(Beginning a dream journal here.  Lucid sections will be in color, comments in parentheses.)

2008 March 27

I am sharing the stage with Johnny Cash, playing my Steinberger. I have never practiced any of the material, but Johnny assures me it is all very simple and I'll catch on, which I do. We are playing to a smallish but very enthusiastic hall.

Johnny introduces Carl Perkins, who comes out for a song. We launch into it and I'm watching Carl's hands to pick up the progression, but we very soon realize that nothing is coming through the PA except for Carl's guitar. We stop, and I start examining cables. We see that somehow our snake got severed. (A snake, for those who don't know, is the grouped cable that allows the sound board to be placed in front of the stage at some distance. It is like the spinal cord of a professional PA system.)

I remember that somebody I came with had a bag of cables and think that maybe we can use them as a quick fix. I start digging around backstage, but every cable I find is damaged. I come across a friends' huge chocolate lab sleeping in back. (In real life, this dog died last weekend.)

In the meantime, Johnny and Carl have found a video game to occupy themselves with as I was looking around, and the crowd has mostly disbursed, so I leave.

(A night full of dreams due to not feeling well.  Only the most recent is decently recalled.)

I am on my way to what I think is a guitar trade show.  I drive down narrow streets until I recognize the hall where it is being held.  I slow down in front of it and hear beeping behind me; there is a man in a van flipping me the bird and apparently cursing me, though I can't hear him.  I speed back up and turn left into a nearby parking lot, noting that the guy passes me by and doesn't turn in behind me.

I walk in and recognize the place as a back hallway of an old local mall.  There is a hall here; I used to go to stamp and coin shows held here as a child.  As I approach doors, I see tables arranged to pay admission.  The doors are closed.  There is a large bulletin board showing all the events, and try as I might I cannot see a guitar trade show there.

I then notice the angry guy coming in the doors, staring right at me.  I brace for whatever might come, but the guy just walks up to the table and says, "I'm in the band."  They let him pass.

A fragment of a young boy trying desperately to pull up the bricks surrounding a pair of flower beds.  There is something really important about him being able to accomplish this, but I'm not allowed to help him and so just watch.

I am in my parents' basement shooting pool. After the table is cleared, I notice while re-racking the balls that they are chipped and cracked.  I realize that this set of balls is about 40 years old.  I take a few of them up to my dad, who is laying on the couch, and show them to him.  He agrees that we need a new set.

(I have the flu.  I was hoping for a lot of remembered dreams and possibly some lucids last night because I spent most of the day yesterday dozing, but I ended up sleeping solidly through the night and only remembered that bit of my last dream.)

I am jamming with part of the band, just doing random improvisational stuff.  Looking around a stairwell, I see T.B., an excellent bass player who has jammed with us before.  He's kind of hiding in a corner, out of sight.  I'm playing bass too, so I walk over to him and say, "We should coordinate something.)  I realize I'm wearing gloves, but find that I can use them to stroke the strings in a way that sounds something like a violin bow.  I find a combination of notes that just sounds amazing and ethereal like this and we begin jamming around it.

Quote from: pete on March 30, 2008, 08:24:48 AMI slow down in front of it and hear beeping behind me; there is a man in a van flipping me the bird and apparently cursing me, though I can't hear him.  I speed back up and turn left into a nearby parking lot, noting that the guy passes me by and doesn't turn in behind me.Do you normally have irate drivers flipping you off? It seems to be pretty common in this state.

No, not so much.  Not that I pay attention to anyway.  Been living here too long.

I am journeying sort of on foot from the far east side.  It is a pleasant enough day.  My mode of transportation is bizarre; it is a toy open-top truck that is self-powered.  I am using it like a powered skateboard.

I head south into an area I am not familiar with and begin to get concerned about how to find my way back to the west side.  I think that it would be no big deal if I were in a car, but if I take a wrong turn and have to double back or make a big loop it will end up taking a LOT more time.  I walk until I spot a huge clock made out of shrubbery and flowers.  It is obviously quite old but still very beautiful.  (There is nothing even remotely like this in Detroit.)  Lots of people are walking around the perimeter of it observing and taking photos.

A man in a white t-shirt with a black mustache approaches me.  He asks if I know the history of the clock, and I reply that I do not.  He tells me something about it that I don't remember, then mentions that he's in the process of walking back to the west side.  I ask if he knows a direct route from where we are.  He says that he has a route planned.  I ask if I might follow him.  He says yes, but he plans on using a variety of transport modes; foot, taxi, limo and more.  I follow after him, wondering if I'll have the money in my pocket to follow him for long.

I follow him down an alley and soon realize we are walking through a laundry room of a tenement.  I ask if he knows where we're going, and he replies that I don't have to follow him if I don't want to.  I follow him out, through a narrow alley, and then we emerge into a street.  Across the street is a gorgeous theater complex.  It includes a set of drive-in theaters and indoor theaters.  The sun is setting on the complex, and I'm wishing I had a camera with me because the way the light was playing on things was just breathtaking.

I am a teenage boy, working in a large, modern shop of some kind.  It is my quitting time, but Mr. M. asks me to go in back and cover the compressors with plastic before I go.  I don't understand why this would be such an urgent need, but I do it anyway.

In the very back of the shop is a huge, complex transfer machine of some kind.  As I split open big plastic bags and drape them over the compressor and drier, another worker comes to thank me.  He explains that they are about to paint this machine and don't want to get paint all over the compressor.  I ask why Mr. M hadn't just said that in the first place - that I would have had no problem with it at all if he had just told me what was going on.  The worker replied, "That's pretty typical of him.  I can't explain it either."

We finish up together and I walk out of the plant's back door.  It is evening, but the building is lit.  It is surrounded by woods.  I am looking for my vehicle, which I expect to be a white SUV of some kind.  I cannot find it, as I walk around to the front scanning the lot.

The front of the building is a showroom for a variety of off-road vehicles.  They range from things that are so big the axles are over my head down to a range of bicycles.  The last bicycle is very unusual, with a wide belt that wraps entirely around the back tire - like a bicycle with a tank tread.

Sitting in the far corner near the last bike is an elegantly dressed middle-aged woman who seems to be a sales rep.  As I pass, she scowls at me and says, "You aren't man enough for THIS bike."

Quote from: pete on April 03, 2008, 06:03:14 AMSitting in the far corner near the last bike is an elegantly dressed middle-aged woman who seems to be a sales rep.  As I pass, she scowls at me and says, "You aren't man enough for THIS bike."ugh, DCs can be such bitches sometimes! Not a good attitude for a sales rep, anyway.

Did you actually go to coin and stamp shows as a kid? I did for a few years with my Dad. Had got me interested in collecting both. I still have a bunch of coins but don't go out of my way to buy any these days. But my stamp collection was given to Dad a long time ago.

If you're still sick, I hope you stay away from me get better soon.

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Quote from: Oneironaught on April 04, 2008, 12:14:34 AMDid you actually go to coin and stamp shows as a kid? I did for a few years with my Dad. Had got me interested in collecting both. I still have a bunch of coins but don't go out of my way to buy any these days. But my stamp collection was given to Dad a long time ago.

If you're still sick, I hope you stay away from me get better soon.

I am doing WAY better, thank you!  It's been a touch-and-go week though.  It's been nice to have a "couch activity" like working on Mortal Mist!

Yes, I used to go to stamp and coin shows.  I have a huge stamp collection that was started by my father in the 1920's, but haven't maintained it since I was a kid.

We did anything for entertainment!  If it looked even remotely interesting and was a good way to blow a half a Saturday, we'd go.

Quote from: Moonbeam on April 04, 2008, 06:59:44 AMI know he's gonna dream up a useful invention someday.  If he hasn't already.

Yeah... I probably already have.  You'd be surprised at the things I solve in my sleep.  I solved the scrolling problem here in my sleep the other night after being completely stumped by it.

(Just an administrative note here; while my alter-ego has done a commendable job, his work here is done for now and I'm taking my dream journal over from here on out.  If it isn't obvious, 'pete' is a user account I have for testing and shaking things down.  After a few comments at DV about how different I seemed to be as an admin, I thought it a good idea to reserve the pj account just for admin stuff and make my presence here 'pete'.  I don't like it, and now that we actually have some membership it seems silly to be confusing anybody.  So we'll call that experiment a 'fail'.)

(A night full of dreams with a moment of lucidity.  I won't recount every detail of every dream - there isn't time.)

I am at my parents' house in the old neighborhood.  I am in the garage with my two sisters, and I pull out a big old Evans bicycle.  My two sisters get on with me, one on the seat and one on the rack.  As I start peddling slowly, I hit patches of ice and soon my sister P., far in the back, falls off.  She shouts a few angry words and heads back to the folks' place.

M. and I continue on, circling a couple of blocks and chatting as we go.  Soon we find ourselves dead-ended in a big corn field that I never remembered being there.

I am at my parents' neighbor's house, sitting at their basement bar.  I have a 'dream memory' of a big party of some kind the night before that was raided here.  Looking around, I notice big glass jars full of old-fashioned ball candy, but each jar has a sticky note on it with a price.  The cheapest was $12.  I realized that these candies were a way of distributing drugs.

I am driving in my '66 Lincoln Continental, pursuing somebody in a compact car through an inner city area.  The streets are narrow and he makes it worse by often heading down tight alleys that my Lincoln will barely fit through.

He makes a sudden turn into a huge building of some kind.  I follow and find we are in a paved tunnel, just barely two lanes.  Behind me now is a semi-driver, tailgating me.  We come to a very sharp descent and the guy I am chasing doesn't even hesitate.  I stop at the top, knowing my brakes are soft and sometimes unreliable.  The truck driver pulls up alongside of me and asks if we should go look it over before trying it.  I am concerned about having blocked the road off completely but agree.

As we walk down the steep incline, the driver talks about how many years he has been driving this circuit, and how he'd be rich if he had chosen a different route going through Oklahoma.  We eventually get to the bottom and find a mechanical shop.  The car blasting through had scattered tools and toolboxes about in the way, so the two of us clean that up and make a clear way through.

We walk back to the top and I'm still concerned about my brakes, so the truck driver goes first.

I am on a rooftop of a tall building in an inner city.  I see something cross my vision and shoot off into the distance.  I run to the edge of the building and look down on a beautifully groomed courtyard and out on the skyline and become lucid.

. . . and wake up almost instantly.

Quote from: pj on April 05, 2008, 09:04:13 PM(So we'll call that experiment a 'fail'.)

Agreed.  Both pete and the avatar are :thumbsdown:  I like pj much better.  And the nose wiggling dog is the best!

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Lucky, you've got tinnitus to help you!

Just soda, as far as I know.

(No recall on waking, but this came to me later. . . )

I am visiting the home of T.,  a drummer I worked with decades ago.  I approach his front door in Detroit, not knowing if he even lives there anymore.  There is a "memory" of having done this before and leaving disappointed.

I hear a woman inside, shouting at kids.  She opens the door, looks at me and says my full name, smiling.  I'm invited inside.  T. is there, sitting in a big overstuffed chair in the front room, listening to the stereo and smoking dope.

I sit with him for a while.  Soon G. shows up - it turns out T.'s wife called him to let him know I had shown up.  T. invites us to stay the night, but it turns out that G. and I are expected to share a bed.  It is a small bed, and even with us laying in opposite directions clearly isn't going to work.  I leave the bed to him and find a spot on the floor.

Quote from: pj on January 20, 2009, 07:29:34 AM(No recall on waking, but this came to me later. . . )

I am visiting the home of T.,  a drummer I worked with decades ago.  I approach his front door in Detroit, not knowing if he even lives there anymore.  There is a "memory" of having done this before and leaving disappointed.

I hear a woman inside, shouting at kids.  She opens the door, looks at me and says my full name, smiling.  I'm invited inside.  T. is there, sitting in a big overstuffed chair in the front room, listening to the stereo and smoking dope.

I sit with him for a while.  Soon G. shows up - it turns out T.'s wife called him to let him know I had shown up.  T. invites us to stay the night, but it turns out that G. and I are expected to share a bed.  It is a small bed, and even with us laying in opposite directions clearly isn't going to work.  I leave the bed to him and find a spot on the floor.

I wonder how that dream would have gone if it were a woman rather than G?

Probably not much different.  It depends on whether the dream is taking place in "time" when I'm married or not.  I've been quite faithful to my wifeling in my dream life, both lucid and non.

Quote from: pj on January 20, 2009, 09:50:58 AMProbably not much different.  It depends on whether the dream is taking place in "time" when I'm married or not.  I've been quite faithful to my wifeling in my dream life, both lucid and non.

I wonder if that demonstrates how certain you are about your values.  (And how uncertain I must be  )

I don't know that it is either, B.U.  Our dreams are our dreams.  The fact that we share them at all here is kinda weird, when you think about it.

I believe there are things that can be gleaned from our dreams through interpretation, but I don't think our core values is one of them.  I've killed in my dreams, for example, both lucid and non-lucid.  I'd never do that IRL.

Quote from: pj on January 20, 2009, 01:00:55 PMI don't know that it is either, B.U.  Our dreams are our dreams.  The fact that we share them at all here is kinda weird, when you think about it.

I believe there are things that can be gleaned from our dreams through interpretation, but I don't think our core values is one of them.  I've killed in my dreams, for example, both lucid and non-lucid.  I'd never do that IRL.

To take your point further, although you have killed in dreams, have you killed e.g. your wife?  I think I'd feel much worse about that than about having sex with a DC.  The only dream I can remember when I killed recently, I felt really bad then and it was an unknown DC.

I think core values could well be elicited through dreams.  But not like a moral code.  More like what important to us in relation to others.  What we actually do and what we would do if nobody would ever know about it can be two different things.  Well, they are for me!

This is very thought provoking for me - hope it's not taking up too many bytes of your DJ!

Quote from: Burned up on January 20, 2009, 04:54:24 PMThis is very thought provoking for me - hope it's not taking up too many bytes of your DJ!

Certainly not taking up too much space.  I'm enjoying the conversation, and we have a LOT of hard drive space.

(Butting into conversation.)

So do you think you are more responsible for your actions when you're lucid or non-lucid?  Does the non-lucid dream show the "real self", while the lucid dream doesn't count because we know it's a dream and therefore not real?  Or the other way around?

I don't think either counts for much, morality-wise.  Non-lucids surely don't count we all know we've done things there is no way we would do IRL in those.  And lucids are just one step up from imagination, really, and hardly ever are we even fully conscious.

Bu, I don't think dreams show that you are uncertain about your values, or anybody.  There are no such thing as thought-crimes, IMO, and that's all dreams are, thoughts and imagination.  So you dream about killing somebody or having sex with somebody inappropriate--according to dream-interpretation stuff, that probably means something totally different, right?  (I don't put a lot of meaning into the interpretation stuff either, but if you do, I mean.)

(Interrupting the conversation momentarily for a brief return to normal programming, such as it is. . . )

Fragment about being in a smallish ski lodge late at night.  I go to the common room hoping to have some time to sit quietly, but find the area full of people and activity.

(Unless I start writing dreams during the night, it is likely that little will be recorded here for the foreseeable future.  I'm dreaming a lot, but wake to a mind immediately occupied with the needs and cares of the day.  I lost everything from the night.

This is not affecting my ability to sleep, thankfully.)

Quote from: Moonbeam on January 20, 2009, 07:52:57 PM(Butting into conversation.)

You're walways welcome

QuoteBu, I don't think dreams show that you are uncertain about your values, or anybody.  There are no such thing as thought-crimes, IMO, and that's all dreams are, thoughts and imagination.  So you dream about killing somebody or having sex with somebody inappropriate--according to dream-interpretation stuff, that probably means something totally different, right?  (I don't put a lot of meaning into the interpretation stuff either, but if you do, I mean.)

Well I really don't know if core values are like, objects in our mind which we can isolate, and are available to dreams as well as RL.  When pj says he is faithful in his dreams, is this to do with values or something else?

When I have sex in dreams it's usually led by my desires (or libido, if you like).  But desire for what?  It could be simply our hard-wired desire for sex affecting our dreams.  Or it could be something else.  But what I do find interesting is to consider how I feel when doing something innapropriate in dreams.  I think this reveals our fantasies and what we are perhaps capable of doing if our values do NOT get in the way.

Quote from: pj on January 22, 2009, 05:51:05 AM(Unless I start writing dreams during the night, it is likely that little will be recorded here for the foreseeable future.  I'm dreaming a lot, but wake to a mind immediately occupied with the needs and cares of the day.  I lost everything from the night.

This is not affecting my ability to sleep, thankfully.)

Yes, I recognise that.  One of Naiya's threads in the Dream Yoga workshop addressed this.  But it's so hard to wake up and just lie in that open trouble-free dream state.  Focusing my attention onto something external like a ticking clock helps, although this is counter-intuitive as it diverts my attention away from trying hard to recall the dream which in any case is often a poor strategy for actually recalling one.

I posted the sketch of a couple of those dream statues from a couple weeks back in The Wall:

http://mortalmist.com/forum/index.php/topic,1713.msg47231.html#msg47231

Quote from: Burned up on January 22, 2009, 08:00:23 AMYou're walways welcome Wanks.

QuoteWell I really don't know if core values are like, objects in our mind which we can isolate, and are available to dreams as well as RL.  When pj says he is faithful in his dreams, is this to do with values or something else? I don't know.  Could partly be a matter of habit too; it seems like things are so self-reinforcing in dreams.  I'm reading "Lucid Dreaming" by Robert Waggoner, and he warns against pursuing too much pleasure in lucids, lest you become like the lotus eaters, and never have any real purpose ever again.   (Oh no, it may be too late for me.)

This is not an analysis of anybody at all, but it could be that it's not really a matter of values, but a matter of what somebody has the most fear that they may be capable of doing.  So immoral things might come up just as often as for someone else who has the same values, but some people are extra on-guard against it, and are averse to it before they even let it start.   Like an ex-smoker has a horror of starting smoking again.  A non-smoker doesn't want to smoke either, but only one of those two has a real fear and dread of it actually happening, and might avoid situations where it could happen.  Same morals, but two different responses to the situation.

QuoteWhen I have sex in dreams it's usually led by my desires (or libido, if you like).  But desire for what?  It could be simply our hard-wired desire for sex affecting our dreams.  Or it could be something else.  But what I do find interesting is to consider how I feel when doing something innapropriate in dreams.  I think this reveals our fantasies and what we are perhaps capable of doing if our values do NOT get in the way. But only if the logical parts of our minds are shut off too, like in dreams.

Quote from: pj on January 22, 2009, 05:51:05 AM(Unless I start writing dreams during the night, it is likely that little will be recorded here for the foreseeable future.  I'm dreaming a lot, but wake to a mind immediately occupied with the needs and cares of the day.  I lost everything from the night.

This is not affecting my ability to sleep, thankfully.)

All you have to do is write a couple key words during the night; the whole dream will come back to you.  But of course not if it interferes with your sleep.

I am wandering my parent's neighborhood and find a house in the back corner of the subdivision that is for sale.  The landscaping is gorgeous and looks long established.  The home is open for inspection.  I walk in.

The house would have been very modern in the 50's or 60's - ranch style, with low, sloping angles.  The interior is one very large open space, cleverly divided by partial walls so that the bedrooms are not in sight even though there are no doors.  The floor is divided into different levels as well, though none are more than a step up or down.  The roof space is cathedral-style and open from one end of the house to the other - the walls serve only as dividers and do not bear any load.

I walk out a back door into the lush yard and follow a flagstone path a short distance to a long red brick building that serves both as a garage and a shop.  The garage has carriage-style doors, and will accommodate two cars.  The shop is separated by a wall, and would be big enough to consolidate our shop into, though perhaps a bit cramped.

I return home and discuss the possibility of purchasing the house.  We figure that we could afford it if we gave up the shop and moved it into the back of the garage, using the money we spend on the building for a mortgage payment.

(Brief lucid nap!)

I am in my teens, laying on a chaise lounge in the driveway of my childhood home.  I hear a car pull up in front of the house, but cannot open my eyes.  Recognizing the dream sign, I do a nose RC and know I'm dreaming.

I stand up and still cannot open my eyes.  Walking into the attached garage, I finally get them to open.  My folks' early 70's red Buick wagon is parked to my right, and the other half of the garage is empty.  I walk to the door to the house and attempt to walk through it, but find I am being stopped by the frame of the door even though I easily pass my arms through the heavy inner door.  I keep trying to get through and cannot.

I turn around and see a young lady with light red hair wander by.  She seems very familiar, so I follow her to a couch that now just happens to have appeared in the garage.  She sits down, and I sit next to her. . .

And wake.

(I did an earlier WBTB.  If there were results, they are gone.  I woke with zero recall this morning and spent considerable time laying very still trying to pull in the one tiny thread, which involved playing bass.  Nothing.)

No fragments about swimming up a river in the form of a fish...?

I sort of had it in mind, but it got all mixed up.   So don't worry, I wasn't waiting around too long for you!

Quote from: Moonbeam on May 03, 2009, 11:52:19 AMNo fragments about swimming up a river in the form of a fish...?

I sort of had it in mind, but it got all mixed up.   So don't worry, I wasn't waiting around too long for you!

None that I remember.

That dream was hilarious, Moonbeam!  I had a long, hearty laugh from it - that left me feeling warm and wonderful.  Thank you.

(No recall again.  I tried a short WBTB five hours in, and had no recall then either.  I'm going to lay off a couple nights. . . "try easier", as they say in the muzik biz.)

I am visiting a couple who have been friends with my parents since WWII, C. and S.  C. has been dead a long time.  It is great to see him, but something seems slightly wrong with him.  This is, of course, a dream, so I try to will him normal.  He looks a little better, but still seems to be somewhat vacant - he used to have an amazingly energetic and humorous personality. . . this guy seems somewhat catatonic.

There is a young lady, (my age, which seems to be about 18 or so,) dressed in a beautiful knee-length dress consisting of layers of different fabrics.  She is gorgeous, and seems to know me, which is delightful.  My mom wants to take a picture of us together, so we put our arms around each other and smile as mom gets her camera out and snaps a shot.  She smells good and feels great, and she holds me close.  I turn and look her in the eye, thinking that we might just need to make everybody else disappear for a while.  She smiles coyly as if reading my thoughts.

I ask her how long she has been here - she says she's lived with C. & S. since she was three.  I know that's not so, but don't want to break the magic moment so I don't say anything.  She turns and walks away, again as if realizing I knew.  She leaves the room.

That's OK - I want to try talking to C.  He is now sitting next to his fireplace.  I ask what is wrong with him, but he just stares at me.  I again try to will him normal, but he begins to change into somebody younger who remains unresponsive.  I try to encourage him by inviting him to shoot some pool with my dad and me, then I give up.

Looking around, I decide to go find the young lady.  My dog is laying in a chair. . . she's not supposed to be on the furniture, but this is a dream, so it is OK. . . and I see a black shawl thrown over the back of it.  It is hers, so I grab it but find there is an umbrella tangled in it, which falls out on the dog and upsets her.  I tell her not to worry about it, because it is a dream.

Then I can't find the door she left through.

I am in a common area in a school.  Somebody is trying to kill the principle, and I watch as they work with a stack of weird, flashing disc-shaped grenades.  The woman places two of them before I reveal myself.  She disappears, along with the rest of her grenades.

A teacher was also aware of what was going on.  He grabs the two grenades and throws them in a metal bucket, then puts a chair over them.  They explode, but the bucket and chair absorb all the impact.  He tells me to wait here while he goes for help and to warn the principle.

I'm standing there next to the smoldering chair and bucket when a hall monitor comes by, wanting to know why I'm not in class.  I try to explain what is going on, but she doesn't believe me.  I point to the bucket and chair, but they don't convince her either - she thinks they are just diversions to distract her from her job of busting me for skipping.

Quote from: pj on May 04, 2009, 07:27:13 AM(No recall again.  I tried a short WBTB five hours in, and had no recall then either.  I'm going to lay off a couple nights. . . "try easier", as they say in the muzik biz.)

Yea, me too.  When I start getting mad every time I wake up cuz I missed the DS's, it's time to forget about it for a while.  Til Friday anyway.

Quote from: pj on May 04, 2009, 06:17:16 PMI am visiting a couple who have been friends with my parents since WWII, C. and S.  C. has been dead a long time.  It is great to see him, but something seems slightly wrong with him.  This is, of course, a dream, so I try to will him normal.  He looks a little better, but still seems to be somewhat vacant - he used to have an amazingly energetic and humorous personality. . . this guy seems somewhat catatonic. It's hard to fix dead.

QuoteThere is a young lady, (my age, which seems to be about 18 or so,) dressed in a beautiful knee-length dress consisting of layers of different fabrics.  She is gorgeous, and seems to know me, which is delightful.  My mom wants to take a picture of us together, so we put our arms around each other and smile as mom gets her camera out and snaps a shot.  She smells good and feels great, and she holds me close.  I turn and look her in the eye, thinking that we might just need to make everybody else disappear for a while.  She smiles coyly as if reading my thoughts.

I ask her how long she has been here - she says she's lived with C. & S. since she was three.  I know that's not so, but don't want to break the magic moment so I don't say anything.  She turns and walks away, again as if realizing I knew.  She leaves the room. Well, maybe you didn't want to change anything because you liked it the way they were.  I so rarely slow down in lucids and just enjoy them.  I do sometimes, but not often enough.  Maybe that's what you were doing.

QuoteThen I can't find the door she left through.[/color]

Sometimes in dreams it's weird when you know a barrier has been reached.

It sounds like you were lucid to me--nothing weird distracted you, like so often happens to us in regular dreams.  I see you're counting it; I think you should.  Oh, I know--it's like my blue semi-lucids, I bet--yes, where you know it's a dream, but you just totally go with the flow.

Quote from: Moonbeam on May 05, 2009, 10:18:26 PMIt's hard to fix dead.

There is something deliciously wrong in that observation, Moonbeam.

I am (again) in the military.  My troop is celebrating the end of training, gathered in a hall and enjoying a reception.  Well into the party, I am pulled aside by some top brass and told that one of our troop is planning on endangering a very important part of what will become our work.  I'm told he is working with an outsider, who is this very afternoon going to be passing him something that he can use to contaminate our birds.

I am given the job of shadowing him, witnessing the hand-off and then arresting him and the outside contact.  I am given a very small rifle and a handgun and sent on my way.

I follow the guy through the base and just outside the gates, to a park area with a big fountain.  My old friend M. spots me here and rushes over to greet me.  I'm glad to see him, but also irritated that I'm on the job and he is distracting me.  Before I know it, I've lost my mark.  Looking around desperately, I now wish I had gotten a better look at the guy's face earlier on, because I was just shadowing him by general appearance and by not losing sight of him.

I tell M. what is going on.  He points across the park, through the fountain, and says he thinks that the guy sitting on the other side is the guy I was following.  I take off my coat and give it to M. to hold so I can move easier, thank him and continue my pursuit.  Before I even get close, another man approaches the seated soldier and they walk together back to an alley between some buildings.

I follow along and stop when I can hear their conversation.  They are discussion the plan, which is to infect our homing pigeons with a bird flu and kill them.  He has given the soldier a plastic container filled with bad bird seed.

I make my appearance, brandishing my small rifle.  The outsider begins running, so I take aim and shoot him in the shoulder.  The damned rifle is too small though - it has no real stopping power.  I hit him, but he keeps running, as the soldier continues walking toward me in a threatening way.  I tell him I will shoot, but he doesn't seem to believe me.  He keeps talking, trying to convince me that he is doing the best thing for the world.  I take quick aim and hit the cohort square in the middle of the back, and the guy goes down.  The soldier rushes at me, so I spin and hit him in the shoulder, but it doesn't even slow him down.  I end up emptying my clip into him.

He hobbles back to the building and drops down near the wall, bleeding profusely.  I'm really angry that he's made me kill him, and especially that I had to do it with such a lousy weapon and in such a painful way.  I yell at him, "I hope you enjoy your last few minutes of life.  This wasn't necessary."

I think about the handgun, about maybe taking all but one round out of it and giving it to the guy so he can put himself out of his misery.  With a start, I realize it was in the pocket of the jacket I handed to M., and I'm afraid it maybe fell out of the pocket because of the way he was carrying it.  I reach into my pocket and find it though.  I realize that if I give the handgun to the soldier even with one round, he'd probably shoot me with it, so I turn my attention to trying to get somebody to call the military police and an ambulance, even though I know the guy has been hit far too many times to survive.

That pesky shadow! Way to show him..

Quote from: pj on May 06, 2009, 05:53:55 AMQuote from: Moonbeam on May 05, 2009, 10:18:26 PMIt's hard to fix dead.

There is something deliciously wrong in that observation, Moonbeam.

That sounds funny to me, you're making me laugh.

Quote from: pj on May 06, 2009, 06:08:36 AMI am (again) in the military.  My troop is celebrating the end of training, gathered in a hall and enjoying a reception.  Well into the party, I am pulled aside by some top brass and told that one of our troop is planning on endangering a very important part of what will become our work.  I'm told he is working with an outsider, who is this very afternoon going to be passing him something that he can use to contaminate our birds. Yea, why are you always in the military lately.

"Contaminate your birds?"  Is that some kind of lingo, or are you using carrier pigeons in this army?

QuoteI follow along and stop when I can hear their conversation.  They are discussion the plan, which is to infect our homing pigeons with a bird flu and kill them.  He has given the soldier a plastic container filled with bad bird seed. Oh I guess I should read the whole thing before commenting.

QuoteI think about the handgun, about maybe taking all but one round out of it and giving it to the guy so he can put himself out of his misery.  With a start, I realize it was in the pocket of the jacket I handed to M., and I'm afraid it maybe fell out of the pocket because of the way he was carrying it.  I reach into my pocket and find it though.  I realize that if I give the handgun to the soldier even with one round, he'd probably shoot me with it, so I turn my attention to trying to get somebody to call the military police and an ambulance, even though I know the guy has been hit far too many times to survive.

Hmm.  Strange dream.  Realistic, with the ability to shoot and people really getting hurt.

Quote from: Baphomet on May 06, 2009, 06:38:04 AMThat pesky shadow! Way to show him..

Yeah - that's me.  Mr. Stealth, they call me in certain circles.  (But not any IRL.)

Quote from: Moonbeam on May 06, 2009, 07:30:27 AM  That sounds funny to me, you're making me laugh. Good.  Knowing that makes me smile, which is fair exchange for the nice laugh I had this morning when reading that comment.

QuoteYea, why are you always in the military lately. That's a very good question.

The draft was over before I was 18, but I grew up horrified at the idea of being pressed into military service.  Everything about the lifestyle is repulsive to me, though I do honor, respect and appreciate those whose paths lead them in that direction.  That is one direction I have never even remotely considered IRL.

QuoteOh I guess I should read the whole thing before commenting. I didn't get it when it first came up in the dream either.  It was only later that it made sense.

QuoteHmm.  Strange dream.  Realistic, with the ability to shoot and people really getting hurt. Yeah. . . it was also very vivid, and happened right before I did WBTB - though I didn't take any notes then.  It was all still there when I woke this morning.

I had no recall of anything following the WBTB.

Quote from: pj on May 06, 2009, 07:40:27 AMYeah. . . it was also very vivid, and happened right before I did WBTB - though I didn't take any notes then.  It was all still there when I woke this morning.

I had no recall of anything following the WBTB.

That's exactly what happened to me too.  Sort of an accidental wBTB, but the dream was before that, and totally recalled.  (See what I did in the melatonin thread.)

I did take melatonin last night!

Huh.

Hmmm.  And I took more than usual.

I'll do it again this weekend.

Awesome lucid pj! And you got another dreamer to talk to you while there. One gold cup coming up at the start of next month.

Nice dream!

Wow, damn good one PJ.

Tell you what, I'll trade you one experiment lucid for one Venus visit any day.

See me, my SC would have been too literal. I would have fried upon entry

That was great!  I love how clear-thinking you were, realizing what direction you needed to go, and all the details, especially the temperatures.  Very interesting!  I'm sorry I wasn't there (that I recall.)

OK, I really want to try the rocking thing now!

Thanks for the nice comments, everybody.  It really was an amazing dream for me.

The rocking thing was something I used to pretend to do at night as a child.  I thought that if I did it right, I could rock the whole world.  It is just the slightest motion back and forth, feeling for the resonant response like you would get if you were sitting in a swing and just shifted your weight ever so slightly - the mass responds by pushing back at a certain instant, and then you shift the other way adding to the motion.

When I speak of "motion" though, it is almost an imaginary motion.  It is so slight that you can just barely sense yourself move - but as the resonant rhythm grows, so does the sense that your bed or the entire planet is shifting with you.

When everything works, I eventually "pop" out of my body at the end of one of the swings.