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    Recent Entries

    In a Dark Place

    by LeaningKarst on 09-09-2018 at 02:45 AM
    There is a woman—some dark entity had reached out for her, badly frightening her. She has shut herself away somewhere to get away from it, but it can still reach her. I can hear her screaming there—but I’m on my way to help her.

    The first thing I have to do is get out of a sort of wooden elevator running down the center of the building. I seem to have entered this way, going down, but none of the doors are opening. Somehow, I can see perfectly fine into the space beyond the shaft, but the walls are definitely there, and the doors are not only solid but quite heavy. I’m alone here in the elevator, but in communication with someone else—someone I know to be my mother, although she isn’t my actual, waking life mother. She seems to be playing some kind of guiding or teaching role.

    Above my head, everything just fades into darkness, like the heights of a cavern. Apparently, it doesn’t occur to most people who come here to look up for a while, and so this comes as a bit of a shock to them, but I can remember having been through this series of events before, and so this place holds no surprises for me. Besides that, I have access to a deeper understanding of the space I’m in: it’s defined by solfege, as if the intervals and their syllables are acting as some kind of abstract structural parameters, and they are also structuring what I am able to do in it and do to it.

    Once I finally manage to get out, I find myself in what seems to be an iteration of my old house in M---. This version looks twisted, hollowed out, dark—actually, there doesn’t seem to be a source of light anywhere, which would explain why, even though I feel vividly present here, it has an odd visual quality to it, and the only non-black color I can see here is blue. I’m using night vision. The blue is brightest in the fog hovering throughout the house, moving as though stirred by currents of air. When this fog is concentrated, it indicates the presence of a ghost—or perhaps it simply is the ghost.

    This whole place gives off a decidedly creepy vibe—a palpable sense of decay and malevolence. But the fact that I already know where all the dangers are takes the edge off the creepiness, as does the fact that this seems to be a case where there is no outcome but success. I already know things are going to turn out fine, and so I don’t let the place bother me too much.

    Now the person who is my mother is physically here with me, a couple rooms away—although, either because the walls are in ruins or because I can see through these ones too, she’s still visible from where I’m looking around the living room. Nothing much seems to be happening at the moment. I’m just keeping an eye on the blue fog. There are some mirrors there in the room: I use them to check my form as I practice jumping from side to side, moving between stances I might need to use later.

    (7.9.18)
    Categories
    non-lucid

    The Big Picture

    by LeaningKarst on 09-01-2018 at 02:35 AM
    In this dream, I seem to have been selected to contribute to some collaborative project that has to do with “Game of Thrones” and a couple of prominent political figures, including Trump. I think there are 25 of us in all, but I don’t actually meet with the others—I just have an interview with someone, and that’s it. It’s in a large, modern building, and I recall being in an elevator at some point, deciding that I’ll go to join the others and see the complete work. It seems a little strange to me that I should be playing a part in this—I haven’t watched or read “Game of Thrones,” and I don’t seem to be personally involved in these matters the way everybody else is. But I’m curious enough to go anyway.

    I join the others in a room with a large screen on one wall. It’s divided up into smaller rectangles of various sizes and proportions on which video loops are being played. I can see my own contribution among them, in the upper central area, showing the collapse of a temple-like building with hundreds of statues in front of it, among other images.

    Then it starts playing, and my part comes first. In the narration, I recognize what I had said in the interview, now in a more polished form. It’s now clear that what I provided was the prologue, tracing out the historical background of the story told in all the subsequent parts, setting the stage for it. That makes a lot of sense, actually—now I can see how it’s relevant, even though it doesn’t directly concern the characters that the story is focused on.

    (30.8.18)
    Categories
    non-lucid

    From Map to Territory

    by LeaningKarst on 08-09-2018 at 04:11 AM
    In the earliest part of the dream I can remember, I'm reading a news article online. It’s about an odd discovery that was recently made—what seemed to be a fossilized person on a bicycle.

    I pull up a map website so that I can have a better idea of where the places I’m reading about are. It starts off as a map of Europe—more or less. The only major difference I can remember was seeing a series of small countries along the (more or less) Baltic Coast.

    The place I’m interested in is further west of that, around Luxembourg, I'd say. I zoom in until it’s more like looking at a satellite map, and I can see the spot the story is talking about: a place in the woods where the grass gives way to gray rock, and in the rock, the figure of the cyclist can be clearly seen in profile, looking rather cartoonish.

    I look up and find I’m not looking at a screen on a computer anymore: I’m actually there in the forest. And there’s only one way that’s possible: I’m dreaming.

    The gray rock isn’t there anymore. There’s just forest in every direction—deciduous forest, with foliage that isn’t so thick it blocks out the sunlight. I pick a direction and start walking, not having any particular goal in mind.

    The forest is quiet and still: there don’t seem to be any animals around. The only notable feature of this place is the mushrooms I see growing in small groups among the undergrowth every few meters. They’re red with white spots—obviously fly-agaric. I recall a recent discussion on DreamViews about hallucinogens in lucid dreams: what would happen if I ate one? I’ve never been curious enough to try it before—I wasn’t even curious enough to read the thread, for that matter—but here they are, and here I am. Guess I’m going to find out.

    I get down close to a group of them, pull a piece off a small one and put it in my mouth. But then I see that the mushrooms aren’t mushrooms anymore: they’re red flowers now, poppies by the looks of it. Still in an experimental frame of mind, I pull off some petals and chew on them. They’re completely flavorless and slightly cool. It is an extraordinarily realistic experience of eating flower petals.

    Shortly afterwards, I wake up.

    (7.8.18)
    Categories
    lucid , non-lucid

    A King and a Cat

    by LeaningKarst on 08-03-2018 at 02:44 AM
    I start out in an apartment that seems to be mine, but doesn’t resemble anywhere I’ve ever lived. Hearing a commotion outside, I go out to investigate. I walk across a grassy lawn to where it overhangs a sidewalk. It seems coming from the direction of the train station, which is just down the street. I recall that today is the day the king is supposed to return from a trip abroad: there are probably many people there to greet him.

    Sure enough, I soon see him walking by, just like any other person might, alone except for three dogs. One of the dogs, a large and muscular one, is headed directly my way. I’m not threatened by it, though: I don't read any aggression in its behavior, only curiosity.

    It’s sniffing me over as he approaches to get it back under control. We exchange a few words. He knows who I am—I get the impression this country is on the small side, and he probably knows everyone here—and he says that he’s honored that I’m residing in his country (I am a foreigner here and not a citizen). He tells me he's happy to be the host of someone favored by the cat god. This is a chaotic, cat-like being that comes around—like any other cat—when it feels like it and not before. It appears to have taken a liking to me, and there’s now some kind of deeper bond between us. It also seems to be associated with the key of B major, whatever that means.

    The king is about to leave, but the dog breaks away again to continue to inspect me. He once again gets it under control and asks in a casual way what a sky bicycle actually looks like. This odd form of transportation has to do with the cat somehow—the thing apparently has a whole mythology of its own. I reply that I don’t know, as sky bicycles only take a definite form when several people are looking at one at the same time.

    (31.7.18)
    Categories
    non-lucid

    Conversations with Critters

    by LeaningKarst on 07-31-2018 at 02:06 AM
    I manage to maintain awareness while falling asleep quite early in the night and find myself in a house. As with most lucid dreams that are on the long side and include a lot of conversation, I can only remember some parts of it clearly, and without clear context.

    The house is not a familiar one, although its layout seems slightly reminiscent of Katya’s house. I’m in what would be the front room with two other people—one man and one woman—and three dogs. I can feel a connection with one of the dogs—a medium-sized one, possibly a Border Collie—and I sense that he’s somehow mediating between me and the rest of the dream. I think it’s likely that the other dogs were doing the same for the other people and somehow making it possible for us to be together here.

    One of the dogs is briefing us all about something. He’s a very large dog with short hair, probably a Great Dane. He communicates with us for a while—I don’t think he actually spoke, but my memory is fuzzy on how it happened. At one point, he mentions something about a llama farm, then cuts himself off and lays down. I realized this was something he didn’t want me and the other woman to know about, but he had let it slip, and now he’s sad about it. He refuses to say anything else, so I go into an adjoining room so he can talk to the man in private. In the meantime, I strike up a conversation with a bird on the windowsill.

    It’s a small bird, a bit like a titmouse but pure white. It seems friendly, and has an odd habit of repeating each phrase after it says it. After a bit, it flies off: it’s decided it wants to catch me some kind of small marine crustacean that it eats—as a kind of gift, I suppose. Aww.

    (26.7.18)
    Categories
    lucid