A New Adventure

Dreams: May 11

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Wed, 11 May 2011 12:13:00 +0000

Was on the phone trying to get information about a test I wanted to take. The person that I spoke to was not at work. She was at home, and had guests over, so I was actually disturbing her. I don’t remember whether I became a reporter, or pretended to be a reporter to get information from her about the test, but the reporter thing was in my mind as I was talking. She gave me some information before I let her go. While we were speaking, it was as though I saw a diagram with different areas that the test targeted being highlighted. The diagram was a gold-ish reddish color. It was a rainy day, and it almost seemed that the woman I was speaking with was in the house next door.

I was on a ship or a large boat. Someone had died, and their ashes were about to be scattered in the ocean. There were a lot of us on the boat – about 20 people or so, and, when an announcement was made, we all went to see the ashes being scattered. We weren’t allowed outside, or there were no exits, so we had to look through windows which only gave a very limited view. I stood near a window, pressing my face up to the glass, and strained to see something. Someone near me said, “There’re the ashes on the water.” I saw a spot of something on the surface of the ocean that was only a slightly different shade than the water. The water was a very dark color – bluish blackish – and the smudge that was supposed to have been the ashes were a dark grey – barely distinguishable on the ocean’s surface. I thought momentarily about sneaking around the boat to find a better viewing spot, and then gave up, disgusted.

Dreams: May 8

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Mon, 09 May 2011 09:13:00 +0000

A very unusual dream situation:

I was in the house I grew up in – at least, that’s where the dream ended up. The earliest scene that I remember is that I was constructing a display about the British monarchy. I started with an early king and got as far as the first woman who was queen in her own right. Her name should have been Mathilida, but in the dream it was Gertrude. There was either a television on in the dream, or the scene changed to The Night Of The Living Dead. There was a woman running toward her house (with blue socks) because she thought she’d just seen her husband. I can’t remember whether he was a zombie, or whether he was dressed as a woman, but by the time she made it back, he was still wearing a wig and makeup. He didn’t have a shirt on. He tried to play it off like he didn’t know who she was, said something insulting to her that I can’t remember, and slammed the door in her face.

Then, somehow, where I was, making the display in my room in the house I grew up in, became a part of the movie. There was a man in the room who was my husband. He revived, and I started running from him. He chased around the house. I managed to get outside, ran down the back steps, and in the downstairs section of the house. A couple times he caught up with me. He was very strong, but I managed to fight him off. I made like I was going to jump through a hole in the brickwork, and tricked him into doing it himself. He was outside, and I had a few moments before he figured out how to get back in. I ran back to, and up, the back steps. I shouted to my sister who was there in a flowered short dress, casually talking on the phone. I told her to come inside with me, but as she turned to me, she suddenly grew very old – her hair turned gray, and her face wrinkled, and she became feeble. She couldn’t run. I ran back down the stairs and picked her up, and quickly brought her into the house. I managed to close the door just as my husband was coming up the stairs again. I closed the door and locked it, and ran into the living room. I turned to my left and could see the shadow of a figure climbing through the window in the bathroom. He’d found his way in. I screamed, and that’s when I woke up, still screaming.

(I’d spent just about the whole previous day watching television. There was a show on about the moguls of Hollywood which contained a 5-second clip from Night Of The Living Dead; the husband in the dream was the husband-patient in a documentary about the emergency room of a hospital who couldn’t stop screaming; the last thing that I watched between sleep and wake before turning the TV off and going to bed was a documentary about British monarchical history on Netflix)

Dreams: April 28

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 01:19:00 +0000

Was in a living room - might have been my deceased grandmother's house, but not sure - with other people, including my eldest uncle, Roderick. Ruth, a former friend of my mother's, entered the room. She was emotionally/mentally unstable. (Ruth has had a history of unstability in waking life. There is also a past episode invvolving her and this particular uncle.) My uncle Roderick began to undress himself in order to deal (exorcise?) with the situation. The room was darkly lit - like late evening. My uncle took off items of clothing and handed them to me - his shirt, his pants, his jewelry - he handed me gold chain with a three-cross pendant. I wondered about the three crosses. The chain was solid gold and very heavy. Soon he was butt naked with his back to me, facing Ruth.

I was in an apartment building that seemed familiar. It might have been the building where I currently live, but it was quite different. My upstairs neighbor had some kind of a leak, and I could see the paint on the ceiling of my apartment beginning to swell. I put my hand on the wall, and I could feel the water running under the paint. She came to the door, and we started talking. She seemed to be headed out somewhere - she was well dressed. After she left, I went upstairs to another apartment which was really large, with very modern stainless steel fixtures. The apartment was so large that I couldn't see the end of it - it wrapped around other apartments in the building in an L- shape. I went to use the bathroom which was also very luxurious. I was sitting on the toilet remarking to myself how nice everything looked.

What do I want?

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Tue, 19 Apr 2011 03:00:00 +0000

I was talking on the phone to Hall from the SETH group today, and he asked me the following question: what would make me happy? And it set me to thinking. What WOULD make me happy? What do I want? If I could do anything with my life, what would it be? I saw the movie Limitless yesterday, and it was a reminder that Life is really wide open. We're so used to thinking along particular lines that we don't really consider that there might be another way of seeing things. We dismiss out of hand anything that does not make immediate rational sense. But, we can only be rational about what we know, and there's far too much about the Universe, Life, our own bodies, that we don't know to rely so heavily on rational thinking. It just won't get us very far. And then we'll die, and that'll be it. What would we have done? Spent our whole life thinking that this was all there is. It seems like a dreadful waste.

What does the Limitless Me look like? If I could turn on every now-latent capacity and talent I possess, what would my life be like? What would I be doing? If I were confident that the Universe backs me up at every step, what would I do? What does that even mean? The truth is that we don't know how our bodies function from moment to moment. We don't know what keeps our hearts beating, or what keeps the myriad processes that it takes to keep a human body alive going? We live by faith already from one moment to the next. Could we take that faith even further; how much further? How far will faith carry us?

When I asked myself the question: what do I want, here's what I came up with:

To be in a position, physically, mentally, and financially, to determine the direction of my life;

To have an experience of life from a much broader perspective;

To write or tell stories like Limitless that leave us wondering how much more we can be or do;

To have an opportunity to be in the company and to listen to the words of a wise person;

To experience the beauty of the natural world, and to capture as much of it as I can;

To perform from the depths of my being;

To believe that there are available solutions to every problem.

Dream: April 12/13

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Thu, 14 Apr 2011 04:34:00 +0000

I was singing in a choir - getting ready to perform the Messiah. We were rehearsing in what seemed to be a narrow room, all standing, all wearing black. One of the girls in the choir was near the back of the group, leaning against a wall, sleeping. Another person directly in front of me was talking while were singing. The conductor told them both, and a third person who I couldn't see, that they would not be participating with the choir at this performance.

I was at work, and was heading out to purchase West Indian food at a particular place on Madison and 33rd Street (there is no such place in real life). I could visualize in my mind, the cook preparing ochroe and rice, and my mouth was watering on the way there. I took a very strange route. I went all the way to the east side, walked uptown, and then made my way west again, all the while having this cooking vision in my head. I was able to see the street that I was on, as well as the place that I was heading to very clearly - one as clearly as the other.

Dream: April 11

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 12:03:00 +0000

Judiette C. and I are standing on a corner a block away from the building in which we work. It’s dark and the streets are deserted. As we stand there talking, it begins to feel less and less safe. We see a man coming up the block, and we decide to go inside. We begin to walk the length of the block back to the office and we break into a run. There was light on the corner on which we were standing, but it’s dark along the way back to the office. We get to the building entrance where it’s light again. The entrance is all glass, and there’re a lot of people milling about. I overhear someone complaining about the heat. I think to myself that it’s 52 degrees, and not hot at all. At the bottom of a staircase near the entrance, I see Winfield L. talking to a woman. I get the impression that he’s interested in her. She looks older, and she’s carrying a baby in a carry-carriage. She’s wearing a white shirt and a black skirt. As I’m going up the stairs, she looks at me looking back at her, while Winfield is talking to her. Winfield sees me, but does not acknowledge me at all. I continue up the staircase which seems to be suspended in midair. Everything is well lit and modern. On the way up the stairs, I see Christine L. on a landing below. She sees me, gives me a curt nod, and turns away. At the top of the staircase, there’s a very small office. It’s locked but I have the key. As I open it, another man comes in dressed in a suit and tie. He makes a comment about the heat, and I tell him that I don’t it’s hot at all – it’s only 52 degrees.

"Television is the enemy of the spiritual life."

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 02:55:00 +0000

I've heard this statement made from time to time, and have had various reactions to it - from scoffing to wondering. In the past week, I've noticed that, although I have memories of the dreams that I've had, they're only bits and pieces - nothing, it seems to me, worth writing down. I've also noticed that I'd given myself over to the TV a bit more than before. I fell asleep watching television just about every night. So this week, I'd like to try not watching television at all to see whether or not it would make a difference in the clarity and volume of my dream memory. It's Sunday night, April 10. Let's call this Night One. Wish me luck! :-)

Dream: April 4/5

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Wed, 06 Apr 2011 02:03:00 +0000

I was with my godmother in her home, but not the home I remember. There was clutter, but we weren’t uncomfortable. We were in the kitchen. There was a table in the center of the room, and lots of stuff all round. The table was covered also. We were looking forward to talking with each other. I was glad to be there. The room was dark when we entered. I turned on the lamp that was on the table, and sat down. She started getting dressed for church. She was very involved at the church, and it was very important to her. She was a very wealthy woman, and everyone knew it, but she dressed and lived very simply. As I watched her getting dressed, I thought that she had a really nice body for her age.

I am in the body of someone standing at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. The person is considering jumping. I foresee where the person will land if he jumps – he’ll die – and I try to convince him to jump from another spot. I see another person jumping from that spot (the safe spot), and land safely in the ocean.

My mother, my aunt, my cousin and I are standing in the front yard of a house. There’re a lot of plants and trees in the yard – no grass, only dirt on the ground. My aunt is sweeping the dirt and fallen leaves away. She is laughing while she sweeps. We’re all having a conversation while she continues sweeping.

I am in the front porch of the house I grew up in. My father just yelled at my for using his calligraphy pens, and I yelled back, telling him that I would buy him new pens. I go out to the front porch. As I'm there, Curt J. and Quentin are walking by on the road in front of the house. I don't quite recognize them at first, but eventually realize who they are. We wave at each other, and they continue walking at first. After a few steps they turn back and start walking toward the house. I walk down the front steps to meet them at the gate. They come right in, and I tell them to be careful of the dog. Jeffrey, the dog from my childhood, comes running from the back of the house. They're not frightened of him, and he doesn't threaten them. We're standing together at the front gate, talking. Curt asks, "So what are you doing now?" "I live in New York as you know, I resigned my church job in 2009," I tell him, "and I guess I'm on a bit of a hiatus." I'm looking up at the front of the house while I'm talking to Curt and Quentin.It looks the way it did when we first moved in when I was seven years old. The house is painted a greenish off-white, but there's something reddish about the color.

I'm sitting at an organ bench, thinking that I'm ready to have another church job.

Dreams: March 29

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 10:52:00 +0000

At a tennis match. I’m on one side of the court. Bright early afternoon. Monica Seles is playing, but I’m switching vantages between spectator, camera, and Monica. I also hear the ubiquitous mumblings of the commentators in the background. The court is deep green, and she’s wearing white – everyone seems to be wearing white. As Monica, I feel the tension of the match. I don’t have a clear picture of the opponent; I am mainly concentrating on getting the ball over the net.

I’m in a bed with J. It’s morning. We’re just getting up. At one point he rolls over to my side of the bed, and I’m a little cramped for space. He says that he forgot that I was there. I get up to brush my teeth. The toothpaste is black. I show him, but he doesn’t take much notice.

In a well-lit bathroom with Fr. Harold L., and his wife. I want to go out of the bathroom to get some water, but something or someone is preventing me. Harold’s wife gets the water for me. I can leave the bathroom now, and go out.

Dreams: March 28

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 14:39:00 +0000

I was dead. I saw my decaying corpse lying on a bed white light colored sheets. I was going to re-inhabit this corpse and be alive again in it. There were others around me helping me, telling me what to do. I entered the corpse, and looked up from the face of the corpse. The eyeballs were put in my mouth, and a wave of nausea rose and subsided. Then I was dancing in the corridor of my grandparents’ house. The dance was part of the process. One of the helpers was dancing with me. We ended the dance with me in a handstand, and the helper balancing on the soles of my upturned feet. We were both exhilarated. There was applause. It was morning, and we were facing east.

I am standing on the banks of a river that is beginning to overflow its banks. I can see each ebb and flow rising. I feel as though I have to warn people. Four or five girls come to the banks of the river. There’re wearing brightly colored flowing clothes, and carrying fish nets which are also brightly colored. They move toward the river as I move away from it. There are a lot of fallen branches near the bank, and I walk on them to avoid getting my feet wet. I eventually find myself high up a tree, not knowing how to get down. I’m getting anxious. I’m afraid to move lest I misstep and fall. One of the girls from below yells something to me, and I start calming down. The branch that I’m on isn’t that high after all, and I jump off and land safely on the ground.

Snippets: Eating a meal with Uncle C. and others. I’m trying to warm up the food that’s already laid out on a table, by lighting small fires with a match on the underside of the table under the plates. That varnish on the underside begins to swell, and I put out the match.

A group of us are in San Fernando at the bottom of High Street, just getting back from a trip. I’m supposed to be carrying three bags, but I keep forgetting one of them in the trunk of the car. Twice I run after the car to retrieve the bag. I ask the driver where he’s headed in the hope that he can take us where we need to go. He’s not able to. He’s an older white man with a beard and a round face.

Dreams: March 27

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Sun, 27 Mar 2011 14:48:00 +0000

At a convention of Trappist monks. I’m not a Trappist, but I’m dressed like one. There’re a couple hundred of them entering the hall where the meeting is to take place. There’s a sea of heads over black scapulas . The head of the Order is a woman who is dressed in civilian clothes. The monks are seated on the stage of the hall which is lighted. The woman is addressing people (an audience) in the hall with monks seated behind her on the lighted stage. I am walking down a side aisle to my seat among the people in my ‘robes.’

In a restaurant/diner with friends. We’ve just finished eating and were heading out to a haunted type place somewhere nearby. I’m trying to decide whether or not to wear my jacket. There’s a lesbian couple sitting in the lobby, chatting while they wait for a table. One of the women has short black hair, and is wearing a denim shirt and jeans. I think the other is wearing a dress. I ask the maitre’d if I can leave my jacket at the restaurant and pick it up later on. She asks me how far I’ll be going, and I tell her about the haunted type place. The denim girl says that she wouldn’t mind watching my jacket if I put it right next to hers in the closet, but she also says that it’s too chilly outside and that I should take my jacket. So I reach into the closet which is right there and take my jacket out. I notice a sports jacket and a tie hanging up in the closet, and know that they belong to the denim girl. I imagine her wearing the jacket and tie over her denim shirt and think that it’s a good combination. I go leave the restaurant, and look for my friends. They should have been waiting for me outside the restaurant, but I don’t see them anywhere. I walk in the direction of the haunted type place, but there’re nowhere to be seen, and I’m getting lost and upset. I take out my cellphone and try to call Richard R. I find his name in my contact list and click on it. My cellphone displays texting instructions instead of the number. I continue to walk around in the hope that I might see my friends, and come to a street with a lot of activity. On the right side of the street are a small crowd gathered outside a store around an artist apparently completing a painting right in front of them. It’s an abstract with red, white, and blue. There’s a white swoop in the middle of the picture – the red’s at the bottom, and the blue’s at the top. The painting has a very intricate texture to it. I wonder how he did that. Across the street from the painter’s crowd is a tavern. I go in, but not all the way. It’s pretty loud. Behind me, entering the tavern, is Scott M. wearing a white cassock. We talk for a minute or so as he’s standing near a door with a few other people. It’s a room that patrons of the tavern can book for a few hours to have sex. It’s currently booked from 5:00PM to 9:00PM, and the people at the door are waiting to use it. The door opens, and an older gentleman walks out. Everyone, including me, is curious to see who he was in the room with, but he slides, embarrassed-looking, out the door, closing it behind him so that we can’t see. I try calling Richard R. again. The phone rings and I get an answering service. It’s not Richard’s voice, but a woman’s. I realize that Richard’s mother is using this number for her business contact. The message is pretty haphazard. She doesn’t seem to know how to leave an outgoing message. I hear her husband in the background giving her instructions. I hang up without leaving a message.

At St. Thomas, about to play for the wedding of a priest-to-be and her husband-to-be. The wedding is taking place after dark, but the church is well-lit, and filled with people. The wedding party is getting ready for the procession. I see a bridesmaid in a green dress near the door. I tell the bride that I’ll be playing one tune for her attendants and another for her. I go up to the organ and begin playing The Prince of Denmark March, and then the Mendelssohn’s Bridal March. I somehow realize that the bride didn’t want the Mendelssohn played, but I’ve already started and have to continue. Someone shows me a program while I’m playing, and there’s a tune listed there that I don’t know. The bride is now at the altar, dressed in a chasuble instead of a bridal gown. At the Our Father, she asks the officiant if she can lead the prayer instead. She turns toward the congregation, and, somewhat haltingly, she leads the congregation in repeating the Our Father. The chasuble is gold-colored, and she’s wearing her hair in dread locks. She has glasses. She looks like one of my neighbors.

On a New York Subway car with a few people. Where we’re coming from, or going to is not brought up in the dream. There’re a couple of guys also sitting in the car who know one of the guys in my crowd. There’s some romantic interest between the guy that they know and me. He’s disabled, but not visibly. We were sitting opposite each other, but he’s now sitting next to me. I’m notice his legs through the jeans he’s wearing – they’re a bit thin, but not much thinner than mine.

Snippet of a dream: We have an early class on Friday, and the friend who normally picks me up is taking a disabled person to class that day. I’m trying to figure out another way to get to class.

Dreams: March 25/26

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 13:28:00 +0000

At a university. We’re all surgical students. Our assistants are gerbils, or some other rodent-like animal. We’re supposed to operate on a dog for our final grade. I haven’t completed this part. My gerbil assistant also had to have a surgical procedure, but he seems to be healing nicely. He chatting with the other gerbil assistants before the final class begins. The class is taking place in a wooden auditorium that looks old, but not decrepit, and is well-lit.

Planning a graduation ceremony at a university. The ceremony is supposed to take place in a wooden auditorium that is darkly-lit. The organizers realize that there is enough room in the auditorium to have the ceremony and the dinner afterwards, so one of them asks me for a suggestion. The main school building has four cathedral-like towers around a quadrangle. One of the towers is incomplete – the outer structure is built, but the inner rooms have not yet been constructed. Another of them houses a very valuable object that the university owns, and only authorized persons are allowed there. A third tower contains a very nice library in a well-lit pink room. I suggest moving the desk and chairs away and having the dinner in the library. We were having this discussion while walking in an outer courtyard, looking up at the four towers. It is a beautiful day.

Gemell D. and I are going to the movies. We’ve just left a restaurant and are walking to the theatre – up a steep hill to a main road. We get to the theatre the front of which looks like a gas station. The line for this movie is out the door, but I’ve already bought tickets. We decide to get some snacks to take in to the movie. I get fried channa, a hot dog, and an apple juice. I’m about to pay for our snacks when I realize that I don’t have my wallet. I’ve left it at the restaurant. I start getting frantic. Gemell says, ‘Chile, I’ll be watching the movie. I’ll save you a spot,’ and walks in. I run out of the theater and try to get a cab to take me to the restaurant and bring me back. I get one that’s just turned into the theater car park, and we head back. As we turn back onto the main road, I think, ‘Wouldn’t it be great if, in addition to deactivating cards when we lose our wallets, we could also deactivate the money so that no one else can use it?’ I ask him how much it’s going to cost – he tells me $34.50. I think, ‘$35.00?? It’s not that far. That’s kinda high.’ I don’t say anything – I’ve decided that getting my wallet back is more important than quibbling over a taxi fare. As we driving along the main road, we a horse race ahead of us moving in our direction. We could see by the hooves of the horses that they’re moving really fast. It looks like we’re going to drive right through the race. We try to avoid some of the horses, but can’t avoid others – some are getting hit by other cars. We pass a few stunned looking jockeys on our way. As we're driving, we ‘re headed straight for a small group of horses – we just can’t avoid them. As we get close, the horses and their riders jump over the car and land safely on the other side. We manage to get through the race without hitting anyone. We arrive at the restaurant which looks exactly like the movie theatre. I run in, and one of the waiters recognizes me. The look on his face says, ‘Ah! He came back for his wallet,’ which fills me with relief. The waiter reaches into the cafeteria (which looks exactly like the cafeteria at the movie theatre), takes the wallet from the place they’ve been keeping it, and hands it to me. “There wasn’t any money in it,” he says. He has a sheepish look on his face, and I realize that he’s kidding. I’m back in the cab and we’re heading back to the theatre. The money that I have in the wallet just covers the cab fare – including the tip.

Dreams: March 24/25

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 14:06:00 +0000

I woke up pretty early this morning, but couldn't remember any dreams - rare for me, but it happens. Then I fell asleep again and had these:

Talking to Jennifer C. on the phone. She was telling me that my transfer request had been approved, and that I was scheduled to fly to Seattle to meet the new team and then back to Buffalo where I would be officially located. There was an digital high speed access line number 648509 that I could dial into. I was sharing the number with a few colleagues and there was some confusion: was it 6648509 or 648509?

Before that I dreamt my friend Wayne. He was having some friends over at his house. When I got there, I couldn’t find him. I assumed he was busy preparing so I mingled with the other guests. We found each other eventually, and he asked why I didn’t look around for him? His boyfriend was a psychic and gave a reading to one of the guests who I’d been chatting with. They went off to another part of the house for some privacy while Wayne and I chatted. I wanted to have a reading also, so I was waiting nearby. I was a little while before they were finished. And then it was my turn. I went into the little area and sat on a chair opposite to Wayne’s boyfriend. He told that there was something that I’d written that could make money for me. I thought to a little pamphlet on interior design that I had, but that belonged to someone else. I didn’t create it. So I decided that I couldn’t use it. During the reading Wayne came in. He just stood there looking at us.

Snatches of dreams (1): I was standing in a field with Paul and Errol. We were waiting in haphazard lines to get inside a dance club. Paul decided to be adventurous and jump the line. The owner/bouncer came up to us and tried to make sense of our lines. He just started accepting money from random people and let them in.

Snatches of dreams (2): I was standing outside a monument that looked like the Taj Mahal. I went in and Richard L. jumped down from a wall he was sitting on to walk with me. He wanted to show me around the monument, or meet someone somewhere, or something like that. Behind the monument there was a a sheer rock face with red iron steps built onto the rock face. I hoped were weren't try to climb that.

I was at St Mark’s preparing to play for a service. I was guest organist for that weekend. I was talking about the music with the Junior Choir none of whom I recognized. I asked them if they knew where the scores were kept. They didn’t know. They said that the regular organist never used music scores. The time for Mass was approaching so I started vesting. I put on a red cassock and went outside. The scene changed to the grounds of the Nazarene church from my childhood. There was a long elevated walkway that went from one side of the grounds to the other. Covering the outside of the house were large portraits of the church members. Some of them had the eyes covered with orange circles – I knew that those people had died. I didn’t recognize the faces in the photographs, but I knew who some of them were somehow, mostly the dead ones. I walked the length of the elevated walkway to the other side of the grounds under the mango trees where some others were also vesting for the service. I stayed there for a while and then went back inside to try again to find the music. I knocked on the door of Father Sam’s office – through a crack in the wooden door I could see that he was in – on the phone I think. He seemed to not want to be disturbed but recognized me, opened the door, and welcomed me in. I asked him about the music and he also didn’t know where it was kept. The Mass was about to start, and I was getting really anxious. He explained that, it being the fifth Sunday of the month, we were doing Morning Prayer instead of the Rite of Penitence. He said that we did the Te Deum and some canticle for the Dead which I’d never heard of, but that everyone, including the regular organist, knew it from memory. He started looking around his office, and came upon a box of wine bottles – some empty, some unopened. He asked me to hold one of the unopened ones, and I said, ‘Well thank you,’ but the look on his face told me that he didn’t mean for me to have it. I left his office. In the corridor there were children running and making a lot of noise. I thought to myself that Father Sam is going to yell at them if they don’t stop. I went back to the Junior Choir Room to look for the scores. I’d thought I’d glimpsed the music for the Gloria in one of the drawers. I’m now frantically opening and closing drawers looking for the music, and I hear the organ being played. I assume that it’s someone they’ve asked to play some prelude music and continue looking. Then I hear the organ being played much louder, and I hear the congregation singing. They started without me.

Dream: March 23

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 01:14:00 +0000

I'm at the office. We're preparing for a party. Michelle P. makes an announcement about the party that is met with cheers and applause. I'm at my desk taking care of my plant. It needs repotting. As I'm emptying the dirt from the pot I discover another plant under the
first one that is just about dead. It throw it out and begin to put new soil into the pot. I don't have enough so I get the bag of soil from under my desk and top up the pot. The pot is too deep for the plant and I need a lot of soil to fill it up. As I'm doing this, Will
G. whose desk is kinda near mine starts playing Christian music. The volume is turned up quite high, and I'm getting annoyed. The party is starting at the other end of the office,and I walk over. Everyone's getting juice. We start making a fresh batch of lime juice. Michelle
goes out to the caterer to get the food. After a while I walk over to the other end of the office where there's a competition for prizes - pick a number and get the corresponding prize. A girl ahead of picks a number, and, from a red and white striped gift wrapped package wins a $200 gift certificate. I'm next. I pick the number 6 and get a brown paper bag which, when opened, reveals a red whistle. I am somewhat disappointed.

Dream: March 22

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 01:13:00 +0000

Well, I kept my promise to myself and wrote my dreams down last night - all three of them.

During the first one, I wasn't sure that I was actually asleep, so I didn't make any attempt to remember it. The only detail I have from that one is: I'm riding a bicycle with William C. Ah well.

The second one: I'm sitting on the edge of a bed with green sheets talking to a man laying on the bed. A third person's name in mentioned in the conversation whose name is Elliott (?), who is recently dead - he was shot and killed - and, in the dream, I think that it is my fault. If I hadn't been where I'd been, Elliott would have not walked where he walked, and would not have been shot. As his name is mentioned I say something like, 'Please don't mention that!' or 'Don't talk about that!' and I burst into tears. Elliott was the other man's (who's laying on the bed, with whom I'm having this conversation) lover, and I feel terribly for having cause his death. I am crying uncontrollably. The other man is reassuring me, telling me that it's not my fault. He's trying to get me to eat some food, but I seem to want to cry more than eat. He offers me a organic grape soda and some stew. We start talking about chemotherapy - Elliott was supposed to have had treatment, and the other man had felt good about it because I'd had a good experience with the treatment. I sip some of the soda, and something else that looks like tea - it's warm.

The third one: I'm standing outside in a carpark standing near a station wagon. I'm either sitting in the car, or am very short - a child's height. There's someone, a woman, leaning over the top of the car. She's so tall that she can bend over the top of the car and reach
the other side. She's talking to another woman standing on the opposite side of the car with her four children. The two women are introducing themselves to each, so they've just met. Woman B's name is Marilyn or Marion. She introduces her four children (I think all girls). Woman A reaches over the car. She's still standing on the opposite side of the car. She reaches over the car and hugs each of the four children in turn from (my) left to right, youngest to eldest.
The scene changes. The four children are playing with dolls. One of them has changed to a boy who's also playing with the dolls and the other children, but it's perfectly normal for him to be doing that - he's playing a father/big brother role.

And there they are!

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Sun, 20 Mar 2011 22:55:00 +0000

It's tricky to write about the manifestation process: how to make things that we want appear in our lives. Most people don't really believe that it's even possible, and that any time spent even thinking about it is time wasted. The point is well taken. We're used to thinking objectively about life: if I do this, then that will happen. Our creative focus is outside of ourselves; we make things happen by doing something. If we really think about, though, that way of thinking isn't always true. Consider two people applying for two different jobs. If they're both qualified, and they both present themselves well at the interview, then they should both get their respective jobs, right? Well, no, not really. Again, consider two children growing up in the same household with the same parents. Shouldn't they grow up to have similar values? Again, we know that the answer to that question is no. Why is it then that two people in basically the same situation experience different results? Therein lies the beginning of an answer.

Still moving forward, life included.

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Tue, 26 Oct 2010 17:13:00 +0000

October 26! Six months (almost to the day!) since my last blog offering. Thankfully, though, the adventure has continued in the interim. I continue to maintain a meditation practice which has improved my life in many unseen ways. Mostly, I’ve become more aware … or less unaware (there is a difference!) of my emotions. I’m beginning to recognize the triggers that set me off, or turn me on, as the case may be. I certainly haven’t abandoned my desire to have conscious out of body experiences, but I see now how important it is to emotionally prepare myself for the experience; to explore the world within before exploring the world without. (Or, perhaps, both explorations occur simultaneously. According to Seth, everything occurs simultaneously – the concepts of past and future are references constructed and maintained by humans.)

There was also a little mini-relationship squeezed in there … well, an attempt at one anyway. I met Kevin (not his real name) on a ski trip back in February. His opening sentences ended with a flirt – “You’ll just have to make it up to me.” And that was it. I was aflame. The intensity, though, was largely one-sided, and I couldn’t seem to catch myself from falling headlong into a pattern that was … well … not helpful. It is surprising, in hindsight, how intense those feelings were. I should be surprised that I was surprised – I’d had these feelings, and been in a similar situation, before. Like quite a few other things, and, I suspect, like quite a few other people, the idea of being in a relationship is wrapped up, tied and tangled up with my self-esteem. It was as though all my entire worth hung by a he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not thread. This time though, I was more aware than I’d been before. Although I couldn’t seem to stop myself, I could tell that I was running pell-mell toward the edge. Meditation was the only activity during which I regained a sense of emotional decorum, which, I think now, spilled over in drips into my waking life. The last time (my relationship with Sam), I did fling myself over the edge, and blindly free-falled into god knows where - a place where suicide seemed particularly seductive. Then, I was long past the fear of death, and long past thoughts of cosmic punishment. I had ventured further into the ‘when and where and how’ (I would do it). This time, although I had again gone past the edge, and had again fallen, like a weird Alice in Wonderland, I was able to make out the rocks as I rushed past. “Look! There’s a nice granite. Ooh! Obsidian!” That level of awareness, I’m guessing, is the result, and the benefit, of the collective hours I’ve spent meditating. Those hours literally saved my life, and restored equilibrium.

So life continues post-Kevin, and although the experience begins to take on the bluish hue of objects on the horizon of time, its effects remain, and will remain: I’m changed ... for the better, I think.

So! Back to this out-of-body business!

The delayed Adventure continues

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 20:35:00 +0000

Well, I haven’t written anything about my progress with Astral Projection in … what … 10 weeks? I’m actually still doing the exercises from Week 1 Day 1 (which would make this Week 1, Day 1, Week 10?). It turns out that this adventure has uncovered many other issues that are worthy of a detour. The main one: a relaxed body is the first prerequisite for achieving any kind of conscious astral state, and a chronically angry or perpetually irritated person’s body is not very relaxed.

I figured that I would extend the 90 days to however-long-it-takes, and begin meditating on a more regular basis, and relaxing/destressing in general, in order to allow myself to become a more relaxed person. Although the phrase is a bit hackneyed, the joy really is in the journey; the real meat of this is in the preparation - in the journey from a person prone to stressing out to a more relaxed person. I would prefer that any astral experiences I might have happen naturally and easily, rather than forcibly only in order to achieve an end.

Habitually, I fall asleep in front of the TV, so I don't prepare myself for sleep in any conscious way. Added to which, my sleep cycles are a bit erratic – some nights I sleep 6 hours, some others 4, some others hardly any hours at all – which is probably the result of a constantly-churning mind. It seems prudent to begin to spend time during the day deliberately ‘letting go,’ either in meditation or simple deep breaths. Since I started this addventure in January, I have been meditating more frequently. I usually wake up on the sofa from my television-induced stupor around 2:30 or so in the morning, and I move to the bedroom and meditate for about 90 minutes.

Then I thought I would take the whole thing up a notch. Starting today, I’m putting myself on a television fast – 30 days at first, which should take me to April 20. I’ll use the time that I would have normally spent staring at the television, or having it staring at me, to read something useful or inspiring. I have quite a few books on my to-read list so there should be no want of something to do.

______________________________

The first day of my television fast was not entirely successful. Taking advantage of a little loophole I created in my definition – watching DVDs is okay, since, it’s not really television – I put on the a DVD of Glenda Jackson’s Elizabeth R. The result was that I fell asleep while watching it and awoke at 12:47 in the morning with the tune from the opening flash screen insinuating itself into my dreams. I got up off the sofa and went to bed (sounds familiar?), and then spent the second, mostly sleepless night in a row.

So, with the exception of anything spiritual or uplifting (and historical dramas usually aren’t either), no TV … at all.

What am I trying accomplish? A shift in my vibration; an improved default feeling. I believe that it is entirely possible to feel joy in every moment, and the only thing that prevents me from experiencing that are awful feelings that I've accumulated in my 43 years so far. How could I induce a feeling of joy right now?

Well, what are some of the things on my Want-To-Have List - my 30-day trip to the Antarctic is one which, by itself, represents many other things on my list as well. How would I feel that first day as I leave for the airport? How would I feel on the day I book the trip? How would I feel as I start planning? How would I feel as all the required things that would make this trip pleasurable begin falling into place? How would I feel on seeing the first ice shelf, or on seeing the aurora australis or the Midnight Sun for the first time? All of those feelings are available to me right now via my imagination.

I am beginning to wonder whether the concepts of past, present, and future will become irrelevant at some point in the future. In the larger reality, there is only one time: NOW. Whatever I think of – whether it’s a past event, or a present situation, or a future projection – I’m thinking of it now, and activating feelings and other thoughts, and other feelings about that past, present, or future now. Suppose that all the moments of my life – my entire past, my present, and my entire future – were occurring now, in this moment, in infinite parallel realities, and I, by my intention and attention, could activate any one of an infinite number of possible now’s. Could it be that in a parallel reality, I am, at this moment, on the Antarctic trip enjoying every moment of it, and could I, by thinking of that particular reality, bring myself to that reality that is already existing?

I’ve already noticed little changes since I’ve been meditating and ‘letting go.’ Last night while I lay sleepless in bed, memories upon memories from my childhood floated up, mostly unpleasant, that have probably been churning away for years and years. As best I could, I released them as they came into my conscious mind. I’ve been using my mantra a lot – I created this, and it’s okay. I believe that releasing these memories is also going to release so much energy - energy that I've been using to keep them churning - and I’m going to be able to use this energy to create wellness in every area of my life.

According to Abraham, quantam shifts aren’t possible. Shifts happen in the small steps that we take from one NOW to the next. How am I feeling now? Is there any unpleasant thought that I’m holding on to for whatever reason? Can I let it go? Is there any vague negative feeling that I can’t really articulate, but can feel? Can I breathe into it? Can I imagine the negative feeling beginning to dissipate like a mist? Is it still there? Is it less or more? Am I worried about not being able to articulate it? Can I accept that I don’t have to put it into words to begin to let it go? Can I accept that I can use my imagination to visualize the wind of my breath breaking up this dark cloud of emotion? Can I accept that whatever I can do with this emotion today is enough, and that I’m really on my way to figuring this out, and mastering this? Can I accept that everything’s alright?

Across the room by way of India

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 15:56:00 +0000

So I've reneged on my promise to my reading partner to read the Week One segment of MAP90, but something interesting happened this morning ... actually just a few moments ago ... that seems astrally significant. I thought it was worth retelling.I should probably start at the beginning.

I awoke way too early this morning to the sound of my upstairs neighbor moving about her apartment in her high-heeled shoes. I lay there half boiling in fury, and half trying to calm down. This went on for about an hour before I decided to get up off the sofa where I'd spent the previous night and move to the bedroom. I keep a little box of Hearos earplugs near my bed, and they've really helped me in those times when my dear neighbor decides that she's going to put on her klompen and dance an Irish jig in the middle of the night. But I'm digressing.

As I lay in bed early this morning, ear plugs snugly tucked into my ears, I began to mull over something that I'd read the night before. In Soul Journeys, Rosalind McKnight suggests that every human being has access to more assistance from the invisible world than we realize. In this book, she recounts having taken many journeys into the afterlife, and having met some of the guides that have been with her since her birth. The thing about assistance, though, I was thinking, is that you have to accept it. How do we accept help from these unseen hands? By intention, my instinct tells me - by simply deciding to accept help, we begin to set things in motion that are our physical senses are not equipped to perceive. We also begin to physically relax. Believing that help is on the way, or visualizing that we are being helped, immediately begins to shift our focus from the problem to something else. As our focus shifts from an unpleasant topic to a more pleasant one, we begin to release tension in our bodies, and the energy that makes up our bodies is able to flow more freely.

I know that I'm going across the room by way of India here, but bear with me.

As I lay there, focusing less on being disturbed (granted, with the help of the earplugs), and focusing more on being helped, I felt my body relaxing more and more deeply. Then I became aware of a tingling sensation in different points of my body at different times - sometimes it was my fingers, or my toes, or the left side of my chest. I also began to feel a slight warmth on my left side. After about an hour, I rolled on to my right side and went into a drowsy semi-sleep. That's when I noticed my body really starting to tingle. I also had the sensation that I was moving through a lighted train tunnel - whenever I passed a light, a wave of ... something would pass through me - something that I could feel and see and hear. It sounded like wind. I thought to myself, I must be having some kind of astral incident, but I haven't read Week One! What do I do? I decided to try to calm down and let whatever was happening happen.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew I was sitting in an office with Bob, the CEO of our company (this is the third time he's appeared in my dreams this week!). I didn't notice (or can't remember) what he was wearing this time, but we were sitting on opposite ends of a large wooden desk. I was preparing to teach a biology class, and I was discussing the lesson with him, and asking him for a syllabus of some kind (no, I'm not a teacher in real life). As I was leaving the office, one of the vice presidents was walking in with an I'm-about-to-get-fired-I-know-it look on her face. I walked off toward my desk which was near a window (there was light coming in) when I realized that I still had a pen that I'd picked up from the office, and that it was broken.

The dream scene changed. I was laying down on a low bed like a futon or something in semi-darkness - there was a subdued sunlight coming in from the other room. There was a red pillow under my head (or a pillow in a red pillowcase). My arms were hanging off the sides of the bed onto the carpeted floor, and there was a bunch of keys in my right hand. Three cats walked into the room - two adults, one white, one black, and a very frisky mottle-colored kitten. The adult black cat went under the bed and was trying to play with my hand (or the keys?), and I remember making a fist to prevent him from scratching me (or getting the keys). The kitten was playing with a large, red, open, empty duffel bag that was laying on the floor - running in and out of it, and having a gay old time. The white cat jumped up onto the bed with me, and came onto the red pillow and lay down across my arm. She (or he) came right up to my face, and I could feel her breath and the moist coldness of her nose on my face. In the dream I thought, Are these spirits? And I woke up.

Mini astral event or not? Okay, Bernie. I'm reading Week One today.

Dreams and things

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 14:28:00 +0000

One part of the experience of a successful OBE is remembering dreams. I've always had very vivid dreams, and very detailed memories of them. I believe that dreams are a significant indicator of our emotional/vibrational state, and I thought that I would recount my dreams here as part of this journey. Here're some details from last night's. I would welcome an interpretation from anyone who feels moved to respond.

"I am sitting in a full classroom with a female instructor, and all male students. The walls are green, and although the classroom has wndows, there's a slightly dark quality to it. The subject is some kind of social science, and the teacher is commenting on what she perceives as an imbalance between men and women in the world of cartoon superheroes. 'Superheroes are always men,' she is saying. 'Their bodies are always sinewy and masculine.' Some students in the class are booing her comments. Interestingly enough, she is dressed in a very close-fitting rusty red body suit and her body is extremely muscular. She begins to walk around the classroom while she's speaking, and comes to stand near where I'm sitting, at the far end of the classroom. She begins to look directly at me while she continues to teach the class.

The scene changes to the instructor's house. She is making preparations for a party, and I'm helping. The walls are beige, and there is a lot of light flowing through the room I'm in. She asks me to take something that she's prepared out of the fridge(?), and take it to an oven that's located somewhere outside. I open the fridge(?) and take two large trays of what looks like cut cauliflower sebments with cheese sprinkled on top. As I'm taking the trays outside, one of them tilts and the contents fall to the ground. I yell out, "Oh crap!" The host/instrcutor doesn't seem too bothered by it. I follow her up a path to the oven. On the way, I see the CEO of the company I currently work for (in real life) walking ahead of us in a bright green shirt with silvery gold embroidery all over it. (This is the second time this week that I've dreamt about him). He disappears ahead of us and we continue up the garden path to the oven. We put the one tray - the one that I didn't spill - and take out a gourmet looking pizza that had been cooking in there. It was covered with what looked like olives, herbs, and roasted tomatoes.

We make our way back down to the house and I begin to pick up the cauliflower - that has now changed to chicken - from off the ground where I spilled it. I managed to "save" enough to fill another tray. The rest of what's on the ground is covered in bright red flies. They are buzzing and landing on everything, even the pizza we just took out of the oven. I get that uncomfortable itchy/scratchy feeling when I'm around swarming insects, but the instructor/host isn't bothered by them at all. I offer to clean up the mess, but there's already someone else doing that. and it's all gone almost instantly. The guests start arriving. There's one man, tall, brown-haired with a beard. a bit broadly built, and a bit dishevelled, with whom I share an uncomfortable glance."

The dream got fuzzy at this point, and I woke up shortly afterward.

Astral Projection in 90 Days (or More)

noreply@blogger.com (yelsaid) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 03:37:00 +0000

Bought Bruce & Mercer's Mastering Astral Projection in 90 Days. Day One is tomorrow.

I've been interested in astral projection since I was a kid, after reading You Forever by T. Lobsang Rampa, although I've never really made any serious sustained attempt at having an OBE. Here's my first real attempt.