Her dreams were light and fire.
I think that tonight's dream ranks among my strangest and most surreal. It is, in its own way, one of the most vivid as well, but that isn't saying much considering how surreal it was. I think it began with Keith and I discussing a book. The rest of the dream took place in the book, which was being written by the characters in the book. If that makes any sense. I was not myself, but experiencing the dream sometimes through the perspective of one of the main characters, female, and sometimes through that weird dream third-person in which you're still feeling what the person is feeling, doing what they are doing, but seeing things from outside of the body.
The woman lived with three other people, her boyfriend and another couple. Together, they were writing a book, but I couldn't tell you for the life of me what the book was about, whether it was fiction or philosophy or biography or what. It both mattered and didn't matter as the book was both the centerpoint and the framework for the dream. There were a couple interludes in which I saw the book, the introduction to the chapter. The second chapter dealt with fire, but even as I was reading it, the words were changing as if the girl, the woman I was in the dream, didn't like what it said and was revising.
It's very difficult for me to recall a lot of this because so much of the dream took place in someone else's head, experienced through a completely foreign perspective. Her head was a weird place to be. She was always kind of... two places at once, both in the physical world and in the conceptual, philosophical world through which she filtered everything.
The real substative part of the dream took place in their apartment. The other girl wasn't home, still at work or something. The guys came home together as if they worked together, like this were what happened every night. I was in the foyer of their apartment, a rather large apartment that was very wide, at the end of the building. I remember it being split symmetrically into four sections: foyer in the front, living area in the back, kitchen area to the left, sleeping area to the right. The guys had gone back into the living area. You couldn't just walk straight back to it, though, but had to go around the wall through either the kitchen or the sleeping area. I have no idea what I was doing. It's not that I don't remember, but that it doesn't really translate well in my head. I was in my own thoughts, kind of. I don't know. Anyway, someone came to the door. To my recollection, it was more than one person, but only one person figured into the dream after that. They were looking for the guys. So, I lead them around to the other room... where the guys were both hanging by nooses. I don't think they'd been home very long. They must have just hanged themselves. One of the men was my boyfriend's fathers. He pushed roughly at the body, said something to the effect of, "This is the thanks I get." It's hard to remember now. I've been up for over an hour. I remember that the man's words jilted me from my usually disjointed reality into the here and now. I started holding up the body, and my boyfriend's eyes open, frustrated, sad. I started shouting at him to get himself down while I held him up, then we got the other guy down. Then we all collapsed, exhausted to the floor. Apparently, they were trying to kill themselves because of something they did for the book, but I don't think it registered what that thing was. It didn't matter. What mattered was they did something they were guilty about. That's how I understood it. Then I started in on something about truth and reality and how it's not always something that's soft and well-integrated, but sometimes come through like light sharply through the clouds. I was immersed, then, in my own thoughts, talking to the guys but seeing only what was in my head. Dark clouds with a literal corner of light piercing oddly through them, stark rays of yellowish light edging through the greyness. I think this is the point where the chapter two text showed up, where I was reminded that I was as much in the book as writing the book, where I started revising the introductory text. That was jilting. Combined with the emotions of panic that I'd been feeling a few moments before, it was enough to shake me into such full lucidity that the dream couldn't proceed naturally anymore.
I think that's the most frustrating part about being a lucid dreamer, how cognizance is so hard to hold back sometimes, how once you let your own thoughts into the dream, it changes the course of the dream.
It was so weird being in someone else's head like that, experiencing the world so differently from how I usually experience it. So strange...
The woman lived with three other people, her boyfriend and another couple. Together, they were writing a book, but I couldn't tell you for the life of me what the book was about, whether it was fiction or philosophy or biography or what. It both mattered and didn't matter as the book was both the centerpoint and the framework for the dream. There were a couple interludes in which I saw the book, the introduction to the chapter. The second chapter dealt with fire, but even as I was reading it, the words were changing as if the girl, the woman I was in the dream, didn't like what it said and was revising.
It's very difficult for me to recall a lot of this because so much of the dream took place in someone else's head, experienced through a completely foreign perspective. Her head was a weird place to be. She was always kind of... two places at once, both in the physical world and in the conceptual, philosophical world through which she filtered everything.
The real substative part of the dream took place in their apartment. The other girl wasn't home, still at work or something. The guys came home together as if they worked together, like this were what happened every night. I was in the foyer of their apartment, a rather large apartment that was very wide, at the end of the building. I remember it being split symmetrically into four sections: foyer in the front, living area in the back, kitchen area to the left, sleeping area to the right. The guys had gone back into the living area. You couldn't just walk straight back to it, though, but had to go around the wall through either the kitchen or the sleeping area. I have no idea what I was doing. It's not that I don't remember, but that it doesn't really translate well in my head. I was in my own thoughts, kind of. I don't know. Anyway, someone came to the door. To my recollection, it was more than one person, but only one person figured into the dream after that. They were looking for the guys. So, I lead them around to the other room... where the guys were both hanging by nooses. I don't think they'd been home very long. They must have just hanged themselves. One of the men was my boyfriend's fathers. He pushed roughly at the body, said something to the effect of, "This is the thanks I get." It's hard to remember now. I've been up for over an hour. I remember that the man's words jilted me from my usually disjointed reality into the here and now. I started holding up the body, and my boyfriend's eyes open, frustrated, sad. I started shouting at him to get himself down while I held him up, then we got the other guy down. Then we all collapsed, exhausted to the floor. Apparently, they were trying to kill themselves because of something they did for the book, but I don't think it registered what that thing was. It didn't matter. What mattered was they did something they were guilty about. That's how I understood it. Then I started in on something about truth and reality and how it's not always something that's soft and well-integrated, but sometimes come through like light sharply through the clouds. I was immersed, then, in my own thoughts, talking to the guys but seeing only what was in my head. Dark clouds with a literal corner of light piercing oddly through them, stark rays of yellowish light edging through the greyness. I think this is the point where the chapter two text showed up, where I was reminded that I was as much in the book as writing the book, where I started revising the introductory text. That was jilting. Combined with the emotions of panic that I'd been feeling a few moments before, it was enough to shake me into such full lucidity that the dream couldn't proceed naturally anymore.
I think that's the most frustrating part about being a lucid dreamer, how cognizance is so hard to hold back sometimes, how once you let your own thoughts into the dream, it changes the course of the dream.
It was so weird being in someone else's head like that, experiencing the world so differently from how I usually experience it. So strange...