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    Non-Lucid Dreams

    1. The Awakeners at the Casino

      by , 04-11-2016 at 11:32 AM
      Really potent dream state. I had been drinking at a party that night, but I had still never experienced dreaming quite like this, alcohol or no. There was no REM rebound either, dreaming began almost immediately.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      Lying back into the hammock, still a little intoxicated from the party, I begin to drift into sleep. I am in a room off to the side with some other people who have turned in for the night, while in the lounge room a small group of party-goers keep going strong. My eyes shut, the music doesn't bother me.

      I am flying over a fantastical modern city. Huge buildings stretch up into the sky, incredibly detailed. The way my three dimensional perspective shifts is incredibly realistic. As I have experienced before, the movement itself causes the visuals to solidify rapidly.

      I am wandering through this dreamworld. I find myself in a penthouse apartment of sorts. There are many well-dressed, influential people here. Some hold glasses of champagne, others speak in hushed tones. It seems that there is an event of some description on. The rooms are vast and the decor minimalist. I am definitely amongst the upper echelon of society, but there are distinct underworld currents here and powerful ones at that. Women in stunning dresses sip at cocktails, a man deals cards at a table, and there are people coming and going from an oriental meeting room. I try to peer inside but the security is eyeing me suspiciously.

      I wander into a side room. There are people here being 'sold' for exorbitant amounts of money, but they are all very keen to be here. There's roughly half a dozen of them, dressed in white robes, male and female and all glamourously beautiful. They aren't slaves or prostitutes as such, more like high-status consorts whose loyalty is bought, trophies to be displayed. There are a few people bidding here. By entering the room, I have unwittingly entered myself in the auction, but I am not at all dressed or prepared for such an event. A price is named for me. It is low compared to the others, but still in figures that I could not expect to see in my lifetime.

      A pixie-eyed man, one of the actual party-goers from the waking world, leans over and speaks to me.
      "Not bad at all, but I will attract a much higher sum."
      He did, of course. He wasn't gloating so much as stating fact, this was their profession.
      "What other purpose is there to life than to be as beautiful and glamourous as possible?" He believed that it only made sense for everyone to aspire to this ideal.

      It was then that I had a 'false awakening' in the apartment. I get out of the hammock and stagger into the lounge room. The party-goers are still up, awake and energetic, but very aware that they are dreaming.
      "This is what we do," the pixie-eyed man explained. "We go out exploring this world at night. We thought that as you were here, we would try to wake you up as well."
      It had worked for me, but all the others who had turned in early were still sleeping in the room I had left. They were too deeply asleep to be pulled into the dream.

      They began to explain that they went by aliases while dreaming to protect their physical identities. It made sense to me, except that the pixie-eyed man had been making quite the name for himself as a rogue lucid-awakener by the name 'Anderson'. I got the Matrix reference. It seemed he had been pulling a lot of people into his dream adventures recently. I recalled seeing his name at an earlier time, somewhere in another dream, and warned him to be careful.

      It was too late. Eyes were already upon him and his group. An illuminati-style organisation had taken interest in his activities and decided to put a stop to them. Their methods involved misleading and blinding individuals with familiar glamours. They wouldn't even know that they had been restricted to only existing within their own personal dreamworlds.

      We had to flee, running out into the corridors. Desperately trying to escape the clutch of our pursuers. The party was split, we were forced to break up into smaller groups and head out into different directions. But we kept getting lost, funnelled only down the paths that the organisation dictated. And then we would awake again in that lounge room. Lights off, only two of us this time. We'd look at each other and run out into the hallways. Awakened again, this time a couple of others. We were all confused, scared, frightened. Awake again, and again, and then I opened my eyes.

      I was physically awake this time, lying in the hammock. The very people I had been dreaming about were in the lounge room outside, dancing and doing shots. But I could't hold onto my waking awareness and fell back beneath the waves. Awake again, same lounge room, but this time I was alone.
      I ran out into the hallway, none from the group in sight. I followed the paths through the building desperately, and finally this time I came to a location I had not seen before. The hall curved around into a room with an alcove and a tall window looking out over the cloud-shrouded buildings beyond. The city I had seen as I flew over it at the beginning of my journey.

      I stopped, looking out over the breath-taking view. I became aware of two figures that had been waiting here. One was a man, silent, clothed and hooded in black robes. I had a sensation of knowing him, a name; the Angel. The other was a man in a simple work suit. He was from the organisation, or at least knew of my predicament. It appeared they had been speaking before my arrival. The man from the organisation approached me and began to converse with me. He explained that given the circumstances, I would be free to go.

      The dream shifted and time was lost. I found myself walking through a busy train station. There were escalators and shops, commuters going to and from platforms. I wandered around, perhaps keeping an eye out for anyone I may know, but I needed no goods or transport.
    2. Rakshis and the Serpent

      by , 09-01-2015 at 11:00 AM
      This dream was fun, and one of many that featured friendly serpents.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      One of my friends was looking for information on Rakshis. I assumed that she was referring to Rakshasas from Hindu mythology, and I excitedly suggested that I may have a book about them in my library. She pointed to a book in front of us, and we flicked through the pages together. This book featured information about the Egyptian pantheon. We looked through for information on Horus, or 'Hortet' as he was called here, but found very little that was specific. I turned to look at the cover, and the title illustrated that the book was about the esoteric significance of sexual love or energy as it was expressed between different mythological figures. Interesting enough, but not what we needed. I did have a book that would be more useful to my friend, but it was not on this plane, so I shifted us both over.

      We appeared in a vibrant, high-detailed world. We were in a a great, high-ceilinged, conical, brass structure. Grated metallic platforms lead over a bubbling stream which ran through the building. It was lush with vegetation and sun-kissed pond life. We were standing before the exit. Light poured in through the opening, and the stream flowed gently out and down the hillside beyond. Forested hills rolled away towards the horizon beyond. My friend knelt before the book and scanned through it. I recommended she find what she was looking for as soon as possible as we could not stay in this place long.

      Already, I could see the spiky backs of crocodiles bobbing in the stream, waiting for their moment to emerge. I told her to run back through the building and leave, and she obeyed without question. I was now there with my friend the Sentinel in the form of a dark slate-grey serpent. The enemy was approaching now and we were in danger. I scooped up the snake and ran back across the platforms to the elevator in the centre of the conical building. It would return me to my own world. The elevator was quite open, ringed with ornate brass bars to keep the occupants from stepping off the side. I dashed inside and closed the gate behind me. I wanted to take the serpent with me, but after I released my grasp on him, he slipped through the bars of the door. I felt anxiety rising that he would be crushed by the mechanics of the elevator and that I would only be able to look on helplessly. Despite my fears, he was perfectly fine, slithering around the bars without difficulty.

      The enemies approached as the elevator descended. I knew they were there, but I could not see them. As I slowly descended from view, I saw the serpent coiled and reared up, cobra hood open, defending my path from our pursuers.

      Updated 03-26-2016 at 05:03 AM by 89402

      Categories
      non-lucid , memorable
    3. Summoned to Tasmania

      by , 07-23-2015 at 10:41 AM
      Very high-detail dream. Characters demonstrate agency and the Sentinel makes another appearance, this time speaking to the other dream characters. I also engage my sense of smell in the dream.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      I am on facebook when I realised that one of my friends had changed her name to 'Vivian'. I feel quite annoyed that she has taken my name, even though it is my screen name an not my birth name. Focusing on the post causes me to be transported to her location in a small Tasmanian mountain town. I appeared near her in a house that was being used as a small, local day spa business. The visuals were extremely detailed, I felt as though I were actually there. The windows were fogged from the condensation. The staff asked us to be quiet so as to maintain the spiritual ambiance.

      I followed her outside onto the street. It was quiet. The forested hillside across the river was cloaked in mist. Huge red stringy-bark eucalypts rose up amongst the greenery. I breathed in deeply and savoured the fresh, crisp air. I was going to say that I could smell the trees, but I realised that the scent of the air was quite neutral. I could physically feel the air rushing through my nostrils as I inhaled, and I hazard to guess that I was actually performing this action in the waking world. Despite the lack of scent, I was still very much aware of the sensation of smelling. I continued on down the quiet street with her.

      "Did you really bring me here?" I asked. She didn't answer, but glanced at me awkwardly. "Am I really here?" I asked again. I seemed to be intangible to her.
      "I don't know," she replied.
      "But you answered me! So I must exist." I felt like my logic was flawless.

      The town was reminiscent of the one in which we both grew up in. We wandered the streets for a while. There were many shops, but most were closed. I was still astounded at the level of detail here. We met a spritely man with grey hair. He was a priest and seemed to be in his mid 60s. He was one of the only people we had encountered in this town and he greeted us as we passed. My friend suggested I see their local museum while I was here. It was small and quaint. Even though we were in Tasmania, it featured an old Japanese boat, possibly used for whaling, and a preserved bronze figurehead of a tentacled sea monster.

      The dream changed slightly. I was in a building that I believe to be my home. The priest had returned with five others. One was a dark-haired woman and there was a younger man who worked as a lawyer. They were all wearing white robes and gathered close around me. They seemed friendly but were very curious about me for some reason. They discussed me but I was unsure what they were talking about. The Sentinel appeared behind me in the form of a female, someone I believed to be a relative.
      "She is already pregnant," she said, dashing their plans. They were dismayed.
      "What do we do now? We're running out of time." The woman said to the others. I was under the impression that they needed a body, or perhaps to conceive a child, in order to extend their lifetime, and the priest was reaching his deadline.

      The others left, talking amongst themselves with no more interest in me, but the priest remained. We spoke briefly, and then he began to fit and convulse. His robes had darkened from white to black. I rushed over and supported his body to help him, even though I was aware that it may have been a ploy. He recovered quickly, thanked me for my assistance and then left.

      Updated 03-26-2016 at 05:03 AM by 89402

      Categories
      memorable , non-lucid
    4. Yosif and the Temple of Apollo

      by , 06-08-2015 at 11:00 AM
      A slightly disturbing dream, but with all characters displaying a lot of agency and independence. The Sentinel also makes an appearance, a speechless recurring entity who seems to only appear in times of danger.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      I was sitting by the side of the road in my hometown with two friends. We were watching a television signal, using road signs to change programme, but the device was not always sensitive to understand our commands. We stood up and walked along the northern side of the river. I was only a child, and my two companions were comprised of my younger brother and the young daughter of a family friend.

      I saw a list of names scroll through my mind. One name in particular I recognised; Yosif. We happened to be walking past his house. It was white weatherboard at the top of a hillside garden overlooking the river. He came out to greet us. He looked to be in his late forties, but took good care of his physique. He was of Mediteranean background, with olive skin, slick dark hair and a slight accent. I placed him in my memory; he had been a GP at a medical clinic a few towns over whom I had visited many years back. Despite being certain of this information in the dream, I know of nobody named of this description or profession in waking life.

      Innocently, I told him that I had seen him once when I was unwell. He looked uncertain, but my young friend confirmed my memory. He invited us into his house, telling us that the television signal was much stronger inside. We laughed and followed him up through his garden. He took my brother's hand to help lead the way. I didn't know this man well and didn't really feel like spending time in his home, but I wasn't suspicious of him and didn't want to be impolite.

      From the road, his home and garden seemed to be thriving, but walking up through the windy brick paths it became apparent that it had fallen into disarray. Weeds struggled up through the dry earth, the grass was left dying, and the few standard roses still remaining were losing their leaves. Even the house itself was not looking healthy. The white weatherboards were dirty and some had rotted away. He picked up my friend and rested her on his hip, leading us through the garage behind his house. He opened a wooden gate for us, and held it open as we walked through. The dream characters of my brother and friend merged into a single 'child' entity, and the third position of our trio was filled by a young man whom we knew and trusted. He always appeared in dreams to aid me in times of danger, often long before I had even become aware of the threat.

      As soon as I stepped through the door, I felt something was wrong. It was naught but a high-fenced pen. I turned to object to Yosif, only to see the door being closed behind me. I kicked with enough force to stagger him and made my escape. Yosif was distraught that I had spoiled his game. He started busying himself about the house while crying and tearing his hair. I hid nearby in the garden. I heard a woman's voice from inside his house, but she was speaking to me telepathically. I was annoyed at first, believing her to be his well-meaning but ultimately complicit wife.

      "He drowns the children in a deep puddle beside the fence. Sometimes, he likes to submerge his own face in the water as well so that he can share in their experience." She told me. "The weeds in the puddle are a greater hazard than the water itself. The children choke on them."
      On this information, I rushed over to the puddle and started to clear all the vegetation, raking the mud below. The water was grey like run-off and I couldn't see below the surface. She cautioned me against trying.
      "Afterwards, he buries their bodies beneath the puddle so the other children have to look at the faces of the dead while they drown."

      Disturbing, to say the least.

      She told me to go and stay out of sight while she made a phone call and then rushed from the house across to the neighbouring property.
      "I'm coming with you," I said, and cut across the garden to join her. I assumed she was going to call the police. I was relieved my older friend had appeared and been caught as well. He wouldn't go down easily, and may intimidate Yosif long enough for the cops to arrive.

      I followed the woman into her home, an impressive mansion. There were many well-kept sprawling rooms devoted to displays of cultural artefacts which were open to the public. It was much like a small museum. She ducked into a side room and began to speak hastily on the phone. I looked around. This area contained many pieces of Japanese origin; scrolls of calligraphy and maritime implements. There was a scale model of an ancient Japanese whaling ship which caught my attention.

      I noticed a man in one of the rooms with an attendant. He looked to be her adult son; spiky blonde hair and well-built. He had a tattoo of lettering in black and red across his chest. As he was putting on his robes, I saw this his right hand and most of his right leg were missing, but he still had his foot and could move it at will. When he had finished dressing, he looked quite scholarly, and I followed him from his room.

      "Excuse me, but could you tell me what this place is?" I asked.
      "This is the Temple of Apollo," he said, unsure as to how I could be here without knowing where I was. The artefacts in this room definitely had a more European flavour, but I didn't notice anything distinctly Hellenistic.
      "Oh, I didn't realise given the asian influence in the other room," I said and walked off. He followed curiously.
      "This wasn't here yesterday. They must have changed it," he said.

      The museum was quite intriguing and had many patrons. There were model ships and spaceliners, bottles of googly eyes in every size, and fantastic pieces of antique art; a conglomeration of humanity's existence.
    5. Cylons Attack the Fleet

      by , 05-24-2015 at 11:11 AM
      It becomes apparent that I have been watching too much Battlestar Galactica, I start having a lot of dreams with cylons. I also miss a very obvious cue that I am dreaming.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      I was a part of a fleet, very reminiscent of the one from the show, but distinctly different. It had split, and half of us had set down upon a planet to await further instructions. All the higher-ups were with the other group, so I suddenly found myself with more power and responsibilities than I had ever had before. We expected no resistance here, so most of us took the downtime as a sort of shore leave. We could finally breathe fresh air and stretch our legs. The atmosphere was breathable, and the forested landscape was very reminiscent of Earth.

      We had a few large carrier ships here along with a number of smaller vessels. All were fitted out with a number of detachable, five-man pods, which could be easily moved or picked up by our multitude of small ferry ships. They were our emergency escape option if we did not have enough time to get the larger ships into the air. We would shuttle the pods into orbit and hope for recovery.

      I was stationed in one of the smaller ships that was mainly populated by political workers; secretaries, advisers and the like. We all got along quite well, which was fortunate given how little space we had to share.

      I was outside enjoying the warm daylight air. The youngest of our group approached, an energetic male in his late-twenties. He made a comment in regards to our continued survival. He was wondering just how long we could expect to live. The rest of us shared a knowing look and laughed.
      "I have cancer," I told him. I was not upset by it.
      "So you're dying?" he asked. The question took me aback.
      "Well yes, I suppose so."

      I wandered around the metal landing brace that we had been gathered around. The air was fresh and plants flourished on this planet. My older friend turned to face me as I approached. He had dark, curly hair and a lazy eye, but he was a very perceptive man.
      "Have you been having any dreams?" he asked.
      "I have, actually. They're pretty good." I shrugged. Any significance had been lost on me.

      Nice one.

      We were back on the ship, in a small area under the open air. It was certainly not a section of the ship that could be utilised during space-flight. Our young friend came into the room.
      "Doesn't it drive you mad sometimes, that any of us could be a cylon and not even realise it?" he asked, exasperated. My friend with the lazy eye addressed his concerns.
      "Whenever I start having those thoughts, I sit down for a while and use this, and it reminds me of what I am." He held up a fist-sized ball covered in a multitude of small, coloured dots. As he rolled it around in his hands with grace and skill, the spectral patterns would seem to move around the ball, following his guidance. It was a remarkable sight.
      "But doesn't that just mean you are more likely to be a cylon?" the young man joked, marvelling at the creation.
      "The orb is covered in floating, magnetic beads," replied my friend.
      "Oh," another chimed in. "I always found that thing fascinating."

      I was outside again, enjoying a quiet evening stroll. That's when the attack began. Fighters came in out of nowhere and began shooting up the ships. We were caught unawares, and the larger carriers would take some time to warm up for flight. I saw a couple of shuttles begin ferrying pods up into the atmosphere, but not nearly enough. I was too far from the ship at this point to run back, but there was a group of parked cars situated not too far away. I felt as though our best chance at survival was to scatter and pray that the rest of the fleet would return before it was too late. Some of the vacant pods began to explode on the undersides of the ships. We only had a limited supply, and even with all of them it wouldn't be enough.

      A utility screeched past with my friend at the wheel and an empty pod in his tray. He didn't stop for me, but I took his cue. I dashed over to a nearby 4x4, selecting one with enough boot space in case I was able to get a pod myself. Fortunately, it was unlocked. I hopped in, hoping that I would remember how to drive in a punch, and dropping the sun visor. Keys fell onto the ground. In relief, I picked them up and hurriedly turned on the engine. The car growled to life and I took to the road, following another survivor in similar style.

      Hundreds of survivors had fled on foot, running out into the parklands. Cylon ground troops had landed in force, and were pursuing them into the forest. I attempted to navigate the chaos, but the roads were impractical and the cylons were wreaking havoc. I saw a pair I had seen many times before. Wherever they were deployed, they never shot a human, but would take the opportunity to 1v1. The would chase each other around instead, and hope their comrades did not discover their little game.

      I ignored them and turned my attention to the madness around me. I saw a group of cylons chasing down some civilians. I pulled the car around and paused for a moment. I was surrounded by chaos, and it would be futile to attempt to navigate my way out, even in a vehicle. I gunned the engine, put my car in gear, and chased down the cylons instead.

      Updated 01-02-2016 at 11:10 AM by 89402

      Tags: cylon, narrative
      Categories
      non-lucid
    6. Leaving It All Behind

      by , 04-27-2015 at 09:21 AM
      A very vivid dream with high continuity. My dreaming personality is a little more extravagant and dramatic than my waking personality. I also have a nice little freak-out when I forget that in a dream, people communicate telepathically/empathically. Weirdly enough, it is only when I type this entry up six months later that I realise that the family at the end are very familiar.

      --- --- --- --- ---

      I was in a large, detailed town. The landscape was shaped like a bubble, with the edges of the town curving up towards the sky as though it were situated within a basin. The town proper was quite dense and centralised, comprised of public buildings and several private homes. Apartment complexes stretched up the far side of the basin on the outskirts of the town. I had a home here, several levels tall. I shared it with room mates. Behind my home were several statelier buildings and quiet winding streets.

      My recall begins in my bedroom on the top floor. The town is sunny and pleasant, but I am routinely aware of a presence observing me through one of the windows. When I look out, my vision zooms to a location on the other side of the town. I see a shadow shift on a ledge as someone leaves the area, but I am not fast enough to catch a glimpse of my observer.

      I walk out onto my balcony. It overlooks a public sports oval. There is a crowd gathered there, some of their number are wearing costumes. They are rehearsing for an event the next day where many would come to revel in their self-pity and cling to their vices. They were a harmless lot, ultimately likeable, but foolish. For many years I had known them well, and counted myself as one of them, but no longer.

      I return inside. I am with a small group of my friends, none of whom I know in the waking world. They are all male and dressed in Victorian-era clothing. They seem taken aback when I announce that I will not be joining the festivities this year.
      "Tomorrow, I will be out on my balcony, smoking. If anyone should care to join me, then they would be most welcome," I say, taking a puff from my cigar. One of the younger gentlemen piped up in response.
      "Smoking? Whatever for?"
      "For grandeur." I declare. They chuckle. My closest friend is sitting beside me. He shakes his head at me, but laughs all the same.

      I go outside onto a lower balcony with him. The evening air is enlivening. I get a better look at him now that we are alone. He is a spritely, middle-aged man with a grand moustache and a quick wit. He is always impeccable dressed, but never too extravagant. He sits in silence, drawing from a large, glowing cigar.
      "I'm going to miss these, you know," I say to him, fondly lighting a cigar of my own.
      I look out across the town. The lights are off in the apartments across the basin, but the town below is still full of life.

      I find myself down in the town proper. Three single-levelled buildings are arranged around a common square. The left-most structure is the workshop of a local artist and jewellery designer. She has wicked red hair, and a strong but gentle presence. I notice a young girl smoking cigarettes and dawdling around her building. When the girl finished smoking, the artist burst from her workshop and berated the girl for the lingering smell.

      I had known better, but it struck me as odd that I had already known without being told. I walk around the side of the building. One of my teachers approaches, a wise woman, well-revered by the town. I addressed my concern to her in regards to my own foresight. I was so shocked that I could know what somebody had been thinking without interacting with them. The artist was passing by as I was speaking, and stopped out of curiosity. I had asked the wise woman many questions in the past, but this one surprised her. They exchanged a curious glance, and then looked back at me, puzzled. I felt that it wasn't my experience that they found bizarre, but why now I should fail to understand it.

      I was going somewhere. I would lose something.

      "We should sit over there and have a smoke," a youthful friend suggested to me. I had been deep in thought. We were in a large hall with others, waiting for the rain to pass. Night had fallen and I had been gazing out the great, vast windows before me. This was a familiar place.
      "They're covered in water," a female friend replied. She was right. A few benches were situated on the wooden verandah outside. It artistically swept around the extended wings of the house. But for all its clever design, the walkway did not extend far enough and the eaves were too shallow; rain water dripped down onto the benches.

      I returned home, sharing a few friendly words with my house mates. I proceeded upstairs to my hammock. I was uneasy about the open window through which I could be viewed, but was relieved to find it had already been closed and the blind pulled down.

      The dream shifts, and I am on the rear-most carriage of a speeding train, right where I expected to be. I had caught this train many times before, and even had a good rapport with the rear guard. I rushed to the back of the train. Below the raised platform where the guard would sit, there was a thick, steel archway with a blue, metal door. It served little purpose other than my own.

      I was reaching my end, somehow content with my own undoing. I had known this was coming for a while, and now the time had come to the face the music. I began to speak, a conversation I can hardly remember.
      "We all come to our end eventually, don't we?" I say.
      "What do you mean?" the guard replied from above. I rushed behind the door and fastened it behind me. The train was picking up speed, but I wanted to delay my moment of passing for just a few minutes longer.
      "We degrade, don't we? It's a natural process. Why should we fight it? Would it not be more logical to embrace this demise?" I continued my rhetoric. I had already resolved that it would be this way, and chosen this place because it would quicken the process. Despite my verbose monologuing, my stomach still sank when I began to see the effects unfolding before me.

      I held out my left arm and rolled back the sleeve. It was fading away, turning bony and pale, but also ethereal; shrinking and vanishing before my eyes. I tried to remove my watch, but it too was disappearing and hanging limply around my skeletal wrist.
      "Surely it would be better not to fight it, don't you think?" I asked to my final witness, captivated by the sight before me.
      "I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear what you said," the guard replied. I was snapped from my self-indulgent trance. The wind was roaring, but the guard's ears were keen. They heard every one of my final words, knew in their heart that I was misguided, and would feign deafness now rather than extend advice. My ego was inflamed.

      We were slowing past a station. I deftly rolled from the train and skidded for some metres before coming to a stop near a family of three waiting patiently with their luggage. The train slowed to a halt beside me, the guard and driver both now in the engine. The guard, while distinctly the same person, was now a young female with straight brown hair. I stood up and marched over to them in rage.
      "Fuck you, you piece of shit!" I screamed. They seemed rather unfazed.
      Though still angry, the next few moments were filled with remorse for my behaviour. I felt compelled to apologise to the mundane folk - a rotund man and his wife - for shouting obscenities in front of their son.

      Updated 01-02-2016 at 11:10 AM by 89402

      Categories
      non-lucid , memorable