Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts

Monday, June 13, 2011

The Ogre

In my dream last night, I was hiding under a tower, and above me, an ogre bearing a striking resemblance to the ogre in Dungeon Crawl patrolled the walkways around the tower. He saw me, bellowed, and began shimmying down poles from one walkway to the other to get at me. I realized that soon he would be at the ground level, so I tried to hide behind columns and partitions of wall, but he had a steady eye and ear trained upon me and followed.

My internal director called "Cut!" to the action before he reached the ground. Upon waking up, I reflected that none of my Spriggans have had any difficulty dispatching ogres. Ogres may be strong, but they are too slow, and Spriggan assassins stay one step ahead, blowing poisoned needles from their blowgun.

I need to assert control over my dreams and have more pleasant ones. So far, my best method of control has been an internal watchdog that wakes me up when the Muse turns sour.
by igor 04:20 4 replies by igor 09:32 0 comments

Friday, June 10, 2011


I had a nightmare last night that a group of people that I didn't know and myself were rounded up by security forces, bound, placed in bare metal chairs side-by-side in a room, and tortured. Everything about the dream seemed vague. I didn't know who the others were, and didn't know who the security forces were. They must have been Iranian or belonged to some other tyranny. I don't remember what sort of torture was used. Possibly fists or whips. At any rate, my internal watchdog said, "I don't like this dream. This is unpleasant and must end now." So the dream ended and I woke up--early, as it turned out. That suited me because I've grown tired of being nocturnal and want to start waking up earlier.

I think the nightmare was a result of reading so many media stories about torture being used against protesters in Egypt, Syria, Iran, Libya, and other cesspools around the world. Before going to bed, I read an article about the torture and murder of a 15 year-old boy by Syrian security forces. Definitely not the sort of thing one should read prior to going to bed, but I suppose such articles are more interesting than the latest thing the Republicans have said.

There is something strange and scary about torture, about taking delight in another person's misery. Viewing the devices that were used in the Middle Ages, more elaborate than necessary, it is clear that human beings have a special fascination with it. One wonders how such a trait came into being and what possible purpose it serves. All civilizations have practiced torture, and only recently in human history have affluent societies abolished torture and registered their opposition to its practice, although the Bush administration did some backsliding on that issue. One can never expect Republicans to understand morality. The thinnest pretext is used to approve torture, because human beings have a powerful desire to commit such acts against their enemies.
by igor 04:20 4 replies by igor 09:32 0 comments

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Not Original

A proverb came to me on waking this morning. "Live in such a manner that you may die with few regrets." But I am not sure it is any better than the efficient carpe diem. Also, it sounds awfully similar to other proverbs I have heard before.

I do not believe it possible to die with no regrets, as some say for dramatic effect. That's hubris, in the first place, because everybody makes mistakes, great or small, in the human existence. Surely if one has no regrets, one would not wish to die at all. That too is a regret.
by igor 04:20 4 replies by igor 09:32 0 comments

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

The Old Have It Best

I had been suffering from a cold for a few days, but woke up this morning feeling better. The following reflection wasn't really a dream, but any thought just upon waking could be the conclusion or resolution of a dream, so I classify it as a dream. The quaint language gives me the impression it's paraphrased poetry that I read. Lately I have been reading a book about Shakespeare, "1599", that refers to playwrights flattering the elderly Queen Elizabeth. She was said to have been vain about her appearance even to the end.

Between old and young, the old have it best. The old have seized their days in the Sun. Not disease, poverty or injustice can take those days away from them. Their joys are writ upon the Book of Days forever and ever. The young cannot say which card Fate will turn over next. And if the world ends tomorrow, the old have had the most, while the young barely supped from the cup of life.
by igor 04:20 4 replies by igor 09:32 0 comments

Sunday, April 24, 2011

White Room

A vague dream just before waking had me in a white room with two women who were talking with me about innocuous subjects, one close enough to put her arm around my shoulder, the other watching the two of us from a distance. I didn't know the watcher, but seemed to know the closer one who moved ever closer, becoming affectionate without any concern for the woman watching us. I did not decide how to respond until late, and then I moved away, because it was not the proper time or place and it was not a good idea either.

When I woke up, I concluded she was an attractive fellow student, my age, from school, who had made a point of speaking with me before and after class, piling on enough flattery to make me wonder what she was trying to sell me, until one day when I mentioned in passing but on purpose that I was going to visit a friend and identified the friend with a feminine pronoun, which eliminated her interest. (The friend was only a friend, a point left unmentioned.)

Most students in the nursing program were female, and that's one reason that I'd recommend the study of nursing to any single straight man. However, I'd be careful which school is chosen. Some are wastes of time and money, with too stringent a selection process. I invested a year of study, fees for stupid things like sports I don't play, and outrageous prices for textbooks, with nothing to show for it at the end, despite my straight A's, but dreams like this*.

* I also know about neutrophils, lymphocytes, monocytes, eosinophils, & basophils, remembered by the immortal mnemonic, Never Let Monkeys Eat Bananas.
by igor 04:20 4 replies by igor 09:32 0 comments

Sunday, November 14, 2010

The Sigel

After everyone had gone to sleep, I walked into the dark woods. A fell voice that I recognized called unto me, saying, “Pray, what do you desire? Is it power? Power over men, power over nature, power over life and death. Surely you want power, mortal.”

"Everyone wants power, that much is true, but I already have what is needed.”

There was a long pause as the Shadow weighed my words. Then the voice spoke again. “If not power, then knowledge. Would you learn the secrets of the world? I see much of what was, what is, and what is yet to pass.”

“So you have said, but you lied to me about the Morning Star. It is not accursed, but brings light to the hidden things of darkness.”

The Shadow said, “You should not speak this way to me, because I can destroy you.”

In my left hand was the Sigel. This I revealed, and light surrounded me. "Can you destroy the light? The light spans alpha and omega and all the points in between, and I am joined into the light. There is no end to me and no beginning. Come to me, you will be my servant now.”

And so the darkness joined into the light, and the light shone ever brighter and stronger than before.
by igor 04:20 4 replies by igor 09:32 0 comments

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Reflections on Psychic Ability

I find myself thinking about a palm reading performed upon me long ago, in the early eighties. At the time, I thought the things that the girl was saying to me were nonsense. But as I have reflected upon it, there were startling insights. She saw specific details. I remember asking her for advice--she gave me some, but said that I would disregard it, and indeed I have. She seemed to have a fatalistic attitude toward destiny, as though humans could do little to change it. Some of the things she predicted have come to pass. I do not remember anything she said that was not true.

This was the only experience in my life that led me to wonder whether there was something to the paranormal. I believe she was able to give me an accurate reading because I was open to her, very receptive indeed. I didn't believe in her power, but I did believe in it, at the same time. Disbelief coexists with belief in a way that reminds me of quantum physics. My energy flowed into her, not because she took it, but because I permitted it, assisted it, because I knew that she wanted to be successful in her art. If she did not see what was in my eyes, then she could not have been any good at reading fortunes. Her affections were elsewhere, for Billy Idol on MTV and blond boys at our school that looked and acted like him, but such relationships were not of long duration.

I still cannot believe there is anything to palm-reading or to reading minds. If I had thought of a number, such as 7803313, she would not have guessed it, even if I had given her a hundred guesses. I believe that very intelligent people, that is, those with a high degree of social intelligence, are able to make astonishing predictions and insights into other people based upon body language and other subtle cues that are difficult for ordinary people like me to identify and interpret. I believe that she possessed this type of genius in addition to a high aptitude for academic subjects. She had a high degree of sensitivity, which seemed a liability in some instances, because she would burst into tears when people were critical of her, such as parents or teachers. Any harsh word would be amplified to the Nth degree by her extraordinary ability. I think her attraction for Billy Idol was based upon the "opposites attract" principle. She wanted to be more like him, bold and brave, and less the shrinking violet. She succeeded in her ambition. What once seemed a liability proved to be an incredible asset, as indeed it is, because the subtle cues that others miss are helpful in divining truth from lies.

I remember a dream that I had about her when I was young. It was a familiar dream, repeated on more than one night with occasional variations. I get on a school bus, and she is the only one there, or the only one I notice, and I sit beside her, and she seems ambivalent to that, but we talk. I don't remember what we talk about, but it must have been interesting if I was dreaming about it. She would tell me things that made me happy, gave me cause to worry, or sometimes confused me. I didn't always understand her or agree with her remarks, and we argued, but I never thought she was lying or being mean. We were usually polite to one another. In one dream, we might have held hands, but I'm not sure. It seems unlike her, and at any rate, holding hands with a reader is a bad idea, because one never knows what they will say. Sometimes the bus stops and she gets off, and I go home alone. Other times, we just ride the bus for hours talking. It was early evening in these dreams, with little light outside, just enough to see. In one dream, and it may have the last one, she told me that anything that happened in the dream was only intended for the dream-world and would not be repeated in the real world. She had only been experimenting with her power. She also said that our paths were separating, and we would not see each other again, not in the real world or even in the dream-world. That was almost accurate.

We had a chance encounter in the hallway in our sophomore year of high school. I saw her just about to open a door to a classroom and called out her name. We hadn't seen each other in years. She was much changed for the better, seeming stronger, more confident. We had a polite chat for two minutes and that was that. She had much to boast about, but I did not and was glad when the chat was over.
by igor 04:20 4 replies by igor 09:32 0 comments

Friday, October 15, 2010

Magic Cat-Water

My partner fell asleep with his favorite cat ensconced by his feet. In his dream, he was thirsty. The cat said, "Here, have some of my magic cat-water!" A cup appeared next to him. He drank it, but it didn't satisfy his thirst. He scolded the cat for the ineffectual cat-water. He got up to fill his empty cup with real water, drank it, but was still thirsty. Then he realized he was asleep, and it was all just a dream. He woke up and got himself real water outside of the dream world.

I have had similar dreams that attempt to satisfy bodily cravings, dreams in which I am drinking, eating, having sex, or more often, urinating. I've never woken up to a soggy bed, however, and I'm glad of that.
by igor 04:20 4 replies by igor 09:32 0 comments

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

A Weird Dream

I had a vivid dream last week, but hesitated to blog about it, because it seemed strange. But dreams are strange. The rational mind takes a break, and the irrational mind takes charge. When I was in first grade, I was plagued by nightmares. I used to dream that my teacher was a fire-breathing human, or what in Dungeon Crawl is termed a Draconian--half-man, half-dragon. Night terrors scared me until I told my father about them, and he gave me advice. He said that nothing in the world could touch me. He and my mother would protect me, no matter what. Anything imagined was just that, imagination. It was not real. The junk on television or in books was not real. They were just ideas. Somehow, I learned how to sleep without having any nightmares. If something scary arose during a dream, I would smile in my dream and say, "Ha-ha, you're not real! And I get to choose what I dream, so I'm not going to dream about you!" However, this did have an undesirable side-effect--I began to forget most of my dreams. Today, a remembered dream is a rare event that happens once a year at most.

As a young man in my twenties, I had a handful of remembered dreams. Due to reading many of Anne Rice's earlier books, I dreamed a fair amount about vampires, and had dreams where a monster or killer was getting ready to do me in. Sometimes I tried to move, but found that I was paralyzed, and wondered why I could not move. I remember trying to shout for help and not being able to talk. I even tried whispering, but could not even do that. I tried to run or hide, but my body would not obey my commands. My paralysis frightened and confused me even more. I read later that during the REM stage, many of the muscles are in fact paralyzed, with the exception of the pupils and the involuntary muscles. I still do not understand why I could not move inside the dream, however. In dreams, one should be able to do anything one wants.

Last week, I dreamed that I was a guest in a friend's house. A married couple was lodged just down the hall from me. The wife discovered that I was a medical professional and decided she needed my assistance. She told me she was infected by a rare African virus that caused chronic constipation. Would I be so kind as to perform an enema? I refused, out of concern for what her husband might say. Besides, enemas are not the first line of treatment for constipation anymore. They were more common in the past, but today, revised notions of modesty have made the practice unpopular. A superior treatment would be a laxative of some kind, I advised. Besides, I've never performed an enema.

She left my room, "undeterred" in more ways than one. A few minutes later, she returned with her husband in tow. He repeated the request and insisted it was OK by him, because he was tired of performing the procedure himself, and felt like I would do a more professional job. Without further ado, the wife stripped off her dress and panties and prostrated herself on a couch, awaiting treatment. The husband handed me the enema kit and said, "Go to it, sport."
by igor 04:20 4 replies by igor 09:32 0 comments

Saturday, July 31, 2010


Melatonin seems like a mysterious compound, increasing REM sleep and vivid dreaming in addition to assisting with the circadian rhythm. It also functions as an antioxidant. It is produced by an endocrine gland located in the brain, known as the pineal body. In humans, melatonin exerts an inhibitory influence upon the reproductive system that prevents sexual maturation from occurring too early.

The production of melatonin requires hours of darkness. This was seldom an issue for our ancient ancestors, but today, many remain awake during the hours of darkness, such as the evening-time, to watch their favorite television shows and use the computer. By doing so, modern humans deprive themselves of a beneficial compound that seems to have a subtle influence upon psychology and health.

I have decided to embark upon an experiment with myself as the subject. I will make a conscious effort to generate increased levels of melatonin in my system by going to sleep during the hours of darkness and arising in the early morning. My expectation is that I will have a more pronounced circadian rhythm, more REM sleep, and vivid dreaming. The last benefit is of great interest to me, because I want to experience vivid dreaming and see what all the fuss is about. I may discover that melatonin is of great benefit.

Benjamin Franklin wrote, "Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise." I wonder whether that is so and whether melatonin is the reason.
by igor 04:20 4 replies by igor 09:32 0 comments

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

The Rude Student

The last time I remembered a dream was several years ago. I don't know why. Some people do remember their dreams, and I envy them. It must be fun to recall dreams. Even better are vivid dreams in which the mind assumes conscious control. Due to my dream deficiency, I stretch the definition of dream to encompass the waking time just before sleep, when I am lying in bed thinking.

Last night, I dreaded a possibility that a particular student in my class might be unbalanced enough to do harm to himself or others. I was put to mind of atrocities on other American campuses where a crazy student (or, sadder to say, professor) took a firearm to class. Sometimes, I get a bad feeling about a person. I sense that there is a dark cloud hanging over them. But that feeling does not translate into any specific premonition. It is not magic, but based upon the manner in which a person interacts with others and whether they observe basic social rules of etiquette and consideration for others. In this specific case, there is not enough evidence, other than a bad feeling. I know it is easy to confuse "little bit crazy" with "full-blown crazy." Not all crazy people are dangerous. Crazy people tend to be frightened of others, actually. They understand the actions of rational people no better than we understand their actions. From their point of view, they are just doing their thing. From our point of view, their thing is eccentric and annoying. Who is correct? That is a matter of contention, but for now, the rational people hold sway. Naturally, I prefer to number myself among the rational.

This student has difficulty in adhering to basic social norms, such as not speaking when the professor is lecturing. He is forever rattling on about one thing or the other to his discredit, describing past events that portray him in a most unfavorable light, although he thinks otherwise (delusions of grandeur), thinking himself a great adventurer and extrovert, and hoping that we should perceive him in those terms. He is a most deluded fellow. My diagnosis is garden variety bipolar disorder. All that he says destroys any possibility that anyone with sense should have a good opinion of him. He even tapped out a text message on his cell phone during the lecture, resulting in an audible, high-pitched beeping noise for each of the letters of the message.

Our professor is new, meek, and sweet, and seems incapable of making the necessary rebuke, which is a common defect in newly minted teachers, who are afraid of offending anyone. Also, she is black, and the student is white, although race is not the foremost issue here. As a matter of fact, the white students disapprove of the behavior of the rude white student. It is very much taboo to be disrespectful of a teacher.

I found myself growing angry at the rudeness, but said nothing, because there was a fear that I might overstep and say too much. Also, it was not my place to say anything, but the professor's. However, I had a fantasy of taking him by the collar and dragging him out of the classroom, kicking and screaming, and telling him to go home, since he did not want to learn and was not willing to let the other students learn either. But I doubted that vigilantism would have been appreciated by anyone. The rude student is a frail-looking man. I might seem to be a bully. Besides, he may own a gun to compensate for his physical inferiority. Robert Heinlein once wrote, "Never beat a small man. He'll kill you." There is something to that advice. I don't want to make any enemies. I've got enough to deal with just getting through school. Order in the classroom is customarily the responsibility of the professor, though in this case, the professor lacks the courage to enforce order.

During a study session in the library, a group of students, including myself, confronted the rude student and told him in polite and general terms that he needed to remain quiet while the professor was speaking. We explained that we wished to hear what was said in order to pass the class. Also, the professor might treat the entire class with a harsh bias, if she felt the class were disrespectful. He took offense, claiming, "you all hate me, just like the others!" (I don't know who "the others" are and did not wish to ask.) He insisted that he knew more than the professor. She was a know-nothing, while he was extremely smart, he said. He described himself as a "type-A personality," which tempted me to ask what the "A" stood for, but I held my peace. After each person in our group repeated the same general observation, he promised to remain silent during the class. I sensed he was lying, but held my peace. I am of the opinion he lies on a regular basis and has difficulty distinguishing between fact and fiction. Much of what he says about himself has the distinct aroma of bull manure. He is very poor at evaluating the motives and reasoning of other people.

In the classroom, I changed my seat, moving further away from him, as he was in the habit of turning around to talk to me during the lecture. He considered me his buddy, because I had been friendly in the beginning, as I am with everyone that I meet. He was unaware of ever having caused any offense through his remarks or behavior.

I had made the mistake early on of talking to him and giving him attention, a grievous error. I am a friendly person by nature, reluctant to ignore people who are looking into my eyes and talking to me. Anyone who says anything to him or maintains eye contact encourages frequent, lengthy, and interminable conversations about the most inane topics that amuse his disordered mind. He has a vile habit of invading the personal space of his listeners, touching them in inappropriate ways. For instance, upon learning that I had made the highest grade in the class on the last exam, he made a derisive remark, which I took in stride, but then flicked a hand toward my face. His fingertip scratched my cheek, causing me to wince, and I did not like that. He also warned me that if I upset the "Bell Curve" of the test scores, he would find out where I live and break one of my windows. I said, "Bring it on." I did not like his remark. I was unsure of whether he was joking. He made an enemy that day, though he showed no awareness of his wrong. The possibility that he might have been serious filled me with wrath, which smoldered and increased the longer that I considered the implications. It is remarkable that he has survived to be thirty-something. Perhaps his mental illness is of recent origin.

Before the last test, I had shared tips with him, based upon my long hours studying, that resulted in his scoring ten points higher than he otherwise would have earned, which he recognized later, remarking, "Hey, you know, I take back all of what I said before. You helped me. I scored ten points higher because of you. You know, I guess I won't be breaking your window after all." This remark was just as foolish as the last. I did not like being reminded that I had helped him in a substantial manner. Foolish generosity! I had failed to evaluate the individual I was helping and had helped a viper. I would much preferred he had scored the "B" he deserved. It was impossible from this point on that I would ever help him again.

I moved away to remove his temptation, but also to reduce my annoyance. The sight, sound, and smell of him was repulsive. He was not easy on the eyes, smelled like an ashtray, being a chain-smoker of menthol cigarettes, and his incessant talking grated on the nerves. Had I remained nearby, the professor might have assumed I was his buddy, being of the same race, and I did not want that. I realized the other black students had drawn the same incorrect assumption, that he and I were buddies. It is common for people to group others together by race. By moving away, I isolated him, which resulted in an unexpected dividend, much to my satisfaction.

The black students were particularly offended by the white student's rudeness to a black professor, which is understandable. I think that if they had known just how angry I was, and the sort of things I had been thinking about, then they would have been surprised.

A black female student in the class became my heroine. She asked a question of the professor, and when the professor's reply was obscured by more talking from the rude student, she said in a loud and angry voice, "Excuse me, but there is someone in the class who is talking out of turn. Someone in the middle of the class, on the third row, who is very rude and inconsiderate to the rest of the class. Someone who insists on talking while the professor is talking. A very rude person."

Everyone in the class knew who she was talking about. No one stirred. The silence was deafening. I wanted to cheer, but contented myself with a wide smile. The rude student did not turn around or respond in any way, but kept his head down. I think the rebuke was effective, because he did quiet down a bit. The professor pretended nothing had happened, but I was sure that this had pleased her. She answered the question and proceeded with the lecture. However, about ten minutes later, I noticed she was smiling much broader and more frequently. Also, she remarked on how much she liked our class. Her meaning was clear. I was pleased. The student body had policed itself in an effective manner, at least on that occasion.

I remain watchful of the rude student who seems to have trouble controlling his own behavior. This is the first time I have encountered a bad apple in the student body, which has otherwise been represented well in my experience. I hope that nothing worse comes out of the situation. However, I cannot be concerned with events beyond my control or foresight. If others make mistakes, then that is to their discredit. I intend to remain blameless. My choice is to hope for the best and do the best I can. I will always be on the side of those that are good, and it pleases me to see good people prevail.
by igor 04:20 4 replies by igor 09:32 0 comments

Thursday, July 15, 2010

A Dream that Hastens Sleep

Late at night, while lying in bed, I like to imagine my body levitating in immaterial form, the ceiling posing no obstacle. I rest upon a magical black marble block that feels softer than any feather bed. All around me are smoky clouds. It is a safe place and also a dead place where the living may not intrude, and the concerns of the world are nothing. From the clouds emerge eight friendly djinn that massage my body in silence, their hands warm. A greater being, who is benevolent and wise, but unseen, tells me that all is as it should be. Soon I am asleep.
by igor 04:20 4 replies by igor 09:32 0 comments
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