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Author Topic: Stillwater's Dream Journal  (Read 1317 times)
Stillwater
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« Reply #25 on: August 29, 2017, 20:49:37 »

August 28, 2017:

I am riding in a car down the road, presumably some friend is driving. The 90's song "I'm a B**ch I'm a lover" from Meredith Brooks comes on the radio: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ivt_N2Zcts

I'm a b**ch, I'm a lover,
I'm a child, I'm a mother,
I'm a sinner, I'm a saint,
I do not feel ashamed


I immediately think to myself... I hope I get to be so many things in my life  cheesy

It is funny how those years are so clear in my memory... I can recall the chorus of a song I hadn't heard in a decade or more even while asleep...

I think it also has something to do with me wanting to connect to the view of the world I had as a kid. I think when I hear those old songs, I immediately think about the optimism and positivity they represent, and it is like the past reminding me of something?

----------

The next scene is totally different... I am in some sort of chemistry lab, and the powers that be have tasked us with creating new flavors of alcohol spirits. Today's idea is some sort of candy vodka... we are shoveling cups full of candies of separated colors into a crusher to be powdered. This doesn't last very long.

I feel like I think of the job as something someone else would have me do, that I wouldn't do by choice... especially because I don't really drink alcohol.

---------

I am back with university crowd again (third time this month, although otherwise I rarely dream about that period). We are traveling by car through a sort of run-down city, on our way to study a site. The site in question is supposed to be a vast tunnel system, but it will take time to get there. A train will take us there. We arrive, and the train is halfway in the tunnel entrance, and halfway out.

We enter the train from the back facing us. The train cars are organized in a very irregular way inside... the seats aren't evenly spaced or arranged, but rather they are grouped into sections that all face various focal points, like a series of home living rooms that are meant to orient the people in each group together. I pass a series of these arrangements, each with a few people already occupying them, but they don't seem interested in me joining their groups, so I keep moving on.

The train doesn't actually leave... I get to the front of the train, but no one seems to be there anymore. I walk back to the other side of the train again, and exit, and still deserted. Some cars and barricades are overturned, or arranged in a way that suggests some sort of big conflict happened. Then I see a group of cars out in the distance, trying to run people down. It feels like we were led into a trap, and they will try to pick us off now.

I am thinking to myself, "Who set us up like this? Why would they want to harm us?", and then I wake up.
« Last Edit: September 01, 2017, 10:18:13 by Stillwater » Logged

"The Gardener is but a dream of the Garden."

-Unattributed Zen monastic
Stillwater
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« Reply #26 on: September 05, 2017, 13:17:37 »

September 4th, 2017

I am sitting in the middle of a circular platform, roofed by a pavilion. The platform is in the middle of the ocean, about a quarter mile from shore. The water is calm, and I can see out to the horizon. The platform is composed of radiating wooden planks and a painted red hub in the center. I get the distinct impression that the pavilion is meant for meditation, and I get a feeling of "intoxicating wellness". My view shifts to the third person, and I get a sort of documentary explanation of the person who built it and why. Back to first person, and I am back in the pavilion. I take to the water and begin making it back to shore. I alternate between floating on my back, looking up at the sky, and swimming directly to shore. The swim is gentle and I don't have to fight to make pace or stay afloat.

------------

I am walking through a department store with a family member that feels like some sort of aunt I never met. We pass by a rack of blue jackets made out of some sort of synthetic material, and I take one off the shelf, and put it on, over another jacket I am already wearing, as though that is how people shop for clothing, lol. We walk by various mundane aisles for a few minutes, and then the aunt stops and exclaims, seeing something she really connects with in a display. It looks like some sort of wooden rack with a collection of nooks in it. I am sort of puzzled by what so excited her about the item, and ask her about it, but she sort of brushes me off. She stands there for a good long time staring at it, and then tells me that I don't need to stick around if I don't want to. I wander off through the department store, not really connecting with anything around me. I walk into an elevator, and I take it one level up. I get out, and I immediately get the feeling of "this place isn't for you". It is some sort of abstract post-modernist  store front for only one item, a luxury sports car of some kind that strikes me as being only for billionaires. A very stern man curating the scene just sort of glares at me, and I walk back to the elevator, and take it one floor higher. No Luck.... it is a floor a lot like the other one, this time with a giant sign that says "The Puma". Toward the back of the level, is some sort of motorcycle object that looks like a fiberglass lion that a person might ride, but it has feet, instead of wheels; it is completely rigid though, and I get the feeling it is some sort of hoverbike. I continue walking.

------------

I am walking with a group of 2 unspecified family down a nondescript street. Suddenly a group of 3 people come running to meet us, one of them an Asian woman wielding a meat cleaver menacingly. I immediately realize I need to arm us somehow, and I dash into a small outbuilding that contains a pile of wrecked junk. I decide the choicest of weapons in the pile are a collection of bicycle handlebars (3 of them, from 3 different bikes). I run back with the handlebars, and throw one to a female relative, while the other relative refuses to fight, leaving me with the other two handlebar sets in either hand. The other assailants have left for some reason, but the woman with the meat cleaver is charging now. She dashes to the armed relative, and she fights off her strikes with the handlebars, knocking the meat cleaver toward me some distance. The woman then charges toward me, retrieving her cleaver on the way. She lunges toward me, striking out again, and I deflect her strikes with one of the handle bars. She swings again and again, and I can't disarm her, so I strike her smartly across the side of her head with the other set of handlebars, and she slumps down. I do not stop to see what state she is in, crumpled on the ground. We just rush on to get out of the situation.

------------

Later that day, we are walking through another street. A woman in a high window calls down to us, and one of the relatives tells her about the day. She then asks me to recount the story of the attack, as though it were any other part of the day. I begin telling the story, but the woman in the window gets bored of the story 1/3 of the way in. She sweeps her hand to dismiss me, sort of displeased with it all, and I walk on again, down another street.
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"The Gardener is but a dream of the Garden."

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The Astral Pulse
« Reply #26 on: September 05, 2017, 13:17:37 »

logoVisit the website of Astral Pulse creator Adrian Cooper.

Home of the best selling book Our Ultimate Reality.

Astral Projection, Metaphysics and many other subjects.

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Stillwater
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« Reply #27 on: September 08, 2017, 22:35:51 »

September 7, 2017

There is a particularly interesting element to this one- it may possibly be an example of access to information my conscious mind doesn't have.


I am sitting in a hotel room with a woman. She is asking me the Italian names for various nouns. I have basic knowledge of the Italian language as a result of study and living there for a couple years. We go through about 20 words... mundane things like silverware, animals and the like. She asks me the word for "motorcycle". I say that I don't really know it. I say that I know the name for motorbike / scooter (which are of course very common there): "motorino / motorini". She then informs me the word is "Motocicletta". This is especially interesting... because I am sure this is a word I wasn't familiar with. I later looked up the word once I was awake, and it is indeed the right word. I can see a few possibilities:

1) I heard the word at some point, but didn't recall it consciously. My subconscious mind did remember it though

2) My sleeping mind was able to combine bicycle (bicicletta) and motorbike (motorino) accidentally into the actual word

3) I was in contact with some intelligence that was better at Italian than I am

------------

The second half of the dream is rather silly.

I am walking down a street in America, in a small city someplace. The buildings are moderately tall... around 5-6 stories maybe. I pass a group of people having a conversation on the sidewalk. A woman dressed in business casual clothing faces another person, and then somehow explosively urinates through her clothing toward the other person, presumably unintentionally. This causes quite a commotion, and medical help and police are quickly called to the scene. There is pandemonium taking place that is far out of proportion to the actual disturbance I witnessed. Police soon have the street on lockdown. I casually climb up a drain pipe to the roof of a third story building, and watch the scene from the rooftop. There are actually police up here as well, but they don't see me. They are speaking to the crowd, telling them that everything is under control. One of them is actually about to climb down the same drainpipe, but sees me up there as he turns around, and glances at me menacingly with a look of evil intent, and tells me, "You're finished, you piece of garbage".

Oddly enough, I wake up just a bit later.

It is actually a similar encounter to the dream I had walking down the beach, where the police also referred to me as trash, with ill intent. I think they are echoes of an actual experience I had a few years back where I was crossing at a crosswalk, and was nearly struck by a police car. I am probably extrapolating a mindset for the officer in question.
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"The Gardener is but a dream of the Garden."

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Stillwater
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« Reply #28 on: October 15, 2017, 11:12:55 »

Sept. 29, 2017

We are walking through a medium-sized Belgian city late at night; the buildings are around 3-4 stories tall, with an 18th / 19th century character, in modern day. I need to be at a particular place in the city, but there is no fast way to get there using only the streets. There is, however a way to get there which involves walking through back alleyways and cutting through buildings. After crossing a couple corner shops and a few piazza-like spaces, we come to the final leg. We enter a building which has half the feeling of a museum, and half the feeling of a department store. Displays are arranged in a maze-like fashion, so getting through this building quickly is dependent on prior knowledge of the spaces. Some of the spaces are moderately lit, others are a bit dimmer. We probably travel around 150 yards through these spaces when we emerge back into another courtyard, which then opens into a fairly large square, basilican-type space.

This space, as opposed to the contemporary design of the displays, feels more like the 1650's... Jacobean in character. The room is two levels, and we are located on the balcony level which over-looks a lower open level. At the head of the lower space sit two figures. The figure on the right is a young woman dressed as a harlequin. She has a heart-shaped paddle with some message scrawled across it in black script; she is fairly full of figure. The man beside her is dressed as a medieval catholic pardoner, with a crucifix-topped staff; he feels very grave in disposition. There is a full court before them, engaged in conversation amongst themselves. The entire space is lit by dim, flickering candlelight. The walls are composed of densely-packed wooden millwork, laden with cloth banners which draped down from the higher levels. The floor of the space is composed of masonic figures of checkers in black, white, and red patterns, but only barely discernable for color in the light. I walked around the perimeter of this room along the balcony, passing behind the two presiding figures, and gazing down at them. 

As I entered another room just beside this one, my sight blacked out briefly and then I faded back in immediately. I was staring at the same room, but now much darker, and in a hazier state of mind. I felt the room being pulled into a frame at the opposite end of the room. A bell beside the frame began to toll, and suddenly the frame seemed to contain a “hungry portal”, that sucked the image of the back of the room into itself. I saw the bell stretching out to infinity as its tolls bent in tone, from full-sounding to something like muffled by water. Another figure beside me shouted to me, as he held onto a column engaged to a wall; his clothing was being whipped around, apparently by the winds created by the vortex ahead of us. He told me that this portal would “lead us to new lifetimes, if we chose it”. He let go, and I saw him pulled into the portal, melting into infinity like an object accelerating to the speed of light...an ever-elongating line.

I black out again, and when I came to again, I was back in the same room, the storm over. I reason that I must have been through the portal a time or few... some indeterminate number? The room beside, where the harlequin and pardoner presided earlier was now lit by a bit of light entering from outside, rather than candlelight. It was completely empty. I saw the paddle of the harlequin to remind me they were once there. I passed through the open courtyards, and back through the building that previously held the displays... it was now rundown, and contained furniture from a much earlier age. I passed through a good portion of the city, now completely empty. Eventually a street opened up to a bigger boulevard, and I walked into a corner salon. A few people were there, sitting quietly together. Most of them exuded this feeling of having very little “life force”... like they were not whole people, with conscious experiences, but rather wooden beings. A woman sat with her back to the boulevard windows, with a little light streaming over her. I had the feeling that she in particular was a real, conscious being. She looked on with a stoic, unchanging expression, which none-the-less had a small note of serenity to it. I noted her hair was cut in a medium-length bob- fairly straight and without much extra volume. I asked her how long she had been there. I said... “it must be lifetimes?” She nodded, and said, “yes, 300 years have gone by here.” I got the impression the people around her didn't change their situation very often, and that she had spent a good portion of that time sitting here in this same position, engaged in no activity. I asked her if she would like to come away and leave with me... telling her that there were other things to see and do out there, and that she could be happy enough, more than here. She made the smallest of smiles, and agreed to leave with me, and it felt like a massive gesture... like that miniscule emotion was multiplied many-fold by intent and depth of feeling. I remember feeling glad, and remarking that she had quite a pleasant face afterall.

The light from the corner salon seemed to come with her, and enter the spaces we passed through. It felt like she was seeing these places just outside her previous setting for the very first time, and was in awe that there were other places that existed that were so different from the salon.  I took her back to the harlequin's court, and she looked down at the space, seeing the same paddle there. We walked around again to the same room with the portal, and we both faded out again.
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"The Gardener is but a dream of the Garden."

-Unattributed Zen monastic
The Astral Pulse
   



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