lion-wolves, but from another they look like people. They are beginning their revolt, breaking free.
      I wander over to a grey building that reminds me of a barn. A man kneels on the threshold. He notices me, looking terrified.
      "Tell me you can see the dead." He says.
      I shake my head, confused, but then something catches my notice at the corner of my vision. An impossibly tall woman with a weathered-dead face and no eyes looming over him. I back away and leave him to his fate. Then I see them everywhere, standing at the cage where Wolf and the woman are chained, down the street stalking one of the lion-wolves...