Verre

Slept from around midnight to 2:45am then got up for several hours. Returned to bed at 6:15am, after meditating a few minutes and taking some supplements (choline, Alpha-GPC, L-theanine, vitamin B complex, piracetam). Did some casual SSILD while falling asleep. Woke at 6:45am with dream.

I was in a room with dark walls, a sort of "black box" theatre, and about two-thirds of the room was full of tangled billows of blue cloth up to knee-level. Around eight people were positioned at various points in the cloth, flailing against it as though they were swimming (or drowning) in water. I knew it was a rehearsal for a play, and I felt a strong desire to join them but was restrained by a sense of propriety since I was not related to the production. I sat in a chair and reflected on how much I've always been attracted to the idea of acting even though I apparently have no talent for it.

Slowly and naturally it dawned on me that I was dreaming. The awareness brought with it a change of scene, perhaps a half-waking: I was back in my bed, but still in dream. I began to focus on animating my dream body as though it were a WILD, thrashing around in the tangled covers (not unlike how the actors had been flailing in the water-like whorls of cloth). I noted how my visual field was very chaotic, almost back to the fluctuating hypnagogic state, but the tactile field felt more stable, so I ignored the visual clutter and got out of bed. I don't need to see well to navigate my own house, whether in WL or a dream.

I wondered what to do and quickly decided to try to knock off the wine TOTM, which seemed like an easy one. So I walked swiftly to the kitchen pantry where I keep a lot of wine and reached for one at random. It was a rosé in a clear glass bottle. The level was very low, well down the shoulder, but since the cork was intact I figured it should count as a "full bottle" as specified in the TOTM. At first the bottle was the shape and size of a typical wine bottle, the more streamlined profile you usually see with burgundies, but as I set it down on the kitchen counter to get a better look, it transformed in front of my eyes to the larger, plumper form of a two-liter plastic soda bottle.

I was still determined to open it, so I picked it up and carried it over to where the corkscrew should be. It occurred to me that I should make a more detailed observation of the bottle first, since it was covered in writing printed directly on the glass. The writing was in white script of various fonts and sizes, but the white lettering against the clear glass was hard to read, especially with the level of the wine so low. The fonts were also elaborate and hard to make out. I held it up at an angle to get the best view and looked carefully. I could make out that the biggest word was "Mersault," which would make sense since (as I suspected and google confirms) this is an actual appellation in Burgundy. The next largest set of letters spelled "Farb," which reminded me of the German word for "color." I wondered if this had to do with the color of the wine, and was startled to observe that the wine was now colorless and looked exactly like water. Moreover, the bottle was starting to remind me of a water bottle. Oh dear, had I accidentally turned my wine into water? I'd better grab a different bottle! I was walking back to the pantry when I woke up.

There was actually a lot of day residue in this LD. Last night I ate out and had an elaborate meal with wine pairings: they included a rosé and a wine from a bottle that was partly empty but whose cork remained intact because the wine had been extracted with a needle and replaced with argon. Both of these details manifested directly in the dream, although I didn't recognize them as day residue until after I woke up. I just double-checked the menu and there was no Mersault, however, nor can I recall when I last had it, so I'm not sure where that came from.

I blew my nose, and noticed that something solid had emerged into the tissue. My growing unease ripened into sharp alarm when I inspected the contents. Next to some meatier pieces of phlegm was the unmistakable segmented shape of a short, light grey worm. It was about half an inch long, and completely alive and intact. I'm not sure if it was a true worm or had two hair-like rows of short legs, but it even started to move as I watched. The thought of such a thing living in my body, in my sinuses even, infused me with silent horror quickly ripening to desperation as I saw the front half of another worm, which would have been twice as long as the first if it were intact, in the tissue's contents. On the underside was a distinct mouth with two visible mandibles curved back so that they lay flat against its body like fangs. What were these things doing to me?

Just after discovering the worms in the tissue, I felt an itch just above the hairline of my forehead and absently scratched it. A soft body crushed under my fingers, getting tangled in my hair, and I brought them back to find the green ooze of yet another worm staining their tips. The horror became even more intense. Were there so many in my body that they were emerging? I needed to do something about this now.

Mustering all my willpower to stay calm and focused, I brought the unwieldy vehicle I was driving over to the curb, put it in park, and engaged the parking brake. It was a boxy shuttle like those that sometimes ferry people and their luggage around airports; this one had no seats and was specced for military use. I left the engine running, even as I wondered why I was doing so: this was unlikely to be a short stop. As I disembarked, I said something like, "Men, make sure not to move this vehicle," to my company. They were prone to horsing around, and I was afraid someone might bump the parking brake and accidentally disengage it. The vehicle was tricky to operate.

I disembarked, dodging the idle men lounging on the short flight of steps that led from the strip of grass bordering the curb down to the sidewalk bordering the building. The door was open, and there were more men clustered around the steps that led down into the building. I knew they were here because I had left for the last mission in such a hurry that they had been left behind. I had already sensed that something was wrong at the time, but it had still been too vague to articulate, a vague but crushing sense of oppression rather than any physical symptoms I could describe.

I was looking for someone in particular. Not the young doctor, but the old one, who I had known for a long time and trusted completely. After passing a row of men leaning against the bar to the right of the entryway, I turned left and was relieved to discover him standing next to a table. He had grey hair and a lined, weathered face, with a serious but not unkindly expression. I addressed him in a tone that was urgent but still tightly focused, doing everything I could to remain cogent and not lose myself to the mounting hysteria I was feeling.

"Richard, I think there's something wrong with me."

He looked up, and I saw that he could tell from my face that the matter was dire, but when he spoke his tone was relaxed, the practiced ease of an experienced combat physician. "Okay, tell me all about it."

"It started about a week before this mission," I began.

It was here that I woke up. The dream was a patchwork of distinct day residue. The worms were inspired by Jimmy Carter's appearance on the Daily Show with Jon Stewart, where they briefly discussed his efforts to eradicate guinea worms in Africa. The doctor's face was a combination of Lance Hendrickson, who I saw the night before last when Aliens (1986) came on TV, and another old guy from another film of which my husband made an approving remark when he appeared. The film might have been The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999), which we caught much of on cable last night, in which case the guy must have been Philip Baker Hall (b.1931)—I had to look up his name, but the face looks right. My role as a female leader of a military company comes directly from Mass Effect 3 (2012), which I was playing last night. I think there was a lot more to the dream, because it actually started with the scene prior to the mission when I first felt a foreboding uneasiness. I reported it in retrospect because I couldn't remember most of what happened before that last scene; the mission itself remains a blur in memory. There was physical input as well: when I woke up I still had a slight itch on my head where I had scratched in the dream and discovered the third worm.

I was stressed about work. How am I going to complete all the obligations piling up this month, which is already getting shorter? I figured it would be best to prioritize. I should be able to finish the map in an afternoon if I get the right materials together. I thought about what I would need to finish it, and came up with vellum and archival paper. Fortunately I knew I already had these somewhere and was pretty sure where I had last put them, in a box in the storage area. I could see it in my mind's eye. I had woken up early and wanted to go retrieve them, but the rest of my family was still asleep.

My mother, brother, and father were all staying with me in the house and I didn't want to disturb them by walking through the building and rummaging around in boxes. I decided to go outside for a walk instead. I walked down the stairs, which were littered with all the discarded santa masks. This struck me as odd at first, but I reasoned we must have had a holiday party yesterday.

Outside it felt like early morning, and there was a narrow stream of clear water nearby. Next to the stream was a small building of naturally weathered wood, a sort of shed. Just after I entered it, it occurred to me that even though I know I'm awake, I should practice some RCs to instill good habits. No one else was around and there was no reason not to do a blatant one, so I jumped. Yes, just as I thought, it's obvious I'm awake, because that felt perfectly normal. But just for good measure I should do it a few more times in order to internalize the feeling of what a proper jump feels like in waking life.

So I jumped in the air several times in succession, concentrating on that critical moment at the apex, when the upward motion reverses and gravity takes over. I knew that I would be able to tell if I were dreaming because the timing would be off, that moment would feel drawn out slightly, extended. Hmmm.... it isn't, is it? Was that a touch of hesitation at the top? No, I'm pretty sure this is natural. I've just never concentrated on it sufficiently before, my attention is making it seem more pronounced.

And yet... it does seem a trifle too long. Could it be...? What if...? I had just begun to seriously consider the possibility that I might be dreaming after all, when I woke up in bed. Only very slowly did I come back to myself and realize that all the things I had taken as evidence that I was awake were wrong or askew, signs of false memory. The building and surroundings that seemed so familiar at the time were pure dream space, unlike any place I know in waking life. It made sense at the time that my whole family was there, but the only accurate part is that I'm currently sharing a hotel room with my mother. The anxiety about work is real enough, but it was only well after I had written down my initial notes that I realized that in the dream I had felt responsible for an additional project that didn't exist in WL, in addition to the real ones. Finally, as I initially lay in bed reviewing the dream, I didn't even notice how I slipped back briefly from genuine waking into an FA, and briefly found myself another place entirely, which only transitioned again to lying back in bed once I reached the point where I felt I had enough grasp of the memory to get up and write.

Tonight I'm in a hotel and had gone to bed at 12:30am, early for me, after a big meal with lots of wine. I slept for a few hours and it was probably around 3–4am (an estimation, I didn't check) that I started water-cycling. I've found it the best way to avoid a hangover: I wake up at intervals to drink as much water as I can comfortably consume, which inevitably means also having to use the bathroom frequently once the rehydration sets in.

I had already woken a few times in the night and this waking seemed no different at first, because dream logic prevented me from realizing how odd it was that I was walking down a long hall to use the bathroom rather than just using the one in the room. Yet from the start, something made me wonder if I was dreaming. I tried jumping and levitating but it was inconclusive. It didn't occur to me to try other checks. I went in the bathroom and noticed it looked just like one I had just been dreaming about before I woke up, which also seemed suspicious, but I still felt very embodied and awake. I even noticed how clean and inviting this bathroom felt, in contrast to the unpleasant aspect they often present in dreams. I felt awake enough and had to pee urgently enough that I was tempted to just go ahead and use the facilities, reasoning that if I was actually dreaming then with careful intention I should be able limit this activity to the dream state and not accidentally release my bladder in waking life. But uncertainty made me hesitate—I couldn't afford to be wrong about this! Something still made me sense that I was dreaming, even if I couldn't seem to prove it.

I noticed a woman sitting nearby, which did not strike me as odd, but opportune. I approached her and asked, "Am I dreaming?"

"Yes." I was struck by the simple decisiveness of her answer. It was also uncharacteristically straightforward, given the usual evasiveness of my DCs.

"Thanks for being honest. Usually when I ask people in dreams—" (I used this phrase instead of "DC" because I was afraid she might it insulting to be reduced to an acronym) "—they say 'no'. Why do they do that?"

She shrugged slightly. "They're probably just nervous."

I wondered what they might have to be nervous about, but wanted to understand what made her different. "Then why were you so honest?"

"I represent your higher functions." I'm pretty sure this is what she said, or very nearly. It struck me as an oddly technical response.

This DC really intrigued me. She seemed so smart and self-aware, in contrast to the typical dullness and blandness of those I try to interact with. I looked at her closely. She was a slim young woman who appeared to be in her twenties, pretty, with glossy shoulder-length black hair and an Asian cast to her features. Her demeanor was calm, precise, and assured. I wanted a name to remember her by, so I asked: "What's your name?"

She promptly uttered a string of numbers, something like "2166309."

Perplexed by this response, I pressed, "I mean in letters." If she couldn't answer, I decided that I would name her "Murasaki." I had just been reading about the names of Japanese colors so the word was fresh on my mind; I knew it meant purple, and the woman was wearing a bright purple shirt and looked like she might be Japanese. I also recalled that "Murasaki" was a name of ancient pedigree, being the heroine of The Tale of Genji as well as the pseudonym of its courtly author. But my deliberations were unnecessary, it turned out.

"Meonarra," she said. At least that's what it sounded like.

I pressed for clarification: "Can you spell that?"

She might have started with an "M," but what followed was not a series of normal alphabetical letters. She specified particular accent marks and chemical symbols that I wasn't even familiar with. Her explanation of the spelling sounded far longer than the actual name, and at least half of it seemed to be special characters. Even listening closely, I couldn't follow it at all. I wished I had a way to record it other than my own weak memory. I reflected how people in many pre-modern cultures had developed their memories to an extraordinary degree, but we, who can almost always rely on other means of recording information, have very little ability in that regard. I wished I had a notepad to write down what she was saying, but there would be no point: I couldn't keep it with me when I woke up. So instead I just asked her to repeat herself: "Can you say that again?"

She obliged, but it sounded completely different this time, and I could swear the new spelling ended with a "D." That wasn't anything like the name I thought I'd heard. I figured if I couldn't spell it, I should at least make sure I had the pronunciation right. "Meonarra?" I asked, pronouncing the first syllables as "mee-oh." She corrected me; the first vowel was more like the "a" in "after," so it sounded like "mae-oh."

I realized that I was falling into a rut by obsessing over the name, and the dream was not going to last much longer. "Can I see you again?" I asked Meonarra. "I'd like to have a conversation sometime."

She shrank back with a stricken look, as if I'd suggested something completely inappropriate. "No! That's _____'s territory." I didn't quite catch the name, but I think it was two syllables, might have started with an "I," and sounded male. Similar to "Isaac"? But it wasn't exactly that; I don't think it was a waking-world name.

I wasn't sure what was wrong with my request, but I tried to reassure her. "I just mean to chat, like we're doing now. I'd like to see you." I realized that I was drawn to her. I couldn't tell if it was the stirrings of a romantic attraction or if it was just that I found her so interesting. But the thought awakened a sensuous impulse and I put my arms around her. I recognized that it was the dream state itself that made it so easy to slip toward this sensation, and I asked her why dreams had this quality. I can't remember how I worded the question, and can't remember her reply, if she had time to make one before I woke up.

Writing this up it perhaps sounds more bland than it felt at the time. It was one of those dreams that felt really significant, even if nothing much happened. I regret that I got so pre-occupied with her name. Although my waking mind really likes to have names for things, a tendency that bleeds over pedantically into lucidity, I'm not sure if naming things is especially useful or meaningful within dream itself. It is becoming clear, at least, that the kinds of names things have in dream are not always as clear and straightforward as our ordinary linguistic appellations of waking life. Instead they appear to operate much like written text in dreams, characterized by the shifting instability of dream logic. So it might have been better if I could have thought of more substantial questions to ask her, instead of wasting the whole dream just trying to pin down her name. I do like having something to remember her by, but what else might she have told me if I had been able to come up with a more introspective line of questioning?

It is now 6:43am (it was a few minutes before 5:12 when I started so I've spent over 90 minutes writing!) and the sky outside has blossomed into an unbelievably beautiful pink sunrise. I'm going back to bed.

I was sitting with two women friends (no one I know RL) across a table from the Dalai Lama. One of the women was showing us pictures of a guy she said had just died. The pictures were a vertical strip of three, like those that come out of a photo booth, only larger format, about 3x4 I guess, vertically aligned. What was more striking was the figure in the photos, which didn't look human, but like a skinny reddish angry muppet with an open howling mouth and a shock of hair over its eyes, a bit like Animal but more gangly.

I recognized him at once, though: "That's Kelsang Gyatso," I told the other women. "He's like a dissident, except in relation to mainstream Tibetan Buddhism. It's over some stupid doctrinal dispute." Then I remembered that the Dalai Lama was sitting right across the table and I blushed and apologized, since obviously the dispute was important to him and I hadn't meant to offend. "I just meant it seems stupid to people on the outside."

The Dalai Lama gently admonished me, "It is better not to say things that you might have to apologize for." I felt like retorting, "I know, but I'm not enlightened," but recognized that he was right so I just nodded in acknowledgment.

Ritual: I had a vibrating alarm in my hand, but I think it was the cat that woke me, as there was still four minutes left on the alarm when I got up after the end of the dream. The cat is a likely culprit, since he frequently comes and meows at me several times in the morning, even after he's been fed. Whatever it was, luckily I had the presence of mind to remember not to move, and if the cat was meowing, somehow I did a great job of tuning him out. I focused on trying to maintain a state just below the threshhold of full waking that would allow me to DEILD.

My DEILD technique developed unintentionally out of my WILDs, since I had always instinctively chained them through inadvertant half-wakings. For this reason it feels natural to try to DEILD by "separating" my sense of the dream body from my physical one rather than incubating visual impressions, since I do WILDs the same way, so I started by trying to move my dream-limbs. I wasn't entirely sure if it was working, as it felt a lot like I was really moving, but it also seemed suspiciously easy and I wasn't getting tangled in the bedcovers. Eventually I was raising my knees alternately until it felt almost like I was marching in place. I had the impression that I was lying on my back while doing this, although it is almost certain that in WL I was actually lying on my side.

I hadn't been dreaming right before I half-woke, at least as far as I could recall, so there was no particular scenario to dwell on. Instead I just let imagery form randomly. There was a series of brightly-colored hypnagogic scenes that for some reason were all very cartoon-like. None of them turned into a dream, nor did I expect them to. All my thrashing was with the intent to integrate myself well enough into the dream body that I could "get up" out of bed.

(Actually as I was writing this account I did remember a non-lucid dream that must have occurred in the previous sleep period. But I didn't remember it at the time so it did not influence the attempt.)

I thought I could be more certain I was really dreaming if I moved in an unnatural way, so I tried some rotations. I was unable to rotate laterally, but eventually managed to rotate around my body's vertical axis until it felt like I was lying on my face. This was especially interesting because the whole time I was convinced I felt the cat standing on me, so the impression of his weight went from being located in my chest to on my back. At this point things seemed sufficiently unnatural that I was confident I was dreaming, so I continued to roll horizontally to the side until I fell right out of the bed. It still felt remarkably lifelike, but my landing was much too soft and painless to be real... in RL I'd likely suffer serious injury if I rolled out of the bed that way, since the bed is quite high and I suspect I'd hit my head on the bedside table on the way down!

DEILD: As I scrambled up from the floor, I noted that my mind felt very clear but my senses were vague. I danced a bit as I left the room, since I was still trying to transfer sensation and awareness fully from my sleeping self to my dream body. I still had a shadow of a doubt that I might be confused and actually awake, so I was slightly concerned about the prospect of leaving the house naked. However, I didn't feel like bothering with clothes if I was dreaming, and I figured as soon as I left the house I'd know for sure, because in my dreams the landscape outside is usually different.

Sure enough, as I stepped out the sliding door from the kitchen, instead of the concrete pool patio I found myself standing next to a steep hillside heavily overgrown with brush and small trees. I started climbing it and the earth was loose and leafy enough that it was easy to get purchase on it even though the slope was extremely steep; it seemed like a 60 degree incline. I remembered that my goal was to reach a winter forest, and promptly noticed the patches of wet snow on the ground, like those that appear when it has snowed recently but much of it has already melted. I momentarily wonder if I will be cold without clothes on, but remind myself that my dream persona is often a vampire, so the cold shouldn't bother me.

I have elaborate tasks stored up: there are a lot of things I plan to do in the forest, like another attempt at my lucid dare and perhaps "Hansel and Gretel" for the TOTY. But the snow reminds me of the TOTM, and I recall that was the reason I had specified a "winter" forest in the first place. I decide that it would be nice to get wings again and that the basic task won't be too hard to accomplish as long as I can find a DC to throw a snowball at. I scoop up some snow and pack it into a ball. The texture feels a little off as the snow comes together, too smooth and almost slick, rather than with the crunch of real snow.

(WLR: I realize that the odd texture of my snowball was probably influenced by dolphin's post on the TOTM thread where he says that his snowball ended up being a rice ball! I think the plasticky texture was also influenced by a knickknack I saw the other day in a Paper Source store: it was a little snowman made of some sort of white latex-like material that you could build up into shapes and then it would slowly "melt" again.)

Snowball in hand, I need to find some DCs. I look around but there is no one in sight. However I see a couple houses in the distance, off the to left beyond some open ground. I come down from the hill and go that way instead, in the direction of the houses. I figure I can ring the doorbell of one of the houses and lob the snowball at whoever opens the door—a bit rude, perhaps, but it will get the job done! But soon the problem is simplified when I see two DCs walking directly toward me, women dressed in business casual. I feel a bit anxious that something might go wrong before I get close enough to hit them with the snowball. Maybe I should just throw it now? I try to remember how the TOTM was worded: did it specify that the snowball needed to hit? [In retrospect I see that it does.]

While I vacillate we are still walking toward one another, and soon it looks like they are in range, so I throw the snowball. It misses, so I quickly make another and try again. It misses as well, so I pack a third one and aim more carefully. This time the snowball strikes the woman walking on the left on the lapel of her teal-colored suit jacket. The women seem nonplussed at first, but instead of protesting they soon start making snowballs of their own to throw at me, so we have an old-fashioned snowball fight.

Meanwhile two more DCs, middle-aged men, are approaching from another direction, and quickly get drawn into our game. One of the men seems annoyed initially when he is struck by a snowball, but before long he is participating enthusiastically and exclaiming, "I love this! I love this!" as though rediscovering the pleasures of childhood. The other man is older and well-dressed, with a strong accent that sounds not quite German but something in that neighborhood. He says, "Uh... apologies for staring. A rigorous loser, poor loser." I can make out his words distinctly but I don't know what he's referring to, and at this point I wake up.

Went to bed at 2:45am, cat woke me for his breakfast at 6:30am, then I went back to bed. I had a few more minor wakings, but wasn't doing any particular dream practices as I needed to get up by 9:30 and wanted to maximize my sleep. However, at one point when I woke up—around 8:30am as it turned out—somehow things felt different.

I woke up, or thought I did, and there wasn't anything to distinguish it from all the other wakings over the course of the morning, except that for some reason the thought occurred to me that I might be able to DEILD. I didn't even have any particular impressions of having woken up from a dream, but somehow I felt instinctively that it would work. So experimentally I tried to move one of my hands, very small movements at first until I was confident that I was moving my dream hand and not my real one, then I reached up to touch my face. The sensations were lifelike but somehow I was certain the DEILD had worked. "Why don't I do this all the time?" I thought. "This is the easiest thing in the world!" That's how it seemed then, at least, as I got up out of bed to explore the dream.

I walked down the hallway and passed the cat. In my dream logic I assumed that this encounter was really happening, that I was walking past my real cat even though I was dreaming, and I was curious how he would react to seeing me in my dream state. How would I appear to him? Ethereal? Responding to my expectations, the dream cat reacted with an air of uncertainty to my presence. As I continued into the kitchen, I felt like dancing so I did a few random steps, pleased with how well-intregrated I felt in my dream body and in the environment.

As I approached the sliding door that leads out to the back patio, I thought I heard the neighing of horses from somewhere outside. "Could that be real?" I wondered. "Where could it be coming from?" I had to remind myself that not everything I hear in a dream is bleedthrough, and that a real horse in the vicinity of my house would be highly improbable. Looking outside, I saw a dinosaur skeleton that resembled a triceratops go ambling by. I didn't think much of it, though it was a pleasant reminder that I was definitely dreaming. Eagerly I went outside. It looked nothing like waking life: instead of my fenced-in back patio, I was in a wide grassy space bounded in the distance by trees and low hills. It resembled a bright and sunny day, but still felt dreamlike in that the bright sunlight did not aggravate my eyes the way it does when I'm awake. I looked around and felt pleased to note that my visual perceptions were crystal clear, since during my long dryspell even my NLDs had become murky and vague, at least in recollection. What was the source of this marvelous clarity? "This really is a third state, neither dreaming nor waking," I thought to myself.

I had not expected to get lucid so I had no real goals or tasks in mind; I was just thrilled to be lucid again. I walked forward through the landscape, wishing a DC would come and greet me after my long absence, but I couldn't see anyone else. As I walked I found myself spontaneously singing a little snatch of song. The pitch I was singing was too high for my voice, even in dream, and I could hear it cracking on the high notes. I hadn't put any thought into the words, but I noticed that I was just singing, "I love you... I love you." There was no one on my mind; if I was directing those words to any particular object it must have been dream itself. The melody was simple and I was sure it was music I had heard before in waking life, as I could anticipate how it should continue, and even recall some words ("...any night, any day...") but I couldn't remember what the song was. After I woke up I thought about it for a while and then realized that the melody I was using closely resembled the opening bars of the song "Bali Hai," from the musical South Pacific. The only reason I'm familiar with the song is because I was involved in a school production of the musical many years ago, when I was in seventh grade. I ambled on through the environment a bit further, still with no real purpose and nothing much happening, just delighting in the dream.

My dream recall has become atrocious of late. I wake up and have the impression of complex narratives, but often can't even piece together enough specifics to write even fragmentary accounts. The impressions simply refuse to link up with concrete words and images.

I woke up recently and promptly tried to recollect what I was just dreaming about. "Was there a... a... there was! There was a place!" I felt a glint of triumph until I woke up a little more and realized that this was not exactly the start of a compelling dream narrative, however fragmentary:

I was in a place.

At least I was able to find humor in the absurdity of it. Yet effectively this is the sum of what I'm able to articulate about most of my dreams lately, despite an unmistakable feeling, an impression that is almost but not quite visual, of so much more depth and detail.

I was in a place. There were people around. We were engaged in activities.

I was in a small shop when blood dripping from overhead stained the white shirt I was wearing. I looked up and I could see small circles of blood pooling and dripping down from from the ceiling in two separate places. Where could it be coming from? The explanation that seemed most likely was that the vampires were leaving their victims on the roof again. If so, I was going to be very annoyed, because sometimes it was days before anyone found them and by then they were going bad. I wondered if I should go up and check, but remembered that there was somewhere I needed to be shortly so I would have to hurry home to shower and change my shirt.

Back home, I had sufficient awareness to notice that the place looked unfamiliar (like most of my dream places, it resembled nowhere I've been in RL), but then I remembered that we had just moved here. I walked around admiring the new house: it was much more spacious than the last one, and had great atmosphere. For instance, in my room there were places where tree roots were growing down over the wall, creating beautiful lattice patterns and giving the room a pleasant rustic feel. I remembered my last landlord was always paranoid about tree roots growing near the house, but in this case their growth had been shaped in such a way that they formed a wonderful symbiosis with the architecture. There was a shallow pond my room too, unless I'm remembering a different room, and some kind of fish or crustaceans living in the pond.

I found my mother in the yard just behind the house. She was engaged in some kind of task, using a tree stump as a base to scrub the blue pigment off of some pieces of paper (as far as I could make out) and wanted me to come help. I also noticed a little pool or pond in the backyard that I thought I should take a closer look at when I had more time. But it was already 11am and I needed to be at my next engagement by 11:30, which barely left me time to take a shower. My brother came out to help my mom instead, so I excused myself and went back inside the house.

I passed a room that was entirely filled with an inground swimming pool, leaving just enough floorspace to walk around the edges. I gazed down into the water and was surprised how deep it was. I think my dad was in the room; I remember asking about the depth and then noticing the large black numbers marked on the side of the pool that confirmed his answer: eighteen feet. I reached down to touch the water and was delighted by how warm it was. This was much better than an outdoor pool because we could use it year round! And it was the third body of water I'd seen in the house so far. "I'm really starting to like this house!"

There was more but my recall gets vague after that. One thing to note, though: this dream was little more than a concatenation of dream signs! Mother, father, brother, unfamiliar house, no less than three bodies of water—somehow I went from one to another in a state of total obliviousness, and yet the dream kept throwing them at me as if to say, "Erm, excuse me. Hey. Hey! Notice anything?"

I was returning to my car in a parking lot, and when I went around to the driver's side door, I was surprised to find the headlights on. This was surprising. Had I left them on somehow? I hoped the battery hadn't run down too much. But then I noticed the passenger side door was open as well. I peeked into the backseat to make sure no one had gotten in and was hiding back there, then went around to close the passenger door. At that point I saw three guys in front of the car, one holding jumper cables. I'm not sure how they got my car open but apparently their aim was to use it to help jumpstart the car next to me. It looked like they had just finished. I indicated the other car, from which I could distinctly hear the purr of the engine, and asked "So it's running now?" to confirm my impression what had just taken place.

Things seemed resolved so I was about to get in and drive away when I discovered that one of the men was now in the driver's seat and my husband, who hadn't been in the dream at all before this, was occupying the passenger seat. When I asked if I could have my car back, the driver said something like, "I just need to do this first," and started backing up. I don't know if he thought he was being helpful by backing out of the parking space, but the car kept rolling backward, and since there was no room for me inside, I was trying to run backwards right next to it while keeping my grip on the passenger side door, which was still open in front of me. This was challenging and I worried I might fall and be dragged across the pavement. It occurred to me that it might almost be worth it if it made the guy realize how unhelpful he was being, but I managed to keep my balance.

The guy kept backing up to the point where he—accidentally, it seemed—overshot the edge of the parking lot altogether and went rolling backward down a grassy embankment, me still hanging on outside and struggling to keep my balance and pace them. Finally the ground leveled out and the car gradually rolled to a stop on the grass. At this point I was rather annoyed, and leaned in to tell the driver, "No one else can drive my car the way I can. Can I please have it back now?"

I was walking with my dad, who now resembled the older Russell Crowe from Noah, out of the town into a desert to join an expeditionary force that was tasked with recovering some powerful ancient artifact. "Are we going to help them get it or take it for ourselves?" I asked him, trying to clarify our motivations. "We'll see how it plays out," he replied. In the next moment I observed the leader of the expeditionary force raise at least a hundred undead elephants from beneath the sands, adding considerably to the impressiveness of their force. "For them, it looks like," I commented wryly, answering my own question.

Moving swiftly ahead of the rest, my dad and I were the first ones to reach the stone antechamber that served as the entrance to the dungeon where the artifact was said to be buried. While we waited for the others to catch up, we heard an altercation outside. I heard a booming voice that I understood to be that an antagonist in the form of a powerful AI, announcing that it had trained an orbital telescope upon the army we were assisting. It claimed that the telescope was pointed at an ancient city beneath the sands, and was capable of igniting some flammable resource right underneath the army's feet.

Although in dastardly-villain style the AI had revealed its plan before executing it, there was no chance to thwart it: in the next moment we saw a tremendous conflagration through the cracks in the partially-open doors of the stone chamber in which we took refuge. Fortunately the entrance was facing the opposite direction from the blast, and although the stone walls at our back protected us from immolation, we still had to put our hands over our faces to protect them from the sudden withering heat.

We knew that anyone outside who had been exposed to the blast must have been destroyed—all but one, a single man who had arrived just outside the stone antechamber in time to be protected by it. I took him to be the leader of the army that had just been decimated. "Wow," I said, not directing my words to anyone in particular, as he slipped into the antechamber and joined us. "That was... overwhelming." I realized that under these changed circumstances, we would no doubt be seeking the artifact for our own purposes now, though whether this third guy would turn out to be an ally or antagonist in the long run was impossible to predict. "Guess it's just the three of us now," I commented as, without further ado, we started down the stone steps into darkness to begin our adventure.

I wasn't practicing seriously for the last couple weeks as I felt too busy with work to devote much time to journaling, so my motivation to LD was also low (because successful attempts commit me to hours of writing if I'm going to record them right). Last night I felt more motivated so instead of playing video games late at night I went to bed early (11:30pm, early for me anyway) and put in a solid WILD attempt, with a full two-hour WBTB (from 1:45am when I woke up naturally until 3:45) followed by 14 minutes seated meditation and the usual counting ritual on returning to bed.

The attempt felt promising as I didn't fall asleep too quickly but maintained liminal awareness for awhile, and it was around 4:15am when I finally went back to sleep. However I did not achieve a WILD, and experienced nothing but an extremely vague NLD (something about a shoot-out, I was a young man in Vietnam I think, maybe during the war, the guys on my side had a sort of built structure to take positions in but it was full of rats, and my character felt very uncomfortable about the rats).

I woke up again at 6:30am and was desperate enough to take galantamine, even though I hate the after-effects and it hardly works for me anymore. This was followed by another vaguely-recalled dream which involved distinct manifestations of dream control (elaborate flying and levitation, which felt like I was deliberately testing the limits of my abilities) but very little dream awareness. At the end I was having what felt like a very meaningful conversation with a DC, but I don't remember what we talked about. It felt like there was great complexity to this dream as well as the previous one but my recollection was not sufficient to preserve it.

At 8:30am I woke up again, realized I had another bust, and as a last resort tried my vibrating alarm. I felt it go off three times but each time it jostled me out of sleep and I didn't feel like there was much I could do dream-wise, nor did I remember any dreams of note. The last time I at least remembered to try to DEILD but the REM atonia was apparently already broken, so it didn't work. I've always been able to instinctively DEILD-chain my WILDs, even before I knew what it was called, but for some reason that is the only situation in which I've been able to pull it off. Woke up for the final time at 9:30am and now I'm frustrated enough to declare a dryspell. Writing a report anyway because it was a deliberate attempt and also so that my mind can't use the break from journaling as an excuse for not dreaming properly.

I was a young man swimming at night in a bay. A storm had blown up, and for some reason even though I was already in the water I felt the need to take shelter from the rain, so I grabbed a tarp that was connected to a rectangular three-sided frame (so open on one side) and held it over my head. This didn't feel sufficient, so I found a second tarp, this one on a round frame. Propping both of these overhead, I felt sufficiently protected from the storm to swim back to shore.

When I reached the beach, I peered through the darkness for the friends I expected to find there, but it was quiet and empty. They must have all gone home when the storm began, leaving me stranded. At first I felt a deep sense of loss and abandonment, but after a moment I realized there was another way to look at it: I was now free. I didn't have to go back with them, I could go someplace new.

I swam back out into the water, feeling no need to hide under the tarps anymore, and went farther than I had ever gone. As I was about to swim out the far side of the bay, the ground came up close under the water, like a boundary. I could feel the rocks sharp under my feet and I almost turned back, but mustered my courage and pressed forward. Then I was swimming in what resembled a small inlet into a river, and I recognized that I was in another land.

It wasn't as dark here, and I could see a boat passing by in the main river. There were several people in it, who I took to be natives of this land. I was tempted to hide at first, afraid they might be hostile if they spotted me, a stranger, but again I kept my courage up and swam forward. Fortunately they were friendly, and welcomed me among them.

I think there was a male chieftain in the boat, although the main purpose of the boat was to take the pregnant daughters of the tribe to a special place where they could finish their pregnancies. I immediately bonded with one of the girls and realized that I wanted to go along and help her, if she would let me.

I was participating in the Tour de France, except there were no bicycles involved. At first I was swimming in a river. There were other people swimming around me, including little babies and their mothers. The babies were eligible for a special award if they could swim well on their own, but in one case we noticed the mother secretly helping her infant by supporting it from under the water, so it was disqualified.

I didn't like being stuck in a group of people, so I exerted some effort to swim ahead of them and find my own space. It made me think about the huge variation in human athletic ability. In a long distance race like this, some people were already hours ahead. I figured I was probably somewhere in the middle, and I was sure that there would still be people hours behind me. I didn't feel any pressure to compete against others or try to finish the race quickly; it felt like the sort of event that one could complete at one's own speed.

Under the water I could see seaweed in a form that resembled bundles of thick green ropes, stretching endlessly in the direction the river flowed. They looked like they were flowing along too, so I grabbed them to see if I could catch a ride, but they were moving slower than I could swim on my own so I let go again. The race course led me out of the river and now I was running on land down a quiet little house-lined street, like a small village.

I was still thinking about that strange ropy seaweed. It had reminded me of thick cables of the sort that might carry electricity or another kind of signal. What would it be like if our society used biological materials like this for our technological infrastructure? I decided to try out the material, so I manifested a hand made out of the same stuff as the seaweed. It resembled a human hand in shape but was not connected to a body, and was light green in color. Mischievously, I made the hand crawl up the porch of the nearest house and pull the string of the bell that hung on the doorframe.

The door opened, and inside I was surprised to see that the one who opened it was not a human but a chicken, an ordinary-looking hen. She must have been a Plymouth Rock, judging from her black and white barred plumage. It reminded me of a silly line I'd heard somewhere, so I joked, "There's nobody here but us chickens!" She didn't make any response—maybe she didn't know that one?—and I was still running so I soon passed by.

Hypnagogic imagery and phrases fascinate me. They are even less structured and substantial than dreams. Even when paying close attention, I find almost impossible to preserve them in memory unless I rouse myself to write them down immediately on my notepad. One recent example resembled a conversation between Fry and Leela from the cartoon Futurama (this was WLR as I had seen an episode earlier that day on TV).

Fry, in response to something Leela has just said: "I'll get some more jellybeans, then." He sinks out of sight, as though vanishing into the ground. A moment later he reappears in a space that resembles a dark cavern, and cries out: "You! The stomach god!"