(Entered in paper journal at 9 PM on 9/29/04 at home in Albuquerque.)
(9pm 9/29 -- I will say again that I open my heart.)
***
(Entry in daytime paper journal for 10/2/04. No place/time info.)
9/30
Dream 1
I was around my old Los Alamos Americorps coworker and friend AL. We were doing something involving my penis. It was like she was fixing up my penis. But then she had a white "frosting tube" full of semen. I tasted it. It was sweet. I took it away and occasionally tasted it as I walked along by myself, thinking how wonderful it must be to practice fellatio on a good boy.
I was now standing over a toilet by a dirty, sliding glass door through which sunlight brightly poured. I was urinating. My penis was huge and it curved over to the right. I didn't stand in front of but on the left side of the toilet. I pissed and pissed in a huge, misty, powerful, acidic spray.
(The rest is how I remember it now, i.e. on 10/2/04.)
I now crouched in front of the sliding-glass door, holding an old rent contract. I saw that the name of this house's previous renter was also Preemie. The writing on the contract was tall, thin, and spiky. The last name was a sharp last name as well.
I thought to myself how the old woman who rented out this house had put men named Preemie into some kind of trap, a bondage that kept them in this house until she had drained them dry. I thought to myself, Well, I've discovered the truth! I won't let it happen to me!
I was now standing back over the toilet, realizing I was still pissing, just as powerfully as I had been before. At some point, I "remembered," the pissing had lessened a bit. But now it was just as big a spray as before. I was scared out of my wits that I could be so incontinent that I would embarrass myself with such continuous piss. I was now certain that I would never stop embarrassing myself with this pissing.
In despair I shouted out, "What the hell is going on here?"
Then I knew I was dreaming. I told myself, Get out of the dream! Wake up! Wake up!
Showing posts with label semi-lucid dream. Show all posts
Showing posts with label semi-lucid dream. Show all posts
Sunday, March 26, 2017
Saturday, March 25, 2017
(10/3/04) three hundred-foot/step rose; bloom-less flowers in the land of the dead; esti skepti
(Dreams only entered in daytime paper journal. No time/place info.)
Dream 1
Don't remember the beginning, except that for some reason I was in an unkempt garden, or, rather, a wild garden, with my brother. We were putting up or pulling down something.
At some point my brother pointed up a stairway either three hundred feet or three hundred steps tall. It was blue-painted, thin metal, and it curved in a spiral. Its landing had no floor attached to it. It was a shaky stairway (I may have called it a ladder). I was afraid to go up it, and I told my brother so.
Then -- (after what?) -- I was climbing up a white-barked "tree" no larger than one inch in diameter. I called the "tree" a rose. It was covered in thorns both long (maybe three inches) and short (maybe one-eighth inch). I may have been climbing up this "rose" in order to take something off its top, which, oddly enough, was a small cone of yellowing leafs. I may have been climbing up the tree to pull or cut the tree down.
But as I continued climbing up the tree I felt the tree being cut down or rotting away from the bottom up, as if the top parts of the tree floated in the air while the lower parts were cut away, rotted and fell away, and/or disappeared altogether. But I knew the top parts, where I was, would fall, straight to the hard ground, as soon as there was no more tree left beneath them, possibly because of my weight.
I looked to my left and saw the stairway beside me. For a moment I was no longer filled with the fear of falling. Instead I was filled with a sense of pride and accomplishment. I had climbed all the way up this "rose," which was just as flimsy as, if not flimsier than, the stairway, and had attained a height of three hundred feet/steps without even having noticed it.
I now felt-saw the last bit of "trunk" rot and fall away beneath me (it looked like a splintered chair leg). Instead of holding onto the "rose" top and falling with it, though, I let go and let myself alone fall to the ground. I assume the "rose" top thus stayed floating in the air.
I myself discovered (guess what...) that I could control my rate of descent. I floated down to the ground, possibly landing on a patch of grass. I looked around and was in awe of the beauty of this wild garden. My mother may have been somewhere.
Dream 2
I was in some dark place. Something may have happened before, but I don't don't remember. In this dark place, which now feels like a tent, I was convinced I had died. I walked, or, rather, crawled, through an opening into an immense, lonely field of grass. I was on a long, wide slope, at the top of which may have been a tree, on the far left side. It was a mostly clear, sunny day.
I was still convinced that I was dead, that I had come into the land of the dead. But I moved around very slowly, as I move when I become aware that I'm dreaming. I saw patches of watery-yellow leafs in the grass, like patches of reverse shadows passing over the green. I told myself, So this is what it's like in the land of the dead. I have a lot to learn here, too.
But then I remembered (!) having seen a lawn in Albuquerque with this same patterning of grass. I tried thinking back to that lawn to remember exactly how it was. Slowly my feeling of being in the land of the dead dawned into a realization that I was actually dreaming.
I calmed myself down as soon as I realized I was dreaming. But I wasn't fully aware of things, not enough to get myself out of an overall daydream-like state. I walked over to a wide, yellow patch of grass and bent down to it, almost laying down on it.
I saw that in between the yellow blades were smallish clusters of old flowers with no petals. The heads were softly greenish-grey. I though to myself, This is what causes the patches to appear yellow -- these petal-less, yellowy flower-heads.
Dream 3
I stood behind a thin barrier erected between the sidewalk and a street. It was morning, kind of cool, very sunny, although everything had a low-sun, reddish-orange tint to it. The street was kind of busy. I waited for (my bosses for my present job) RN and A to show up across the street so I could help them unload things.
I kind of looked away for a second. When I looked back across the street I saw RN and A, each already carrying three or four boxes in each hand, already walking down the sidewalk. I wondered how I could have missed them so completely.
I was now in a camper trailer in the dark. I might have been in a bed. I don't really know. All I know is there was a barrier like a kitchen counter around with RN and A walked, going past me and to the front door.
RN said, "Let's get out of here. This guy is so lazy. He'll never get to work." I couldn't figure out why he'd say that. I just wasn't even aware that RN and A had gotten here yet.
I stood up to go out the door after them. I could feel-see them outside the trailer, walking to a cargo trailer with empty boxes in their hands. They had already started working, and here I was, doing nothing. I was now standing right by the open door. The light outside kept shifting between day and night and early morning. I didn't go outside. I stood in front of an oven.
My sister was behind me, holding a baby in a long blanket. She held it against her so that it was looking over her right shoulder. She was telling me something abut my dad. My dad didn't like the Spanish language or refused to speak it or even works that kind of found their way into the Spanish language. This was something of an annoyance as my sister's baby was Spanish in some way.
My dad would often say "esti" for "this," which bugged my sister, because she said it should have been something else in Spanish, but that Dad was using a Spanish-Italian hybrid word. He also used the word "skepti," the English for which I don't remember now.
I listened to my sister's story, laughed, and would interject things like, "What? He said that?" for a little while as I kept fixed on the stove and the door, wanting to get to work. It seems like a pot of food or perhaps just a pile of food kept appearing and vanishing.
At some point I walked out the door and down the steps. It was daylight. My sister followed me to the doorway and stood in it, continuing to tell me about Dad. It was like she was going on and on in an attempt to make some complete circuit of her argument, but she couldn't find the connections, so she had to keep going.
But I had to leave to get to work. My sister was still talking as I started to walk away. But she was also not talking. But also something like a deep, phantom-like part of her spoke in a demanding voice, "Well, I'll show you what being ungrateful gets you. You're in trouble."
Dream 1
Don't remember the beginning, except that for some reason I was in an unkempt garden, or, rather, a wild garden, with my brother. We were putting up or pulling down something.
At some point my brother pointed up a stairway either three hundred feet or three hundred steps tall. It was blue-painted, thin metal, and it curved in a spiral. Its landing had no floor attached to it. It was a shaky stairway (I may have called it a ladder). I was afraid to go up it, and I told my brother so.
Then -- (after what?) -- I was climbing up a white-barked "tree" no larger than one inch in diameter. I called the "tree" a rose. It was covered in thorns both long (maybe three inches) and short (maybe one-eighth inch). I may have been climbing up this "rose" in order to take something off its top, which, oddly enough, was a small cone of yellowing leafs. I may have been climbing up the tree to pull or cut the tree down.
But as I continued climbing up the tree I felt the tree being cut down or rotting away from the bottom up, as if the top parts of the tree floated in the air while the lower parts were cut away, rotted and fell away, and/or disappeared altogether. But I knew the top parts, where I was, would fall, straight to the hard ground, as soon as there was no more tree left beneath them, possibly because of my weight.
I looked to my left and saw the stairway beside me. For a moment I was no longer filled with the fear of falling. Instead I was filled with a sense of pride and accomplishment. I had climbed all the way up this "rose," which was just as flimsy as, if not flimsier than, the stairway, and had attained a height of three hundred feet/steps without even having noticed it.
I now felt-saw the last bit of "trunk" rot and fall away beneath me (it looked like a splintered chair leg). Instead of holding onto the "rose" top and falling with it, though, I let go and let myself alone fall to the ground. I assume the "rose" top thus stayed floating in the air.
I myself discovered (guess what...) that I could control my rate of descent. I floated down to the ground, possibly landing on a patch of grass. I looked around and was in awe of the beauty of this wild garden. My mother may have been somewhere.
Dream 2
I was in some dark place. Something may have happened before, but I don't don't remember. In this dark place, which now feels like a tent, I was convinced I had died. I walked, or, rather, crawled, through an opening into an immense, lonely field of grass. I was on a long, wide slope, at the top of which may have been a tree, on the far left side. It was a mostly clear, sunny day.
I was still convinced that I was dead, that I had come into the land of the dead. But I moved around very slowly, as I move when I become aware that I'm dreaming. I saw patches of watery-yellow leafs in the grass, like patches of reverse shadows passing over the green. I told myself, So this is what it's like in the land of the dead. I have a lot to learn here, too.
But then I remembered (!) having seen a lawn in Albuquerque with this same patterning of grass. I tried thinking back to that lawn to remember exactly how it was. Slowly my feeling of being in the land of the dead dawned into a realization that I was actually dreaming.
I calmed myself down as soon as I realized I was dreaming. But I wasn't fully aware of things, not enough to get myself out of an overall daydream-like state. I walked over to a wide, yellow patch of grass and bent down to it, almost laying down on it.
I saw that in between the yellow blades were smallish clusters of old flowers with no petals. The heads were softly greenish-grey. I though to myself, This is what causes the patches to appear yellow -- these petal-less, yellowy flower-heads.
Dream 3
I stood behind a thin barrier erected between the sidewalk and a street. It was morning, kind of cool, very sunny, although everything had a low-sun, reddish-orange tint to it. The street was kind of busy. I waited for (my bosses for my present job) RN and A to show up across the street so I could help them unload things.
I kind of looked away for a second. When I looked back across the street I saw RN and A, each already carrying three or four boxes in each hand, already walking down the sidewalk. I wondered how I could have missed them so completely.
I was now in a camper trailer in the dark. I might have been in a bed. I don't really know. All I know is there was a barrier like a kitchen counter around with RN and A walked, going past me and to the front door.
RN said, "Let's get out of here. This guy is so lazy. He'll never get to work." I couldn't figure out why he'd say that. I just wasn't even aware that RN and A had gotten here yet.
I stood up to go out the door after them. I could feel-see them outside the trailer, walking to a cargo trailer with empty boxes in their hands. They had already started working, and here I was, doing nothing. I was now standing right by the open door. The light outside kept shifting between day and night and early morning. I didn't go outside. I stood in front of an oven.
My sister was behind me, holding a baby in a long blanket. She held it against her so that it was looking over her right shoulder. She was telling me something abut my dad. My dad didn't like the Spanish language or refused to speak it or even works that kind of found their way into the Spanish language. This was something of an annoyance as my sister's baby was Spanish in some way.
My dad would often say "esti" for "this," which bugged my sister, because she said it should have been something else in Spanish, but that Dad was using a Spanish-Italian hybrid word. He also used the word "skepti," the English for which I don't remember now.
I listened to my sister's story, laughed, and would interject things like, "What? He said that?" for a little while as I kept fixed on the stove and the door, wanting to get to work. It seems like a pot of food or perhaps just a pile of food kept appearing and vanishing.
At some point I walked out the door and down the steps. It was daylight. My sister followed me to the doorway and stood in it, continuing to tell me about Dad. It was like she was going on and on in an attempt to make some complete circuit of her argument, but she couldn't find the connections, so she had to keep going.
But I had to leave to get to work. My sister was still talking as I started to walk away. But she was also not talking. But also something like a deep, phantom-like part of her spoke in a demanding voice, "Well, I'll show you what being ungrateful gets you. You're in trouble."
Saturday, March 18, 2017
(12/16/04) brownstone out-of-body experience; r jealous of me and y; being stalked as a transvestite
(Entered in paper journal at 7:10 PM at my friend ML's house in Brooklyn.)
Dream 1
I was possibly at ML's house. I came down from the top bunk of ML's bed, possibly by floating down. I either heard or said some things and was either scrutinized for my speech or not noticed at all.
Then I was suddenly in front of a brownstone staircase. It was still night. The staircase light lit the brown steps, which stood behind a tallish (?) cast iron gate. I could only see a bit of it, though I saw it intensely, as if my vision were overexposed.
I turned around. I scared some guy in a suit. I told myself either that I was having a dream or that I was having an out-of-body experience. I told myself to calm down and focus.
Dream 2
It was daytime. I was on something like a tall building's rooftop with my friend R. We sat at a small, rectangular table that was made of wood and was covered with a white tablecloth.
R spoke to me about some bad things his ex-wife and my best friend Y had done. He kept talking about what a bad person Y was. I knew mainly he just didn't want me to talk to her anymore, out of jealousy for our friendship.
I picked up my phone and put it to my ear to call someone. But Y was already on the other end of the line. I was somewhat happy to hear from her. The conversation continued for a "few minutes," then seemed to vanish. The table switched from the right edge of the building roof to the top edge, and my position switched with R's.
I told R that I didn't call Y or even plan to call her behind his back, that she'd called me, but that I also wasn't going to just blow her off. But R still looked at me as if he wanted to kill me.
(NOTE (2017) -- Unfortunately in waking life I did neglect my relationship with my friend Y and ended up killing one of the best friendships I ever had in my life.)
Dream 3
Barely remembered. I had some letters. They were either addressed to me obliquely or not addressed to me at all. But somehow R was about to intercept them. But somehow, again, R had sent them to me.
The "letters" were all postcards that implied that R was stalking and hunting me because he was sexually attracted to me as a transvestite. The postcards showed increasingly lewd scenes of garishly costumed transvestites in a dance club with naked, muscular, attractive men.
Knowing R, I knew that he had sent these postcards to imply that these men, like R, were planning to kill transvestites, like he/they would kill me, because R/the men believed we deserved to be killed.
Dream 1
I was possibly at ML's house. I came down from the top bunk of ML's bed, possibly by floating down. I either heard or said some things and was either scrutinized for my speech or not noticed at all.
Then I was suddenly in front of a brownstone staircase. It was still night. The staircase light lit the brown steps, which stood behind a tallish (?) cast iron gate. I could only see a bit of it, though I saw it intensely, as if my vision were overexposed.
I turned around. I scared some guy in a suit. I told myself either that I was having a dream or that I was having an out-of-body experience. I told myself to calm down and focus.
Dream 2
It was daytime. I was on something like a tall building's rooftop with my friend R. We sat at a small, rectangular table that was made of wood and was covered with a white tablecloth.
R spoke to me about some bad things his ex-wife and my best friend Y had done. He kept talking about what a bad person Y was. I knew mainly he just didn't want me to talk to her anymore, out of jealousy for our friendship.
I picked up my phone and put it to my ear to call someone. But Y was already on the other end of the line. I was somewhat happy to hear from her. The conversation continued for a "few minutes," then seemed to vanish. The table switched from the right edge of the building roof to the top edge, and my position switched with R's.
I told R that I didn't call Y or even plan to call her behind his back, that she'd called me, but that I also wasn't going to just blow her off. But R still looked at me as if he wanted to kill me.
(NOTE (2017) -- Unfortunately in waking life I did neglect my relationship with my friend Y and ended up killing one of the best friendships I ever had in my life.)
Dream 3
Barely remembered. I had some letters. They were either addressed to me obliquely or not addressed to me at all. But somehow R was about to intercept them. But somehow, again, R had sent them to me.
The "letters" were all postcards that implied that R was stalking and hunting me because he was sexually attracted to me as a transvestite. The postcards showed increasingly lewd scenes of garishly costumed transvestites in a dance club with naked, muscular, attractive men.
Knowing R, I knew that he had sent these postcards to imply that these men, like R, were planning to kill transvestites, like he/they would kill me, because R/the men believed we deserved to be killed.
Sunday, March 12, 2017
(3/5/05) escape from the doctor's office
(Entered in paper journal at 7:15 PM at home in Harlem.)
Dream 1
I was in a doctor's office. I wanted to see my doctor, but nobody would let me. I got mad. I filled out (or had filled out) a bunch of forms which I now handed to a line of receptionists, most of whom were young, tall, and handsome, but scraggly, men. I now found out that all these men were doctors who kept coming at me to prevent me from seeing my doctor, who didn't want to see me because I made him feel less intelligent. But I was coming to see him so he could help me help my brother.
I kept being forced right as I lost more and more forms to other doctors. One of the doctors found a stray scrap of paper on which I had written something nasty.
It was now determined that I was to see a certain doctor, young, tall, with a huge, frizzy head of hair. I handed him my papers and yelled at him that I wouldn't see anybody but my own doctor. He said okay, but I knew he had power to make me see him instead.
I ran out of the office. At first I just wanted to get as far away from it all as possible. But then it was like it suddenly didn't matter anymore.
It was dark, dry, and cool outside, like a late spring night in Flagstaff, perhaps. The building I came out of had a large lawn surrounding it that touched a road that seems now like a somewhat rural road. There were some buildings and a good amount of people, but it seemed like just a row, a longish stretch off road pulling together all the aspects of a high-class, small-town neighborhood without actually pulling itself out of a surrounding of lonely fields and forests of massive, leafy trees.
I felt incredibly happy as soon as I'd left the building a few steps behind. I took four or five steps before jumping and hovering four or five steps. I realized I was about to fly. I told myself to relax the next time I jumped, just to allow my body to float of its own accord. I flew up about thirty feet in the air.
People didn't seem to notice me. Everybody was happy, free, and easy, but unconcerned with anything except getting where they needed to go.
I knew I, too, was going somewhere. I followed this road as it all turned to tall, leafy trees. I knew this was a town I was familiar with. But I couldn't discern what town.
I hoped I wasn't dreaming. I thought, It would be such a letdown if all this flying hadn't really amounted to anything, not even an out-of-body experience.
I said, "No, you couldn't possibly be dreaming. You're going somewhere, aren't you?"
Now the forest road quickly ended in a "T" intersection, the road perpendicular to me, i.e. the top part of the "T,"
being something like a small town's main street strip lit up for the night.
I descended involuntarily only to discover that I was actually in a restaurant not unlike Casa Bonita in Denver, with mazes and corridors of seating areas ramping and plateauing and staircasing into each other.
I said, "Well, shit. I'm pretty sure this is a dream after all. I couldn't be in a restaurant like this today. That's not where I'm going, anyway."
Now a group of "my friends," they looked like the cast from The Life Aquatic, passed me and sat down at a table. There were about seven of them. They told me to sit down. But I had to get where I was going. They pointed me up a ramp (I had long ago forgotten that I was in a dream).
I was leaving, but I kept hearing some conversation from the table that made me want to go back. I kept seeing the image of work gloves with split-in-diameter cylinders of bamboo inside to cradle the fingers. When I got back, the Angelica Huston "friend" was talking about how she had been assigned to serve fifteen years in prison but how a friend had gotten her out in only fourteen.
Dream 1
I was in a doctor's office. I wanted to see my doctor, but nobody would let me. I got mad. I filled out (or had filled out) a bunch of forms which I now handed to a line of receptionists, most of whom were young, tall, and handsome, but scraggly, men. I now found out that all these men were doctors who kept coming at me to prevent me from seeing my doctor, who didn't want to see me because I made him feel less intelligent. But I was coming to see him so he could help me help my brother.
I kept being forced right as I lost more and more forms to other doctors. One of the doctors found a stray scrap of paper on which I had written something nasty.
It was now determined that I was to see a certain doctor, young, tall, with a huge, frizzy head of hair. I handed him my papers and yelled at him that I wouldn't see anybody but my own doctor. He said okay, but I knew he had power to make me see him instead.
I ran out of the office. At first I just wanted to get as far away from it all as possible. But then it was like it suddenly didn't matter anymore.
It was dark, dry, and cool outside, like a late spring night in Flagstaff, perhaps. The building I came out of had a large lawn surrounding it that touched a road that seems now like a somewhat rural road. There were some buildings and a good amount of people, but it seemed like just a row, a longish stretch off road pulling together all the aspects of a high-class, small-town neighborhood without actually pulling itself out of a surrounding of lonely fields and forests of massive, leafy trees.
I felt incredibly happy as soon as I'd left the building a few steps behind. I took four or five steps before jumping and hovering four or five steps. I realized I was about to fly. I told myself to relax the next time I jumped, just to allow my body to float of its own accord. I flew up about thirty feet in the air.
People didn't seem to notice me. Everybody was happy, free, and easy, but unconcerned with anything except getting where they needed to go.
I knew I, too, was going somewhere. I followed this road as it all turned to tall, leafy trees. I knew this was a town I was familiar with. But I couldn't discern what town.
I hoped I wasn't dreaming. I thought, It would be such a letdown if all this flying hadn't really amounted to anything, not even an out-of-body experience.
I said, "No, you couldn't possibly be dreaming. You're going somewhere, aren't you?"
Now the forest road quickly ended in a "T" intersection, the road perpendicular to me, i.e. the top part of the "T,"
being something like a small town's main street strip lit up for the night.
I descended involuntarily only to discover that I was actually in a restaurant not unlike Casa Bonita in Denver, with mazes and corridors of seating areas ramping and plateauing and staircasing into each other.
I said, "Well, shit. I'm pretty sure this is a dream after all. I couldn't be in a restaurant like this today. That's not where I'm going, anyway."
Now a group of "my friends," they looked like the cast from The Life Aquatic, passed me and sat down at a table. There were about seven of them. They told me to sit down. But I had to get where I was going. They pointed me up a ramp (I had long ago forgotten that I was in a dream).
I was leaving, but I kept hearing some conversation from the table that made me want to go back. I kept seeing the image of work gloves with split-in-diameter cylinders of bamboo inside to cradle the fingers. When I got back, the Angelica Huston "friend" was talking about how she had been assigned to serve fifteen years in prison but how a friend had gotten her out in only fourteen.
Friday, February 24, 2017
(1/21/06) we have so little time together; still a dream; pigeons; suddenly everything felt very real
(Entered in paper journal at 3:37 PM at home in Brooklyn.)
Dream 1
It was night. I came out of an elementary school with my friend BC. We walked away from the school on an asphalt path that was a huge circle around a grass field -- but more like a footpath than a road. There was a fence on our left, on the other side of which was a sharp slope.
We walked past a group of folks dressed up like performers, to our left. One person looked like a scarecrow; another, like a skeleton. They seemed to be African-American. I hurried to get past them, hating to be scrutinized.
We got past the group -- they seem to have been practicing juggling with bowling pins. I told the story of how I'd seen before. I remembered it was with one of my park ranger supervisors, TA, from my Americorps NYC Parks project. TA had been nice to the folks, and we had actually all ended up having a good time. I now felt stupid for having just now been so threatened by the group, whom I'd taken to be bums.
By now we had flipped around
on a path that went on the other side of the fence and down the hill. I thought we should go back to the people. But then I thought, But we're already going downhill. We were also jogging.
Now my oldest nephew D, not my friend BC, was to my right. D said, "Okay, now we're racing. When I say go. And I'm going to toast you."
But then he changed his mind. There was a path leading back up the hill that forked off the path we were on about halfway down and climbed steeply. At the top was a little "cliff" of outcropping. At the bottom of the slope I could see "my" car.
D said, "I'm gonna go up that hill. Then you can start from here. When I say go, we both start running. And I'll beat you. That's how I'm going to toast you."
I didn't want D to do that hill because I didn't want to wait for him to climb it. I said, "No. Let's just race from here."
Now we were at the bottom of the hill and D sat on a boulder or outcropping of granite. We hadn't even started racing. D said, "But" (Uncle) "Preemie."
I looked at him. His face was sad. I understood him to be trying to say, Can't you loosen up? We have so little time together.
I felt sad. I put my left arm around D and said, "Oh, D, don't worry."
(Entry begins again at 8:58 AM, at Flying Saucer Cafe in Brooklyn.)
Dream 2
I left a group of friends and walked into a fancy-looking hall that was also something like a coffee shop. The walls were wood, and there was a balcony or mezzanine on the left. There may have been large, opulent paintings on the right wall. On the right wall at the back was another doorway. On the back wall was an enormous chalkboard, taking up about half the wall from the top, right corner.
I "saw" it in my head first, as a memory, and then physically saw it in the present.
My "memory" of it was that it had pale, blue scribbles all over it: scribbles and scribble words. But now there were a few large, yellow words on the otherwise immaculate slate. Both the pale blue and the yellow messages meant something to me. But I was upset to see the blue scribbles gone.
For some reason I ran and jumped at the back wall. I went high. I kicked a sidekick and then spun to my left, apparently to execute another kick. But I threw myself off aim. I flew backwards. I landed and stumbled backwards.
I landed and stumbled backwards onto the left side of the room, into a big, oldish, white man. I didn't want him to be offended, so I explained myself. He just chuckled a bit.
Now I stood in the center of the room as my friend ML and some woman sat at a table to my right. They may have been talking about my talents.
I was now practicing my skills. I jumped up and kick my legs out, both at once.
But without noticing it I had actually put so much force into it that I was laying myself flat about seven feet in the air
and floating for a while.
When I finally realized what I was doing, I told myself, Well, now do make yourself float for a long time. But instead I managed to do a really slow back flip, once again not immediately realizing it. When I noticed, I thought, So this is how people do it. It's easy, if you believe.
But as I was about to land, i.e. execute my first "perfect" back flip, I stopped moving normally and floated slowly downward. I didn't land before I looked at my hands. As I stared at my palms I "woke up."
I now sat or stood by ML and the girl. I thought something like, I need to tell them my dream. But ML started talking to me like a scientist. He asked me about my progress and training and experiences.
I thought, No, no, this is still a dream. I "pulled" myself out of the dream, like through a warping tunnel of vision, and "woke up." But when I "woke up," two policemen that weren't quite human told me to tell them everything I saw in my dream. (They were standing right by bed.)
I thought, No, no, you're dreaming again, and I pulled myself through the tunnel of vision again. Then I saw an image of a scarab, except coppery brown, like a roach, like a painting, haloed in green before a black background.
I told myself, You're dreaming again! I struggled and wrestled mentally to wake up.
Dream 3
I was in a car with my mom. We were in a desert of red, sandstone-chip hills. We had driven off a paved road, which seems to have gone along a very green, black-soil mountainside. I looked at how vast and expansive the dirt road trail was before us.
My mom made reference to a pile of money or a big billfold with money that was either in the backseat or in between us in the front seat. The billfold was black, shiny fake leather. My mom said something like, "That's all I have to give you. And that won't leave me with a lot of money for our trip."
I knew my mom meant we couldn't take the "Chinle" (?) road (it may have been a word-hybrid of "Chinle" and "Lummis") back to town. Even though it was a "shortcut," it was long, on rough, almost nonexistent, "dirt" roads, and the cost of the repairs for the toll the trip would take on my mom's car would be more than the money we'd save on gas and the time we'd save by taking this road instead of the paved road.
I said, "That's okay. I actually think you're right." I was relieved my mom had spoken her mind and that we had decided to take the paved road instead. I looked out at the sandstone desert and thought, I'll get back here someday anyway.
But my mom kept driving on the "shortcut." I wanted to ask her when we were going to turn around and get back to the paved road.
But then -- first I (seem to have seen) another billfold in the road. Then I saw a bird in the sky. From way high it looked like a hawk or even a golden eagle. But when it landed I saw it was a large raven, maybe two feet tall, muscular and round. I was certain this meant death.
I asked my mom when she was going to turn around. She gave me some vague answer about driving in general. But we drove between two small hills that opened on the other side to a downward, curving slope, very lonely and desolate.
A gang of huge burds, no more than ten, stalked along the road. They were huge, maybe four feet tall, though possibly not at first. Possibly at first the birds were like regular vultures. (But possibly at first this desolate, steep slope was also flat, open land.)
But as I noted the birds and looked closer, they definitely were huge, almost featherless, with scales on their necks and heads. Their beaks were long and gross, like fingernails that haven't been clipped, with dirty, black tips. Their eyes were wide and round.
I told my mom, "We need to turn around and get out of here. These birds mean nothing but death. They kill and eat, but they kill because they like being mean. We need to pull out before they get any ideas."
My mom said she'd drive forward to get through them. I said, "No. If you drive forward they'll pop our tires. Then we'll never get anywhere. We need to drive backwards."
We drove backwards for a moment or two. We were in the wide, open plain again. But a couple of the "vultures," one of which was now as tall as an ostrich, and another one (this one away with the others) as stout as (though longer, much longer, than) a gila monster, crinkle-clawed up to our windows.
We were now rolling forward again. I wondered why. We were heading down the hill. The "vultures" were walking along, following us slowly. But I saw a suburban neighborhood butting up against the bottom of the slope.
I couldn't figure it out. We were on a road that was supposed to take us into the heart of the desert -- it was supposed to be so long that my mom couldn't afford to take the trip! But we had gone less than a mile before driving up behind a suburban neighborhood which may well have been home.
But I didn't judge the situation too harshly. I was glad to get away from the "vultures." The only problem was that there were no roads into the neighborhood: just small, narrow, cobble footpaths leading from the backyards to the "road" in the desert.
As we approached the neighborhood I thought, We'll just have to drive on past and keep being pursued by the "vultures." There's no way into the neighborhood. But my mom just drove onto one of the cobble paths, then through a backyard and into a front yard, and onto a clean, black asphalt road.
Slowly I felt awful about having "escaped" the desert. Then I felt really awful. I thought of the birds' heads, especially that of the "gila monster bird."
I saw a couple of small birds on a front lawn that sloped up from the road. The birds were like the desert birds. I told my mom, "The birds in the desert, they weren't vultures. They were -- I can't remember their name. I just saw two!"
I was now in the driver's seat, though I think my mom, in the passenger seat, was still driving.
I said, "Like those!" There were two more birds walking along the edge of a lawn that was raised from the sidewalk by a concrete wall. The first birds had walked in the same direction that our car drove. These birds were now walking against it.
I almost had the name of the birds. I said, "Something with a 'P.'" The birds fanned out their tails. I said, "Oh, no. Not those. Those are peacocks. They symbolize pride. These were not prideful birds. Dad had a ceramic sculpture of one! It had a blue head! It starts with a 'P!'"
I noticed as the car passed that these "peacoks" weren't blue but brown. They shimmered like dachshunds, not like birds.
I now saw the disgusting "vultures" limping along the desert slope in the distance between the two houses, trying to find a way into the suburbs. They were huge, and they were altogether flesh-colored, though they were all scales.
I said, "I have it! They were --"
A couple little girls (there were three little girls suddenly in the backseat. Only two spoke.) said, "Water pheasants!"
I said, "Yes. That's what I was about to say." I felt stupid that the little girls beat me to saying the name of the birds. I said, "How could I have been afraid of little, old water pheasants?" But, I thought, the birds I saw in that first front yard looked like different birds, not pheasants. Like some kind of bird I know and see every day, except not tan.
I turned to my mom and said, "They were vultures, weren't they?"
My mom nodded and said, "Yes."
I may even have been steering -- driving. But my mom was still really driving. I desperately tried to explain why I had felt so threatened. I was trying to justify myself. But now I was also trying to justify myself for also not having been able to come up with the term "water pheasant."
Dream 4
I may have been walking out of a castle in the daylight (silver blue sky) with my friend R and his cousin J. J had been telling us about a haunted castle and a Scottish town that had been destroyed by the plague and then rebuilt over. I asked J some vague questions. Then he asked me some vague questions. J and R were never seen, and they slowly disappeared behind me.
I walked down a steep series of white marble (veinless, more like opaque quartz) steps that clung to a black cliff face. Then each step or group of three or so steps was blocked by short, iron fences with spikes.
I needed to prove to R and J that I wasn't afraid to jump over these fences. So I jumped. But I noticed that each step had iron strips of spikes. I had to position my feet as I landed so my feet kept in between the strips of spikes.
As I jumped down farther and farther, the barriers got worse and worse, iron fences and spikes tangling like vines and shrubs in the woods. I actually landed on one set of steps full of green and beautifully red-pink-leafed ivy.
I don't know if I was tired or just overcome with the increasing difficulty of these steps. But I finally just hunched down, squatted, and huddled tightly, facting out toward the cliff and looking slightly back up the steps.
I told myself, I'm not afraid of this. I'm not afraid.
Now I stood in a driveway at night. The pop singer Beck stood to my left. Beck was now right in my face. He was all shaggy. The purple of the night sky created an aura around him.
Beck said, "Sometimes the songs just come to me. I don't even make an effort. Other times, nothing. And when I try to write something I feel dragged along, like an umbrella on a string."
I thought, What the hell is that supposed to mean? Like a kite? Or a puppet?
Beck now had a rough, thin piece of twine in his right hand, which led to an umbrella stuck under a garbage truck. I understood the image now.
Beck said, "I told my analyst about it, and she just told me XXXXX." (Something really vague and platitudinous, harmfully cheap.)
Now Beck was my friend ML. He said, "I told her, 'Your help is worthless, and I'm not going to let you rip me off like that.' She paid me back $60 of the $100 I paid. But I wanted all of it and more. I got all my $100 back, plus sixty. And you know why? All because of this! And it's our little secret."
He walked away. He wore grey boxer briefs and a grey, tight tank top. He walked up onto the back of the garbage truck, onto a weird platform by the "ladder up." He shouted out something triumphant from the ladder and got onto the platform. The garbage truck was more like an oil tanker with a weird area, lit like a copy machine's glass plate, on the right side.
ML got into the area and stuck his upper body over something like a plastic shelf, where the light was coming from. He pressed some button. At first the shelf lifted him up, with the rest of this strange side area. I had an idea what the thing was going to do. It was going to crush him, like trash gets crushed in the back of a garbage truck.
I stood there and said, "ML, what are you doing? What are you doing?" But I had a good idea of what he was doing.
I tried to convince myself I didn't believe ML was going to crush himself. But, really, I was pretty sure he was going to crush himself. And I wanted to watch. I think I had an inkling that this was a dream, and I wanted to "predict" something bad. I felt bad just watching ML kill himself. But I was really interested.
Now the shelf was smashing ML into the upper part. ML looked at me for a moment, and then the pain became so strong that he put his hands to his head like he was trying to block out a loud sound.
Suddenly everything felt very real. I said, "ML, what are you doing! ML, get out of there! ML, what's going on?!"
I was terrified. Now ML's head was smashed. As it popped open, it looked like the head of a dead baby bird. Blood and flesh popped out of his nose and mouth like spaghetti sauce and stringy chicken flesh.
I screamed, "ML! ML! ML!" In the last scream I extended ML's name and sounded like a coyote howling at the moon.
Dream 1
It was night. I came out of an elementary school with my friend BC. We walked away from the school on an asphalt path that was a huge circle around a grass field -- but more like a footpath than a road. There was a fence on our left, on the other side of which was a sharp slope.
We walked past a group of folks dressed up like performers, to our left. One person looked like a scarecrow; another, like a skeleton. They seemed to be African-American. I hurried to get past them, hating to be scrutinized.
We got past the group -- they seem to have been practicing juggling with bowling pins. I told the story of how I'd seen before. I remembered it was with one of my park ranger supervisors, TA, from my Americorps NYC Parks project. TA had been nice to the folks, and we had actually all ended up having a good time. I now felt stupid for having just now been so threatened by the group, whom I'd taken to be bums.
By now we had flipped around
on a path that went on the other side of the fence and down the hill. I thought we should go back to the people. But then I thought, But we're already going downhill. We were also jogging.
Now my oldest nephew D, not my friend BC, was to my right. D said, "Okay, now we're racing. When I say go. And I'm going to toast you."
But then he changed his mind. There was a path leading back up the hill that forked off the path we were on about halfway down and climbed steeply. At the top was a little "cliff" of outcropping. At the bottom of the slope I could see "my" car.
D said, "I'm gonna go up that hill. Then you can start from here. When I say go, we both start running. And I'll beat you. That's how I'm going to toast you."
I didn't want D to do that hill because I didn't want to wait for him to climb it. I said, "No. Let's just race from here."
Now we were at the bottom of the hill and D sat on a boulder or outcropping of granite. We hadn't even started racing. D said, "But" (Uncle) "Preemie."
I looked at him. His face was sad. I understood him to be trying to say, Can't you loosen up? We have so little time together.
I felt sad. I put my left arm around D and said, "Oh, D, don't worry."
(Entry begins again at 8:58 AM, at Flying Saucer Cafe in Brooklyn.)
Dream 2
I left a group of friends and walked into a fancy-looking hall that was also something like a coffee shop. The walls were wood, and there was a balcony or mezzanine on the left. There may have been large, opulent paintings on the right wall. On the right wall at the back was another doorway. On the back wall was an enormous chalkboard, taking up about half the wall from the top, right corner.
I "saw" it in my head first, as a memory, and then physically saw it in the present.
My "memory" of it was that it had pale, blue scribbles all over it: scribbles and scribble words. But now there were a few large, yellow words on the otherwise immaculate slate. Both the pale blue and the yellow messages meant something to me. But I was upset to see the blue scribbles gone.
For some reason I ran and jumped at the back wall. I went high. I kicked a sidekick and then spun to my left, apparently to execute another kick. But I threw myself off aim. I flew backwards. I landed and stumbled backwards.
I landed and stumbled backwards onto the left side of the room, into a big, oldish, white man. I didn't want him to be offended, so I explained myself. He just chuckled a bit.
Now I stood in the center of the room as my friend ML and some woman sat at a table to my right. They may have been talking about my talents.
I was now practicing my skills. I jumped up and kick my legs out, both at once.
But without noticing it I had actually put so much force into it that I was laying myself flat about seven feet in the air
and floating for a while.
When I finally realized what I was doing, I told myself, Well, now do make yourself float for a long time. But instead I managed to do a really slow back flip, once again not immediately realizing it. When I noticed, I thought, So this is how people do it. It's easy, if you believe.
But as I was about to land, i.e. execute my first "perfect" back flip, I stopped moving normally and floated slowly downward. I didn't land before I looked at my hands. As I stared at my palms I "woke up."
I now sat or stood by ML and the girl. I thought something like, I need to tell them my dream. But ML started talking to me like a scientist. He asked me about my progress and training and experiences.
I thought, No, no, this is still a dream. I "pulled" myself out of the dream, like through a warping tunnel of vision, and "woke up." But when I "woke up," two policemen that weren't quite human told me to tell them everything I saw in my dream. (They were standing right by bed.)
I thought, No, no, you're dreaming again, and I pulled myself through the tunnel of vision again. Then I saw an image of a scarab, except coppery brown, like a roach, like a painting, haloed in green before a black background.
I told myself, You're dreaming again! I struggled and wrestled mentally to wake up.
Dream 3
I was in a car with my mom. We were in a desert of red, sandstone-chip hills. We had driven off a paved road, which seems to have gone along a very green, black-soil mountainside. I looked at how vast and expansive the dirt road trail was before us.
My mom made reference to a pile of money or a big billfold with money that was either in the backseat or in between us in the front seat. The billfold was black, shiny fake leather. My mom said something like, "That's all I have to give you. And that won't leave me with a lot of money for our trip."
I knew my mom meant we couldn't take the "Chinle" (?) road (it may have been a word-hybrid of "Chinle" and "Lummis") back to town. Even though it was a "shortcut," it was long, on rough, almost nonexistent, "dirt" roads, and the cost of the repairs for the toll the trip would take on my mom's car would be more than the money we'd save on gas and the time we'd save by taking this road instead of the paved road.
I said, "That's okay. I actually think you're right." I was relieved my mom had spoken her mind and that we had decided to take the paved road instead. I looked out at the sandstone desert and thought, I'll get back here someday anyway.
But my mom kept driving on the "shortcut." I wanted to ask her when we were going to turn around and get back to the paved road.
But then -- first I (seem to have seen) another billfold in the road. Then I saw a bird in the sky. From way high it looked like a hawk or even a golden eagle. But when it landed I saw it was a large raven, maybe two feet tall, muscular and round. I was certain this meant death.
I asked my mom when she was going to turn around. She gave me some vague answer about driving in general. But we drove between two small hills that opened on the other side to a downward, curving slope, very lonely and desolate.
A gang of huge burds, no more than ten, stalked along the road. They were huge, maybe four feet tall, though possibly not at first. Possibly at first the birds were like regular vultures. (But possibly at first this desolate, steep slope was also flat, open land.)
But as I noted the birds and looked closer, they definitely were huge, almost featherless, with scales on their necks and heads. Their beaks were long and gross, like fingernails that haven't been clipped, with dirty, black tips. Their eyes were wide and round.
I told my mom, "We need to turn around and get out of here. These birds mean nothing but death. They kill and eat, but they kill because they like being mean. We need to pull out before they get any ideas."
My mom said she'd drive forward to get through them. I said, "No. If you drive forward they'll pop our tires. Then we'll never get anywhere. We need to drive backwards."
We drove backwards for a moment or two. We were in the wide, open plain again. But a couple of the "vultures," one of which was now as tall as an ostrich, and another one (this one away with the others) as stout as (though longer, much longer, than) a gila monster, crinkle-clawed up to our windows.
We were now rolling forward again. I wondered why. We were heading down the hill. The "vultures" were walking along, following us slowly. But I saw a suburban neighborhood butting up against the bottom of the slope.
I couldn't figure it out. We were on a road that was supposed to take us into the heart of the desert -- it was supposed to be so long that my mom couldn't afford to take the trip! But we had gone less than a mile before driving up behind a suburban neighborhood which may well have been home.
But I didn't judge the situation too harshly. I was glad to get away from the "vultures." The only problem was that there were no roads into the neighborhood: just small, narrow, cobble footpaths leading from the backyards to the "road" in the desert.
As we approached the neighborhood I thought, We'll just have to drive on past and keep being pursued by the "vultures." There's no way into the neighborhood. But my mom just drove onto one of the cobble paths, then through a backyard and into a front yard, and onto a clean, black asphalt road.
Slowly I felt awful about having "escaped" the desert. Then I felt really awful. I thought of the birds' heads, especially that of the "gila monster bird."
I saw a couple of small birds on a front lawn that sloped up from the road. The birds were like the desert birds. I told my mom, "The birds in the desert, they weren't vultures. They were -- I can't remember their name. I just saw two!"
I was now in the driver's seat, though I think my mom, in the passenger seat, was still driving.
I said, "Like those!" There were two more birds walking along the edge of a lawn that was raised from the sidewalk by a concrete wall. The first birds had walked in the same direction that our car drove. These birds were now walking against it.
I almost had the name of the birds. I said, "Something with a 'P.'" The birds fanned out their tails. I said, "Oh, no. Not those. Those are peacocks. They symbolize pride. These were not prideful birds. Dad had a ceramic sculpture of one! It had a blue head! It starts with a 'P!'"
I noticed as the car passed that these "peacoks" weren't blue but brown. They shimmered like dachshunds, not like birds.
I now saw the disgusting "vultures" limping along the desert slope in the distance between the two houses, trying to find a way into the suburbs. They were huge, and they were altogether flesh-colored, though they were all scales.
I said, "I have it! They were --"
A couple little girls (there were three little girls suddenly in the backseat. Only two spoke.) said, "Water pheasants!"
I said, "Yes. That's what I was about to say." I felt stupid that the little girls beat me to saying the name of the birds. I said, "How could I have been afraid of little, old water pheasants?" But, I thought, the birds I saw in that first front yard looked like different birds, not pheasants. Like some kind of bird I know and see every day, except not tan.
I turned to my mom and said, "They were vultures, weren't they?"
My mom nodded and said, "Yes."
I may even have been steering -- driving. But my mom was still really driving. I desperately tried to explain why I had felt so threatened. I was trying to justify myself. But now I was also trying to justify myself for also not having been able to come up with the term "water pheasant."
Dream 4
I may have been walking out of a castle in the daylight (silver blue sky) with my friend R and his cousin J. J had been telling us about a haunted castle and a Scottish town that had been destroyed by the plague and then rebuilt over. I asked J some vague questions. Then he asked me some vague questions. J and R were never seen, and they slowly disappeared behind me.
I walked down a steep series of white marble (veinless, more like opaque quartz) steps that clung to a black cliff face. Then each step or group of three or so steps was blocked by short, iron fences with spikes.
I needed to prove to R and J that I wasn't afraid to jump over these fences. So I jumped. But I noticed that each step had iron strips of spikes. I had to position my feet as I landed so my feet kept in between the strips of spikes.
As I jumped down farther and farther, the barriers got worse and worse, iron fences and spikes tangling like vines and shrubs in the woods. I actually landed on one set of steps full of green and beautifully red-pink-leafed ivy.
I don't know if I was tired or just overcome with the increasing difficulty of these steps. But I finally just hunched down, squatted, and huddled tightly, facting out toward the cliff and looking slightly back up the steps.
I told myself, I'm not afraid of this. I'm not afraid.
Now I stood in a driveway at night. The pop singer Beck stood to my left. Beck was now right in my face. He was all shaggy. The purple of the night sky created an aura around him.
Beck said, "Sometimes the songs just come to me. I don't even make an effort. Other times, nothing. And when I try to write something I feel dragged along, like an umbrella on a string."
I thought, What the hell is that supposed to mean? Like a kite? Or a puppet?
Beck now had a rough, thin piece of twine in his right hand, which led to an umbrella stuck under a garbage truck. I understood the image now.
Beck said, "I told my analyst about it, and she just told me XXXXX." (Something really vague and platitudinous, harmfully cheap.)
Now Beck was my friend ML. He said, "I told her, 'Your help is worthless, and I'm not going to let you rip me off like that.' She paid me back $60 of the $100 I paid. But I wanted all of it and more. I got all my $100 back, plus sixty. And you know why? All because of this! And it's our little secret."
He walked away. He wore grey boxer briefs and a grey, tight tank top. He walked up onto the back of the garbage truck, onto a weird platform by the "ladder up." He shouted out something triumphant from the ladder and got onto the platform. The garbage truck was more like an oil tanker with a weird area, lit like a copy machine's glass plate, on the right side.
ML got into the area and stuck his upper body over something like a plastic shelf, where the light was coming from. He pressed some button. At first the shelf lifted him up, with the rest of this strange side area. I had an idea what the thing was going to do. It was going to crush him, like trash gets crushed in the back of a garbage truck.
I stood there and said, "ML, what are you doing? What are you doing?" But I had a good idea of what he was doing.
I tried to convince myself I didn't believe ML was going to crush himself. But, really, I was pretty sure he was going to crush himself. And I wanted to watch. I think I had an inkling that this was a dream, and I wanted to "predict" something bad. I felt bad just watching ML kill himself. But I was really interested.
Now the shelf was smashing ML into the upper part. ML looked at me for a moment, and then the pain became so strong that he put his hands to his head like he was trying to block out a loud sound.
Suddenly everything felt very real. I said, "ML, what are you doing! ML, get out of there! ML, what's going on?!"
I was terrified. Now ML's head was smashed. As it popped open, it looked like the head of a dead baby bird. Blood and flesh popped out of his nose and mouth like spaghetti sauce and stringy chicken flesh.
I screamed, "ML! ML! ML!" In the last scream I extended ML's name and sounded like a coyote howling at the moon.
Sunday, February 19, 2017
(2/21/06) a member of the fire clan
(Entered in paper journal at 6:45 PM at Starbucks on 57th Street and 7th Avenue.)
Dream 1
I lay in bed at night. I had a thermometer in my hand. The bottom, silvery part broke. A graphite-like, smudgy substance coated it. It rubbed all over my thumb. I worried whether I was going to get mercury poisoning.
I eventually was in a theater-like room full of people who were very talented or intelligent. I kept making an idiot out of myself.
Somewhere I saw a whole highway full of speeding cars on fire. The fires joined together and took on an artistic appearance, like a painted line of fire. This stood for something in me.
I was in a steel-encased area like a hallway for moving freight or some people-mover in an airport. Two old, Asian men stood before me.
The painted line of fire was somewhere around me. But it turned into pen marks on my forehead. The pen marks looked more like a crudely drawn mountain range than flames.
The Asian men said this meant I belonged to the Fire Clan. They bent backwards or collapsed slowly.
I was in the theater room. The idea of a Fire Clan was important and frightening.
While people were all around me I jumped up and hit my feet against a square, steel column like a column on a subway platform. I bounced off and "flew" to another column, off which I also bounced. I think my feet shot out steam and then fire. Then they shot out nothing, and it got harder and harder for me to fly.
I stood in front of someone around my age. The person told me that a lot of people knew how to fly in their dreams. I hoped this wasn't a dream. But I felt like even if it weren't a dream, the person had proved I really wasn't special.
Something "pulled" me away. I lay in my bed. I knew then I had been dreaming. But I wasn't sure now whether I was awake. I looked down by my right knee and saw a green light bleeping on and off. I thought, That doesn't happen when I'm awake.
Dream 1
I lay in bed at night. I had a thermometer in my hand. The bottom, silvery part broke. A graphite-like, smudgy substance coated it. It rubbed all over my thumb. I worried whether I was going to get mercury poisoning.
I eventually was in a theater-like room full of people who were very talented or intelligent. I kept making an idiot out of myself.
Somewhere I saw a whole highway full of speeding cars on fire. The fires joined together and took on an artistic appearance, like a painted line of fire. This stood for something in me.
I was in a steel-encased area like a hallway for moving freight or some people-mover in an airport. Two old, Asian men stood before me.
The painted line of fire was somewhere around me. But it turned into pen marks on my forehead. The pen marks looked more like a crudely drawn mountain range than flames.
The Asian men said this meant I belonged to the Fire Clan. They bent backwards or collapsed slowly.
I was in the theater room. The idea of a Fire Clan was important and frightening.
While people were all around me I jumped up and hit my feet against a square, steel column like a column on a subway platform. I bounced off and "flew" to another column, off which I also bounced. I think my feet shot out steam and then fire. Then they shot out nothing, and it got harder and harder for me to fly.
I stood in front of someone around my age. The person told me that a lot of people knew how to fly in their dreams. I hoped this wasn't a dream. But I felt like even if it weren't a dream, the person had proved I really wasn't special.
Something "pulled" me away. I lay in my bed. I knew then I had been dreaming. But I wasn't sure now whether I was awake. I looked down by my right knee and saw a green light bleeping on and off. I thought, That doesn't happen when I'm awake.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
(3/26/09) exploring a childhood neighborhood
(Entered in paper journal at 9:05 AM at Starbucks at 43rd Street and Third Avenue in Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I walked away from one situation/location, possibly one that had involved my family. I was now walking down a road like the road bordering the south end of the small town in which I spent a fair portion of my early childhood and my later high school years.
It was a late afternoon in winter. The sky was pale grey-blue with a band of yellow on the horizon. The yards, sidewalk, and road were all covered in a sheet of snow that seemed even all the way across, maybe a couple inches deep, with a slightly icy crust on top. The sunset light was glowing brightly off all the snow.
I turned right, onto a side block. I was walking down the middle of the street, as if there were no worry of cars coming along. The light of the sky was a mixture of pinks, oranges, yellows, golds, and blues. The snow reflected the pinks and oranges and yellows of the horizon so that it seemed the sky blended directly into the snow.
At some point I realized something was weird about this situation. I didn't quite realize I was dreaming, but I knew I wasn't quite in a normal waking situation. I knew that I'd have to find something to remember, to "bring back" from this strange situation -- like one might bring back "evidence" from a vision, remote viewing session, or out of body experience.
I now recognized this block as being the block where my great grandmother lived. I wanted to find something here that I could come back later and verify. I knew that if I went into my great grandmother's house I could find something, which I could possibly verify later on. But there was a good chance I'd already have known about it. So going into my great grandmother's house wouldn't be very helpful.
I decided instead to go next door, into the house of my cousin B and his wife A. I'd never been in there before. So if I could find out a couple characteristics of their house and "bring them back" with me, I could verify later on that I'd been to this place.
I was kind of flying now. It was something like early morning. There wasn't any snow on the ground, though it was still apparently a winter day. The light was bluish grey. I had, before I'd started flying, been walking north, then east, in the bright snow. Now I was flying to the west.
I flew up to my cousins' house, which was white with blue trim. It seemed like the front screen door was closed, but like the actual front door was open. I went into the house, possibly walking straight through the closed screen door. I knew everybody was in the house, but that they were all still asleep.
I immediately noticed that the floor had all different colors of rugs on it. The rugs all seemed to be of a towel-like, terry cloth fabric, except one portion, which may have been regular carpet. One part of the floor was grey (this may have been the carpet), another part green, another part yellow, and another part red. I stood on the grey portion, in a tiny section of room slightly divided somehow from the rest of the living room.
I may also have seen, at some point, a little bird, like a chickadee, hopping around on the floor to my right.
Looking forward, I could see the living room open into the dining room, which itself may have opened into a room with big windows overlooking the backyard, some kind of common sun room. I told myself to remember the carpet: it was strange.
I then flew, just a couple feet off the floor, into the dining room. There was a large window, almost as wide as the wall, on my right. Near the window was a medium-sized, oval-shaped, wooden table with a couple chairs. The table was scattered with papers like mail.
I thought I'd go back outside. I wasn't really interested in this place. I thought I'd have more fun outside. At first I thought I should go back out the door. But I realized I could just fly through the window. I wasn't sure whether I could do it at first. But I decided to try.
I flew downward, at an angle, toward the window. The window was (now) covered with blinds. I may have flown through the window, then back into the house, then back out the window again. At one point I felt how the blinds "clung" to me a little -- how they almost seemed to clatter along with me as I flew outdoors. I flew over the yard, maybe seven or eight feet in the air, over a fence dividing two yards.
But now it was like I was flying over the yards of the house my family lived in during my last couple years of high school and the house next door to it. I had just flown out of the next door house.
In the yard of that house was some animal, maybe a bird or a dog or a bird that had then become a dog. The animal was either barking or chirping at me. If it was a dog, it was like a bulldog.
I was afraid to land. But I somehow felt like the only way I could continue my investigation was by landing.
Dream #1
I walked away from one situation/location, possibly one that had involved my family. I was now walking down a road like the road bordering the south end of the small town in which I spent a fair portion of my early childhood and my later high school years.
It was a late afternoon in winter. The sky was pale grey-blue with a band of yellow on the horizon. The yards, sidewalk, and road were all covered in a sheet of snow that seemed even all the way across, maybe a couple inches deep, with a slightly icy crust on top. The sunset light was glowing brightly off all the snow.
I turned right, onto a side block. I was walking down the middle of the street, as if there were no worry of cars coming along. The light of the sky was a mixture of pinks, oranges, yellows, golds, and blues. The snow reflected the pinks and oranges and yellows of the horizon so that it seemed the sky blended directly into the snow.
At some point I realized something was weird about this situation. I didn't quite realize I was dreaming, but I knew I wasn't quite in a normal waking situation. I knew that I'd have to find something to remember, to "bring back" from this strange situation -- like one might bring back "evidence" from a vision, remote viewing session, or out of body experience.
I now recognized this block as being the block where my great grandmother lived. I wanted to find something here that I could come back later and verify. I knew that if I went into my great grandmother's house I could find something, which I could possibly verify later on. But there was a good chance I'd already have known about it. So going into my great grandmother's house wouldn't be very helpful.
I decided instead to go next door, into the house of my cousin B and his wife A. I'd never been in there before. So if I could find out a couple characteristics of their house and "bring them back" with me, I could verify later on that I'd been to this place.
I was kind of flying now. It was something like early morning. There wasn't any snow on the ground, though it was still apparently a winter day. The light was bluish grey. I had, before I'd started flying, been walking north, then east, in the bright snow. Now I was flying to the west.
I flew up to my cousins' house, which was white with blue trim. It seemed like the front screen door was closed, but like the actual front door was open. I went into the house, possibly walking straight through the closed screen door. I knew everybody was in the house, but that they were all still asleep.
I immediately noticed that the floor had all different colors of rugs on it. The rugs all seemed to be of a towel-like, terry cloth fabric, except one portion, which may have been regular carpet. One part of the floor was grey (this may have been the carpet), another part green, another part yellow, and another part red. I stood on the grey portion, in a tiny section of room slightly divided somehow from the rest of the living room.
I may also have seen, at some point, a little bird, like a chickadee, hopping around on the floor to my right.
Looking forward, I could see the living room open into the dining room, which itself may have opened into a room with big windows overlooking the backyard, some kind of common sun room. I told myself to remember the carpet: it was strange.
I then flew, just a couple feet off the floor, into the dining room. There was a large window, almost as wide as the wall, on my right. Near the window was a medium-sized, oval-shaped, wooden table with a couple chairs. The table was scattered with papers like mail.
I thought I'd go back outside. I wasn't really interested in this place. I thought I'd have more fun outside. At first I thought I should go back out the door. But I realized I could just fly through the window. I wasn't sure whether I could do it at first. But I decided to try.
I flew downward, at an angle, toward the window. The window was (now) covered with blinds. I may have flown through the window, then back into the house, then back out the window again. At one point I felt how the blinds "clung" to me a little -- how they almost seemed to clatter along with me as I flew outdoors. I flew over the yard, maybe seven or eight feet in the air, over a fence dividing two yards.
But now it was like I was flying over the yards of the house my family lived in during my last couple years of high school and the house next door to it. I had just flown out of the next door house.
In the yard of that house was some animal, maybe a bird or a dog or a bird that had then become a dog. The animal was either barking or chirping at me. If it was a dog, it was like a bulldog.
I was afraid to land. But I somehow felt like the only way I could continue my investigation was by landing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)