I'm experimenting with Lucid Dreaming. Lucid dreams are dreams in which you become aware that you're dreaming. In that state you can control your environment and retain a memory of the dream that carries on into the waking life. A prerequisite of becoming an oneironaut (as lucid dream travelers are wont to call themselves) is establishing consistent dream recall. Being able to remember your dreams assists you in becoming aware that you're dreaming.
I'm also experimenting with different ways of dream story-telling and elaborating on curious dream happenings.
Below is a synopsis of a dream I had during today's third morning nap.
Think anime noir. Think plastic people and locations. Think silent brooding action.
Cruising down a dank alley, hand in my pocket, I exit the shadows. The sight of fanfare at a major intersection overwhelms me. This is a metropolis it seems, but not one in America. This place and pace is too relaxed to be America.
I take a quick left out of the alley, hop over a small sweaty street, and enter a gargantuan building teeming with people. This place must be a train station as it reminds me of Victoria or Grand Central.
I walk inside this populous cathedral and gauge the crowd. Everybody is packed and sprawled all over booths and chairs that riddle the floor. The people are chewing gum, reading magazines, lifting up babies, and churning time. Their races are multi-ethnic, their gist sub-cosmopolitan, yet their attitude pleasant.
There is a faint glimmer of dustiness enveloping this whole scene. The sun is shining straight down and bouncing off the beige floor. The rays then reflect back in the same exact direction. This bathes the dust in double the amount of usual light plus illuminating it from all directions, hence the faint day-time glow. This informs me that it's high noon.
I find what seems to be the only vacant seat. I wedge between some groups of people, and lean forward, shoulders on knees, so as to give extra room to breath mentally.
My equipose is hammered by a dour interruption of yelling and clanking. A young asian man is being wrestled and chased through the station. He is carrying a music CD and the general idea is that he is committing theft. A few people join to help bring him down, but for the most part, people just kind of observe calmly.
While this cloudy tussle approaches the exit, it slowly cruises my way.
Should I act? Why not? I get up join the wrestling as a way to solve this problem. This is not so easy, and in the process a piece of my hat gets torn off. Frustrated, I grab the man and yell, "Just download the mp3s!"
He then immediately, and silently, releases the stolen goods, and scurries out the exit.
The noise and activity settles and I sit down back into my seat. I'm half expecting an applause from the crowd, but instead, I speculate that I'm receiving silent respect. Either way the silliness of what just happened makes me smile.
I lean back, feeling semi-champion-like. Unfortunately, this fades as I realize just how tattered I am. My hat is ripped, and my ankles and elbows are sore. I then murmur that I'm going to leave, and so I get up and go.
I exit the Station, and the sun is still high. The bright outdoor light pierces my eye. I then cross the intersection.
Friday, Aug 29, 2003
