tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24539574793850861812024-03-14T02:49:34.359-04:00The Archidreamskybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-13766976837806924692013-07-22T00:18:00.002-04:002013-07-22T00:43:30.924-04:00On Having to Say GoodbyeThis entry was written a few months ago, back in spring, but was not published until now.<br />
<br />
----------<br />
You know you care about someone when you have nightmares about having to say goodbye. I've had quite a few of these. Not frequently, but it is something of a recurring theme. And they're all so different, but I always end up with the same feelings: in the dream, I don't know what to do. When I wake up, I want to keep him near me.<br />
<div>
<br />
<br />
Sometime back in January:<br />
Matt and I just moved in together with Taylor as a third roommate and Liz as, basically, a fourth.<br />
In the first few weeks, I was getting used to a lot of things - such as when he gently wakes me up in the morning to say he's leaving for work.<br />
<br />
One night, I dreamt he did just that, and I thought it was real. Everything was the same: we were engaged, we were planning and saving for our wedding, and we were in love. Normal. He woke me up and I was only half-awake (or I thought I was) when I watched him go.<br />
And I thought it was real when I received a call later on in the day from someone who told me that there had been an accident. And he wasn't coming back. I remember wondering whether or not I was in the right condition to drive, but I had to get out of the office. It was terrible.<br />
<br />
No, it doesn't end there.<br />
I continued to dream for years. It wasn't exactly a day-to-day experience, but it wasn't a montage either. I know it took me a long time before his Mom or I could throw away, sell, or donate his things. I kept one of his leather jackets. Eventually, I met someone new and lived another relationship. I was still a little broken for a while, but we eventually married. I don't remember what he looked like or anything about him anymore, but I had strong feelings for him.<br />
<br />
We moved away and we had a family. The kids grew up, went to college, graduated, started their own families, and suddenly I was an old woman. My husband was asleep in bed beside me, and I lay awake at night thinking about my life. All my neighbors, my friends and relatives, and those who had gone before me:<br />
<br />
There was one point in my life in which I loved another man, when I was young. And I thought it was so daring of that younger self to have been engaged and had a plan all laid out at 22. Of course things don't go as planned. ...but it was so foreign to me now, the idea of "another man." He was so tall... I remembered that I kept his leather jacket, but where was it now? Probably got rid of it a long time ago. I knew I loved him, and a lot. But I couldn't feel it anymore. I could hardly remember his face, and I thought it was so sad that I couldn't remember. The worst part is that while I <b><i>wanted </i></b>to be mad at myself for forgetting what I knew was once important, I just...couldn't feel much of anything about a distant memory.<br />
<br />
When I actually woke up, the sky was brighter, the birds were singing, and I was in my 20s again. It was Saturday morning at 8 o'clock. Matt left for work hours ago, and I was alone in the apartment. But I wanted to keep him near me. I could hardly stand seeing all of his things "again." Like his pillow, his Calvin and Hobbes book that I gave him as a present, or his shoes in the corner of the room. I just dreamt until I was 80 years old, and then I woke up surrounded by <b><i>everything</i></b>.<br />
<br />
<b><i>THAT </i></b>feeling.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, I don't remember any of what the nightmare looked like. But I still know what that obligatory guilt feels like. And I am still scared that this will happen.<br />
<br />
<br />
And then there's last night's nightmare:<br />
Back to the zombie apocalypse world. Present day. I was in the apartment and Matt was taking a nap because of a bad headache.<br />
Skip forward a few days.<br />
Matt was still at home, and hadn't been to work since the headache started. His temperature was rising and he was easily irritated. But every now and then, I would see him quiet down and focus on me. We all knew what was coming. Like so many of my zombie dreams, it starts with a fever.<br />
<br />
"You can't stay here," he told me a few times, as I sat by the bed and gave him some medicine. I thought I could help. And even if I wasn't able to, I couldn't bring myself to abandon him while I knew he was still Matt. ...yet I didn't feel safe anymore. Almost everything I did (or didn't do) made him angry. I didn't know what would set him off anymore; and the next time it happened, he might not calm down. .... So Taylor and I came up with a plan to escape when the time came.<br />
<br />
A day or two afterwards, Matt was up and about. He seemed to gain back some of his strength....<br />
but he was still stumbling around. His eyes looked like they were burning, and his gums were bleeding a little, lining his teeth with red.<br />
In a loud voice, he called for me.<br />
<br />
"STEPHANIEEEEE!!"<br />
For some reason, I didn't run at that. Instead, I jumped up from the couch and went towards the kitchen, and almost bumped into him. And he watched me....<br />
Very irritably he said, "Get out." I didn't know how to respond.<br />
But then, in a softer tone that sounded more like the man I knew, "You can't stay here. You know that. It's time to go. Please, just go."<br />
"I can't --"<br />
"............ . ... . . . . Then come here."<br />
<br />
And so I moved in closer.<br />
<br />
<br />
Taylor, who was also sitting on the couch, stayed somewhere behind me. I could sense him moving across the room to the front door, but I was frozen. "Steph," his calm voice broke through and faded somewhere back there. It was the same kind of intonation I'd heard again and again in the past. "Steph, have you seen my keys?" "Steph? Do you want anything while I'm in the kitchen?" Now it was, "Steph....We gotta go."<br />
Who knew that being so close to Matt and looking into his eyes could be so frightening? He's so tall....<br />
<br />
And then he inched forward.....and I stood unflinching.<br />
Taylor said again, with a strong hint of urgency, "Steph--"<br />
<br />
Matt kissed me. Very lightly, but it was there. When I opened my eyes, he was still leaning in, staring at me.<br />
"I love you," I said.<br />
He didn't respond. Instead, there was a pained look in his eyes. I barely had time to blink before it was gone and pain turned to fury. There it was. He was gone. And it was here.<br />
<br />
Taylor, ready to sprint, finally managed to get a reaction out of me. "STEPH, RUN." At that, I moved away, reluctantly turned my back on what once was Matt, and ran out the door.... to be greeted by my neighbor from upstairs (vacant at the time in real life).<br />
"Hey guys, what's all the fuss?" she asked as she came bounding down the steps. She was cheerful and friendly, and walked right past me to see Matt.<br />
<br />
I didn't stop her. I didn't have time. ... And I needed it badly.<br />
So a decision was made before I could process anything or consult my sense of morals.<br />
I jumped over the handrail and raced down to the door, almost broke it as I passed through, and flew down the remaining steps to the street, where a car was waiting for me, full of people. One of them was Taylor.<br />
<br />
That was our plan.<br />
<br />
As I made for the car, I heard Matt call out my name as he had earlier in the day. Only this time, it was hardly a word. But I knew that's what he, it, was trying to say. And it resonated through the house, out the windows and doors, and reached me with chills. I was only three steps away from the car, but I was frozen again with fright. It might have helped a little that a bloodied Matt came crashing through the door and into the wooden railing, because I jumped up and started moving again. But I lingered long enough to see him stumble across the porch and bound down the steps. Everyone in the car was screaming at me to move. <b><i>I</i></b> was screaming at me to move. He was fast.<br />
<br />
The rest of the dream went by as quickly as it would in real life. I ran, reached the car just in time to force the door closed on an innocent man who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The driver hit the accelerator just as Matt slammed his hands on the trunk. The man was taken down, but that wasn't enough to stop the savage. All he remembered was me. And so, rather than stop for a meal, he got up again and continued to run after the car. We were down the street and about to turn the corner. That was the last thing I saw.</div>
skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-829149042051292352012-12-16T01:36:00.003-05:002012-12-16T01:36:52.316-05:00There are no steps to retrace....<div>
The other night, I dreamt that I had lockjaw after opening my mouth too wide; haven't had that dream in a while. I dreamt that I forced my jaw shut, rather than trying to fix it. I cracked my jaw and it hurt like hell until I woke up.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Last night I dreamt something else entirely. This morning, I opened my eyes as if I just blinked. And blinked. And blinked. And ---</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Climbing </i>-- I thought.</div>
<div>
<i>Walked through a house.... met someone along the way... something about disappointment. And having to choose.. And..climbing.. climbing what? Climbing onto a huge platform high off the ground. . ... Climbing. </i>That was my key word. When I dream, most of the time I am lucid enough by the end to give myself at least one hint. The best way for me to recall.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
....Damn it, I was dreaming for hours and it felt like days. Why couldn't I remember anything specific? </div>
<div>
I am slowly losing the ability to remember them fully. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It sucks.</div>
<div>
It is infuriating. </div>
<div>
It makes me hate my schedule. If only I could hold on to those scenes, I wouldn't mind as much having to wake up at 6am every weekday.<div>
Instead, I wake up feeling lost, unfinished, turned around, misplaced. That part is normal. But then I can usually lay in bed for a long while and focus on the dream (it's like watching a movie for the first time and forming memories and associations from it - forcefully placing myself in the situation....which is strange, because it's all up there in my head to begin with).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now that I have to get up at a certain time, I pull myself up and out of bed and leave any remnant of a dream on my pillow. It just disintegrates as the day drags on and is usually gone by the time I come back.</div>
<div>
So now I'm taking a shower, brushing my teeth, getting dressed, putting on makeup, and driving to work feeling lost, unfinished, turned around, misplaced. And I spend most of my day sitting at a desk, trying to retrace my steps.</div>
<div>
It's hard to do that when you can't remember the last step.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That's what the key word is for. The last step.</div>
<div>
And then the one before that, and the one before that, and so on.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I begin dream recall before I wake up, if I can tell what's going on. I will continue doing whatever I'm doing, so I'm passive lucid dreaming. But I will be totally aware of my dream memories and start memorizing it backwards. Sounds complicated, but it's not too difficult; it'd be like typing away at emails at work while thinking about some delicious lunch you just had because you can still remember the taste so well. Or playing that memory game, Simon.</div>
<div>
Key word: _____ (something like "climbing")</div>
<div>
What led to that key word: another key word (something like "choosing")</div>
<div>
And what led to <i>that </i>key word: another key word (something like "meeting")</div>
<div>
etc.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
-- and I do this really quickly in whatever dream I'm in so that I can go as far back to the beginning as possible before I wake up so that when I <i>do </i>wake up,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I can do it again. And that reassures me that I was dreaming.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But because of my getting up so immediately so early, I feel like I am in the wrong state of mind all the time. I feel like I'm half there, I'm just so aware of the fact that I can't remember.</div>
<div>
Perhaps I should just let it go and remind myself that "it's just a dream; it's not real life." But if I'm not busy or distracted by something entertaining or important, I am incomplete.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
By the way, yes this is directly related to how I can lucid dream. Not as often anymore, but it still helps immensely: retracing my steps.</div>
<div>
Because I constantly ask myself throughout the day how I got to where I am and what I'm doing, I am continuously aware of myself and my surroundings. I can tell you I am laying in this stupid bed right now and that I was downstairs before I came up to the bedroom. I can tell you that I had dinner with my family around 9 o'clock after I moved a heavy-ass table into my new apartment with my fiance. I can describe how cold it felt outside at night and the difference it makes to have a little bit of sunlight in the late afternoon. I spent most of today wrapping presents and entertaining myself with little notes to be found. I didn't have to go to the post office like I begrudgingly planned. </div>
<div>
I had an omelette for breakfast.</div>
</div>
<div>
And before that, I got dressed and brushed my teeth and got ready to go to the post office for, hopefully, no more than five minutes, even though I didn't want to go at all.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And not long before that, I woke up in bed.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And a few blinks of an eye before that, I was climbing....</div>
<div>
And before that, I--</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
-- what was I doing, again?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-50950885306914603722012-11-10T10:06:00.003-05:002012-11-10T11:06:12.579-05:00What ____ Minutes Gets YouOne night - over a year ago at this point, though I haven't forgotten it - I had a terrible experience with sleep paralysis. It wasn't your "normal" experience in which you feel an unwelcome or strange presence in the room while immobilized. ....It came aout because I read into "out of body experiences" and how to manipulate sleep paralysis. Out of curiosity. Someone said it could work, and proceeded to explain the steps.<br />
Skeptical, I tested it.<br />
It worked. I was able to walk around my house without feeling the weight of a body.<br />
<br />
The next night, however...<br />
<a href="http://thearchidream.blogspot.com/2011/08/what-just-happened.html">I was dragged out of my body and out of my bed.</a><br />
<br />
Up until a couple of nights ago, this was the most frightening experience I'd ever had to date. Imagine not being able to stop something dragging you out of your body. Your vessel. And if you don't believe that something like that could happen, then fine - but what would something like that feel like, to be separated from your <b>self</b>? How do you get back..? I still don't know how I did it. But I hoped that it would never happen again. I stopped fooling around with it.<br />
<br />
Not only did something very similar happen more recently, but it seemed even longer. And each instance (yes, there were several) overlapped with another in a way that's difficult to comprehend.<br />
<br />
But as I began to try telling Matt:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
this one was terrifying.<br />
it was right up there with the one where I literally got dragged out of bed...and this one was way longer, too. :(<br />
it was one of those weird experiences that overlap with one another.<br />
you know how I tried to explain how I <a href="http://thearchidream.blogspot.com/2012/10/545am.html">dream of two different things at once</a>..?<br />
it was sort of like that, but instead of them completely happening at the same time, they would overlap in beginning and end of each sequence.<br />
there were so many....</blockquote>
<br />
I fell asleep on my back without my even realizing it. For a while, I thought the door was open and I was listening to a conversation, but then I realized it was just in my head...and so I tried to stop making things up and shift positions to start over, in a sense.<br />
But I couldn't move.<br />
<br />
So I gathered my thoughts and said to myself, <i>All right. I'll just lay here and fall asleep before the panic part sets in...</i><br />
<br />
But then - of course - I was too nervous that my mind couldn't fall asleep. And instead of moving in to a lucid dream, I was just completely caught inbetween sleep and awake. This is what my light research told me was the beginning of an "out of body experience." You can just... tell that it's not a dream, yet it's not quite sleep paralysis either. I was much more aware.<br />
I tried to move again and wake myself up, or at least sit up in bed in whatever state I was, but I ended up pushing myself back into sleep paralysis. The pins and needles set in. It feels like the sound of electricity. It feels like panic.<br />
And then, very very slowly... I felt my fingers move on my right hand:<br />
my third and fourth finer stayed next to each other, but my pinky kind of moved outward a little bit, and my index finger began to straighten itself out, as if it was pointing at something. As if that wasn't terrifying enough, to feel an invisible hand lifting your fingertips...my entire hand moved up in the air. It was now hovering in front of my face, limp as could be.<br />
<br />
I was trying.<b> SO. HARD.</b> to move it back and take control.<br />
But it was just like someone was holding it there...playing with my hand.<br />
<br />
After a few minutes, I gained enough control to form a fist and put my hand back to where it was on my stomach.<br />
<br />
[that's when it would overlap again with another sequence]<br />
<br />
-in which my hand was lifted again,<br />
fingers moving.<br />
This time my whole arm was shifting. From elbow to fingers, my arm moved. My hand was limp and I wasn't moving a muscle, yet there it was, my hand slowly moving up toward my face, trying to gesture at something. I could feel my fingers struggling to take control. I couldn't help but feel like I was wrestling with something.<br />
And then, I felt the backs of my fingers lightly stroke my lips and cheek as my hand moved to the right side of my face. Until I was pointing at myself. My closed eyes, actually. It remained there for a few long seconds -- long enough that I thought it would stay there and I could move it back -- until my hand formed a claw.<br />
<br />
<i><b>STOP. IT. </b></i>I was panicking. That was my hand, inches away from my face. But I wasn't in control. What I imagined was my self not quite lining up with my body. That I was half in and half out and would keep moving out of my body if I didn't hang on to my consciousness. But I took it back for a while; enough time to place my hand back to where it's supposed to be. And I put my left hand on top of it to keep it from<br />
<br />
[overlapping with another sequence]<br />
<br />
-in which my feet were moving towards the end of the bed. I was being dragged. The blanket was lifted a little bit, so that my ankles were exposed.<br />
I took control and desperately moved myself back up to my pillow<br />
<br />
[overlap again]<br />
- and was about to shift positions entirely<br />
[OVERLAP. AGAIN.]<br />
<br />
- when I realized I was already being dragged farther to the end of the bed, and I could open my eyes enough to see my feet in midair. I couldn't put them down. Something held my ankles. I couldn't feel anything touching me, but I knew it.<br />
So I tried to scream, and I reached<br />
Layer -2: it came out clear, but then I realized it was just in my head that I heard it. So I tried again.<br />
Layer -1: it came out as a loud whisper. I could almost feel myself back in bed the same way I initially fell asleep, so once more...<br />
Layer 0: my scream came out only as a whimper. I was so exhausted from all of that mental strain, trying to climb my way back up to Awake, that I just couldn't do it. I couldn't scream. But I felt myself back in bed as if I never moved. Except for my right hand, which was still pointing. And I felt my heart pounding.<br />
<br />
[overlap again]<br />
<br />
My hand was beginning to point, my arm was raising itself up... and it began to motion something. I don't know if it was trying to write or point, but those were controlled motions. It tugged on my shoulder, it reached out so far.<br />
And my feet were in the air again.<br />
And my left arm was moving outward, sliding until it hung off the edge of the bed.<br />
<br />
<i><b>NO MORE.</b></i><br />
It took all of my strength to focus to get myself out of that, but I did it. I used all my strength to curl up into a ball. And I found myself back in bed once more. I felt everything around me.<br />
Nothing changed. I never moved. I was totally awake this time.<br />
I was still on my back. My blankets were still tucked nicely at the end of the bed, so my feet were never moved. My left arm was back to where it originally was. But my right hand was still pointing.<br />
<br />
I very deliberately formed a fist and tucked it away.<br />
<br />
I opened my eyes. There was nothing in the room, of course. And the door was never opened. No one was awake.<br />
I shook myself. Literally. I shook myself, as if that would release anything left on me.<i> Get out. Get off. Get out, get out, out out out.......out, leave me alone...What is wrong with me..?</i><br />
I felt so violated.<br />
I rolled over to my side, hiding my right hand, and reached for my phone with my left.<br />
Funny, how that's one of the first things I do after sleep paralysis....<br />
That whole series felt like two hours.<br />
I was asleep for ten minutes.skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-7787071382570719222012-10-16T00:07:00.000-04:002012-10-16T00:09:25.196-04:005:45am<div>
While everyone else is still awake, I'll write this.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It must have been three weeks ago by now, but it's been in my mind ever since: one of the most convincing, odd, false awakenings I've ever experienced.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My alarm is set for 5:45am. I woke up (or "woke up" -- I'm still not sure) around 5:30, checked the time, sighed at how I wouldn't be able to get more sleep, and closed my eyes again.</div>
<div>
Then my alarm went off. It seemed to be too soon, but I thought, <i>Whatever. I guess I dozed off.</i></div>
<div>
So I turned it off. Lay in bed for a while.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Just before I picked myself up, I felt a presence beside me. And then behind me. But because I was lying on my stomach and my face was in my pillow, I couldn't see anything.</div>
<div>
No, I wasn't paralyzed. At least, I don't think I was at first.</div>
<div>
What was so strange about this one was that I just..... didn't care to move. I felt very relaxed even though I knew that I wasn't alone in the room. I didn't care that my blankets began to feel heavier, as if they'd been soaked in water. There was a weight all around me, but I told myself, <i>It's okay. This is normal.</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Another distant voice in my head urgently whispered to me to head for the door. <i>Here's how you do it: don't look up. But don't look directly at the floor, either. Please don't. Please, please don't. Roll out of bed and go straight for the doorknob. Please. <b>Do it. NOW.</b></i></div>
<div>
I didn't do it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That voice came and went, but the tone of urgency got confused, and suddenly a hissed --<i>It's okay. This is <b>normal</b>.</i> made me stay perfectly still as I began to slide along my bed.</div>
<div>
And very calmly, <i>Go straight for the doorknob....</i> just faded away. I could feel my head touching the edge of my bookcase at the head of my mattress before I began to slowly float in the opposite direction. </div>
<div>
This happened a few times. I counted four.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But four was enough, apparently, because I picked myself up after a while, thought nothing of it, and headed straight for the bathroom.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now, I wear makeup and don't always wash it off before going to bed, so that by the time I get up in the morning, my eyeshadow is kind of messed up. When I went into the bathroom this time, I looked at myself in the mirror without my glasses and thought, <i>Ugh, my eyes look so dark. I need to take this off....</i></div>
<div>
I leaned in close to get a better look. Again, it didn't really occur to me that I should be afraid of seeing myself with different eyes. It just looked like me. Not a menacing face. Just... me. With sunken, scratchy eyes.</div>
<div>
So I looked down at the faucet and thought about turning on the water to rinse off my makeup. <i>No, that's cold water....</i></div>
<div>
When I looked back up at myself, my face about an inch away from this girl, I saw that she'd been watching me that whole time. <i>Do your job and move with me, reflection.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<u>No.</u> </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And then every single excited expression clicked on. I couldn't tell if she was angry or not. Every muscle in her face was strained. Her eyes were fierce, eyebrows furrowed and arched at the same time. Nostrils flared, and she opened her mouth wide enough that I thought her lips were going to split.</div>
<div>
And then she made a sound.</div>
<div>
A whisper.</div>
<div>
It was so quiet, but it deafened me. It sounded like screams...if they were pixels that created a whisper as an image. It also sounded like it was... backwards. A sharp intake of breath. A million voices in one.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And then it was gone. Done. And I was back in bed. I opened my eyes one minute before my 5:45am alarm sounded. It never happened. But it did.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Two things happened, actually.</div>
<div>
1. I watched my reflection go crazy, and I finally reacted and became terrified, covering my ears and shutting my eyes to undo it.</div>
<div>
2. My reflection didn't do anything. I just stared at myself with sunken eyes and slowly realized that I wasn't awake.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
They both happened at the same time. There is no way for me to illustrate this for you. But this is what it's <i>not </i>like:</div>
<div>
It's not like seeing one scene with one eye and the other scene with the other.</div>
<div>
It's not like seeing one scene play out completely and then rewinding to see the "alternative."</div>
<div>
It's not like overlaying one image with another to create some sort of collage.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There was another mirror dream...</div>
<div>
But I'll have to share that one later. I need to sleep so that I can wake up at 5:45am and take a shower when everyone else is still asleep.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-24483497547316252682012-07-20T04:08:00.001-04:002012-07-20T04:08:39.917-04:00True or False NostalgiaI never write about what happens in my head when I'm trying to fall asleep.<br />
Well, lots of stuff happen.<br />
<br />
And I never really write when I'm suffering from a small bout of insomnia.<br />
But that's because, even though my mind is at its most poetic, my diction and eloquence suffer. It just took me a good minute to think of the word "insomnia."<br />
<br />
<br />
So here goes, at my worst in writing:<br />
<br />
I'm the only one awake in the house right now. I know I'll be scared when I turn off the lights and go up to my room, because truthfully, my room kind of scares me. And I never really know why; if it's because there's something to be wary of, or if it's just what happens when you have an imagination like mine.<br />
Right now, though, I feel fine. I'm comfortable.<br />
<br />
Actually, it's the right temperature at the moment. Not too hot, not too humid. Just the right amount of breeze reaching me, even if it is just from a fan and not the wind coming in.<br />
There's something about this night that has me trying to remember something.<br />
<br />
Part of me wants to say it was a night at the beach. But when has that happened? Not often enough. And it was colder; I needed a sweater.<br />
Maybe I was in a car on my way somewhere, with the windows down.<br />
Or on my way home with my family after a long day at Dorney Park...?<br />
<br />
But no matter what I try to link this to, all I can envision is me sitting on a curb somewhere. A neighborhood like mine, but not mine. And I'm with someone. But I don't know who it is other than a guy.<br />
<br />
So let's make up a story based on this false nostalgia.<br />
<br />
I'm wearing shorts and a T-shirt, no sweater with me. The warmth rising from the street feels friendly (the only way I can think to describe it) as it reaches my legs every now and then when the breeze dies down. It's the end of summer, and I welcome it because it's been summer for what seemed like half the year.<br />
He's sitting beside me, about a foot away.... a little less. And when he puts his hands beside him on the curb, he's about 3 inches away from my own hand. Too close or too far, I can't tell. So I sit up straight after a while of indulging myself in his nearness and begin fiddling with a mostly empty chocolate wrapper. But I look stupid, folding and unfolding it.<br />
"You want the last piece?" I ask him.<br />
Now it's empty.<br />
He's talking to me about nothing. He called me at 2am and asked if I wanted to go for a walk; he couldn't sleep. So we wandered, not really paying attention to how many blocks we traveled. I think it's been about 10, since we're coming up to the edge of our neighborhood.<br />
And while we wandered, we shared meaningless facts about each other. They don't mean anything, but now I know how much he does care about his family, I know why he likes to walk around when he can't sleep at night (restless leg syndrome, which in turn makes him nervous in his room), and I know that his favorite color is dark red; the same as mine. I know he likes to people-watch; I know where he sits on the bus every morning; I know that when he does sleep, he sometimes dreams of his mom, and when he wakes up he can't remember the details but he feels empty.<br />
"It's late," I say after a while.<br />
And he jokes that it was late when he called me up, all apologies. I just smile and shake my head a little; I really don't mind. It's fun to sneak out of the apartment, even if I do just live with my cat. I feel like I'm not supposed to be here; this is the empty movie set that I'm not supposed to have ever seen.<br />
He gets up first, reaches down to help me to my feet, and we walk over to the fence. I run my fingers along one of the giant teacups, and he jumps over the arms of another carnival ride. Less than 5 hours ago, this place was packed with teenagers and young families. They're all asleep now.<br />
"It's so quiet here," I begin to think aloud - just as he knocks over a bottle in the shadows. "Nevermind."<br />
We scale the fence the same way we did when we climbed in. But it acts as a one-way filter: all that we talked about in the empty parking lot must remain there. It'll still be there when we come back another night...because we will, even though I know he'll tell me that he'll stop pestering me.<br />
So I leave a part of myself there, too, whether or not I choose to (and I don't choose to). It gets caught on the fence, snagged off of me like a piece of clothing.<br />
It can wait.<br />
I'll be back.<br />
<br />
<br />
So let's make up a dream based on this story based on a false nostalgia.<br />
<br />skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-42382452415951609012012-07-01T01:39:00.001-04:002012-07-01T01:54:38.683-04:00In EssenceI've fallen back into the habit of dozing off on the couch in the living room, taking naps late at night before even considering going up to my room. I would wake up after half an hour or so, stay up for a while, and then turn in for the night. And I didn't have any trouble with sleep at first. In fact, I started dreaming regularly again, which was great. But then (as these things tend to play out), it changed. Drastically (i.e., in one mentally exhausting night).<br />
<br />
[side note]<br />
My sisters and I are working on building up a shop. We're planning on selling our items at events and on Etsy. More news on that later, I guess. Since we decided to do this, we've been working in the evenings, nights, and weekends (or otherwise on our own time) to make things from stationery to jewelry to stuffed animals. This was one of those nights, although I don't think I was being very productive....<br />
<br />
I had a long work day (after three or four other long work days), and just got a break. No crafting for me. Just TV and 3/4 of the couch.<br />
And then even TV was too much for me to focus on. So I closed my eyes (mistake 1) with my arm draped over them, and rolled onto my back (mistake 2)...and my body froze like that (if you were beside me, you'd see how poorly I can snap my fingers, but let's pretend that was a satisfying sound).<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>1.</b></span><br />
I could clearly hear my sisters talking, commenting on whatever show they were watching, or going over design details. So I tried as hard as I could to move my arms and sit up so that I could <i>tell</i> them about how hard I tried to move my arms and sit up.<br />
No luck; this paralysis was strong (yes, you can measure the degree to which you feel trapped and helpless). It didn't help that I felt like I was sinking into the couch. It gave me the impression that I was about to suffocate, which somehow translated to <i>I <u>am</u> suffocating</i>.... So I started trying to gasp for air.<br />
Apparently, Shiel could hear my breathing was a little off (and that I was twitching a little bit), so she asked me if I was awake.<br />
No answer.<br />
Then she wondered if I was experiencing sleep paralysis.<br />
<i>It'd be great if I could answer that, but I can't,</i> I thought.<br />
She decided to leave me alone, and everything got quiet again...which kind of made me more nervous. It was late, and I don't like being the last one to go upstairs at night.<br />
Eventually, I managed to wrench myself out of paralysis (without punching the air or screaming, like I desperately needed to do) and relate the experience to my sisters.<br />
<br />
According to me, this is how it went:<br />
1. closed my eyes and lay there for what felt like two minutes at most<br />
3. sleep paralysis for what felt like an hour<br />
<br />
And in real time, according to Shiel:<br />
1. I fell asleep and stayed unmoving for a long while.<br />
2. Sharp breathing and twitching happened maybe....five minutes before I woke up.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>2.</b></span><br />
After I told that to my sisters, I let myself fall asleep again. Stupid, I know. But I was just too tired to care. And I felt like I was long overdue for a sleep paralysis episode.<br />
Of course it happened again.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>3.</b></span><br />
It actually happened a couple of times, but I didn't make such a big deal out of it. I just wanted to wake myself up enough so that I could open my eyes fully (one of the most uncomfortable aspects of s.p. is focusing so much energy on just opening your eyelids....which you later realize weren't even your real eyelids -- they were still only dream figments).<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>4.</b></span><br />
After the third one, I told Shiel to try and wake me up if I manage to give a signal that I'm stuck -- something like before: irregular breathing would be pretty easy to relay. I figure it would be okay to try to shake/nudge me awake, since I'm already mentally aware and it's just my body that's switched to sleep mode. I just need a little push.<br />
But I could feel that it wouldn't happen again.<br />
Instead, this is what happened after I woke up:<br />
<br />
Shiel and Evie: *talking about color coordination or something*<br />
Me: .............. . .. ..hhh ....ha...hahaha... ha ha ha ha ha...<br />
Evie: What? Why are you laughing, Steph? Did you just wake up?<br />
Me: Yeah. I'm laughing because I had a really random dream.... You know how you can close your eyes sometimes and then there's just this image that you see? Like you don't even remember thinking it up, it just appears in your mind?<br />
Shiel: Yeah...?<br />
Me: Well, I had that. I had this picture in my mind of the jewelry on the counter in Express. And I didn't feel like I fell asleep. I was just thinking about this picture. The store was empty, like they already closed and I was the only one there. The lights were still on and everything. So I reached into the picture, forgetting it was just an image, and started trying on different bracelets. And every bracelet I wanted, I would.... toss it onto the floor. "I want that. Oh, I want that. And this." Just... throw them on the floor like it was normal. And ... I <i>heard</i> you, Shiel, asking me if I was asleep..! And I was standing in the store going, "<i>No</i>, I'm not asleep, I am clearly in Express right now, trying on jewelry. Duh." And THEN, this random dude showed up in the store, from my right. He was eating a burger and talking about how good it was. And I heard <i>you</i>, Evie, telling him about different varieties..? And that's when I realized I was hearing what you were actually saying, and that you obviously weren't talking about burgers...but paper.... so that's why I woke up laughing.<br />
Shiel: You were asleep for like one minute..!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>5.</b></span><br />
Upon waking up again, I found Evie and Anjel standing by the window, listening to cats fighting outside.<br />
Me: Is that what's going on?!?<br />
Evie: Oh, hi..!<br />
Me: Oh my god, that felt so real!<br />
Evie: What?<br />
Me: I had sleep paralysis again..!! And it felt so long, like all the others. I kept trying..... thought I got out of it--<br />
Evie: When, really, you didn't?<br />
Me: Yeah..! I <i>thought</i> I woke up. I was here on the couch, same position. You weren't standing there, you were sitting on the chair in the corner. Shiel wasn't in the kitchen washing dishes, she was still sitting beside me. Anjel was on the other couch. Mom came down with a caterpillar in her hand, saying she found it in the room. She put it on the floor by your feet and let it wriggle off under that radiator... The wall on that side of the room wasn't the same; instead, it was the wall between the dining room and the deck in the backyard. So we figured the caterpillar went under the door to get outside. And a couple of cats started fighting each other over it....<br />
<br />
I think that is a perfect example of almost-simultaneously creating while perceiving.<br />
<br />
So I went up to my actual bedroom not too long after that, thinking that the worst was over.<br />
I guess the worst <i>was</i> over, but the most intense was yet to come.<br />
That's right. It keeps going.<br />
<br />
This post has gotten quite long, though, not to mention it's almost 2am and I've had a long day. Sounds like a repeat of all I just shared with you. I'm a smart one.skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-37603130092730631152012-05-29T19:08:00.001-04:002012-05-29T19:08:27.977-04:00I dreamt of eagles in a gigantic tree.Originally to be posted 3/12/2012<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The entire spectacle was majestic: the birds were graceful and close together, going in all sorts of directions, and there were feathers everywhere... I could tell they were massive, at least twice my height. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The tree itself was naked, clothed only by the birds flying around or perched on its branches. And its dark branches were old, but strong and full of character. Its roots were too large for the shallow body of water that pooled around it and extended for the rest of the scenery. I had no idea where I was because of the lack of context. .... Then the Rome group appeared, climbing the tree (which proved to be even larger than I'd thought, once I saw how they all looked like ants), sitting with the eagles, jumping from the highest points into the thin, perfect water without breaking a bone. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And I wanted to join them. But I couldn't.</div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-91702431656755036252012-05-29T19:04:00.001-04:002012-05-29T19:04:41.349-04:00this will be just like all the other times.Originally to be posted 7/30/2011<br />
<br />
Another zombie apocalypse dream; how many have I had?<br />
<div>
This one was different, however (that's what I always tell myself) -- this time, it was what happened <i>before</i> the end that inspired my dream.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was back in DC, getting used to the way things are. I stood in the middle of a Metro train, gripping onto a pole and struggling to hold a conversation with my friend and roommate, Claire. It was bright and sunny outside, hinting at a late summer or early autumn afternoon, but the atmosphere seemed dead and silent. We were just rounding a corner when the train began to slow and jolted to a stop. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Nobody minded it. This happens sometimes, such as when trains of opposing traffic have to share the tracks....</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Claire stopped mid-sentence to pull out her phone and read a text. As she did, the train began to move again. The lights flickered a bit.</div>
<div>
She put her phone back in her purse and I asked, "What is it?"</div>
<div>
After thinking carefully of how to phrase it, she replied, "They just took another one off of the train."<br />
<br />
There was some sickness going around, some kind of fever or flu. And all the hype of its contagious nature went along with it. So, naturally, I tried to act like this kind of stuff happens all the time. It was just like the H1N1 virus going around. Everyone got it. I did. But we all got better eventually, and so this would be just like it.<br />
<br />
But people were vomiting on trains and their skin seemed to melt off in the streets as they tiredly rubbed at irritations. And we all felt paranoid of breathing in dead skin cells or being too close to a sneeze in the more congested areas of the city.<br />
Although there were still droves of tourists going around downtown, there were significantly less of them.<br />
And you could feel the tension everywhere.<br />
<br />
There was one more taken off the train. And now the train stalled. Everyone in that singular car, somewhere on the Metro, swore to themselves that they could feel themselves contracting the illness.<br />
<br />
Someone gagged in the car in which I stood.<br />
Another woman looked at me with bloodshot eyes.<br />
<br />
A couple of dream-days later, I felt like I was on fire. I didn't want to be near anyone, but I didn't want to tell them, either...that while I looked fine on the outside, I could feel myself burning up on the inside with a strange fever; that the symptoms began before you could even show it; that half the "healthy" people they interacted with were probably not that healthy; and that they would feel it in a few hours.</div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-85105335859260335382012-05-29T18:33:00.002-04:002012-05-29T18:33:36.291-04:00two accounts of sleep paralysisOriginally to be posted 7/9/2011<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
1. Wednesday morning. </div>
<div>
I couldn't fall asleep until after 6, and I had a doctor's appointment at 9, so I only slept for about 2 hours. When I arrived back home, I fell asleep on the couch after a while of Internet surfing. And I stayed there, unmoving, for about 4 hours.</div>
<div>
I'm not sure how long this played out, but I semi-woke up in the middle of my nap and realized my body was tingling. My legs were hanging off of the couch as if I was half-sitting, and my back felt very uncomfortable, like I was bent the wrong way. I closed my eyes again even though they were barely open. When I squinted again, I saw Anjel walking around me to pick up her guitar and leave again.</div>
<div>
When I actually woke up, I'd never moved from my spot, and the guitar was still there. I don't think Anjel was home. My back felt fine, but I distinctly remembered the feeling I had before, as if it was real.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
2. Last night.</div>
<div>
I heard a secret. I don't remember what it was, anymore, but I was in that almost-dead state when I heard a full-on conversation in my head. It wasn't me making it up (but of course it was) -- it just flowed, and I could tell there was some other part of me that was merely eavesdropping. </div>
<div>
Can you imagine that, trying to figure out what you're simultaneously making up?</div>
<div>
There were two people in the conversation, a man and... maybe another man, or a woman. I can't remember. </div>
<div>
The first line of the conversation was the secret itself. Something I wasn't supposed to hear. The second speaker noticed I was there and said, "Don't talk about it."</div>
<div>
1: What, you mean the _____ -- </div>
<div>
2: I said, Shh. She's listening. H.</div>
<div>
1: B.</div>
<div>
They went on to say a series of words and letters I didn't know or wasn't sure of. </div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-79556539980886423962012-05-29T18:28:00.001-04:002012-05-29T19:10:52.803-04:00after it's over.Originally to be posted on 4/3/2011<br />
<br />
A few nights ago I dreamt of "after the end of the world" -- after it froze over, that is.<br />
<div>
The sky was perpetually dark. The only thing that still looked beautiful to us were the stars above. There was nothing warm left in the world except for that light. Somewhere, the moon was in the sky, illuminating the snow around me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was in a camp with a small group of other people, maybe about 20 or so. We were all spread out in little clusters, families huddled together in their tents. I didn't understand why we were all spread out, we should've been closer.</div>
<div>
Some of them tried to build igloos but they didn't understand how to do it properly, so I decided to try to teach them myself.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-82192678977375946552012-05-29T01:26:00.003-04:002012-05-29T19:16:35.291-04:00SometimesI lose track of time when I doze off on the couch.<br />
And the noises in my head aren't necessarily loud. They're just many.<br />
They drown out sounds like the AC window unit.<br />
<br />
Just imagine me reading this aloud to you. A normal, conversational level of sound.<br />
Now multiply that by 30..... 30 people in a living room.<br />
<br />
Those are so many voices.skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-10749050156825384502012-05-28T04:03:00.002-04:002012-05-28T04:22:46.369-04:00Into a MemoryI'm finished school. For now, anyway.<br />
Grad school will happen in a year or so, but until then... well. We'll see. :)<br />
<br />
With all this spare time I have now (it's actually not that much, but I'm no more busier than I was before), I've been having such long dreams again. They never really went anywhere, because I'd been dreaming more frequently nearer to the end of the school year....but I missed them. I'm not sure if you know what I mean.<br />
I think I just missed the feelings that come with dreams so strongly, sometimes.<br />
<br />
There was one dream in particular, a couple of weeks ago, in which I found myself in my old house. It was as if it was present day - I was back from school for the weekend, so I didn't bring any clothes with me. I would just use whatever clothes I left at home.<br />
<br />
I went up to my bedroom and opened the closet. There were all my clothes from when I was younger.<br />
Younger...like 11 or 12 years old. A shirt I'd never thought about since it was either given to cousins or donated to some charity hung on a plastic hanger. I touched it, and it still felt as smooth as the last time I wore it. It was one of my favorite shirts; I liked the way it made my arms look. I'd forgotten about that.<br />
There was a faint scent of moth balls coming from somewhere on the shelf above, now closer to my head than when I was child. A Halloween costume of a magician's assistant was in the same place I always kept it. I forgot about it at one point, growing up. But by the time I remembered it again, I was too big for it. I never wore that costume. Yet there it was in the back.<br />
Even my old shoes.<br />
Waiting for me.<br />
<br />
Now that I think about it, I again can't remember what some of those clothes looked like. But when I opened that closet and saw all of that, there was no inkling of a doubt that I was looking at my old wardrobe. I became so aware of myself that I knew I was dreaming.<br />
And so I explored that memory. It's as if I was sucked into a picture. Where would the boundary end? How far could I go into the closet before everything got blurry?<br />
Sure enough, the closer I moved to my sister's side of the closet, the less often I found items that meant something to me. I could feel myself falling back into the dream as a passive dreamer. But if I stayed in my area, I could change that closet as much as I wanted to and I felt no weight of the dream. Nothing was in danger of being completely changed when I moved things around. Every item of mine was so thoroughly defined in color, texture, fabric, wear and tear...simply from memory. In fact, the longer I stayed there and moved my clothes around, the more surely I felt the carpet beneath my feet and smelled food cooking downstairs and even felt the warmth of the window sunlight falling on my leg.<br />
I felt like I was in my house.<br />
And I felt so out of place...like I was invading someone else's mind. Breathing someone else's air.<br />
In dreams, as I'm sure many of you have experienced, words might not actually be spoken or thought. Language doesn't work the same when you don't have to physically speak to communicate.<br />
So I didn't actually think any of this word-for-word. But I suppose it went through my mind in a blink of an eye somewhat like this:<br />
<i>This isn't me. This is who I was. I don't know if I've changed or by how much, but I would rather not find out so bluntly from my own younger self. Please don't walk into the room. If I'm different, let it come as news from someone else who's also grown up and changed. Not you. Not me. </i><br />
Luckily, I woke up in bed right as I felt her presence growing stronger in the hall, accidentally summoned by my own thoughts. Scared awake.<br />
<br />
One of my good friends from when I <i>was</i> that age (and who <i>did</i> grow up and change, as we all do) gave me a present the other day: a book about the psychology involved in architecture.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
So attentive are our eyes and our brains that the tiniest detail can unleash memories. The swollen-bellied 'B' or open-jawed 'G' of an Art Deco font is enough to inspire reveries of short-haired women with melon hats and posters advertising holidays in Palm Beach and Le Touquet.<br />
Just as childhood can be released from the odour of a washing powder or cup of tea, an entire culture can spring from the angles of a few lines </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
- Alain de Botton, <i>The Architecture of Happiness </i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
(yes, it is the book from "500 Days of Summer" if you've seen it) </blockquote>
I'm not sure if I like dreaming of memories. Even still-frames like how that dream felt. That makes me feel even more trapped, because there's really nowhere to go.<br />
<br />
And I know there's nothing to be afraid of in being told that I've changed. Of course I've changed; I like to tell myself they're for the better. I guess I just don't want to meet my younger self and find out that I'm a disappointing adult. If I forgot that I remembered those clothes and shoes, imagine what I could remember of my own self that I'd forgotten. Where did I think I would be in 10 years, and have I reached it? We like to think of the past as if it was awesome -- and it was. But then there are things that happened. We didn't just play around as kids until the sun set, scuffing our knees and yelling. We observed things. We learned. And we thought - a lot. We had our own opinions of things, whether or not we shared them with others.<br />
If I spoke with her and she seemed to have a mind of her own (a thorough definition such as my shirts), she could speak for herself without a problem. I could move her around and she wouldn't change her mind. I could ask her questions and she would answer. But I didn't know what she would say. I might get stumped. Then what?<br />
The memory of a person, even if it's subdued, makes that person......real, in a dream. And possibly unpredictable. That's what I realized as I went through my memory closet.<br />
<br />
That's what terrified me.skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-85038359490294604052012-04-15T14:42:00.011-04:002012-04-15T16:33:12.559-04:00On Van Eeden, LaBerge, and Hobson<span style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; "><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote>Currently, I am writing a paper for my psychology class. What else shall I talk about other than architecture in dreams?</span><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; ">It didn't occur to me to research on my own, before this paper was assigned. Almost everything I've ever written about or thought of came from my own mind. I never know about <a href="http://www.lucidity.com/vanEeden.html">Frederik van Eeden</a>, who gave lucid dreaming its name, or <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IG-sDcQiqMI">Stephen LaBerge</a> until a few weeks ago. So I really don't know much about what I've been exploring in myself for the past.... 10 years (I began in 2002).</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; "><span style="font-style: normal; ">However, even though I haven't read up on all these philosophers, psychologists, </span><i>psychiatrists</i>, and studies beforehand, I've come to the same conclusions myself on many topics. So I suppose I should say I know what I'm talking about, based on personal experience and observations, not from textbooks.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; ">Something I've been struggling with is finding texts about architecture, specifically, in dreams. But I came across this chapter on the cognitive unconscious, written by influential dream researcher <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allan_Hobson">Allan Hobson</a>, which explains well the influence of the waking world (read: built world) on the dream world:</div><div><blockquote><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; white-space: pre; "> </span><span style="font-style: normal; ">Are the brain's perceptual structures unconscious? Certainly. How else could I see, with surrealistic clarity, my dream bird hat with no external stimulus? In waking consciousness, every perceptual encounter is a match between an internal structure and an external stimulus. Without visual experience, the blind do not see -- either in their dreams or when their sight is magically restored. In this view the brain is an image file, but remember, it is much more than that, because it can fabricate new images as well as call up old ones. My bird hat is a good example of this novel image-making capability. It is this creative aspect that is at the center of the recent debate between psychoanalysts and cognitivists regarding the nature of the unconscious mind.</span><div><span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="font-style: normal; white-space: pre; "> </span>As soon as a percept suggests a scene -- be it my internally generated bird hat in a dream or the aquamarine Mediterranean Sea shimmering now beyond my vine-covered balcony -- my cognitive unconscious seeks to situate the stimulus in a context. The time: What day is today? The place: Where am I? And the personnel: Who is with me? If I attend to any of a myriad details, the answer -- in waking -- is unequivocally clear, because the context is given by the world. This is Stromboli. The volcano smokes above me. The Miramar Hotel porch with its characteristic Aeolian architecture frames my view. The cast of characters, the blend of my first and second families, has a reassuring unity. My son Ian has brought me the <i>Gazetta del Sud</i>, July 23, with its lurid tales of Mafia mischief. The chambermaid strolls by, singing, "La prima amore no si scordo mai," and even though I am busily writing, I know her song means sthat one's first love is never forgotten.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Without this external structure -- and without full access to attention or recent memory -- my cognitive unconscious does the best it can in my wedding dream. It creates the context, George Vaillant's house and garden, with a nodding obeisance to certain rules: the house is old, stylish, rambling, and full of antiques. The garden is intricate, full of terraces, walls, perennials, fountains, and hidden places. So far so good. These are the formal features of the Vaillant manse in Dedham, Massachusetts, all right. But they are organized in a completely novel way. So novel, in fact, that when I awake, I will be puzzled, if not downright consternated, by their imperfect fit with reality.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>The incongruence between the dream house and the real house is surprising because now, awake, I can visualize the actual house quite easily. I could even draw a floor plan and a map of the garden that I believe would be quite accurate. To account for such a glaring discrepancy, I need to consider factors other than the absence of waking context signals. My cognitive unconscious has clearly different operating properties in dreaming. It is not only inattentive to perceptual detail, but also inattentive to its inattentiveness! I have lost the ability to image accurately. And I have lost the ability to monitor my inaccuracy. What is missing? The superego? I doubt it. A brain chemical? I am sure of it.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>But a fair exchange is no robbery, as the saying goes. My cognitive losses are compensated. For my loss of perceptual and orientational accuracy, I have gained autocreative freedom. I could never in waking create so convincing a false scenario as I effortlessly dream. </span></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "> </span>My confabulatory powers are enhanced. So are my artistic talents: I paint a more colorful picture of myself than any photograph could possibly record. In my dream, I am a Fellini character costumed in grotesque, comical garb. This is why the surrealists working with Andrew Breton were so interested in dreaming. And it is why even more traditional writers, like Robert Louis Stevenson, for example, so frequently turn to dreams when stuck for a plot solution. Stevenson said he could reliably consult with his dream brownies (or fairies) when he needed a fabulous fiction. His Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde transformation was born of one such dream dialogue.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><span><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><span>Hobson, Allan J. (1999). <i>Consciousness</i>. New York, NY: Scientific American Library (48-50).</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div></blockquote><div style="font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; "></div></div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-39487969026911826962012-03-31T02:31:00.003-04:002012-03-31T02:57:55.727-04:00Writing a dream----is actually kind of complicated.<div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div>A couple of weeks ago, my friends and I made a video for a competition. Sadly, we didn't win anything, but we got a <i>lot</i> of recognition and compliments from everyone. And we had a <i>blast</i> filming. With that project over and done with, I decided I'm not ready to call it quits yet. I'm still in the short-film-making mood.</div><div style="font-style: normal; ">There's another film festival that I'm considering entering with my sisters, although if we miss the deadline (Monday), that's okay -- we're just doing this for fun.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">This time, the focus of the movie is on dreams. Surprised? I hope not.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">For many people, dreams don't have any structure to them at all; they're completely random in how they play out, how one thing ties in with another, and the dreamer's logic is all out of sync, too. That's all well and good, but when making a film about dreams, it would be kind of a waste to just film whatever, </div><div style="font-style: normal; ">put it together, </div><div style="font-style: normal; ">and call it a dream. </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">I would like for there to be some structure to it. </div><div style="font-style: normal; ">It's the architect/engineer in me, I guess.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">How else could you convey a sense of cohesion, otherwise?</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">My sister and I spent a couple of hours tonight mapping out the movie, from scenes to transitions. Transitions and details are of the utmost importance in this movie, I think. They serve as reminders, explanations, or enigmas. While the dream sequence in and of itself is nonsensical, it kind of does make sense as a whole -- but that's only possible with all of these transitions. Otherwise, not only would it be choppy and poorly-edited, but also completely random and hard to understand.</div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Me, I like organized chaos.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">So while it's difficult to think on a more detailed level during the sketching phase, it's all necessary. If it doesn't make sense now, I think the finished product will clarify that for you.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">In coming up with this movie, we essentially wrote out a dream from beginning to end, with all of the phenomena I've experienced. That means that I get to show you what I've been through! To a degree. I can only do so much to make the viewer feel involved.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">I don't want to say too much without giving anything away, so for now...</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">just know that a short movie is in the works.</div><div style="font-style: normal; ">And you bet I'm gonna post it here when it's done.</div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-45610928321319113892012-02-28T03:11:00.003-05:002012-02-28T03:22:57.890-05:00Rewind, AgainI've given myself an assignment.<div style="font-style: normal; ">Over spring break, while I'm recovering from the stress of schoolwork... I'll delve into my memory for true architectural dreams. That's the point of this blog after all, isn't it?</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Sketches. Diagrams. I'm excited to start.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">I know that nothing I draw will ever come close to what I've seen in my imagination. The mind is a wondrous thing that I'll never understand. But I like to think that if I can figure out these floor plans, sections, and elevations, and begin to stitch these dream worlds together -- because I've seen borders of dreams intertwine with new and old ones -- I like to think that if I can do that... then that is the equivalent of me figuring myself out.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div>What scares me is what kind of conclusion I would come to. What if things DO make sense after I try to reconstruct them? It seems logical to me that they should be ridiculous. </div><div>They <i>should </i>be nonsensical. Why should I adhere to the laws of physics of this world when I dream? I don't need to.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I think I want things to make sense.</div><div>But how true is that? If you could analyze yourself and come to a conclusion about what kind of a person you are -- that there was absolutely no doubt about it -- would you want to know?</div><div>Suppose you don't agree with what you discover, but you can't change.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>These better not make sense at all.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Another concern of mine is that since I didn't draw these in detail right after dreaming them....how accurate will they be? To you, they're as accurate as anything else because they'd be the first time you see them. But for me, I.... I don't know if I could tell.</div><div>It's like "fixing" memories over the years.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But I knew this was going to happen. That's why I began writing them down so many years ago.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, anyway.</div><div>One week! Then it begins.</div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-20378312701096916812012-02-21T00:30:00.004-05:002012-02-21T00:56:39.311-05:00UnsentDrafts that I'd typed up in my phone upon remembering dreams....<div>From oldest to most recent:<br /><div><br /></div><div><ul><li>Got on a bus, missed something, went back, music in a sort of open mall. Think shopping village in Milan. Music by Hanson (not a real song). Almost got stuck on the bus. Man talks to me.</li><li>Eagles atop tree. Rome group. Eric leaves. Steph pins up maps and they look like dancers. Sleep paralysis -- mom by the bed.</li><li>Field trip, small class. Bright, crisp day, early spring. Old neighborhood, young people. Old, scary church closed. Surrounded by old, marble walls. Enter, find entrance -- church is now a home. Doorknob is a knocker. Inside, just as dirty, leaves everywhere, paint chipping, see someone, run out, landscape has changed but I figure it out, hop the wall, run through bushes, bleeding, grab friends and go.</li><li>Complete AR Lab. Solid masses (stone) with dramatic inset windows. And vice versa (glass around stone cubes) -- interaction on all levels, even street. Gorgeous. Sketch it.</li><li>At a party, random placement of chairs. Dark lighting, Telepopmusik, sipping beer. Steph sits down in a chair across from me. "I thought you went home for the weekend?" "I did, dumbass." Leans in closer, music stops. "I'm not really here." Don't know how to respond.</li><li>Back at old house, looking for clothes in the closet. Haven't seen these in years, and nothing fits. Fix the bed. Fight with Matt. Lots of screaming, furious crying. But I can't get through to him.</li><li>Riding bikes around near home, lift bike onto blue porch, trespass, tell Matt I do this all the time... he goes around to the front of the house, I continue to the back. Wait for him there. Wake up.</li></ul></div></div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-61431958519029404382012-02-04T12:40:00.001-05:002012-02-21T00:15:26.577-05:00Tap Tap Tap::edit, February 12, 2012, 00:06::<div><br /></div><div>I began this entry with nothing in the body. Just the title.</div><div>I wish I remembered what the point of this was. It gives me shivers of a memory, but I can't pinpoint it...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It's like trying to trace back your train of thought.....but you don't even know where your starting point is, or how far back you're trying to remember....</div><div>Ever get that feeling?</div><div><br /></div><div>Or, speaking of feelings,</div><div>have you ever tried to recall a memory or a conversation solely based on a feeling? because that feeling is really the only thing you can remember? It takes me days, sometimes....</div><div><br /></div><div>Tap, tap, tapping on memories, trying to shake something loose.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>nope. it's not coming to me.</div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-21634327562918611262012-01-19T12:46:00.006-05:002012-02-21T00:52:41.879-05:00Random<div>I couldn't sleep.... but I was tired.</div><div>Thoughts that went through my head:</div><div><br /></div><div>Lay down with the lights off. Stare into the darkness until you can see the room around you. Then close your eyes and imagine you still see everything. Now close your "eyes." Can't do it? Isn't that annoying?</div><div><br /></div><div>Place your hand on something and stare at it, unmoving. Think about everything that your skin is coming into contact with......and what it would feel like to slide your fingers across it. Reach for your mouse/touchpad without moving your hand. Don't actually do it, just imagine it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Or, imagine for a minute that we're not really moving our bodies. Ever. And that the world as we know it is actually just a plane of "reality" conforming to our bodies. So that every part of us is always completely surrounded by this material of folded reality.</div><div><br /></div><div>And suppose that if we discover a way to manipulate reality in a different way than we already do (or is it reality that manipulates us?), we come up with a way to traverse oceans and lands in moments instead of hours?</div><div><br /></div><div>Listen to the air coming out of the vent. What note is that? An A? G? D? It could be any of them, couldn't it? It's like listening to a song with some other noise distorting your sense of hearing, and you end up thinking that song is on a different key. Or a different octave.</div><div><br /></div><div>There's the brain and all its complexities...</div><div>And then there's the mind, which can control the brain.</div><div>What do we know about it?</div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-74687383237774609782011-11-27T01:22:00.001-05:002011-11-27T02:02:23.015-05:00Lockjaw<span class="layout-colon_inline">Last night I met with sleep paralysis again. It was inevitable, but I didn't know it was going to happen until I actually went to sleep. Silly me, I went to bed around 3:30 in the morning. Come to think of it, I wonder if it'll happen again tonight, because I'm up late and I took a nap earlier today (how do I manage to forget about triggers?)......</span><br />
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><br /></span><br />
<span class="layout-colon_inline">I talk about lockjaw in this post, but for the record, it's not the medically-defined tetanus kind of lockjaw that I have in mind (so if you're Googling it right now -- it's not that).</span><br />
<span class="layout-colon_inline">I do get lockjaw sometimes, but it hasn't happened in a couple of years. Basically, if I open my mouth too wide when I yawn, my jaw gets dislocated (I guess that's what happens), and I can't close my mouth (it hurts to try, and I can feel the strain on my muscles and bones). I panic every time that happens, but years of dealing with this problem has taught me that it can be fixed by shoving my thumbs in my mouth and actually positioning the lower jaw back in place. Gross, right? </span><br />
<span class="layout-colon_inline">Sounds painful -- and it <i>can </i>be if you don't do it right, </span>but I try to tell myself it's like chiropractics<br />
(which doesn't actually help much, because that makes me just as nervous)....<br />
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><br /></span><br />
sleep paralysis + lockjaw = nightmare<br />
<span class="layout-colon_inline" style="font-size: x-small;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>: </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">you should sleep. are you sleepy?</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-timestamp_local_inline" x_caretready="true"><b>Me</b></span><span class="layout-colon_inline">: </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">OMG btw i had sleep paralysis again last night</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Matt</b>: </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">not really</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<div>
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Matt</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">tell me about it</span></div>
<div>
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">i slept on my side so that i WOULDN'T get it</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">but it was so strong and unavoidable that it happened anyway</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">i could feel it coming</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<div class="_divider">
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">so when i was falling asleep, i got that tingly and panicked feeling</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">so i tried to control it, but i couldn't; i fell into a dream</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<div class="_divider">
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">i dreamt that i had lockjaw with my mouth open, and someone was forcing it shut</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">so i thought i was going to break my jaw</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">that's not the first time i've had that feeling during sleep paralysis</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">i closed my mouth, and dreamt that i cracked my jaw</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">but once my mouth was closed, it was still locked. this time, it was locked shut</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">and i was clenching my teeth so strongly that i could feel all of my nerves in my mouth</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> starting to ache</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">so i got out of bed and went over to the mirror in anjel's room</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">i got out of the lockjaw and opened my mouth to look at my teeth</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">and they were all broken and ground down to the nerves</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">i could see the pulp in the hollow parts, and they were all bleeding</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<div class="_divider">
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">i could even taste the blood, it was so painful</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">but i went back to bed and tried to go back to sleep to wake myself up, because i knew it</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> wasn't real</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Matt</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">you seriously have the worst fucking dreams!</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">as i was trying to wake myself up, whatever was forcing my mouth shut in the beginning</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> came back</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">and started shaking my shoulder violently</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">i had to wrench myself out of sleep paralysis at that point</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">and when i did, i actually turned around on my back and started gasping for air</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">i was about to scream, but i didn't because anjel was asleep</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">my dreams are awesome, and they make for good stories.. but it's such a pain when</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> they're so REAL</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Matt</b>: </span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">:-\ </span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">because then i feel stuff like that</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">and it's not fun</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<div class="_divider">
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">for someone who's never been clawed by monsters or had her teeth ground down to the</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> pulp, i find it </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">frighteningly intriguing that my mind can simulate those sensations</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Matt</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">your mind is insane :-P</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">it is, isn't it?</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Matt</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">i love it</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">i have this notion that my mind is timeless</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">that my imagination was mature for me when i was younger</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<div class="_divider">
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">now it's more my age</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">and when i'm old, my dreams at night will still be young</span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><br /></span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><br /></span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><br /></span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><br /></span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><br /></span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><br /></span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><br /></span></div>
<div class="_divider">
<span class="layout-colon_inline"><b>Me</b>:</span> <span style="font-family: Arial;">but i also think it's like that for everyone</span><br />
<div class="_divider">
<div>
<div class="_divider">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-60792561316939943042011-11-24T23:15:00.000-05:002012-05-29T19:27:57.389-04:00Headless and HunchedI must have taken four or five naps yesterday.... <b>BAD. IDEA.</b><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At night, I lay in bed for a few minutes, getting myself settled in and comfortable. Then I closed my eyes and tried to remain lucid. For some reason, it didn't occur to me that I would be hit by sleep paralysis -- all I was concerned with was being able to trigger lucid dreaming and take advantage of it. So yes, this entire story is my own doing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So there I was in bed, forming my own dream. I decided to go back to DC.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Everything was dark.</div>
<div>
I could see my friends in the distance, but as I walked closer to them, I could make out their faces and sensed something was off (it's strange, how I can do all this in my head and yet forget that I'm doing it... I was lucid this entire time, consciously making decisions to go here or there, to bring this person into the dream or make them leave, but I forgot that it was all because I was asleep).</div>
<div>
Their faces were different. Only slightly, but just enough that I felt odd. And the air was too perfect. I could feel my whole body tingling with the preface of sleep paralysis and thought, "Uh-oh............"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I spent what felt like the next few hours going around campus and hanging out with friends. At one point, I made them carry me on their shoulders through the halls of random dorms....</div>
<div>
When I climbed back down from their shoulders, the scene changed without my willing it. I was alone in the dark hallways, and heard people's voices behind closed doors. The tingling sensation grew more intense, and I could hear the buzzing of electricity becoming louder and louder. Paralysis was coming.</div>
<div>
So I walked along, telling myself I could do whatever I wanted. But I was having trouble holding on to my control.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I opened a door and found two of my guy friends in the room playing video games. So I sat down beside one of them and put my hand on his back to let him know I was there.<br />
"Hey!" he said as he turned around to face me. His features were stretched apart just a little too much. Or his eyes were tilted half a degree more than they should have been. </div>
<div>
<i>Who was I looking at, again?</i></div>
<div>
At any rate, I talked to him a bit and let him continue his game. I still had my hand on his shoulder, so I rubbed it up and down a couple of times and was about to say, "It's good to see you again," </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
but then I was hit with the most unusual observation.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That was the realest thing I'd sensed in the dream so far.</div>
<div>
I could feel every fiber of his shirt beneath my fingers as my hand moved across it. For a while, I couldn't define what it was, but it hit me hard. So hard that I was paralyzed by it. So hard that as I stared at the game on the screen, I could feel my world fading around me and saw something completely different.</div>
<div>
I was in bed.</div>
<div>
But I was still sitting on the couch next to my friend....still with my hand on his back, trying to figure out what I was touching.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What was I <i>really </i>touching?</div>
<div>
My hand was lifted up; I could feel gravity. As I was dreaming, I was doing the same motions in bed. So what was I touching in real life?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I managed to open my eyes enough to see something by my legs.</div>
<div>
Something was sitting on me, hunched over and facing the window beside the bed. It was a man wearing a dress shirt. As I continued to feel the shirt with my hand, my vision became clearer.</div>
<div>
It was Matt.</div>
<div>
My vision became <i>clearer</i>.</div>
<div>
He was hunched over and dead. Headless.</div>
<div>
My hand was still on his back.</div>
<div>
My hand was still on my friend's back, and we were playing video games.</div>
<div>
My hand was still on Matt's back....</div>
<div>
My hand was still on this dead man's back.....</div>
<div>
I tried to pull it back and move away as far as I could, but was frozen.</div>
<div>
<i>I'm not awake. Oh God, I'm not awake, I can't be.</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I wasn't. As I struggled to open my eyes, I saw him doubly. First as a headless man. Simultaneously, as a naked monster with pale skin. Pale as the shirt on his body that disappeared.</div>
<div>
Struggling to move, I managed to scream. My voice was muffled, though, and I wasn't sure if it was in my head or in real life. Either way, I screamed as loud as I could. If I was really screaming, I hoped that someone would hear me and wake me up. But no one came. Was I simply whimpering?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The headless monster lifted its long, bony arms and reached for my shoulders. It scratched me with dirty claws. It scratched me, and I felt it. That's what really terrified me and caused me to scream some more.</div>
<div>
But I finally managed to move my legs. I kicked and kicked to get it off of me, but that only made it angry....</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I finally gained enough control to defend myself, frantically fall out of bed, and pull my body over to Anjel's side of the room.</div>
<div>
<i>I'm awake. I have to be awake.</i></div>
<div>
Didn't want to turn around. I crawled over to Anjel, who was still sleeping, and whispered to her to wake her up. But she growled, and when she turned around, her face was not hers.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Closed doors are the most terrifying thing when you're trapped with two monsters in a sleep paralysis dream.....</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I screamed as loud as I could, again, hoping my voice was heard somewhere. After fumbling with the lock and handle, I stumbled into the hallway to find Shiel, Mom, and Dad working on something. All of them had their backs turned to me, so I couldn't see their faces.</div>
<div>
I ran downstairs before they reacted... reached the door, and fought with the locks again.</div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Why am I even doing this? I'm asleep! I can be outside without opening doors!!</i></div>
<div>
But I couldn't will it..... So I pried the door open just in time to run outside and head towards Matt's house.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
(For every time I've had to run away from my own overwhelming imagination, I ran to his house....</div>
<div>
I never make it all the way. I always wake up just as I'm around the corner.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, I woke up in bed once again. This time it was real, because I could feel everything. I could smell. I had to breathe. My ears picked up on the deafening silence around me. My throat didn't burn from screaming so much (so it never happened). My heart was racing. My body was tired. Nothing happened in real life, but I felt like I had scratches on me from the headless monster.</div>
<div>
I never even moved. I was only asleep for 10-15 minutes total.</div>
<div>
I refused to make any sudden movements or to even look over at Anjel, who was sleeping in the same position that I dreamt about. Instead, I texted Matt and Jess in an attempt to reassure myself that I was, in fact, awake.....and that nothing was going to happen anymore....</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That's what I get for pushing the limits. Every time I decide I can handle experimenting with lucid dreams and sleep paralysis, something goes terribly wrong....</div>
<div>
When will I ever learn? One night, this might prove to be too much for me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Because I know I'm going to do this again. Perhaps even tonight.</div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-56338297728609140802011-11-08T01:19:00.003-05:002011-11-08T01:26:12.350-05:00the tideThis week sucks.<div>That's really all I need to say about my life; it's otherwise unimportant to dream updates.</div><div><br /></div><div>So.....</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I dreamt of a tidal wave. I thought of it as being about 40 feet high, but it was probably closer to twice that. It rose and fell at a safe enough distance that none of the buildings were obliterated, but it cause a major spike in the water level coming in to shore...somehow.</div><div>I was on the boardwalk (made of perfectly clean glass), talking with a friend's late father, when I got distracted by the rising tide. I left him, swung my legs over the glass wall, and climbed up onto a taller glass wall that extended high above the boardwalk, as if it was a barrier between the land and sea... I sat on top of it and panicked as the water rose and rose and rose.... until it reached the brim and overflowed.</div><div>"Run," I yelled at everyone. I ran, too.</div><div><br /></div><div>I ran into another dream when I found a friend. I tried to tell her about the tidal wave that I imagined, but she wasn't listening very well.</div><div><br /></div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-18582331527633514512011-09-19T22:50:00.002-04:002011-09-19T22:55:27.824-04:00not happyI miss my strange, messed-up dreams. These nights as of late have been...... tame (for me), to say the least.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>During the school year, is it the stress that sets them off? Is it over-stimulation of my imagination throughout the day, in studio?</div><div>And during the summer, is it the lack of a real social life and all the free time <i>to </i>over-stimulate my imagination that gets me going?</div><div><br /></div><div>Whatever it is, I'm in a "happy place" right now -- a steady work mode, a steady day. A steady week. And a pretty regular sleep schedule. Full 8 hours every night so far.</div><div>It's boring.</div><div><br /></div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-1983864535846108692011-09-13T13:26:00.002-04:002011-09-13T13:46:19.121-04:00Numbers and colorsIt's been a while since my last post.<div>I've been dreaming, but none have been interesting enough for me to share with you. Mostly, I've been having strange flashback dreams of Rome (a street performer appeared in my dream at some point last night, and I questioned him about why he was here instead of in Italy).</div><div><br /></div><div>The strangest dreams have been these:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. W141 was inscribed on a key to a room. I was with a group of people outside a hotel/apartment/hostel, and we were getting ready to go on a trip. Matt gave me the key when I told him I forgot something in the room. While everyone waited for me, I ran back inside, slid on the slippery floors, and ended up going in circles around the core of the building (the hallways formed a square in plan, and the room I was looking for was on the east side). Every time I managed to fall, I get up and find myself in a hallway surrounded by mirror walls and frosted glass doors. But when I made my way around the corner, it was back to normal.</div><div>I found the room, picked up another set of keys on a table, and ran back outside. Nobody was there anymore. I went off on my own to find a tow truck and spy on someone.... I felt very uncomfortable and uneasy... and woke up with a start when a thunderclap sounded outside my bedroom. I don't know what scared me so much, because it's not a creepy dream, but I didn't want to fall back asleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. I was at a wedding. I was the only one wearing a red gown. Everyone was playing a game during the reception in a beautiful garden (vines and trees everywhere, dark green grass, fancy tables and chairs scattered around on the different terrace levels). I passed the ball to the bride and groom, knocking them over, and ran away. I went to the bathroom (which turned out to be a couple of stalls still somewhat out in the open but in a secluded, tucked-away area) and stood on top of the toilet when I saw a strange man (also wearing red) trying to peek underneath the door.</div><div><br /></div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-13837164456500434822011-08-18T10:50:00.003-04:002011-11-27T02:30:17.280-05:00What just happened?!Right after uploading the previous post, I went to sleep. As I kept my laptop and turned off the lights, I had a feeling that I'd get sleep paralysis. It was already starting, and I knew that no matter what I did, it would happen. Which meant it would be pretty bad.<br />Still, I wondered, <em>Should I listen to music? Usually that helps a little.</em><br /><br />But no. Before I could even make up my mind, I was immobilized.<br />This time it was different.<br /><br />Instead of having the feeling of someone watching me, sitting on my bed, or looming over me, I felt that there was something on the floor behind me (I sleep on my side and face the wall because I don't want to open my eyes and see something in front of me, trapping me in a corner). This, I've experienced before.<br />But last night I moved -- not on my own.<br /><br />I swear something moved me.<br />And I don't just mean I twitched.<br /><br />Precisely as paralyzation set in, my legs were being pulled apart a little bit so that I looked like I was in a running position; I wasn't sure what to think at that point. Of course I knew it was just my imagination, because I could also feel that my legs hadn't moved at all. Still, I felt like I was being separated from my body.<br /><em>This is new.... but it should stop soon.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em></em><br />Then they began to slide off the bed...backwards, as if my mattress was being lifted.<br />Nothing else moved around me.<br />I moved at a slow and perfectly steady pace, as if some machine was doing it. Or, you know, something paranormal. And it continued until my legs were off the bed and on some extra blankets on the floor. The rest of my body was following. I felt like I was being taken.<br />By now, I was so freaked out that I couldn't even fall asleep. I couldn't wrench myself out of paralysis even if I tried. So my last attempt to get out of this was so force myself to stay awake,<br />endure it,<br /><em>and then bolt.</em><br /><br /><br />Again and again, I tried to pick myself up. It was only right before my shoulders reached the edge of the bed that I was out of paralysis enough to sit up, run across the room without looking,<br />fumble with the lock on my door,<br />run down the steps and through the house,<br />throw open the front door (and close it behind me),<br /><br /><em>and run.</em><br /><br /><br />I was outside.<br />I was running.<br />And whatever did that, I hoped would go away. Or at least follow me and not torment the rest of my family. I didn't even know where I was going. I didn't even know if I was awake.<br />After running blindly down the street and around the corner, I decided to try to make it to Matt's house. Don't know why. What the hell would I do when I got there? Say, "Hi, I had a bad dream, can I stay with you?"<br /><br />There were a few people I ran into on the way, and I tried to see if they noticed me.<br />A few looked my way when I ran past them. When I stopped in the road to stare at a man in his truck with the windows rolled down, I figured that would give him reason to acknowledge my presence. But I got nothing.<br /><em>....................Whatever.</em><br />I kept walking, but my legs became heavy after a while. Then I sensed that I wasn't there. My eyes flickered open, and I saw the shadowed wall in front of me. I tried to hold on to what little control I had left, but it was out of reach and I was back in bed.<br /><br />I never moved. I was in the exact same position I fell asleep in. My legs were the same, my blankets never moved, and I quickly turned around to see that my door was never opened.<br /><br /><br />That was the scariest thing ever.<div>And I mean <b>EVER</b>.<br />When I got up in the morning, I stood up to find that my ankle hurt a lot.<br /></div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2453957479385086181.post-18356292761234859662011-08-18T01:40:00.008-04:002011-08-18T03:17:56.546-04:00An Old Record<div>I've always wondered what it would be like to dream during surgery in which you had to be anesthetized. Would it be just like a regular dream? Would the sounds and dialogue in the operating room have some effect? Or would you be so knocked out that nothing even happens? </div><div>I guess it depends on how doped up you are....</div><div>
<br /></div><div>So I guess I was really sedated last week. </div><div>I don't remember dreaming anything (although I woke up in the recovery room feeling like I did). It was the most relaxing sleep I'd ever had, not counting all the times I went into a coma-like state after staying up for days and nights during school. What's kind of weird is that I didn't feel like I slept. I was tired and groggy, but it felt more like I just blinked for a really long time.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>After I went home, however, I lay on the couch and slept off the rest of the medication, dozing in and out all day. That's when things got interesting.</div><div>Mom and Anjel went off to buy some school stuff and I was left to rest in peace (not die). The only reason I was asleep at all was because of the remaining anesthesia, so I was as active in my thoughts as I would be on a regular afternoon.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>The result?</div><div>My best friend, sleep paralysis!</div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div><div>I spoke with my sister that evening about my version of fever dreams:</div><div>I will be lying down on a bed or a couch, and I suddenly become very aware of what's around me. Astonishingly so; it's as if my senses are heightened. I don't move, I just stare at what's in front of me. And if it's a wall on the other side of the room, that's what I look at. </div><div>Maybe that's when I fall asleep. What I "dream of" is all of the details of that wall as if it was a mere two inches away from my nose. The texture becomes clear and elaborate. I look for patterns or pictures based on shadows, and I feel as if I can hear all that's going on around me.</div><div>At the same time, I am fully aware that I'm lying down on the other side of the room. I am completely calm and quiet on the outside, just staring...but in my head I think I'm screaming in the midst the humming of electricity. I feel myself moving slowly, but everything I perceive seems to be moving at a quick pace.</div><div>What the hell is that?? Sounds like a bad trip!</div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div><div>It's also what I experienced when I was all alone on the couch in the big living room.</div><div>Simultaneously with sleep paralysis (it was like a bonus). </div><div>
<br /></div><div>I didn't have a fever at all. But I was having trouble with a few things in those couple of hours that afternoon. Just to name a few:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><ul><li>keeping my eyes open</li><li>being able to tell if they were really open <i>at all </i>or if I was dreaming (for all I know, they were wide open and my eyes were bulging out of my head while I was asleep trying to wake myself up)</li><li>making sense of what I was hearing and seeing</li><li>identifying who was in my house (nobody)</li></ul></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div>
<br /></div><div>I kept seeing Mom walking around, coming in and out of the living room, </div><div>sitting down and turning on the TV to listen to the news, </div><div>reading a magazine, </div><div>telling Anjel to start cooking something, </div><div>talking to me and asking how I was feeling.....</div><div>For the majority, I was aware when I was dreaming because I would try to move, only to find out that I could barely shift over. Also, I listened very, very, <i>very </i>carefully to what was being said on the news in the TV, what Mom was saying when she spoke, and what I was reading on the paper suddenly in my hands. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>It was all gibberish. </div><div>The red paper said, "Stephn visit nice will Visit."</div><div><i>...Yeah, that's not right, </i>I told myself.</div><div>Truth be told, I was pretty proud when I gained enough control to comprehend that it was <i>in</i>comprehensible.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>The most confusing of those paralysis dreams was when I felt a breeze. Mom came over with a magazine and started fanning me with it, and I felt it on my face. There was nothing strange or different about it, it was just a breeze. Before then, I'd already told myself I was asleep. But when I felt that, I forgot what I thought and started wondering if I was awake.</div><div>I tried to pry my eyelids open to see Mom as she turned and walked out of the room. I couldn't open them more than halfway, but I could feel her footsteps vibrating throughout the room as she left. I saw enough to see her shadow go, which was reason to doubt. But I could never see more than that of anyone. Shadows. Figments.</div><div><i>Come back.... Are you here? Hello?...... Mom? </i>...............</div><div>"Mom?" I accidentally said out loud to an empty house. I was awake.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Similar episodes played, repeated themselves, and mixed with each other until I gave up trying to decide which was real and which was fake. I just went with it. Before long, they were back home from running errands.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>It led me to thinking:</div><div>What was it that made it possible for me to tell the difference? One of the easy answers was the quality of sound. </div><div>The sounds in my head were clearer. </div><div>How absurd of me to suggest that there's a clearer sound than reality.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>But if you think about the fact that the laws of science don't necessarily have to apply to the imagination, and that sound doesn't travel in my head because it doesn't go anywhere to begin with..... then it makes some sense that voices seem just a little bit sharper when I'm sleeping.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Life is muffled. It's as if you've been watching everything in HD for a long time and then went back to a regular television screen. The quality's fine, but once you know a better version, you can pinpoint the needed fine-tuning.</div><div>The sound quality of being awake is like that of an old record player. </div><div>Actually, that's the impression I'm faced with for a split-second when I wake up to the sound of air. I forget it because I don't say it or even fully think it. But that's the best way I can put it into words.</div><div>And I've had a dream of an old record playing. Even <i>that </i>was clearer than a real one.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>But old records sound beautiful with all their imperfections and weathering.</div>skybirdblankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09430578871332475766noreply@blogger.com0