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I'm re-enacting the movie Soldier, where a ragtag bunch of crash survivors need to defend themselves from genetically engineered soldiers who've been ordered to eliminate them... with the help of a discarded genetically engineered soldier.

A friend (who was in the military at one point) wanders in and asks why we're watching this movie, when it's a stupid movie.

---

Last year for Halloween, I had black-painted branches decorating my walls. I had to throw them out when I moved, and I was kind of sad about that.

In the dream, I find these discarded decorations in a pile when I'm out doing errands, but I know that they'll be a little bit unwieldy to carry on public transit. I pick them up, but they've turned into a combination of a floor joist and some kind of beam at least ten feet long.

I'm in an alley, and I'm going through my wallet looking for my bus pass. A young man makes a quick grab for the wallet—and I stare him and his shifty-looking friend down. He hesitates for a moment, and says "I was going to ask if you needed help with that."

I smile brightly and say, "Absolutely. You can pick up this beam and help me get it on the bus!"

I drive a motorcycle across my hometown, and realize I forgot my helmet. Oh well. I'm also carrying a baked potato in my jacket pocket, and it's falling apart.

---

A nest of vampires in an otherwise benign-looking place, like a post office or a government building. S has warned me, but I come back anyway.

Vampires are repelled by objects of faith (Dresden Files), but unlike the stereotype, they don't need to be Christian symbols. The eldest vampire stalks towards me, and I have my pendant in my hand (the question: does the onyx within it represent me or the people I believe in, because I don't necessarily have faith in myself...) and I strike, pressing the pendant into the vampire's skin. It sizzles and burns, the vampire trying to get away, shrieking.

It's cries draw the other vampires, and I draw back to swing a fist, my Celtic ring coming into contact another vampire.

Later, I'll be asked if we can do an empirical test to determine whether the gold of the ring or the silver of the pendant was more effective against vampires.

---

"Who's your commanding officer?" demands a formidable looking black man with a military bearing.

"I don't know yet."

"Good answer," he tells me. He is my commanding officer.

When a small group comes to tell me I'll be joining them, I look back to him.

"Sir?" I ask, and he instructs me to join the group.

We board a plane. There are more than a dozen seats left when I come in, but one of my squadmates is arguing with a blond, thinner man who's already seated.

"These are for the paratroopers," says the seated man. "We don't have any seats for you."

I approach and tell him that we're assigned to this plane, and will be taking some of the seats. He is angry, but we end up seated, anyway.

I'm sitting next to a superior officer who's played by an actor I can't remember the name of. He's a heavier-set black man and he asks roundabout questions about my place in -- and loyalty to -- our shadowy organization. I tell him I will do what needs to be done.

The plane is in the air. I stand up and walk down the aisle. "It's time," I say to one of my squadmates as I walk past. She's a darker-skinned woman with long, curly hair.

We're in the air now. The six members of the squad are gliding towards our destination using wingsuits, flying through the chilled air.

"We can make it the whole way," the woman I was talking to says over the comms.

"Negative," I say. "We're losing altitude. Chutes on my mark; aim to land at the planned point."

I see a red plume of light indicating where we should land.

"And... NOW!"

We deploy our parachutes and land on the ice next to an island. Before I know it, we have skates on and are making our way towards the shore.

A red pickup truck meets us. We put skate guards on our skates and a few of us climb into the cab, the rest getting into the back of the truck. I'm making plans with the driver.

Scare factor: 5/10. Lots of fun and adventure, felt in control of the narrative the entire time, despite not being lucid.

EDIT for new rating system (and formatting colour):

Adventure: 8/10
Control: 8/10
Fear: 2/10

Morning of July 24, 2015. Friday.



In my dream, I am in an unfamiliar area with no clear associations in conscious afterthought of exactly where it could be, which is fairly rare for me. I do seem to have some hold on directional orientation, though whether it is implied to be America or Australia would change the present orientation. I will assume it to be America, though I do not focus closely on any cars (that is, what side the driver’s side is on) that would tell me of the country.

As such (American orientation, otherwise all the compass directions can be assumed to be reversed), I would be going due north along a causeway, on a sidewalk on the east side of the road. There are not that many buildings though it does seem like an area near city center. It might, in fact, be Chicago (south of main urban areas), though at a later point, vaguely reminds me of Third Street in La Crosse (though the car park would be rotated ninety degrees if such is the case).

I am walking along not that briskly but carrying my youngest daughter (age two) Isabelle, which seems somewhat strange, as I do not see other members of my family anywhere. The back story, though I am not certain, seems to relate to trying to get away from some sort of military conflict (unsure with who) or very vaguely (in the back of my mind) some sort of less serious (local) natural disaster - though the weather seems nice and I do not hear any gunfire or explosions. However, it may also be just a military exercise (even if to make veterans feel more “comfortable” about their past), as it feels more like such just before my dream ends. I am not that clear-headed in-dream, so am not sure about (or focused on) the status of other family members. It seems to be perhaps around two in the afternoon or later.

About six soldiers (including possibly veterans) of about three generations jog on the opposite side of the street and they are going in the opposite direction. I wave at one of them assertively (with my right hand held up) and he starts to wave back. He seems about twenty years old or younger. However, as I wave, my hand “automatically” (absentmindedly) forms the V-shaped “peace” sign. The soldier’s wave becomes less assertive and falls back incomplete as if he thinks I might be an unusual character and not patriotic at all. I feel slightly unsure about what I have done (though only vaguely foolish) in signing “peace” to what is likely a military exercise. I do not notice any other civilians anywhere or any cars in motion. I feel vaguely embarrassed about possibly having just annoyed him (or even distracted him) instead of just a harmonious “hello”, though it is not exactly embarrassment but something else.

Finally, I turn to go west into a car park for some reason (of at least two storeys). However, I soon realize that there is probably no feasible way to come out the other side (though I am unfamiliar with the layout). Not only that, I do not like the presence of dust and sand (and do not want to go through it with my child), which seems to be carried in the air at times by a mild breeze and creates a very vivid essence of “real” particulates in the air (though I am not lucid). This sparse cloud of particulates is higher and more on the level of the second storey of the car park beyond the ramp I am ascending. I turn around to go back out. Still carrying my daughter, I notice another small group of the military jogging up the ramp towards me to my left (though I do not detect any danger behind me, though I had not seen much of that section of the car park that they are apparently jogging to). I am annoyed that it may be more difficult to go that direction now, feeling somewhat “blocked”, even though there seems plenty of room to get past them (this reminds me of another dream concerning an approaching truck that was only partially rendered at first, which had clear precognitive connections with another dreamer). From here, my dream fades.

Update on same afternoon: This dream seemed to be the usual remote-viewing or precognition at very high precision, as I had this dream before reading an e-mail that unknowingly implemented this dream almost like a scenario representing the e-mail itself - concerning military preparedness, veterans, exercises, and their dreams. (I had no idea or prior “clue” that I would be getting this particular e-mail content.) More curiously, yet coincidentally, the first thing I see on tumblr when I post this dream is an image of a cat with “peace was never an option” above its head; typical synchronicity I have had all my life. This came after I already had a vague association that the solider that began to wave in this dream and stopped upon seeing my peace sign was somehow some sort of “continuity” of Tiger the cat in one of my last dreams. Of course, this level of detail cannot possibly be coincidence (especially continuously over almost fifty years), but then, what is it exactly? (That was just a rhetorical question.)

I'd been looking at a map showing three islands that had been conquered by someone else; I'm unconcerned about the islands themselves but am considering their influence over the surrounding sea routes.

Now standing on the deck of a ship, I'm speaking to a military leader from another ship, part of the group that conquered those islands - he's a passenger, not the ship's captain. He addresses me as Enchanter, which amuses me. I express my surprise that he's willing to deal with me if he recognizes what I am - I was under the impression that his people thought of my kind as demons. Isn't he worried that he's risking corruption with this conversation?

He indicates that many of his attitudes have changed since coming to this region. He describes how he'd arrived with four of my kind sealed on his ship; while on the central island, they'd broken free and in doing so, as he puts it, "bound themselves to the chains of ghosts." It's a reference to the past of that island - once they were no longer sealed away, they became entangled with local legends, automatically embodying the locals' beliefs. The way this man sees it, they are no longer themselves - by breaking free of their seals and into this world, they've trapped themselves in these roles, living out ancient history. He sees this as a negative thing. I don't. It's the way we work.

I've broken into a building for a specific purpose, but it's not been going well. I killed someone while trying to stop him from raising the alarm, I hadn't intended that. Still standing over him, to my right there's a room with three men in 19th century dress uniform speaking. They're the reason I came here, and I'm certain I won't be able to finish what I came here to do now that they've seen this - but they're not reacting. On further examination, there's some manner of barrier between that room and this one, invisible from this side but seemingly solid from theirs. I lean through for a moment while those men are facing the other way, feeling no resistance, and find that from their side, it looks as if I'm leaning through a mirrored wall. Interesting setup; I'm thinking about why the owner of this home would need such a thing.

Then I focus on the men speaking on the other side, the reason I'm here. One is saying, "What do we do about Shaw?" Another replies, "Escaping-"

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

Revisiting that one-way-mirror setup, there's a vivid yellow tint to the air on this side of the mirror, and I'm looking at an image of a white rabbit hanging from a noose held in a man's hand. I'm hearing a man I think of as some kind of instructor saying to me, "...exists in the past."

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

There's a man I recognize from a previous dream leading a group of people out of some tunnels onto the surface. There's only a narrow ledge to stand on here, the top of a cliff, and it's raining, windy. Last time I'd described him as pale; this time there's something wrong with his skin, but I'm not focusing on it. I'm looking at his eyes; there's a red ring filling the outer half of his iris, that's new. Someone's saying in response to a question he just asked, "Perhaps we could talk on the way there," like they're in a hurry to get away from here.

Earlier, he'd been having a conversation with another man in those tunnels, taller, with white hair that's mostly fallen out. This man's arguing against him leaving with that group of people and going back to civilization, saying that either he'll spread corruption like a disease, or else he won't but he'll be blamed for doing so anyway. Previously, they'd unknowingly allowed some kind of corruption to spread before their own symptoms started to show, not realizing they were the cause.

There's a human woman who, when looking at a particular vampire through a mirror, would see a reflection of him that no one else could see - or rather a sort of different version of him, seen far off and from a distance, performing different actions. She's never been sure exactly what this means. He believes that she's been seeing something like his soul, or another side of him - he saw it as something like a hope for salvation. Right now, though, he's leaving town; he's loading luggage into a car, and both he and his sister are dressed in a drastically different, more formal style than she's ever seen them wear before - she thinks of it as out of character. But it only seems that way to her because they're destroying the personas they've been using with these particular identities and creating new ones, and she's never seen them do that before.

She's standing on the sidewalk, talking to his sister, and she's saying, but what about those visions of "the man in the glass" - how can the two of them just leave her without finding out what her visions meant? The sister says those visions were just illusions that he's ready to move on from.

I'm in a fortress that's been evacuated, watching a woman who's been advising me as she treats this survivor we'd found lying unconscious in the hall. Now that she's conscious again, my advisor comes to me and says we're in luck; the woman's the head of a noble house and she considers her loyalty as being to the throne itself, not to any particular claimant, so she's willing to pledge her sword to me. I'm aware that there was some previous meeting that had declared me the legitimate claimant to the throne, and that's what's determining this woman's decision, not that we've saved her life; if the meeting had declared in favor of someone else, she'd be supporting that person instead.

The character side of me is surprised by this statement about pledging her sword; I say to my advisor, what, again? I'd had to find three noble houses to declare their swords to me, I'd managed it, there'd been a ceremony - that part's done now, isn't it? My advisor can't believe I'd say such a thing; exasperated (rightfully so, the observer side of me thinks), she explains that I need all the swords I can get, especially now as we're making for Hightower - I have a mental image of entering a military encampment and seeing the top of a round tower of brown stones in the distance. I see her point now that she's said it, and I think about the route between here and Hightower, and all the noble households located along that route. I hope we don't have to repeat the actual ceremony each time.

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

I'm part of a group of people protesting some issue, focusing on a sort of police force in a particular community but with broader implications. Trying to figure out how best to handle this, I enter the mind of the man in charge of the police force, trying to see what would sway him, what approach he would listen to. I find that the problem isn't our approach, it's that nothing coming from this source is going to sway him - even if my group convinced every last person in the community to unite and speak up, this man sees our community as a problem to be solved, a situation to be managed. If the police force is going to change, it needs pressure from someone else.

I travel to the mind of that man's superior, a political position. He's more sympathetic to the issue in the community, but he won't act just based on sympathy; it's important to him that he make "impartial" decisions about where to focus his limited time and resources. If public opinion among the area he serves as a whole was pressuring him to focus on this issue, or particularly influential groups or political powers, then he would focus on it. He considers this the most responsible approach.

Following the trail of political influence, I eventually come to the ruler of the country. He would be surprised to be asked about this issue at all; he considers it outside of his jurisdiction. This is the church's responsibility.

I come to the leader of the church, the equivalent of a pope. She also believes this isn't up to her; this is an issue for each nation to decide.

I'm disembodied, following a man as he walks out of a stone fortress through a side door. He's upset. I'm trying to mentally push him into making a choice that he doesn't see yet - there's a group of people staying at this fortress, and when they leave, I want him to leave with them. I need him working with them, and he'll be much happier as well. It only hasn't occurred to him yet because that would be desertion, which I think of as a minor nuisance. He's in a position of command in this semi-military, semi-religious order, a position he'd never wanted, and I've been mentally pushing him to focus on all the ways he feels trapped here.

The fortress is surrounded by an evergreen forest, and there's a little snow here and there. He stops right outside the door, believing that he's just getting some air. He's thinking about that group traveling through that I want him to leave with, and thinking about how his order can't show emotion, contrasting it with that group. He's looking at something on the ground that I can't see, and he's thinking that he'd be crying right now if he was capable of it.

I push him to walk further from the door - he thinks of it as walking aimlessly, but I have a direction in mind. There's several tables set up from something going on here during the day, mostly empty now. He looks over the devices assembled on one of them - he doesn't understand how any of them work, but he feels like he's spent all day protecting this stuff from overly curious onlookers, and managing the nobility, and running errands for the great and the good - it seems completely ridiculous to him that this is his life. It's the opposite of where he ever expected to be.

He keeps walking. I make sure he focuses on the little pool of blood on the stone ground here, a dozen or so dead crows around it, deliberately placed in a certain formation. One of his men had called it "a battlefield for crows" earlier. He has absolutely no idea what this disgusting thing is for, it's just one more thing he's had to keep people away from today. As he's looking at it, he sees someone standing at the edge of the woods. He's startled; at first glance, it looks like the man who used to be in command here, who'd moved on a few months ago and left him in charge. He feels relieved - and by feeling the extent of that relief, he's just now become really aware of just how much weight's been on his shoulders since that man left. But then the person moves and breaks the illusion. It's not him.

Disembodied, I'm watching a teenage girl walk into my home, an old Victorian in a small city. The door wasn't locked. She's been sent here by someone who told her I can help her, but apparently he wasn't specific enough about exactly the kind of problem I would help her with - he'd emphasized how important it was that she get off the street tonight, so she's gotten the misimpression that I run some kind of homeless outreach thing. I'm thinking, amused, that she's not far wrong.

A girl who's just recently started staying with me walks out of the bathroom wearing a towel, and she says oh, hello to the girl who's just walked in, assuming that the girl must be a friend of mine. She tells the girl I'm 'out' right now - they know me by the name Nick. They chat a little back and forth, neither of them realizing their mistake, and I'm thinking this is a good coincidence, that a girl her same age was around to meet her first, and that they get along well; this should put her at ease.

The girl who just got out of the shower gets something to drink out of the fridge, and as she's doing so she holds up a particular marked bottle, asking if the girl wants any of this. Oh, damn it - so much for putting her at ease. It's blood, but the markings don't actually indicate that. Offering it was a reasonable thing to do, given the people she's seen just drop in looking for me; and since she's assuming the girl already knows me, she's also assuming the girl's already familiar with what's in that bottle. The girl says sure, takes the bottle, and opens it.

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

I'm on one side of a wooden barricade, and an old friend of sorts on the other side is calling to me. He's telling me that he's taken my advice, and he's decided that I was right - all those people without any magic, their lives do have value after all. As he says this, I'm looking through the gaps in the barricade to the soldiers lined up on the other side. I recognize them, or rather I recognize their uniforms indicating the lord they serve, a man whose help I've been trying to secure for a while now. They're unnaturally still. It's clear my old friend is controlling them directly. I'm not going to have much luck with that lord if I kill off his people, not to mention the people on my side of the barricade who would never forgive me - we're going to have to run.

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

I'd convinced a group of fox demons to give up their human forms, their physical forms. Now I'm returning to the lake where they live, and they're gone. There are markers like graves standing in the places they'd been when they gave up their forms, stakes of white wood with names written on them - or what they used for names, more like descriptions really, they changed them fairly often. I read each of them. I kneel down before one with a name I recognize - it had belonged to a child. For the sake of protecting one human man, I caused this.

FMA. I/Mustang left the military a while ago; right now I'm looking out a door at the rain. I see a memory of similarly looking out another doorway at the rain, standing at the door to a balcony on a tall tower, and then retreating back inside to adjust my plans. In the present, I put on a hat with a wide, floppy brim and head out into the rain.

As I'm walking up a mountain road in that rain, I pass an old man driving his truck down the road. We wave to each other like we do every day. I'm thinking, as a soldier who was for all intents and purposes an embodiment of fire, I was useless in the rain, so it held a different significance. But as a person - I'm thinking of both me and the old man in the truck - you just put on a hat and go to work, rain or not.

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

I'm in the same mountain range from yesterday, traveling alone at the moment, standing just inside the entrance to a cave. I've come to a very old friend to ask him for his help. He's not happy to see me. He's sitting in a sort of stone throne and saying slowly, emphasizing every word, "I am not well."

I can see that. He wears this silver circlet that sort of glows, a contrast to his dark hair and coat; looking at how faint that glow is, I'm thinking that there's barely anything left of him. Nonetheless, there's enough of him left to do what I need done.

I'd been accused of a crime I didn't commit. The charges have been dropped now, but people have formed their own opinions about my guilt or innocence. On the sidewalk I'm confronted by a group of men in dress uniform, most of them middle-aged. They call me monster, and disgusting, and one of them says, "He saw what you did," indicating a younger member of their group.

A liar, that's interesting. I wonder at first whether this is the actual criminal and if he'd been trying to frame me, or whether he's just someone who heard about the case and was trying to get in on the limelight. But he looks genuinely afraid of me, to such a degree that I realize what must have happened - he must have seen me eating. But in this era, accusing me of being a vampire would be too ridiculous, he wouldn't be taken seriously. So he came up with something more believable to accuse me of, to get me locked up. It wasn't a bad idea, I've been considering burning this identity since this mess started.

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

I'm running along a mountain path, mentally shouting Nadja's name. She came to us under a false identity, and then she disappeared in order to avoid being found out. But there was no need for her to disappear like that. I've tracked her to these mountains based on rumors of "the witch of the crags," and once I sensed traces of her, I started calling first the assumed name we knew her by, then her real one, Nadja. Following her mental trail, I reach a cliff. Without hesitating, I jump over the edge.

Snow-covered mountain peaks far below me, as far as the eye can see. I pause to check if I'm still asleep enough to take control of the flight for a while - yes, I am. Forgetting about Nadja, I turn upward, enjoying the view for as long as it lasts.

I'm giving a woman a ride somewhere in a carriage, and when she's gotten settled I knock on the wall twice and we start moving. I go to lower the curtains on the windows, and as I do I catch sight of her fiance out on the street, obviously looking for her. She's already made it clear she doesn't want to be found at this moment. As I'm looking at him I'm struck again by how incredibly dull he seems. I say to her, "On God's green earth, what do you see in him?" I gave up my chance with her so I have no right to judge the man she chose, but still - him?

She says, "On God's green earth, I won't let you steal my plan. I can't." Either she has drastically changed the subject or else I've drastically misunderstood their relationship - either way, I have no idea what she's talking about.

Just then, her fiance spots us - I should have lowered that curtain - and he shouts her name, Ephigenia. He is being ridiculously overdramatic, people will think I'm kidnapping her.

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

Disembodied, I'm watching my son be interrogated by a pair of policemen. We don't have any legal ties under my present identity, at his insistence - he's old enough now that we look the same age, so adopting him again wouldn't have been practical, but I'd wanted to arrange something, and he'd refused. I'm particularly annoyed about that now, when a legal connection would come in handy.

They've accused him and his sister - his biological sister, I didn't raise her, hadn't known she was alive until just now - of murder, and he's been repeatedly telling them he's innocent, but they've just produced an audio recording of what is clearly his voice stating that "we" - he and his sister - have been waiting for this since he was nine years old. As I hear the recording, I see a mental image of him at the moment he spoke those words, with a man tied up in front of them. Up until this moment I'd believed he was innocent. Back in the interrogation room, he's insisting that the voice on the recorder isn't his, but he's clearly fooling no one. They've been letting him tell his story, knowing he was lying the entire time.

I've heard enough. I remove my awareness from the interrogation room. Back in my body, I'm standing in my son's apartment - a tiny studio with a mattress on the floor, cluttered with random piles of clothes and other things. He wasn't doing well. I'm extremely annoyed about this situation - he'd betrayed me, he'd made it clear he was going to cause trouble for me, but for him to simply be removed from the situation like this by unrelated people, that doesn't sit right with me.

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

I'm running - as fast as I can manage, which isn't very - along a snow-covered mountain path, trying to hold my throat closed as much as possible. I'm wearing black leather gloves, the blood blends in very well. This isn't the first time I've had my throat slit, so at least this time I know my voice will come back eventually - just the memory of how frightening it had been the first time I had my throat slit still makes me uncomfortable. It's still incredibly inconvenient until it heals. One of my least favorite ways to 'die.' I'm thinking about the man who 'killed' me - a soldier on the same side I am. I don't know why he did this - he enjoys violence in general, so I'm hoping it was just something personal and not something larger I'd have to worry about.

Thinking about that man's possible motivations prompts a scene change. I'm peeling an orange as a visitor goes upstairs to meet with that man who'll slit my throat. I can hear the sound of an opera recording on the phonograph, and I warned the visitor that it's best not to interrupt while he's listening to his music - I didn't say this, but I'm pretty sure opera is the only thing that man loves aside from violence - but the visitor ignored me. Shortly later I hear the visitor scream.

I'm looking at a painting with the artist beside me. St. George and the dragon - I recognize that the dragon is meant to be myself. After noticing that, I recognize who St. George is meant to represent too. I say to her, very slowly and deliberately, "George can't save you." Whether I can do anything for her either isn't certain, but "George" definitely can't, despite what he believes.

As Louis, being seen as a vampire by someone who I didn't want to see that, fleeing the scene, and Lestat finding this much more funny than I think is appropriate.

Discussing a military operation, looking at a map of what is essentially much of India and Southeast Asia, although at this point in time - meant to be 6th or 7th century or so - the countries and their borders are significantly different than in the present; we're primarily discussing a trade route at the moment, but I've also been having a disagreement with the man in charge about our manpower. While discussing the trade route, we receive word of 500 archers spotted approaching from the north, in addition to the army we're already facing. I am significantly less confident about our ability to handle this than the boss is.

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

As some manner of religious authority, I'm performing a ritual to help a group of people, a sort of blessing or summoning, making something sacred. At the start of the ritual I have to offer up whatever spiritual virtue I possess as a sacrifice; this will leave me vulnerable until the ritual's complete, so I'm relying on the two people who asked for my help to accompany me. With the offering made, we step through a portal.

This takes us to a dark and dusty room, a place I'm familiar with. I summon light into my hands, with an effect much like a dim flashlight. In the middle of the floor there's a large trunk full of false panels, something a stage magician might use; at the moment it's lying open so that all its tricks are clearly visible to anyone who might pass through. I didn't leave it like that. There are a few objects on the shelves of the room that weren't here the last time, indicating that someone other than me has indeed been using this place. This is something to worry about. I close the trunk properly, and we continue.

A brief memory gap - after the dark room, we came out into a field at night with a river off to our right, and what we did here I can't remember; but then we came to the cliff at the opposite side of the field, and the view here was so fantastic that I briefly went fully lucid to enjoy it. I'm looking down on an immense lake so still that I can see stars reflected here and there. In the far distance, there's an immense grey statue of a falcon submerged in the lake so that only its head is above the water - but that small part of the statue above the water is at least the height of a two or three story building.

Continuing the storyline, this is certainly the appropriate place to perform a sacred ritual, so I begin a prayer - something about the lake filling with stars. But before I get very far, that river off to our right rises in a flood. The two people with me are afraid, but I'm thinking this is convenient - we'll just ride that water down to the lake.

The river sweeps us over the cliff, which is great fun, and when I sink under the water of the lake I can see a group of hammerhead sharks swimming far below. They don't seem to care about us. Surfacing, although we've all separated, we're all making our separate ways toward that falcon statue.

Along the way, however, I bump into a seal; it considers me and then swims on. And then into a shark; the same happens again. And another shark, and this one seems more interested in my presence; and another that I have to physically shove away; and so on; I'm not concerned about my safety - though I am worried about the other two - but I become so busy fending off sharks that I can't continue to the statue.

I blew my nose, and noticed that something solid had emerged into the tissue. My growing unease ripened into sharp alarm when I inspected the contents. Next to some meatier pieces of phlegm was the unmistakable segmented shape of a short, light grey worm. It was about half an inch long, and completely alive and intact. I'm not sure if it was a true worm or had two hair-like rows of short legs, but it even started to move as I watched. The thought of such a thing living in my body, in my sinuses even, infused me with silent horror quickly ripening to desperation as I saw the front half of another worm, which would have been twice as long as the first if it were intact, in the tissue's contents. On the underside was a distinct mouth with two visible mandibles curved back so that they lay flat against its body like fangs. What were these things doing to me?

Just after discovering the worms in the tissue, I felt an itch just above the hairline of my forehead and absently scratched it. A soft body crushed under my fingers, getting tangled in my hair, and I brought them back to find the green ooze of yet another worm staining their tips. The horror became even more intense. Were there so many in my body that they were emerging? I needed to do something about this now.

Mustering all my willpower to stay calm and focused, I brought the unwieldy vehicle I was driving over to the curb, put it in park, and engaged the parking brake. It was a boxy shuttle like those that sometimes ferry people and their luggage around airports; this one had no seats and was specced for military use. I left the engine running, even as I wondered why I was doing so: this was unlikely to be a short stop. As I disembarked, I said something like, "Men, make sure not to move this vehicle," to my company. They were prone to horsing around, and I was afraid someone might bump the parking brake and accidentally disengage it. The vehicle was tricky to operate.

I disembarked, dodging the idle men lounging on the short flight of steps that led from the strip of grass bordering the curb down to the sidewalk bordering the building. The door was open, and there were more men clustered around the steps that led down into the building. I knew they were here because I had left for the last mission in such a hurry that they had been left behind. I had already sensed that something was wrong at the time, but it had still been too vague to articulate, a vague but crushing sense of oppression rather than any physical symptoms I could describe.

I was looking for someone in particular. Not the young doctor, but the old one, who I had known for a long time and trusted completely. After passing a row of men leaning against the bar to the right of the entryway, I turned left and was relieved to discover him standing next to a table. He had grey hair and a lined, weathered face, with a serious but not unkindly expression. I addressed him in a tone that was urgent but still tightly focused, doing everything I could to remain cogent and not lose myself to the mounting hysteria I was feeling.

"Richard, I think there's something wrong with me."

He looked up, and I saw that he could tell from my face that the matter was dire, but when he spoke his tone was relaxed, the practiced ease of an experienced combat physician. "Okay, tell me all about it."

"It started about a week before this mission," I began.

It was here that I woke up. The dream was a patchwork of distinct day residue. The worms were inspired by Jimmy Carter's appearance on the Daily Show with Jon Stewart, where they briefly discussed his efforts to eradicate guinea worms in Africa. The doctor's face was a combination of Lance Hendrickson, who I saw the night before last when Aliens (1986) came on TV, and another old guy from another film of which my husband made an approving remark when he appeared. The film might have been The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999), which we caught much of on cable last night, in which case the guy must have been Philip Baker Hall (b.1931)—I had to look up his name, but the face looks right. My role as a female leader of a military company comes directly from Mass Effect 3 (2012), which I was playing last night. I think there was a lot more to the dream, because it actually started with the scene prior to the mission when I first felt a foreboding uneasiness. I reported it in retrospect because I couldn't remember most of what happened before that last scene; the mission itself remains a blur in memory. There was physical input as well: when I woke up I still had a slight itch on my head where I had scratched in the dream and discovered the third worm.

I was at the pool at my family's old health club. I noticed that I didn't need to hold my breath to stay underwater and it felt very relaxing just floating there underwater. Also, the pool was much deeper than it is IWL. Eventually the lifeguard thought that I was drowning and pulled me out of the water. I apologized for calling him into action and told him that I was totally fine.


I had a dream that involved my mom wanting me to drive the family's old van. I didn't want to do it.


I was in a Cafe in the outlet mall a couple miles from my house. (I don't know if it is there IWL, but I could 'sense' where I was. I ran into my friend sitting at a large table all by himself. We already have a C and an H so we'll call him CH. So I sat down with him. I remember thinking that I might want to go get some tea or something from the Cafe. But I haven't seen CH in years so we wanted to get our hellos out of the way.

I went to the Cafe and bought some tea. A little expensive, but nothing too out of the ordinary.

When I sat back down CH was looking through my art portfolio. There were a bunch of large drawings in it that are not there IWL. The looked like drawings that I did as a child. One was particularly good though. I remembered that I wanted to show him something on the back. When I turned it back over onto the front the particularly good drawing was gone.

I began cascading into lucidity as I noticed that turning the drawings over, or looking away from them produced different results each time. I transitioned from the Cafe to my living room. I still had one of the drawings in my hand. I then did a nose pinch just to confirm that I was dreaming. Oh, yeah.

My parents were sitting on the couch across from me. My dad had his arm over my mom's shoulder. I told them that I was lucid dreaming and had to go do my goals. They smiled, almost creepily and said OK.

I walked around the kitchen of my house, rubbing my hands on things and stabilizing. At one point, I pulled out a drawer. It was full of CD cases in neat rows. But the drawer was broken, one of the sides was missing. I thought to myself that I could fix it. I looked away, and the side was fixed. I closed it.

I went to the door to go outside, but all I could see outside the windows was black. I couldn't even see that the front porch was there. I closed my eyes and tried to have it appear as day when I opened them. Nope, still dark outside. I then tried to transport myself directly onto a beach. (Why a beach? Because that was where many of my early lucid dreams took place. It just seemed like a good place to go.)

I closed my eyes and visualized a beach. It seemed to be working, but when I came out of it, I was still in my house. I tried again. This time, when I visualized the beach, Manei was there. But when I came out of it, I was still in my house.

I then thought that my bedroom might be a better place to change the scene. I have a huge potted tree that could be perfect for bringing me to a tropical/beach environment. I made my way up the steps. But when I got to the top, and turned down the hall to go into my room, I felt a presence. I looked behind me to see someone emerge from the wall.

The means by which they emerged from the wall was pretty psychedelic and difficult to describe in words. It could best be described as pushing into a taught blanket from the other side until it peeled away from the wall and he became a figure cloaked in that yucky beige color my parents painted the walls. As I saw the figure coming down on me, I wasn't so much scared as I was 'are you serious?!'. I found myself more annoyed by this being than anything else because I had lucid goals to attend to.

He wrapped me up in mummy wrapping scarves, and then picked me up feet first. Originally, I thought I could simply overpower the being. That didn't work, it's movements and grip felt as strong as steel. I managed to get a hand free. I looked down and saw the barefoot leg of a man. I put my hand up to it and tried to picture a steel spike forming out of my hand and going through the leg. Nothing happened.

The being carried me into the guest bedroom and wrestled me onto the bed. By this point, I had both hands free.

"Stop! You are a nightmare! What do you represent?!"

No response.

"This is my dream! I'm not scared of you, whoever you are!" I said, venting my annoyance. It was at this point that I realized that this being was no monster, but merely a man. I started trying to punch him, but my hits didn't connect with any meaningful force. It felt as though I was simply punching a pillow. I, instead tried to peel away the cloak and mummy scarves, that felt as though they were made out of paper.

I managed to peel away the scarves around his face. I saw the face of a late 30's-early 40's man with short hair and a stubble-ish mustache. He looked a little like my father, if he was more of a military type. I couldn't help but thing that this man was an agent or a part of some task force.

I he still seemed intent on restraining me. I then had one more idea. I put my right hand behind my back and manifested a dreamcatcher. I broke free of his grip completely and floated to the end of the bed. I held up the dreamcatcher. It was no bigger than my hand, but I could see the feathers hanging down from the bottom.

"Nightmare Ward!"

Now before anyone asks, I don't know where those words came from. I guess it was just the first thing that I thought to say.

The man went from being determined and aggressive to terrified faster than anyone I've seen. He started to scream in defeat and the dream went dark.

Officially, that's the third nightmare that I've vanquished.

I false awoke on my bed. I figured that I should get out of bed and write down the dream. I made it to the door of my room when I false awoke a second time.

I was laying in bed, suspicious of my reality. Eventually, I started moving to preform a nose pinch. Yep, still dreaming. I sat up in bed. I then woke up a third time.

I was awake for real this time, but I felt that I could DEILD if I tried. I figured that I wanted to get up and write my lucid while I still had it.

Morning of January 1, 2015. Thursday.

Reading time: 35 sec. Readability score: 48.



I am supposed to get on a military helicopter under non-threatening conditions, approaching from its right side. It features a camouflage design. It is in a mostly featureless field with overgrown weeds. While walking, my foot catches on a piece of uprooted root or snagged plant stem, and I trip with the usual hypnopompic kick.

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Usually, this stage of dreaming occurs as walking in a city and tripping or falling off the curb (though that is too common to bother to document, as is the beginning of this dream, as most begin with sightings of lakes and rivers as this one did), typically only as the first dream of a sleep cycle. Helicopters are a common form of vestibular system correlation and a projection of illusory physicality when there is more mental energy present, though on a spiritual level they have an association with the Merkaba as tornadoes do.

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