lucid

Occurred Sept 22

Endless halls hold me captive at this gathering of dreamers. When finally I find my place it is too late. Ten's lecture is complete. A gloom hangs in the air, as thick and sticky as humid breath. Dreamers depart, stooped, depressed. Ten holds place, smile on his face. I ask him to tell his talk. He will not. Instead he blurts a list of words. "What?" He blurts again. "Oh..." The words are groups of animals. An eyebrow arches, asks if I catch his drift. I nod. Ten stands taller, grin slides wider, "What do you call a group of lucid dreamers?" "I don't know, what DO you call a group of lucid dreamers?" I ask, probing for the punchline. Ten lets loose laughter, "I thought YOU knew. Oh well. You'll figure it out." A preen, a pivot, he darts down the hall.

Hope for a familiar face. Find none. Settle in a circle of languid dreamers. They whisper in secretive spurts. I ask the message of Ten's talk. Eyes roll. Voices recoil. This glacial space is shortly spoiled by stomps and shouts on high. Up the stairs I fly. There stands Eleven, eyes of lightning, voice of thunder, before a table piled with toys. "YOU BROKE THE DEAL!" He screams and slaps toys to the floor. Young and old flinch. Within me flares an insane reflex, "What the HELL is going on here?" Eleven's tempest turns my way. "All I asked for payment was a Kylo Ren with sound effect lightsaber. THAT'S IT. THEY BROKE THE FUCKING DEAL... THOSE FUCKING SACKS OF..." I stand tall. Become a wall. "THEN LEAVE!" I match his thunder, "GO!" A preen, a pivot, he pounds down the hall.

Ten pops in, "Star Wars fans... I tell ya..." and pops out again.

Follow after Ten but find Eleven retreating into... a TARIDS? "What the..." Force a finger through my palm. Soft surge of relief. "I'm dreaming." Grin grows as bold as my lucid soul. "I'M DREAMING!" I yell to the TARDIS. Blue doors burst open. Out steps a mutant of a man, part Daemon, part Aragorn, all fury. His grin is a crack in time. His eyes burn Mordorian black. Weapons raised, one gun, one sword, he calls my name. Can not indulge in lucidity. Flee to warn the luminary of the shadow in our heart.

Bit of recall which may be associated to the above:
I recall being in the midst of orcs.

Such a long write up for such a fleeting glimmer of lucidity.
PS Happy Hobbit Day. Didn't make it to Bilbo's party last night. Tonight is another story.

No dreams remembered on the morning of the 25th.
This morning, the 26th

LUCID: Winter Wander

Sunbathers scattered across summery sands. Lake, shimmering cliffs and vales of ice. Sprays of mist spew upward from the sheen. Refracted sunlight shifts into ghosts of geometric shapes. No phone. No camera. It is uncaptured.

Scale rugged ways. Up here the world is chill. Run the ridge of a deep plowed trail. Far below, specks of children play away the day. Thin ice sheet reaches opposite ridge. Run back and forth. Each step a crackle. Scolded. Retreat to ridge. Run with the wild ire of a foal set free.

Waterfall roars right. To behold it, people stream down iced cliffs. Friend follows their current. I refuse. Run my ridge and reach an uncle's home. His house overflows with children. Help him herd them until the sky grows bruised.

Where is my cliff crossing friend? Lost? Fallen? Fractured? Dead? Fear. Cousin accompanies into snow and shadow. Dunes stand deep. Slog and seek. Fear spirals. Spirals. Spirals. Peaks. Not even dancing moonbow magic shifts the sorrow. "It's okay. The aliens got him. He's alive out there, somewhere," Cousin reassures. Aliens? Fear? Sorrow?

A stealthy finger through palm. "OH! We're dreaming." Declaration unacknowledged. Cousin is gone. All are gone. Wander on. Search for other dream-swept souls.

Dream post 4:30 am after cat zoomies woke me.

Eyes refuse to see. Limbs refuse to stretch. Familiar gritty feeling prompts a pointer though palm. Dreaming? We are particles woke too soon. We will not solidify. Behold sketchy, backward hands. Universal snore rips us further into pieces.

Wake.

Chant dreamy charms. Misted curtains shift. I am in bed. Thoughts outside my head. Snap back. Roll. Feet slap floor. "I'm dreaming already?" Finger through palm and... yes. "I'm seeming to be dreaming." Step. Particles again. Wobble in and out of this specter frame of flesh. Pull it together. Dreaming. Dreaming. I am one.

Slink through sterile, soul-less rooms. Lean on a wall. Fall through to something new, a mall. Introductions to one and all. Ignored. Only acknowledgement by a twig of guy spewing carnal propositions. "I'm Sweven. Lucid. There are better things to do than sex." "Like what?" I shrug.

Move along. Goals. Where are my goals. None. Mind swims with base desires. Seek some soul to know. None. "I'm Sweven. Dreaming," I remind this world. Cast for a curvy girl with hints of gothic grace. She blooms from rabble. Her eyes find mine. We greet with lips. No. She is far to fair to bring so low. Farwell. She falls away. Create my own satisfaction. Breath takes me there. Softly so as not to slip awake. Sigh. Shut out the world.

Alone with storms and whipping weeds. From irate sky ropes rip down and dance as double helixes. They come. Raging. Roaring. Ragged souls. Fear finds me. Quick finger through the palm is calming. "Come. Do it. I'm Sweven. Dreaming," I sing to the storms. The ropes surround, cocoon around. Collapse in from the sky. Rain of tangled snakes. Swift shadow.

Lucidity lost. What farthing is this? Wade through gold, rolling green, sweet serene. An offering of bread. I am welcomed. Wander free to find my place amidst holey hills.

Sunday 18th

A mountain range of notebooks surrounds. One word is all I want. Where in all these scarps and spines does it hide? Just one word. One. But wait. Was I not just laying in bed? Was I not just mouthing lucid mantras? Yes. I was. How did I get here? Now the room stands empty but for I. These are not my floors, windows, or walls. What? Could it be?

A finger is pushed through the putty of my palm. No pain. Could it be? A finger is pushed into the webs of my wrist and pulled up my forearm. The feeling? My finger pushing upstream in a tickling current.

It is. This is a dream! A wash of cautious joy. Roam the empty halls of a stranger house. What wonders lie behind this simple slab? Open the door only to see a similarly empty night. Leap from a step to soar to distant stars. But slowly I slip. Toes touch deep green. They slide past. I am swallowed by the supple flesh of an ether earth.

Spin like a feather through a thousand cicada songs settled safe behind a patchwork void. Dreaming. Dreaming. Dreaming. Embrace the fall.

Here, the spirit is a dim blue-black. Smooth, straight trunks stand as far as can be perceived. They stretch eternally up into a swarthy yawn of heaven, branches unseen. Such solitude. Should I fear? No. Dreaming. Dreaming. Dreaming. Be polite. "I am Sweven. I am dreaming. I am thankful to be here." Silence replies.
A palm placed upon a trunk. A rush of falling leaves. Stand knee deep in teal. Touch another trunk. Another rush. Another wade through the weep. Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall. Now love the lazy rain of a million leaves. Teal strips with golden veins that twinkle as they twirl. Stride soft through the magic of this moment. But then steps sink. Deeper. Deeper. Deeper. Drift like a whisper through the earth. Back to black.

Freefall. The void roars and writhes. Should I fear? No. Dreaming. Dreaming. Dreaming. Laugh. Relish the fall.

Here, the spirit is as grim as a long forgotten graveyard. Clusters of gnarled trees. Naked branches, as crooked as some souls I know, stretch bold but broken. Silence is sharp. Solitude is stark. All is terrible and sacred. Push a finger through a palm. I am safe. Dreaming. Dreaming. Dreaming. I am safe. Step... but no step comes. Instead a twitch like a matrix glitch takes me to the next kink of tree. Awe. I've not known this before. I glitch on.

Senses tingle. Glitch toward the sensation of some soul. It is still. Atop spidery thin legs, as long as trees are tall, is a human-ish shape. Trench coat drapes. Tendrils of shadow tresses spill from under a not quite cowboy hat. Indiscernible eyes sit in ashen face angles. Neither young nor old... safe nor scary, it stands still still. A statue? I glitch past.

"You. Come back," a rustling voice sings. I turn. Trench coat thing is perched upon tree trunk throne. "You. Sit on my lap."

I laugh, a shrill and serrated thing that shrapnels about the dream. I shrink away from my own sound then glitch on. But what does it really want, that spindly thing with its leaf rustle voice? Finger through palm. I'm dreaming. Dreaming. Dreaming. I've nothing to fear and curiosity to sate. Glitch back to the thing on the throne. "I'm Sweven dreaming."

"You. Sit on my lap," it greets. It musters a grin, or perhaps a grimace.

Dreaming. Dreaming. Dreaming. I sit on it's lap. We are face to face... then suddenly not. Like a child on a nightmare Santa's lap, I'm caught. Arms like ropes encircle. Crushing. Tight. Hooks from the top of its bony thighs rip up into the phantom bottoms of mine. We tip backward. Thrown into another night.

I wake.

Post 5:30am dream.
It took 18 days but I finally achieved lucidity. I am terribly thankful for this. I'd begun to worry that I could not intentionally lucid dream anymore. I've proven myself wrong.