Ah, hail the return to the new grand Friday tradition. It's good to be at the German tavern after work. I'm going to blog... and drink... and await the arrival later of the Indomitable I, who will be joining me for a few half-liters. The last few hours of work, I was sure that my head wasn't going to explode, but go right to total instant vaporisation. Beer and sausage soften the impact. Also helps that I'm finally losing that disjunctive mind-reality mode that I've had since I woke this morning. Since I've shifted into this more consciousness responsive space, I've not slept really well, honestly.
The hyperactivity insured that I'd never been good at getting to bed, and moreso, staying asleep at times. But this is something else. The hyperactivity usually drowns my sleep in quasi-dreaming that is more like a light-REM perceptual overflow that comes out more like some bad pastiche movie, in which I don't usually even show up. It's more like I'm watching from the cinematographer's chair. The only meaning I've ever drawn is a reminder of why I used to believe to view my movie as scenes and filler in some unknown film script. I remember even less of this stuff than I do of my "meaningful" dreams. One night I slept for four hours where Lucille Ball and the guy from Circuitry Man drove across the some alien desert in a VW bug, that might or might not have been Herbie, the Love Bug. Even more often, my sleep is haunted by odd tactile mirages, ranging from feeling like I am on a roller coaster, to the sensual touching of phantom hands. For reasons like this, I've taken my dreams, with the rare few that are so vivid and indistinguishable from the "real," with a grain of salt. I can count the rare powerful dream that I can recall two hours after I awake on two hands.... so when I have like five of them over a fortnight, it is worth nothing, including two consecutive over the last two nights.
The most unsettling was the night before last when I dreamt I was being scolded on my less than healthsome habits by a couple women, who I am sure I knew who they where, but lost in awaking. I was very physically uncomfortable and was sunk into some kind of pillowed seat. I remember being told not to light up a cigarette because I has someone else to think of now. That is when I looked down at my belly (which is not exactly lean in the first place,) and realized I was several months pregnant or more. That's when I awoke, and I had to walk around for a little while, before I could attempt to sleep again. I wonder what else I forgot about it. I dare not really try to interpret it without some assistance, like a dream symbol dictionary. But, I'm sure this isn't an uncommon male dream, even if I am gay. But something about it has niggled into my psyche like the proverbial sand in the swimtrunks. Last night, all I can clearly recall was bawling my eyes out in pure emotional release, listening to some music, with those who represented a continuum of my friends I have had over the years. I've wondered if I wasn't dredging up something about the intense group therapy sessions I had to go through not long after the Great Jewish-American Texas Meltdown. When I awoke, I was sure I had been dreaming all night, and it must be close to my wake-up time at 5:30 AM, but it was barely minutes after one o'clock. The other two, I can't attest to much but the feeling like someone had scoured my being with iron wool. I know from my ex-boyfriend, and others, that I talk fervently in my sleep, but I've awoken alot lately finishing sentences out-loud that I had been speaking in dream. I know one I had been arguing impassioned with someone, so much that I was yelling at the top of my lungs, and I was sure I had been shouting still when I awoke suddenly. I checked with NP but he didn't hear anything, so I'm not sure. I guess the transitional verbal exchange is just alot more startling than I let on. The other one, I awoke to the end of a talk on existentialism.
At some level, I shouldn't be surprised, considering dreaming can be one of the few purer conduits between our mind and our sensory systems, that is seperate from the physicality limitations that things like time and direction hold us out of the fourth conscious circuit and above. I really should expect it to get more bizarre as I progress. Dreams feel like sometimes the only place where Post-Enlightenment psyches can still meet with the myth-symbol reality that was more understood by our ancestors, in that place where the metaphysical mingled with the physical. Least it makes sense why so many religions are spawning these zealous literalist movements who seem to have no idea about the living allegories that are their holy books. I find something gained in knowing least one space exists where the observed and the observing meet to exchange meaning. No wonder dream-life, and being-life clash so hard. There really is no way to know how those who came before interacted with the multi-phasic reality, suffering in a much harder and immediate world, trying to expand consciousness without any of the overbearing scientific linguistic acrobatic we tangle in.
I'm beginning to wonder if I shouldn't consider taking mushrooms or peyote. They don't hold the exact stigmata that LSD holds. The biggest problem is that I'd have to set up a very controlled environment, with low outside interference, and do it with someone experienced. This is alot to ask for a guy who lives in a communitarian household. I really should reach out to other seekers, and expand my limited network. The bummer of the week is that the place with the two sense dep tanks is temporarily closed for relocation. I really wanted to do that this week.
I don't know. I won't lie that I am afraid of my own dreams, and of anything that could induce visions along the same neural pathways. It's hard enough to read one probability, let alone slide into an alternative reality that is simple unmanifested, or impossible to understand in the mental-emotional framework I am limited to, right now. But the curiousity does outweigh the fear, for once.
The hyperactivity insured that I'd never been good at getting to bed, and moreso, staying asleep at times. But this is something else. The hyperactivity usually drowns my sleep in quasi-dreaming that is more like a light-REM perceptual overflow that comes out more like some bad pastiche movie, in which I don't usually even show up. It's more like I'm watching from the cinematographer's chair. The only meaning I've ever drawn is a reminder of why I used to believe to view my movie as scenes and filler in some unknown film script. I remember even less of this stuff than I do of my "meaningful" dreams. One night I slept for four hours where Lucille Ball and the guy from Circuitry Man drove across the some alien desert in a VW bug, that might or might not have been Herbie, the Love Bug. Even more often, my sleep is haunted by odd tactile mirages, ranging from feeling like I am on a roller coaster, to the sensual touching of phantom hands. For reasons like this, I've taken my dreams, with the rare few that are so vivid and indistinguishable from the "real," with a grain of salt. I can count the rare powerful dream that I can recall two hours after I awake on two hands.... so when I have like five of them over a fortnight, it is worth nothing, including two consecutive over the last two nights.
The most unsettling was the night before last when I dreamt I was being scolded on my less than healthsome habits by a couple women, who I am sure I knew who they where, but lost in awaking. I was very physically uncomfortable and was sunk into some kind of pillowed seat. I remember being told not to light up a cigarette because I has someone else to think of now. That is when I looked down at my belly (which is not exactly lean in the first place,) and realized I was several months pregnant or more. That's when I awoke, and I had to walk around for a little while, before I could attempt to sleep again. I wonder what else I forgot about it. I dare not really try to interpret it without some assistance, like a dream symbol dictionary. But, I'm sure this isn't an uncommon male dream, even if I am gay. But something about it has niggled into my psyche like the proverbial sand in the swimtrunks. Last night, all I can clearly recall was bawling my eyes out in pure emotional release, listening to some music, with those who represented a continuum of my friends I have had over the years. I've wondered if I wasn't dredging up something about the intense group therapy sessions I had to go through not long after the Great Jewish-American Texas Meltdown. When I awoke, I was sure I had been dreaming all night, and it must be close to my wake-up time at 5:30 AM, but it was barely minutes after one o'clock. The other two, I can't attest to much but the feeling like someone had scoured my being with iron wool. I know from my ex-boyfriend, and others, that I talk fervently in my sleep, but I've awoken alot lately finishing sentences out-loud that I had been speaking in dream. I know one I had been arguing impassioned with someone, so much that I was yelling at the top of my lungs, and I was sure I had been shouting still when I awoke suddenly. I checked with NP but he didn't hear anything, so I'm not sure. I guess the transitional verbal exchange is just alot more startling than I let on. The other one, I awoke to the end of a talk on existentialism.
At some level, I shouldn't be surprised, considering dreaming can be one of the few purer conduits between our mind and our sensory systems, that is seperate from the physicality limitations that things like time and direction hold us out of the fourth conscious circuit and above. I really should expect it to get more bizarre as I progress. Dreams feel like sometimes the only place where Post-Enlightenment psyches can still meet with the myth-symbol reality that was more understood by our ancestors, in that place where the metaphysical mingled with the physical. Least it makes sense why so many religions are spawning these zealous literalist movements who seem to have no idea about the living allegories that are their holy books. I find something gained in knowing least one space exists where the observed and the observing meet to exchange meaning. No wonder dream-life, and being-life clash so hard. There really is no way to know how those who came before interacted with the multi-phasic reality, suffering in a much harder and immediate world, trying to expand consciousness without any of the overbearing scientific linguistic acrobatic we tangle in.
I'm beginning to wonder if I shouldn't consider taking mushrooms or peyote. They don't hold the exact stigmata that LSD holds. The biggest problem is that I'd have to set up a very controlled environment, with low outside interference, and do it with someone experienced. This is alot to ask for a guy who lives in a communitarian household. I really should reach out to other seekers, and expand my limited network. The bummer of the week is that the place with the two sense dep tanks is temporarily closed for relocation. I really wanted to do that this week.
I don't know. I won't lie that I am afraid of my own dreams, and of anything that could induce visions along the same neural pathways. It's hard enough to read one probability, let alone slide into an alternative reality that is simple unmanifested, or impossible to understand in the mental-emotional framework I am limited to, right now. But the curiousity does outweigh the fear, for once.
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