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Thread: E1B's dream journal

  1. #11
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    Re: E1B's dream journal

    Just a short report from last night.

    For one thing, my mother has been showing up every night which always ends in an arguement. I wake up distressed just like I did when she was still alive. There are some sheilding things CPW mentioned... was that in this thread? Shoot, I'll go look.

    Last night I'm talking to an old fraternity brother. I remember how he and his buddy Scott had traveled from the SW on horseback to get to school. (not true) But they were real cowboy types, always laughing and having a great time. I tell him he's not so happy now as he was then. He agrees.

    I go over to some work I have on the table and find a tangled mess of papers, posters and booklets. I get it straightened out just in time for the person (another friend from way back) who's work it is to arrive, and pretend to be working on it because I'm supposed to have it finished for her.

    She knows I haven't done a thing with it and is disappointed.
    Matter is only mind in an opaque condition; and all beauty is but a symbol of spirit.
    - E Hubbard

  2. #12
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    Dream Journal E1B

    I don't know that this posting is of general interest to anybody, unless you are dealing with dreamscape representations of a deceased parent which is the bulk of my thoughts here.


    01.10.11
    Dream fragment:
    I'm living in a comfortable modern house with my parents (father is not seen, if he's there at all) and a young little sister (I have only a brother IRL). At any rate, it has the feel of 'home'. I observe Mother to have a short and sassy haircut which goes well with her attitude as she is headed out of the house to go to work. Since her death a year ago she seems to be getting along well and no longer stirs negative emotions in me nor any very positive emotions either for that matter.

    It's morning and little sis has got to go to school but she doesn't have any lunch money. I observe dishes from last night's dinner in the sink and note that a large meal was served but not much of it was eaten. One of the dishes left over appeared to be flank steak, rare. I think with disgust how last night there was plenty and yet this morning Mother (or Dad, if he's around) doesn't even have lunch money for little Sis. I dig out what money I have on me, $6, and give it to her.

    This seems to be a persistent theme in meeting with dreamscape representations of Mother; feelings that she is irresponsible and neglects people and pets who depend on her, and it is up to me to step in and cover the deficit for her. These feelings are RL memories of her as well. So, although she is getting along well in the astral and she no longer pushes my buttons, nothing has really changed.

    I've encountered theologies that, unlike Christianity, plainly state that the mere act of dying, of leaving the physical body, confers no improvement to one's spiritual status/growth and she is evidence of that, I suppose.

    Well, to finish the dream segment: I go the garage where my vehicle is white and awkwardly long. I struggle to get it out of the garage. I go to MY house where I am engaged in remodel work for the day.
    Matter is only mind in an opaque condition; and all beauty is but a symbol of spirit.
    - E Hubbard

  3. #13
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    Re: Dream Journal E1B

    Hello, Richard.

    The steak might be a signal of the beef you inwardly still have with her (the family dinner is "having food together" and it turns out to be beef) or with her failings - in this case her failing to provide evenly and consistently. It's still a raw and tender issue for you. I think that could mean that this dream was a way to release such feelings now that she "left house."

    Cheers,
    Oliver

  4. #14
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    Re: Dream Journal E1B

    Excellent, Oliver! I believe you have really struck the chord. The steak was in fact raw appearing but fortunately, like flank steak, sliced very thin which is a good sign. Also, I should expect to occupy my own house soon (after some remodel) which would indicate that I'll be moving on.

    Thanks again for your skill and insight.
    Matter is only mind in an opaque condition; and all beauty is but a symbol of spirit.
    - E Hubbard

  5. #15
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    Re: Dream Journal E1B

    Well, good luck with the remodeling then. It's usually accompanied by some inner changes of a similar nature.

    Cheers,
    Oliver

  6. #16
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    Re: Dream Journal E1B

    2.02.11
    This was a night of unceasing dreams.

    I felt I needed to wake up every two hours to check for freezing plumbing (it's been in the 1s and teens for two days and our houses, especially old ones like mine, aren't built for this) so the night was like being on a timer and the two hour sleep cycle I think fostered extra dreaming activity.

    These were not lucid dreams, just plain dreams with spotty recall up until the last, that still was not lucid but with quite a bit of recall.

    Early on there was one that was curious as it may relate to sleep paralysis. In the dream I was searching for a bottle of decongestants (actually it was just a bottle of night-time sleep aid which is the same pharmaceutical as Benedryl) because I was having trouble breathing. I couldn't find the bottle then I thought to check my nose and discovered my airways were clear. As I started waking up I wondered if this was asthma? (I've never had asthma).

    What I’m getting to is, I’ve had sleep paralysis where not only could I not move but I couldn’t breath either. This has happened a few times and it was very frightening. This dream was similar, but I could breath, just not well enough.

    Then dream, dream and then one that involved guns. This is the second one I’ve had with guns. Guns generally indicate violence and I think it odd that I had these unique dreams only after posting on another thread that I could imagine the Tuscon shooter did NOT have violent dreams. A possibility at any rate, but I’m rethinking it. My gun dreams were not frightening, I simply had to get a gun to defend against guns. It is too vague to go any further.

    And finally, the last dream which I have fairly good recall of. The setting is the clichéd ivy building campus of a university. I’ve spent the night in a room on campus - not a dorm room but a public room (must have been in the student union). I go looking for food thinking no one’s awake yet so I’m in my underwear (at least the underwear is clean and new ) But I notice people are starting to mill in the building, most don’t notice but a professor comments on my lack of clothes. I shrug it off.

    I’m not a student here, they’re younger than me and while the professors I meet are roughly contemporaries, I’m aside from them as well, as in I don’t see them as authority figures. I stumble on to the commercial kitchen and a student tells me she’d like a bagel and cream cheese (or something). Apparently she thinks I work there. I ignore her and go searching around the kitchen and find a bin of Roma tomatoes. I need a lot of them so I find a separate sack for them then I discover three stalks of celery, but they’re laying in water and limp. I remember this is not a market, but a kitchen and the celery was left over from yesterday.

    I leave the student union and walk across campus. There are students, but I don’t pay any attention to them, a couple of professors and one that stops me and informs me that these two old bicycles here, I look at two abandoned bikes, and he suggests I might get $20 for the tape(?) on them. I wonder if he thinks I’m just a scavenging low-paid worker for the university?

    I walk on and there’s this thing with an old yellowed and scarred bowling pin. Can’t remember how I found it, but I think I threw it and walked on to pick it back up again - liking kicking a rock down the road. I threw it again but it landed in a tree. Someone wondered what it was and I said it was bowling pin.

    I’m not sure of the sequence of the paragraph above and this - which came first, because I seemed to have been off-campus during the bowling pin stuff - in a neighborhood. Anyway, this is on campus and I pass another professor. He asks me how I’ve been. He seems to be genuinely interested - like maybe he’s a psych or sociology teacher and I answer that I’ve been a little depressed, appreciating his concern - his humanity. But his response is to the effect that he is sorry I’ve had a sad life. At this point I think I wake up with the thought that, wait a minute, you asked me how I’ve been, like recently, not about my life. My life has been good.
    Matter is only mind in an opaque condition; and all beauty is but a symbol of spirit.
    - E Hubbard

  7. #17
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    Re: Dream Journal E1B

    These are just a few snippets from dreams the last few days.

    A flying lesson. In this situation a small creature/being (I can't decide animal or human) was 'loose' and needed to be caught. It appeared to be confined to a narrow hall way. Characters in the dream knew I can fly and figured I was the person to catch it. The sequence was much longer than I can recall clearly but this much is very clear. The animal, about the size and shape of a small pig, would race down the hall, me flying just above in pursuit. It would then come to the end of the hall, turn around and race back.

    This was the problem, flying, I couldn't stop, do a 180 and take off again near as fast as it on the ground. I'd catch up just as we came to end of the hall, then I'd have to start over again. I woke up with this 'conclusion'; I needed to put a foot on the ground so I could stop and pivot. But this seemed impossible, you're either flying or not, you can't mix it up.

    The pesky macaw monkey. Another night and another critter. Picture a small, spindly monkey - long arms and tail. Now fuse it with a macaw parrot so that is very colorful - large, bright yellow head with a blue stripe down the middle and a blue body and tail. It's 'beak' however is in its mouth like one sharp tooth on top and a smaller one below. It's about the same size as a macaw.

    This little critter is horsing around in the living room where I and others are gathered, climbing between my legs and under the furniture and behind things and there was really no knowing where it was until you spotted him. I picked him up. He's was squirmy and climbed on my shoulder and bit my hand which really hurt. I kept trying to keep my eye on him and was afraid he was going to bite someone else.

    Then I noticed a lady pretending to bite a man on the shoulder. Then other people began this little game of imitating the parrot monkey, biting each other on the shoulder. I gathered it was someone's pet and not a threat, I guess unless you pick it up.
    Matter is only mind in an opaque condition; and all beauty is but a symbol of spirit.
    - E Hubbard

  8. #18
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    Re: Dream Journal E1B

    04.03.11

    [Taking the lead from others here, I've decided to keep most of my journal private, but this one I thought was worth sharing. I confess however, this is one lousy piece of writing .]

    A couple of weeks have passed, some mornings I have awakened with no awareness at all that I had dreamed; other mornings only faint sketches of images or situations that provoked, again, nothing more than ennui. This morning's dream was much appreciated on a few levels - that I had recall, the dream seemed symbolic and most of all I met the 'girl of my dreams'.

    This dream was interrupted frequently by waking up, declaring how wonderful it is and diving back in, trying to extend it - and succeeding to some degree. The situation was a college where I was a transfer student from another university, apparently of some esteem in the minds of the teachers and students. A small group of us was assigned the task of putting on a skit for the amusement of the guests of an assembly of some sort.

    We had only a short amount of time to write the skit and rehearse it before we would take the stage and entertain the assembly. One of our little troupe was a young girl, long brown hair, attractive, but plain - not beautiful in common terms; yet, we touched hands and in that touch a deep well of intuition opened up and echoed with the intimacy and empathy that can only be understood as true and spiritual love. I no longer cared for our assignment. I only cared for her.

    Three teachers, committee persons, approached me, aware that we had made no progress in writing the skit. They were small and deformed in head and body and one, the 'taller' one with an awkwardly large bald head, began berating me for not producing the skit, for disappointing them in their expectations; it being nigh time to perform it.

    I was disgusted with them and turned away, deciding to myself I would make it an extemporaneous performance. All that was needed would be that I and the girl would hold hands and openly express our thoughts and emotions; our love and the ecstasy of the reunion of souls. Certainly this would be the very essence of art, striking the pedal-point of our lost and lonely existence, for you see, ecstasy is but the flip side of despair.

    Surely we two people, having found each other at long last, holding hands, uttering nothing else, unable to speak of anything more, than those bare naked truths only lovers know - surely in our spontaneous expressions of mutual joy, if one could listen closely, he would hear the low drone of the bagpipe, ever present under the lyrical marching melodies of the stoic, forlorn, but ever hopeful strains of the march of the inevitable.

    If there is a lesson to our life on Earth it is to reach beyond the sand castles of our worldly desires and to weep for our losses no more. It is a great irony that we are born to this beautiful planet under a limited contract, and it takes a richly developed sense of humor to fully appreciate the joke.

    Yes, our skit would be a tour de force if only if I could add a little vaudeville. So I decided that before the skit I would stand alone on the stage and show the audience a little preparation in the way of applying super glue to both my hands. That done, when the girl and I took each other's hands we would be stuck for good.

    I awoke considering how awkward that could get!
    Matter is only mind in an opaque condition; and all beauty is but a symbol of spirit.
    - E Hubbard

  9. #19
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    Re: Dream Journal E1B

    I can see why you were reluctant to leave the dream but Superglue might be taking things too far.
    "A dream is a question, not an answer."
    (Therapist and dreamworker Strephon Kaplan
    Williams)

  10. #20
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    Re: Dream Journal E1B

    Indeed! But that brings up a question I haven't thought of before. In the dream we never did the skit, I never put the Super Glue on my hands, I only THOUGHT of these things. So, is thinking about something still dreaming. It seems after the encounter with the committee teachers I have no more images, only thinking about it.

    I'm still asleep so I must still be 'dreaming' but all I'm doing is musing about the situation. Like I said I haven't thought about that kind of dreaming before. I don't know.
    Matter is only mind in an opaque condition; and all beauty is but a symbol of spirit.
    - E Hubbard

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