Dreamtime Sagas

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A continuing series of nightmares haunts me. I get trapped in these huge industrial complexes that are dim, somehow misty, and I keep going from one part of the place to another trying to find a way out. Dead ends. False exits. Even if I make it out to the parking lot and drive around all the exits are chained shut.

I once had a series of dreams like this that took place in a tropical setting whose architecture reminded me a lot of Key West, but it was more like the bayous down on the Gulf coast of Mississippi than an island. I'd get trapped in the upper floors of these wooden houses that had verandas. Outside porches that overlooked the live oak and palms trees lining the streets below. It was a very pleasant, laid-back oasis, but I couldn't get outside or even down to the street level to walk out into it.

My remembering vision was like that in the sense that in that vision I got attracted to the planet Earth while zooming through space free as a bird. Something attracted me here, and once I zoomed inside of Earth's gravity, or whatever, I couldn't leave, and so I started making a life for myself here creatively via imitation and mimicry using wot wuz sot before me in the immediacy of now.

The fantasy of my imprisonment is of my own doing or was. I used to think the power that keeps me here on this earthly space port was lust. I kept getting attracted to procreation of any sort, no matter what sort of creature I made myself into via imitation. That's what my remembering vision was all about. All the various creatures I'd made myself into. That is, until I made myself into a human, and I've been one of those ever since.

Some humans can make themselves abstractly into anything they've ever been (if they receive a vision of what has already been modeled and made real), so there is no reason to reach for a higher physical form to put my ancient experiential database to work as specialty tools for tapping into future possibilities. It seems like I have to cop a casual attitude in attempting new methods for the sake of appearances, as if that's not what I am is trying to do, but frenetically AM. The next step in evolution is not physical, but something built with the abstract mind of homo sapiens.

Am I writing that immortality is gained by visualizations? Such as the visualization exercises I've written about how wannabes visualizing statues of Hindu gods like Kali. Or, like devout Christians attempt to create a living representative of Jesus or the Christ? I think I am.

Will I be able to find the descriptors that will allow me to create an escape pod that will allow me to keep the creative parts of me with that abstract construction for the I-am-is and me to use in the next level of evolution? That I don't know, but I'm driven to take chances that might get me committed against my will.

Maybe that's why my nightmares have moved from being trapped in the upper floors of antebellum wooden houses to the greasy floors and huge machinery of industrial complexes. I ain't talking digital clean rooms in this scenario. That might be even more frightening. I am is not a neatnik. Moreover, what does my maternal grandmother have to do with this whole nightmare deal?

One dream I had a long time ago was about being in one of these old houses with gingerbread ornamentation surrounding the second-floor porches. Somehow, I knew it was my grandmother's house, yet at the same time I knew it wasn't the real house my grandmother lived in.

In the past, I was looking for her in old wooden houses. The one in my dream/vision was a fine house, it would have been considered a plantation house, a mansion perhaps in my grandmother's day. I went up to the third-floor that was a sort of attic, but had small bedrooms there instead of it being used for storage.

That is, all were bedrooms except for a hidden room only a nosy little boy would have ever discovered. That's how my grandmother considered me. The nosiest little boy she had ever known, and no matter how manner times she punished me I would keep on snooping around. That's apparently how I discovered this secret room in my grandmother's imaginary house.

Discovering the contents of this secret room was the thrill of a lifetime for a five year old boy. It was an Confederate arms cache left over from the War Between The States. There were lots of brand-new infantry rifles and shiny calvary swords galore. I was ever so happy. I had hit the jackpot! Then, as you might have already guessed, I woke up, and the house and everything in it, like the Grail Castle, disappeared. Poof!

It's a suspicion of mine that the results of this one rather fantastic dream kept me exploring old houses in my dreams until I reached middle age. I was no longer looking for my grandmother per se, but for her hidden treasure. I think I dreamed of the plantation houses until I started dreaming of the grimy industrial complexes.

The living memory of the very dream that started the industrial perspective comes to me now and again. I entered this grimy city on a bridge that crossed a river to get there, but the bridge sagged down into the river, and I had to wade across the sagging bridge while unsure of my footing as a act of faith, and once done, there was no going back. I realized that when I was wading across it, and I haven't dreamed much about old houses since.

Dreams are abstract creations that can be manipulated in the dream's real ti-me by gaining a lucid state that allows me to change the scene or fight the monsters, but not the content of my visions. I don't appear or seem to be able to change anything. My best response seems to be to kick back and witness. This may have to do with the sort of dreaming that only happens in the Delta state of my nightly sleep cycles.

Can I slip into that reality while dreaming and permanently leave my physical body behind to suffer it's own fate? I think it's possible, and is symbolically represented by that hidden room where the arms cache was stashed.

Discovering that secret place in the dreamtime with all the goodies a young boy lusts for of the tools that could possibly help him to defend himself against the giants was a big deal psychologically, but like other big deals I only experienced it once, an old, old, ancient ritual that I seem to have to rediscover with each new body I snatch from the living dead.

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