oneironaut's dream journal
My late father tries to explain twenty different planes of the Afterworld to me with a stack of peanut butter toast in my cabinet. We can travel there together if I look into his eyes. We do this dream twice so that I will not forget it. I do not remember any of it upon waking. He is drinking whiskey-cokes, which he explains on the twentieth one, you are actually not getting drunk anymore, just rehydryating from the coca-cola. The number twenty is prominent. My mother is there and entranced with a carpet sweeper, and how well it works.
My late grandmother and her daughter (my aunt), also dead, are back from the Underworld for a visit. They bring a sorry- looking cake made of some uncooked pink mush and uncooked mung bean, it is an unleavened sheet cake. They say the “people down there” made it for me. These cockroach-like creatures with praying mantis legs coming running out of it. Some guy that followed my realitives out zaps them with his homemade underworld “bug zapper” a vacuum cleaner that has wires coming out of the points and with a blue flash, will kill the sentient creatures. They scuttle about. My aunt is relieved that my house has so much light, she has not seen light in awhile. She has a sleeping bag with her. I am supposed to go to the Underworld next, I insist it must be with this person who has a hearse or a wagon stuffed with supplies. The house we are all in is a waystation. I am wishing I had a “bug zapper” to take with me and negotiating whether I get to go by myself or in the car when I wake
I meet a man on the side of the road with his car stopped and the door open. He has a talisman of a spaceship in his hand, it has a ruby in the middle and says "Orbit" on it. I tell him this reminds me of an old song I remember from my acid years and I sing it to him. The word orbit is in the song. None of this truly corresponds to waking life.
My husband and I join a ritual at a huge expensive convention center at night. It is led by old men. The leaders peer at us curiously to see if we can perform the ritual correctly, and we do. There are thousands of people there all performing the same ritual which involves incantations and doing a backflip and landing on new legs which are about the size of your leg down to your knee. When we leave the convention center, we file out into the morning dawn with a million other unwitting volunteers. The mere size of this ritual is amazing. When I wake up, I think it has something to do with the powers that be "limiting my growth". What is weird, is that in the dream, I want to prove to them that I can do this, to be like everyone else there.
My husband and I are fairies in the traditional Irish sense, they teach us the secret of changing bodies at will, and this we do, visiting different time frames and spaces all night, from the deep south in late afternoon in the '50's to deep space in the future sometime. We played piano in the south as black kids, we took care of plants in a therapy office and took pictures of the clients, we translated the bible into space language to another race of people. At one point an antenna fell over into another structure, and two people were killed while we witnessed the event, a star carried their bodies to heaven. When I wake, I think I can barely remember the secret, but I lose it to conscious awareness.
I am making an executive decision about Visitors, and the need for Replacements. If the humanoid aliens do not behave humanlike enough, in certain situations, than they need to be replaced with more humanlike bodies. I am striding through time to collect the people that need to be replaced ("Mr. Trevbaugh") with long steps as time swirls around me, the humanoid alien is on the run with fear ahead of me, not wanting to be replaced. It switches to the perspective of Mr. Trevbaugh who is wondering if he will wake up with the new body in the same location and slowly dies in the arms of the Strider, when I awaken.
I am in an industrial building, a nuclear blast is imminent, everyone is "duck and cover"-ing and rushing around, I push past everyone to go outside to meet the blast in the open. I assume the duck and cover position, and am knocked onto my stomach by the blast. I am vaporized by the immense amount of heat, killed instantly in a lying position with my hands under my head, on my stomach. I wake up in this exact position, overheated, in my bed, because we forgot to run our cooler overnight and it is 100 degrees in the height of summer, even at night. A voice in my head says, "Did you like that dream?" . The whole thing is eerie. I cannot cool my body temperature down for a good 5 minutes.
I am sent into what I know is the matrix to get an explosive out of the hands of some menial position people who got it in the first circumstance, we are to run the "program" again, and change the circumstance to where I get the explosive this time, I am supposed to bring the explosive back to the real world. I fail in this task, the matrix is failing as well, the "reality" flashing and becoming garbled. I am stuck in the failing world with no phone to call out. The scenes of the places I am supposed to recover the explosive from are hospital hallways and the matrix starts breaking down in an airport type location. The "bad" guys are after me, taking pieces of their avatar out of them and exposing their "program" to me, everyone else looks normal. It is dark in this dream, and electronic.
I am dreaming of reading a Popular Mechanics magazine that has blurry photos the Secret Service has taken many years ago of Ronald Reagan's head when he has taken off his mechanical ear. It has chips in it. There are also blurry photos of him wearing his mechanical sixth finger. A lady near the magazine, looking over my shoulder, reading with me, says she wants to be there at his grave to take apart the ear and finger to see how they work.
I dream of a jet plane going down for an emergency landing at night. Everyone is ushered off of the plane before it is to explode, except for the lone stewardess giving the instructions to disembark through the emergency exits on the intercom. A close up on her face when I wake up.
I dream of people who are removing algae from their entire house with rake like tools, out of their beige carpet.
Also, I crash into two cars in two different lanes in front of me, and wake up in a wheelchair with a broken leg at the crash scene. The chaos caused by my bad driving is tremendous, bodies are being taken away from the crash scene, and people are still passed out, their heads hanging out of their half open doors. A semi is behind me, all jacknifed on the road, it looks like a scene after a war. A bloody body in a sheet gets carried by. I wake myself up.
I dream of the destruction of the end of the world. Houses are leveled and the devastation is complete. People are piloting planes to get out of the area, though they cannot fly. I am the leader of a gang of people, for the sole reason that I can scream at people the loudest. I am yelling at someone who took a plane up and crashed it on top of a black lady, killing her, the pilot surviving. My gang is backing up my threats with punching. The dream fast forwards to a lady interviewing me about the dream itself, with the voice of my mother, she asks me how I feel about the end of the world, why I am the leader, etc. I tire of the dream, become lucid, and materialize my husband by my side. We walk away from the interview area, he sings a song about, "You have captured my heart on the wings of desire." The lady with my mother's voice says, "I didn't expect that. He smokes the twigs, is he good with the kids, are you sure he's the one for you?" I answer affirmitively. I awaken, blinking, to the view of my husband's sleeping back and all of a sudden I hear a paragraph of German in my head, very loud in a man's voice, the only english word is "Ethnograph" and then a French sentence in a woman's voice, and more German.
I dream of being aboard a crowded spacecraft, they tell me that if I "look into the doctor's eyes" I will be able to identify the aliens from the humans. I do, and all chaos breaks loose. The aliens are only identifiable by their red veins that run through their humanoid bodies. They transfer me to another cargo type ship, where everyone is reading books to pass the time, I wander around, there is dead animals from Africa, still twitching in the cargo bay, a lion and a zebra. There are other North American animals, still alive.
A dream so bizarre I have to wake up, to sleep no more. It does not make this account.
We all have variant lives, variations on the theme of the main life we are dreaming out of. I know because I visit my alternates when I dream. In some of them, my cat is named "Ti ti" short for Tiger, and my child is named "Velvet". These are very close to the real names around my house in this life, but not quite. I was talking to Velvet in my dream tonight, and she said she liked the variables where I was her "pretty" mom, not the ones in which I had chosen an "ugly" body. I think what we were actually discussing was not physical characteristics, but how I speak to her in waking life. She likes it better when I am kinder to her.
May 11th 2011 5:38 am
I was at this meeting (in my ) dream, and my art work was displayed prominently (large) on the walls. It was dark in the room with red curtains. I said (it came to me inspiration) to yell out to the group. "The first thing you must have is KNOWLEDGE STRENGTH WISDOM AND POWER." "IF YOU DON'T THEN LEAVE THE ROOM." Then I turned on the lights and I left! There were many more dreams that night, during which e/o of them I woke up in agreement. One of them was that fall equinox is my equinox.
June 6th 2011
I dream that a famous singer lady with a religious name goes in a horsedrawn carriage through a huge lake at a monstrously fast pace. She emerges nude except for nylons with a credit card, cash, and a gun.
The next dream of the night is better. In a cement river, covered with algae, koi swim. A boy, like a pearl diver is holding his breath to dive down, presumably to catch the fish in his hands. The colors are vivid, the green algae on the cement vs. the orange of the fish, the rectangular canal.
June 7th 2011
I wake up to a voice singing "Game of Monkey" over and over.
Phineas and Sid (ushers) asked me if I would
like to visit Hell. They gave me a
ticket to Hell, and we took and elevator, down down down. I said on the way, if only you could spend
just thirty seconds in my brain, you would see that it was Hell anyway. Phineas then handed me a Express Ticket, with
gold filigreed letters. We went on
another quite fancy elevator, done up in red velvet and gold fixtures. Faster we went down, down, down. I then woke up, thinking that I would never
make it into the same dream again, but curious to see Hell. My mind wanted to know if I was ready. I answered affirmatively, and then I was
through the gate and in the First Level of Hell. It was surprising to me that this was a
beautiful place, like Earth, daylight with a mountain range in the background.
It was HIGHLY populated, like Disneyland, where there is almost no standing room. At the front gate, there were many
contraptions, and a line leading to each one, with people hopeful to get
out. They would stand on the contraption
to be judged and then the worker would pull a lever and the bottom would fall
out from beneath them and they would be condemned to a lower level of hell,
falling straight through. You could hear
their screams as they fell. It was up to
free will if one wanted to be judged or not.
There were picnic tables by the front door, and there I met Rita and her
consort, I do not remember his name, in 15th century garb. The picnic tables were for people who were
bored with wandering around the First Level of Hell, to welcome newcomers as a
cure for boredom. Rita and her boyfriend
had been in the First Level since the 15th century and never got in
line to see if they could get out or be condemned to a lower level. It didn’t look like anyone made it out anyway. The First Level of Hell, though beautiful
(it was now becoming evening) had a stench like fungus, a horrible stench. As I sat on the picnic tables with Phineas
and Sid, and Rita and her boyfriend, surrounded by others, I realized the First
Level of Hell was a place where the subconscious became real. Rita had a negative thought, which then took
physical form in the form of a slug that Phineas had to pull from a hole in his
neck? The slug was long in the color of
snot and as Phineas pulled it out of his body, he shrugged and called it a
“tuglet”, it seemed to be only minor annoyance to him, as if he was used to
much worse. It was enough for me, as
horrified, I woke up with the stench of Hell still in my nose. My mind asked if Iwould like to explore other
levels, was met with a resounding NO and I dreamt of other things all
night. I must add that I am not
someone who in waking life even believes in Hell!!!
We needed a high speed cab . We were looking at a Lynard Skynard album cover with a picture of one earth,
eight earths and eight hundred earths on it.
We entered the cover and followed flying
underneath the eight hundred earths trailing off and as we did, we
happened to look down and realize there were eight hundred other earths under
that. So we looked to the left and right
and above and sure enough eight hundred earths trailing off in all directions. We came to the Mouth and all the earths were
spilling out. Then beyond the level of
parallel earths, there were other objects besides earths, familiar, comforting yet
each unique, different. One shape propelled us back to the Mouth, now we were
traveling UP and said “Don’t be scared let Rabbit explain” …We looked around to
now find traveling out of the Mouth, parallel US-es. Wait a minute, one of us said, “Lord are we
all yours, ?” “ We all yours, We all
yours, “ the words trailed off and repeated until they became a chant. “He won’t answer” said the Rabbit. I woke