Tag Archives: dreams

Dream Journal [Free Write]

11 May

Three distinct dreams last night.

  1. I am with a friend, brushing my teeth, and the more I brush the more that seaweed falls from my mouth, intact and floating, fall like autumn leaves.
  2. I am with the same friend in a different setting. We have one can of Progresso vegetable and barley soup, the type with the wrap around blue label adorning the classic aluminium can. I unwrap and unwrap the label, knowing that something is underneath. After 3 and a half unwrap I find the hidden secret printed on the very back: a treasure map, and the adventure begins.
  3. I think of the word trepidation. I do not know the definition in my dream, but I am imagining the harmony from dissonance, internal hesitation due to unknown, unseen factors, moving in odd ways due to dark matter that you have to navigate around using intuition as an internal compass rose to see the sun. When I wake up, I look up the formal definition:

trep·i·da·tion Noun /ˌtrepiˈdāSHən/
Synonyms:
noun: tremble, tremor, anxiety, alarm, fear

  1. A feeling of fear or agitation about something that may happen
    • the men set off in fear and trepidation
  2. Trembling motion
  3. a feeling of alarm or dread
  4. Trepidation as used in the field of astronomy means an imagined oscillation of the equinoxes. It should not be confused with precession. In precession, the equinoxes appear to move slowly through the ecliptic, completing a revolution in approximately 25,800 years (according to modern astronomers).
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Dream Journal Free Write

22 Jul

Dream Journal Free Write

Last night I had a dream epiphany.

Over the course of my life, and underlying theme and realization across dreams is the appearance of a pen with red ink.

During my dream, I realized I was realizing this in a dream when I lifted the veil of dream illusion and saw a pen with red ink was writing it out. This scared the crap out of me. I felt like a puppet, where I was controlled unbeknownst to me throughout the course of my dream when I really focused ( and I still believe this to be true because it is true the pen with red ink is all over my waking sleep). My dream analysis in my dream is this was a split of my personality. The red ink pen was interpreted like a student. It is my self-criticism writing and expressing my deviations from ideal. Upon waking and reflecting on this dream, however, the God-fearing the epiphany inspired in me and puppetry sensation and what I saw was a glimpse at the predestination predetermination fate and collective unconscious level.

Before I feel asleep I was thinking about synchronicity: Carl Jung’s theory of acausal parallelism.

After the red ink dream.

Play this song while you read about the second dream. I listened to it on repeat yesterday, and when I turned it back on again today, the colors and spirit of the song bled into the same residual sentiment of my dream.

Bigger Than My Body [John Mayer, Heavier Things, 2003}

Dream #2: A narrative type of dream, again like two night ago, it stuck me as unusual because it was in the first person and a narrative.  The first dream of the night latent with symbols and thinking outside myself is more my typical dream. Or perhaps, the type of dream I awake with a memory of experiencing for that very reason. Regardless, my narrative dream:

Valentines Day. I was at the bay of a large body of water, a river I am supposing because of the bridge that crossed it was in the distance. A very foggy and cool crispy day, and yet, the sky was cloudless. Dreary grey February. Many people, my family and other city folk who filled the spaces, were hanging out at the bay. There was a sky writer. Valentines day. There was already some writing in the sky from one love to another, and seemingly out of nowhere, another daring  sky writer appeared. He wrote in humongous capital letters, dropping  hundreds of feet to assert the message in perfect script. He was writing my name: E. M. I. L…..suddenly, the earlier letters fogged together and he started to finish the name he was actually writing: Elana. The last letter was A. He plunged down from the top going to make the bottom line, and BOOM! The plane ignited on fire and exploded in front of all of the waterfront onlookers.  The planes torpedoed into the river and the pilot, tangled in his own parachute, splashed along with the smoldering hunk of metal and propellers.

One moment later, he appeared. Walking out of the water like his legs grew the length to match its depth, be began walking towards the shore, unscathed. I ran and rushed to meet him, asking if he needed anything, an ambulance, anything. A long procession of children carrying memorial plane scraps in two single filed lines were walking behind him (where did they come from?) and a posse of people from the sky writing company brushed me off:” Silly girl, we have procedure for this you know, he is fine, just an accident, and did you see the form of those letters, he almost finished, Perfect!” They were women and men with blonde hair and those cell phone that attach to your face hands free in grey formal business attire. I watched the process of children following them arise from the river, and I awoke.

Strange Awakening

24 Jun

Today, my consciousness began before I awoke. What strange dreams! I can recall a few dreams, but the last of the intermittent scenes strikes me as most peculiar. I was at a hotel conference, staring at a sign that advertised the next convention. This sign neither stated the purpose nor the discourse of the convention, only the location. I gained awareness that I was dreaming, and focused in on the sign. The sign spelled its message in perfect English, but somehow I knew the letters were scrambled. Within the string of cities was a hidden word, misspelled but purposefully so so it would remain hidden to viewers. At a glance the sign stated: Next Convention: Olympia & Vancouver.

My laser-like vision pulled the letters further apart, and I watched the hidden word shake and break free from its shackles, vibrating and thus, I imagine, simmering itself an ember red font. Eventually, the sign read: Next Convention: Olympia & Vanc[oracle]ver. For what felt like ten minutes, I tried to untangle the word oracle, and the letters, obedient as they are, flipped and switched until the sign read: Next Convention: Olympia & Vanc[oregon]uver.

Lightning struck and seized me from sleep. I sat upright erect, awake as day, and my right hand , knowing where it was going, bolted to press against my temporal lobe. With my hand fused to a point behind my right ear. My lips followed the lead of my hand, knowing what they wanted to say: “Temporal lobe seizure.”

Awake, intrigued, and hoping to catch the tail end of sun rise, I got up and began to research temporal lobe seizures. Synchronicity propelled me in this intuitive path, for the relevancy of all that I read tied into recent events and interests of mine. The spot I clutched is mapped in the following image, labeled ‘temporal lobe.’ This spot is what neuroscience has deemed ‘the God spot’, and such simple seizures are not all that uncommon. In fact, Lewis Carol, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and Edgar Allen Poe all experienced such seizures. It just so happens that I have been reading Poe and watched a documentary (which didn’t mention his seizures) on Poe a few days ago, and Dostoevsky has provided me with a wealth of meaningful philosophic perspectives in his works, since I discovered his works a few months ago.

The Following Link provides more information about Temporal Lobe Seizures:

Ellen White\’s Head Injury

Interim Dream Journal

27 May

Lucid. Gradually, Lucid.

The dream began through my eyes in first person narrative and I died.

Dying and reawakening was confusing because when I came back to (from a coma in the hospital), I remembered being dead and through trying to reconnect and capture the memory of my death, I began to a crew all meta-cognitive functions while still in my dream. My perspective shifted from first person to their person, where I saw my body, had seamless access to the thought inside that body that were simultaneously flowing in my mind, but I was a soul and had no finger to point at lack of body. I relived the scene of my death. I was lucid and I knew it.

The dream felt like a thousand years long. I chose to relive the scene of my death and the aftermath of the hospital and then revisit the scene of my death again to face my fears of going back.

The dream took me to the ocean. There was a log floating in the middle of the ocean where we (self, brother, and people who I have and do care about, past) were swimming and splashing and playing. People started to leap on top of the floating log and shuffle across, jumping before it vanished into the vanishing horizon’s drop off. I was alive and loving the admiration of wide sparkling eyes  and up turned heads and the balance, speed, fearlessness and courage I challenged the task of the log with. Glowing, the admiration made me feel capable and I believed in my ability to soar. I went fast and fast across the lumber, saw there was an end to the horizon and while all the voices were shouting cautionary warning at me, I leapt and everything faded to black. Eternity. I vanished. I dissolved, I absolved, I dissipated, Everything I was and Nowhere and in no time I was particles drifting and humming on a melody with the ocean mist blowing where I desired, I was peaceful and peace.

I awoke in my drea in a hospital bed. My brother mom and dad were around me and I was confused and tired and in pain and like the IV attached to my arm, I gained memory slowly like dripping nutrients. They said I had been out for a long time and had gotten a concussion jumping over the edge of the oceans horizon. I said that’s not what happened, I had died and came back and jumped into the darkness and I floated. We returned to the scene of the incident, and I got back in the water. At this point I knew that I was dreaming and I relived the memory of my death (the dream repeated with meta-cognitive function and perspective). I was lucid and chose to stay in the scene and investigate its depth and beauty from all angles. I was in the ocean, just having awaken from a coma, and thought about why I came back here if I could go anywhere. I thought about the admiration for me courage that the others gave to me. I beamed. I loved that feeling, again. I relived it, again. I thought about the feeling of challenging borders and limits and the adventure f fearlessness against the body. I thrived and glowed. I was back for that, again. Is this ego Is this alive? whatever it was, I love that feeling, and I will chase it until the day I die. In the ocean again it was more difficult to swim as my limbs were weak. I called out for help and attention and there was a system of friend to support me and bring me to a boey. One person checked my legs to see if they were tired from treading water. They were not. I had reaffirmed my ability to continue on. I reached the horizon again and looked at it from al angels. My brother was there with me, beside me, the entire time. This time I saw that jumping over the edge may kill my body but I would not die. I exhaled salty ocean air and inhaled from sunshine. I awoke.

Edit: Walking home in the rain today. A red crack of a black light burst and ripped through the scene of for a millisecond, the illusion of the world, gray, bleak, wetness and slabs of cement sided with forrest and flowers, drained and disappeared. I look around me for passing cars or some easy explanation for the glitch. Answer sounded in rolling thunder about ten seconds after I begged the curious question. Like a jolt,  forgotten fragments of the above dream revived their vision and reclaimed life from the hallows of buried memory. They go as follow: there were three distinct bodies of water in my dream. A) a swimming pool, where a girl I casually know shared her swim teams challenge, how she had to tread water for four hours after the race in order to be an elite racer on her swim team. B) the aquatics center I played in as a kid, with huge slides and pseudo-tidal waves and C) The Ocean, where my first attempt upon recording the dream narrative began.

Lucid Ocean Dreamer

nightmare

13 Feb

wake up from living a lucid nightmare. Conscious but unaware, we are the living dead. We produce we consume we resume you are sleeping you are waking only to eat some supper when sun down dawns dusk over break fast from the day before two tomorrow’s future.

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