Verre

Yesterday I came across the SSILD thread on the induction forum, and decided to try it out. Success!

Ritual: Slept about three hours, woke up with awareness of having dreamed though no recall of specifics, but figured since I had been in REM I might as well give the SSILD technique a try. Doing the sense-cycling delayed sleep onset more than I expected, even more than with my usual WILD technique of incremental counting, even though I kept reminding myself that I wasn't attempting to WILD. Interestingly, when I was starting to get closer to sleep I was experiencing much more vivid flashes of hypnogogic imagery than usual, which I attribute to having primed my attentiveness to it with the technique.

On the verge of falling asleep finally, when I sense that I'm in an empty room with plain white walls, and that it's substantial enough to enter as a dream space. "I can work with that," I say to myself, and close the door. The handle has a pleasing feeling of solidity and the door closes with lifelike sensations, so I know this is actually working.

WILD: What to do now? Well, I need traction, so I decide to just use my body a bit until I feel more substantial. Last night my husband showed me a video of a guy doing amazing acrobatic tricks on a pole, and that must have subconsciously inspired me, because without really thinking about it I start emulating him. It's fun because I could never do anything like this in RL (who could? It's real gravity defying stuff) and even in a dream it takes a bit of concentration, so it is a useful way to integrate myself better into this space. As I do it I remember to occasionally rub my hands in front of my face for more traction, and for some reason it occurs to me that it would be a good idea to feel my head, which I've never tried before, but the lifelike sensation of the shape of my head and texture of my hair is very helpful, they make this dream body I'm in feel more like "me." The vividness and clarity at this point is quite high, and I'm wondering what I look like. I see a mirror on the wall (the walls were featureless initially so the mirror seems to have manifested in response to my intention, though not before my eyes... it was just there once I decided to look for it) so all I have to do is position myself properly in order to see my reflection. I'm pleased with how much like me it actually looks, although my hair is different: loose, shoulder-length and with a layered, almost spiky cut. But the face looks just like mine, especially the eyes. It was remarkably like looking into a real mirror, which is not my usual experience of reflections in LDs.

Given how lifelike my body feels and my reflection looks, I decide to play with it a bit. A couple times in my LDs I've experimented with trying to create an extra set of arms, like you see on some representations of Hindu deities, and I want to try that again. I'm now standing on a sort of balance beam, looking at a second mirror that has manifested on the next wall (a little more conveniently positioned than the first) and I start waving my arms and trying to create a second pair. With a little concentration I have a partial success: I think I can see and feel a second pair, but they are moving in tandem with the first. To be more successful, they would have to move independently, all four arms moving simultaneously in separate directions. I try to get the second set to move independently from the first, but I can't figure out how to do it! I realize that I simply have no mental imprint of what this would be like. Perhaps with a little more creativity or effort I could get this going, but I sense that at this moment the strain might be close to disrupting the dream, so I give up the attempt, amused by how tricky this is, and re-stabilize.

What next? I remember my current task: "Creo vim." (I've been working through spell combinations from Ars Magica.) I anticipated this would be a fun one because I had no idea how it would manifest, and deliberately tried to avoid anticipating anything in particular, hoping the dream would surprise me. So I hold out my left hand and concentrate on the spell. Nothing happens at first. How should I do this? I wonder if I should be using my right hand (my dominant hand in waking life), but figure that since I instinctively started with my left, I should stick with it. "Creo vim," I murmur, since I've found that saying the name of the spell aloud can be an effective focus. A tiny bubble manifests in the air above my open palm. It looks like a soap bubble, and as I have this thought, it bursts like one. But I'm emboldened by the fact that something is happening, so I keep concentrating, and another bubble appears. It grows larger and slowly sinks until it is a half sphere sitting on my palm. From there it keeps growing, getting larger and lumpier and turning grey in color, but still completely weightless and seemingly inflated with air. When this mass is about a foot and a half in diameter, it lifts from my hand and sinks gently to the floor, and transforms into a small white goat.

The surroundings have changed around me while I was focused on the spell. I am no longer standing on a balance beam in a white room, now I am outdoors at night, standing on the ground, looking at this goat that has inexplicably appeared. My husband is lying next to me, asleep. Standing in front of me is a horse harnessed to a cart. I ponder the goat, wondering what it might signify. On the one hand, it is an extremely cute little goat, with long white fur and two straight horns that are only a few inches long. On the other hand, it subtly disturbs me for some reason I can't identify. I remembered a trial take of a commercial that I saw many years ago. The commercial was intended to advertise a financial services company, and was showing clips purporting to be the customers. The most memorable one was a dignified elderly gentleman who for some reason was accompanied by an equally dignified white goat. It was so random and surreal, elegantly and subtly satanic, that the image always stuck with me—though I learned later that the scene was cut from the final version out of concerns that people might be disturbed or distracted by the goat. So what to make of this little goat in front of me now? The goat itself was just standing quietly and not revealing anything, until before my eyes it abruptly transformed into a few pieces of ripe and runny brie cheese on a plain white plate. This was even more mystifying.

I wanted to ask someone's opinion about the goat and its transformation, but I looked around and couldn't see anyone else in this landscape. There was just me and my husband, but he was fast asleep and I didn't want to disturb him. Finally it occurred to me to ask the horse, as the only other creature around. I figured the question of the goat's moral status could be answered by how the horse responded to the cheese, so I picked up a piece from the plate and offered it to the horse to sniff. "What do you think?" I asked. The horse readily accepted the cheese and ate it with apparent relish. This seemed to speak well for the goat! "Want more?" I asked, offering the horse a second piece, which it consumed as eagerly as the first. I decided to try a bit myself, and found the taste and texture very much as I would have expected from a runny brie.

There was a cemetary nearby, surrounded by a low wall. I could see the tops of gravestones over the upper edge of the wall, and I instinctively knew that one of them was connected with the goat, so I should investigate it to find out more. The entrance to the cemetary was just across the lane on which the horse and cart were standing, so I walked around them and went inside. From my original glimpse across the wall I had made a mental note that the relevant gravestone was the fourth one in, so I counted the stones I passed until I reached the fourth. It was an old style of slab carved from reddish stone, only about two inches in width, about three feet tall, and with a simple curved top, unadorned except for the text that was carved on it. I knelt down and looked at the inscription. I was pleased to discover that I could read it easily, and one phrase that immediately caught my attention was "Ghast of Vail Light." I took this to be the title of the mysterious goat. It sounded a bit spooky after all, but I loved this phrase! I immediately determined to remember it. "Ghast of Vail Light," I repeated to myself several times, and even said aloud to myself, "Remember that." I wanted to get it just right. Was it spelled "Vail" and not "Vale"? I looked again at the inscription. The letters were remarkably stable, and the spelling was distinct: "Vail."

I hadn't done any tactile stabilization in a while, so I decided to run my hands over the face of the gravestone. It had the cool touch of real stone, smooth overall but a bit gritty in texture, like sandstone, and I could feel the indentations where the letters were carved in. I was still muttering to myself "Ghast of Vail Light." I didn't know how much longer the dream would go on, and wanted to make sure I wouldn't forget. But I concentrated so hard on the idea of remembering this phrase when I woke up, that it woke me up! I wasn't disappointed, though, because I had plenty to write about already.

Type: Procedural
Perspective: Character, adolescent boy

NLD: I'm a young boy with no parents who has been raised by relatives, perhaps an aunt and uncle. They've been very stingy, working me hard and giving me the minimum that I need to survive. Now I'm about twelve and they've decided that I'm old enough to strike out on my own, so I am preparing for the journey. It is winter, so I know that I'll need to pack carefully: I'll need a bundle light enough to carry but with the necessities to survive. I've already prepared most of it, and now I'm consolidating. I have a little backpack with my journal and a suede pocket with a zipper that holds my writing implements [RL: I have one like this], and a few more things I deem essential. I had a Hello Kitty riding glove in the backpack, a single one for the right hand, sized for a child's hand, and I realize it isn't essential—it isn't even mine—but sentimental; it belonged to a girl who was my best friend. The thumb is split at the seam and she lost the left-hand glove so she let me have it as a memento. But as I pack things from my room I come across a similar glove for the left hand, slightly different in color but with a matching Hello Kitty pattern. I wonder at first if it's the lost partner of the first glove, but the different hue suggests that the match is coincidental. Still, I decide that I can put them together and give them back to the girl. I won't have a memento of her anymore, but at least then there will be one less thing in my pack, and maybe she'll be able to use them again. They still look usable, even worn as they are.

I have a big heavy box, a long rectangle, with heavy glass partitions. I know I'll never be able to carry this, but the first part of my journey will be by wagon, so I'll load it on board and try to use up or trade away the contents before I have to go on foot. I forget what the original contents of the box are, but there are some empty spots and I also have a few bottles of beer, a light brew in clear glass bottles, so I'll consolidate by putting them in the empty spots. So now I have the heavy long box, my little backpack, and a bundle containing my clothes and bedding. Once I get rid of the heavy box, I'll be able to carry the rest. But I still need to worry about food.

There was another whole side plot earlier with my uncle, and me lying on my back in the water of a pool or pond, and him having compassion and perhaps even offering to let me have breakfast in the big house before I go, but I can't remember this well.

From the building where I was packing, which is on a hill next to another building (the big house where aunt and uncle live further off to the right) I go down the hill to the stable where I've been working. I've been working as a farmhand ever since I got big enough, but still being a young boy and small for my size, I've been able to squeeze into a tiny spot between the other hands on the seat of our crowded wagon. I figure the fact that I don't take up much room will come in handy when taking the wagon out.

I go through the stable saying goodbye to the animals. I also come across another girl I know (not the one I was thinking of earlier), a dark-haired, slightly older teenager leading a dark bay horse. I tell her I am leaving and we say goodbye. I wish I had something to give her, but figure she knows that I have very little and won't hold it against me that I didn't give her a parting gift.

In the back of the stable I say goodbye to a big gray rabbit who is in an empty open stall, then a few minutes later come across a little white rabbit at the bottom of a bucket with a few inches of water in it, so the rabbit is half-submerged. I worry that it can't get out [RL: this comes from the fact that I've found deck lizards in a bucket in my garden in this predicament a few times], so I reach in and lift it out. I want to take it over to the big rabbit where it might find a friend, but as I'm carrying it, it bites me. Being a wild rabbit who is undoubtedly frightened at being handled this is understandable, and I don't mind, though I worry that it might be carrying rabies or some other disease. The wound is on my thumb [RL: I have an old scar from a real rabbit bite there] but doesn't look deep. I set it down quickly and watch as it hops straight over to a bowl of cream that the cats have left uneaten in a bowl and consumes it all ravenously. I am somewhat reassured that it doesn't look rabid; its actions now seem very deliberate. I reflect how well-fed the cats are, that they would not even bother to finish this bowl of cream, compared to the little rabbit who doesn't even naturally like cream, but is probably devouring it because of such great hunger and thirst. I go back to the big rabbit and wonder if I can get him any food or some stalks to chew; he doesn't seem interested in the hay in this stall, but there were some larger, sweeter stalks, like corn or sugarcane, over where I found the little rabbit, so I bring some over.

Next I plan to feed the chickens. I have a shallow rectangular tray that I take back up to the building on the hill to prepare some foods, like cut up tomatoes, a hard-boiled egg for some reason, other vegetables and fruits. As I exit again carrying the tray, I'm standing for a moment just outside the building distracted by my thoughts when I feel someone press something into my left hand. It's not money, it's segments of something that has the texture of nuts. [Not any substance recognizable from RL.] I look up and find a tall young man with a dark beard [odd how often this archetype appears, I've never known someone with these features in RL]. He says his name is Keith, and this is for the food—he abruptly grabs a handful from the tray. I have the impression that he is starving but too honorable to just steal from me, so he has offered this token payment, but won't risk rejection by asking for the food. I feel sorry for him—and realize that I might soon be in the same boat, as he looks like a traveler—and offer, "Would you like any more? Take the hard-boiled egg." I figure that will offer him better nutrition than the handful of grapefruit or somesuch that he has grabbed in his haste. He thanks me and takes the egg and a few other things, and leaves.

As I continue down the hill back toward the stable, I reflect with satisfaction on the fact that I was not frightened or startled by his abrupt appearance, but kept my cool and even managed to be generous. I also remember two other occasions earlier when guys stopped by hoping for food in a similar manner. (I think this was a false memory, that is, I don't think these events actually occurred at any point earlier in the dream, they are just something I was "remembering" at this point.) I realize that all these hungry travelers probably means food is scarce on the road, and I'm going to have to deal with this very situation soon. It occurs to me that hard-boiled eggs might actually be a good thing for me to pack; they won't last long, but in this cold weather they might last two or three days, and they'll be great nutrition. However, that had been the only egg on my tray. How could I get some more? Would aunt and uncle let me have them? They're just eggs, but they've been so stingy in the past. Still, they did offer me breakfast. I hope they meant it; I should eat a big breakfast before I leave. I ate little yesterday and nothing so far today. What if leaving on a full belly meant the difference between life and death, adding another day before the possibility of starvation? But maybe they'd be more likely to let me have the eggs if I brought them myself to the house and only asked if I could boil them. I can probably get some from the hens in the stable: it's morning, some of them might have lain already. Could I even boil them myself, and avoid asking aunt and uncle altogether? But I'm not sure how I would start the fire, or find the pot to boil water in.

I set down the tray, and the chickens start eating. While they are occupied, I check their nests. Sure enough, I find an egg... and another... and another. Three eggs in this nest? This worries me actually—why hadn't the eggs been collected for the past few days? They should still be good to eat, but—had aunt and uncle been intending to let them hatch? If so, they might be angry with me for taking them; once they cooled down (they are still warm from the heat of their mother) they would no longer be viable. I'd better wait and ask, maybe the girl I ran into earlier will know. Also, are these even hen eggs? They are a bit larger and bluer than I would have expected. Could they be duck eggs? Without the fowls in their nest it's hard to know. But duck eggs might be better to bring, oilier and more nutritious, even if they taste a little odd. I go a little farther and find another bank of nests that I think are those of the chickens; so I conclude that I was right about the ducks; the chicken eggs are also about three to a nest.

I table the egg question, but there's something else I need, something that is in the building next to the one I live on on top of the hill. I call up and say I am from a radio station, HKWAN—the stable does double as this radio station so I am not lying about that, but fibbing a bit by suggesting I am an employee of it calling on official business—and ask for the password to get into the building. I wince a bit as I ask, knowing that the girl will never give it away to someone calling up on the phone, and sure enough, she says she can't. But then I realize, of course I still know the password to my own building, and maybe I can get what I need from there? I no longer remember what it was I thought I needed though, and around this point the dream ends.

1:30am - finished one cup of Calea tea and went to bed
2:30am - still wide awake, take ~2mg melatonin
3:30am - still awake, lying still and trying to sleep
4:30am - still awake, lying still and trying to sleep
4:45am - move to couch, hoping to sleep more easily there
5:30am - still awake, get up and read, make a cup of catnip tea hoping for sedative effect
5:45am - sun is rising, drinking catnip tea, wondering if it will be possible to sleep yet
6:15am - go back to bed, cat takes an interest in my catnip breath, kneads my pillow, cute but whiskers tickle
6:20am - cat lies on top of me as I lay on my left side, comfortable and obliging me to be still
6:30am - around here I go to sleep at last
7:15am - wake up and recall two dreams, clarity good, content and recall average
7:16am - focus on remembering the dreams for later, need sleep too much to write them now
7:17am - carefully extricate myself from cat and blankets and visit bathroom
7:18am - discover cat is now somehow hogging entire pile of sheets, blankets and pillows
7:19am - grab another comforter for myself and try to go back to sleep
11:15am - wake terminally and write down the previous two dreams in bedside journal
11:20am - as I'm writing, suddenly recall two more dreams I had during second sleep period

Conclusion: Results negligible apart from the sleeplessness, since I normally remember multiple dreams when keeping an active journal.