EDIT: play the song while reading for added fun
2 days ago I experienced, during a nap, an extremely lucid dream-within-a-dream. Such that I've not had in ages.
I was so taken aback by it I immediately wrote it down on my iPhone, and promised to myself that in congruence with my seeking a more creative path for myself, would begin documenting my dreams on a regular basis. I've read that this is the best way to remember more and attain more lucid-states while dreaming.
It has also piqued my interest in DMT again, of which I've only done a few times, once with any real near-breakthrough effects, since my extraction.
Here it is for any that are curious [feel free to share any!]:
5-14-12
Nap around 6:30 pm.
Mindstate: Sleepy, still not sure if I have work within an hour or two (on call)
It begins like this: I pick up my former boss' car, except instead of it being a S550 its a Mercedes-Benz SUV.
I then pick up my current boss' car .. Except it's a cheap rental?
Flash. I'm at some guys house. Who apparently worked in the air force. He is retired, very thin and in his 60s with a gray-yellow beard. He looks like the dream-world-reflection (refraction?) of Richard, an elderly patron from the local bar I frequent, Kitty's. Richard is a very friendly, philosophical man, and is a Kitty's regular. The first night I walked into the bar and taken the only available seat next to him, Richard collapsed from the bar stool, literally within seconds of my arrival. I helped him up, now rudely woken from his slumber, bought him a drink and we spoke and spoke into the night over good Belgian ale. Rich's father had been a seaman, until he washed up ashore one day, dead.
Richard, looking like the wiry, rakish old pirate himself, laughed good-naturedly when I told him he seemed like a man who had lived an interesting life. Somehow we got to the topic of him consulting a crystal-ball reader, who (unbeknownst of his father) told him that his death, too, would come via way of water. Did he see the obvious implication there, drowning in his own drink, I wondered? and probably mentioned it to him, but alas, there we were, drinking fine Belgian Ale served by a Latvian girl with hips too curvy for her own good...best not to talk of the obvious.
In the dreamworld, "Richard's" living room has a green haze about it, is modestly furnished and somewhat squalid, but comfortable. I seem to sense other entities in the other rooms, but think nothing of it. We converse and he shows me pictures on his television of him flying, in the cabin, with the pressurized mask on, etc. I am impressed. To relate, I mention my Egyptian / Italian friend Ramy, who is becoming a pilot.
He seems to be intrigued and/or bemused by my enthusiasm for his hobby.
Flash. I'm flying in some sort of large spacecraft, standing in the cockpit with "Rich". He is piloting, although without any obvious control mechanisms. As we look out of the vessel's forward facing windows, we are surrounded by Deep Space. At the same time, Rich and I are flying through a "path"... a rigid obstacle course, narrowly pre-carved & surrounded by infinitely colorful Connex/foam-bat type geometric shapes and lines. Neon green, blue, red, purple and yellow provide striking contrast to the engulfing, black void of space. The silence is all enveloping, making the few words we trade that much more distinct. There is a sense of wonder, of respect and intense concentration at out surroundings. Conversation is limited and unnecessary. There is a shared understanding of the immensity of the situation.
He maneuvers the craft and dodges enthralling, colorful lines and figures. There are some nervous moments as the ship careens and bounces off the floating shapes, yet strangely there is no damage to us or the spacecraft. I breathe a sigh of relief.
After several close calls, we relax and light conversation seems appropriate again. We continue to traverse the Connex/purple/yellow/green foam bat path ... And before our eyes, it changes. Transitions seem to be lacking in the dreamworld. Somehow, jarring as they are, they seem completely unnecessary. There is, imbedded within, a sense of immediacy and knowing ... a "Be Here Now!" that makes them redundant.
The debris path is more loosely packed now and less rigid; forward we fly but we have more room to maneuver, and then again, instantly, we seem to be free of the vessel... and are floating without the apparent need for any space suit or breathing apparatus. Now, UN-encapsulated, I marvel at the visual icons visible all around us in space.. They appear as pseudo-bubbles, infinite mirrors, books and other symbols I recognize from my own mind and from "reality." The adage, "As above so below" seems appropriate, and wise, here. Who built this, who put it here? I marvel, wondering. "We don't know" Rich says. But it is here. This observation amazes me. An alien intelligence exists, without doubt.
Something happens... a line is breached. A bubble burst? A layer of consciousness peeled?
An Inception moment.
The scene begins to melt as the weightlessness vanishes. My stomach is up-heaved into my throat as I begin my descent, falling, falling... Fear is prominent... Why?! I wonder. "Emotions are dragging you down" a voice says. I cannot tell if it is from without or within; it is omnipresent ... and somehow, I feel, omnipotent. Still, I am unable to stop the descent as I panic due to The Fear... As I scream, I disintegrate into a chaotic blur of atoms, quarks, and countless other elementary particles.
Flash. I wake up, and peel my face off the steering wheel, covered in a feverish sheen of sweat. The Mercedes-Benz emblem on the wheel is my first clue as to my whereabouts, and my where-I-beens. I glance at the digital clock and it is 5 AM. I am confused. Bewildered. Where the hell have I been? Am I missing work? I have to return the car in the morning -- in a couple of hours! I am groggy and disoriented. I glance around and gather that I am parked on 65th street, in a typically tight Brooklyn bumper to bumper spot. The thought of maneuvering out is my first worldly annoyance. Anxiety rears its ugly neck.
It screams: "Work!!" "Wooork!!" Like some filthy Iago. "Work! How the !$^& did You have a memory lapse and end up here? What did YOU take?"
Judging by my condition, it seems to be a combination of something, some drug cocktail... but I do not know for sure. I feel as if I have just been ejaculated from a massive DMT / Salvia trip, only without the pleasant afterglow and enlightenment. Suddenly, memory rushes back into me as I recall my meeting with "Rich" and the fantastical space ride!
"Squawk! Not relevant to real life, gotta get the car back, crackhead!"
Right... I pick up my (notsmart) phone and call my friend Sash to see if HE can piece together any of the night for me. He picks up and its him and his Thai born, Indian girlfriend Ashley. They appear as a visual / video conference call in my mind, and do not give me any useful info but their presence is (somewhat) reassuring. They listen to my very alarming story of waking up in the Benz with no recollection of how I got there and something like 24-32 hours unaccounted for. I tell Sash of the old man and his apartment.
"Were you there alone?" He inquires.
I'm not sure but seem to recall the presence of other entities, I reply. As I continue to talk to him my voice breaks & cracks when I get to the parts where my memory fails me ... and at waking up without any recollection of how I got there. Just for a second though - I manage to hold it together. While on the phone I walk through what seems to be a fast food chain parking lot and from the corner of my eye notice two cute girls sitting on a bench. Blond and brunette, blue jeans, white kicks. Brooklyn girls. As I walk by still on the phone with Sash I can feel their attention on me - very aware and more than a little uncomfortable at their ability to hear my conversation with him. I feel a little bit like an escaped psych ward patient. I half jokingly suggest to Sash that this "episode" might be a sign of schizophrenia or early onset dementia. "or SOME shit!" I say with what bravado I can muster (which isn't much) in front of the females, to cover up any "apparent weakness" in my sanity.
Their whispersssssslither by me and one just brushes my arm with hers, as if to coax me in or turn me about face. Due to the gravity of the situation, I continue without stopping, but wonder, am I schizophrenic? Delusional? Certified crazy? And where the hell are my keys to the Benz, anyway? Shoving my hands into my pocket I can only feel my mothers Honda key. I run my hands over the garage transmitter module, and feel the smooth plastic tape holding the battery compartment together. In reality, my mother had dropped it and I had hastily fixed it at her behest. And thus it ends with the manifestation of this insignificant detail ... in this dream within a dream.