Recent DJ Posts

Morning of September 24, 2019. Tuesday.

Dream #: 19,272-02. Reading time (optimized): 1 min 30 sec.



Precursory: I am aware I am in bed at our present address though I do not perceive the room with coherence even though it is a vivid dream. My head is downward (though I am sleeping on my left side) though I have no perception of any other body part yet. My mouth is not against the mattress as my head seems elevated a few inches. I am aware it is morning, and although daylight is present, there is no cohesive imagery yet.

Induction: I am aware of at least one Naiad, but I do not see her. I can only hear her voice and breath in my ear after several short snippets of gibberish from farther behind me. She says, “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe” while near my left ear. Although I try to bring about communication with expectation with liminal dream state awareness, it does not occur, though I do not possess speech capability in this mode.

Post-induction: I watch several couples in canoes from a distance. I do not attempt to identify anyone. It seems to be late afternoon now. There are minimal ruins adjacent to the shore.

Vestibular stage: I ride a bicycle on a hilltop, avoiding sparsely arranged rocks. My concern is minimal as the tires phase through any that are directly in front of my path. (I am aware of attempting to enhance my imaginary physicality with this activity.)

The drop: I ride my bicycle off the edge of an embankment, and I slowly fly after it vanishes (without exit point modulation). I end up hovering near the doorway of one of the ruins, and I have a desire to look inside. I float into the room in a standing position.

Cognitive arousal: An MP (preconscious modulator as authoritative) is sitting at a desk with a typewriter. I cannot tell if he is real and had fallen asleep or if he is a mannequin. Upon attempting to read what he had typed, I see only sequences of random letters that change each time I look again. My view seems magnified. I see the red and black ribbon, red above black.

---

(As I am already in emerging awareness and cognitive arousal there is no need for the preconscious to be intrusive.)

---

This was a fun little WILD and attempt at Advanced Task of the Month. It's been a while since I've had to navigate my house and I'd forgotten how challenging it can be. Darkness seems to lurk around every corner and I'm always trying to just get out. Couldn't do that for this Task of the Month -- had to head further in.

Color legend: Non-dream Dream Lucid

Lucid #78: The DreamViews Drive

I'm getting consistent hypnagogic imagery of the den of our house, so I feel like I'm getting close. I focus on staying aware, and after a few more flashes of the den, a fully three-dimensional picture emerges. I will myself to roll off of the couch, and my dream body complies. I check my hands and feet and everything looks normal. No extra fingers or troll feet. The carpet feels very realistic as well and I mentally confirm that there's no reason I would have fallen asleep downstairs.

I give the coffee table a little shove with my foot and it glides over the carpet. Okay, now I'm really sure it's a dream. I walk through the den past my computer, stepping on a bunch of the kids' toys as I go. Strangely, there's a laundry basket in the middle of the floor. I give the laundry basket a hefty kick and it goes sailing into the air and flies straight out the window. I'm quite amused with myself.

Outside there's just a hint of light, like it's the early morning. I don't think it's possible that the sun's up yet, but it makes me feel more urgent and focused. Since I'm in the house, I want to find the note that I left for myself for Advanced Task of the Month. I have to get back up to our bedroom. I wonder whether I'll find myself there. The thought of my sleeping body makes me feel a little wobbly, so I imagine instead that Wife is lying in the bed by herself. I wonder whether Wife's DC will be interested in "victory celebrations" if I can complete Advanced Task of the Month. (Menthol, is that you?)

I walk through the kitchen, dining room, and den, past the pool table to the stairs. For a moment I think about trying a pool shot, but decide that I'd better stay focused. I'm pleased that the baby gate is missing from the bottom of the stairs. Halfway up, though, I see that this dream house has the baby gate installed in the middle of the stairs. "That's not real," I think, and phase through it.

The upstairs looks really, really dark. I notice a light switch on the wall next to me. I try both of the switches several times, but each of them just controls the air conditioner instead of the lights! Every time I flip one of them, the air conditioning rumbles to life and I feel a light stir of wind.

I'm not sure what to do, so I just charge ahead. The darkness starts to get really bad, and I realize that I'm about to lose the dream. I grab onto the banister as darkness sweeps over me. I produce a gladius in my right hand and start swinging it around in the void, still clutching the banister. I stay like this for quite some time, not losing the dream but also not going anywhere. It feels like at least 30 seconds. I fail to formulate a good transition to a new scene (or a way back into the existing scene), and I either fade to black or lose lucidity...

It's a clear morning. Wife and I are in a car, pulling up to a two-story brick house to pick up my best friend F. F greets us at the door and comes out to inspect the car we're driving, an amazing classic car that looks a bit like a '55 Chevy Belair. Wife goes inside the house and I tell F that he and I should go for a ride. I hand him the keys and he drives.



As we start down the street, I tell F, "Man, I just had a lucid dream before we came over here. I've got to enter it into DreamViews." He says cool. There's something like an old-style typewriter embedded in the car's console. I know that if I type the dream into this typewriter it'll automatically get posted to DreamViews. I marvel at how convenient this is. I congratulate myself for renting such a wonderful car.

While I peck randomly at the keys, I ask F whether he's had any lucid dreams lately when he's commuting on the train. He says no, and we talk dreaming for a bit. I say something about dream signs and I mention that one of mine is "really bad driving." He laughs and says, "You mean like this?" He hits a quick 3-point turn and floors the accelerator, sending us streaking back toward the house.

"It's a rental!" I whine. "Be careful, man!" It's a residential street and he's doing 60 mph, easy. We're almost back to the house now and he hasn't slowed down one bit. I'm distracted, too, because I'm still trying to type my DJ entry into the car's typewriter-thing. Now I realize that I don't have a seat belt. I alternate between blubbering "It's a rental!!" and "There's no seat belt!!" As we hit the driveway, I throw in, "I don't want to die!!"

F cuts the wheel hard to the left. There's a squeal of rubber and the car stops a few feet from the house. I'm relieved to be alive. I'm not angry because I assume that he just didn't hear my complaints. "I was trying to tell you, man. I don't think my side has a seat belt!"

He laughts. "Nothing's going to happen to you, man!" I get out of the car and see that it's turned into a convertible. I get it now. "F! This is a dream, isn't it?" He's walking inside the house and I hurry after him, the dream growing dark. Fade to black...

Morning of July 20, 1973. Friday.



I am seemingly somewhat “disembodied” but still aware of being above my bed, looking downwards, perhaps hovering (it is aligned north to south in the southwest corner of my room). For quite some time, nearly a half an hour perhaps, I had been listening to the sound of my mother’s typewriter. For some reason, even though my bedroom door is closed, it sounds rather loud and close to my ears. I seem to fade in and out of this dream several times, still being aware of the typewriter sound, but it is not all that annoying as there are points where it is almost “reassuring” somehow.

Eventually, I see the typewriter on my bed (while still hovering above, seemingly disembodied or in my “orb” form) and invisible hands start to type. As this happens, I hear the opening music to Sandra Gould’s 45 “Hello Melvin (This Is Mama)” from August 1963 (which I had in real life and listened to fairly often at one time). There is no comedic singing or talking, just the music as on the record and with light typewriter clacking, which actually seems more and more reassuring and even soothing as it continues. The typewriter clacking even seems to match some of the musical aspects (mainly the four-note main phrasing) with three-note “answer” clacks after each phrasing (somewhat like a “cha cha cha” element). It seems to go on for several minutes.

Coincidentally, Sandra Gould (who was also one of the actresses who played Gladys Kravitz on the television series “Bewitched”) was born the same month and year of my mother (but nine days later) - July of 1916 - and also died on this date (July 20) in 1999.