last nights dream:
i'm living in some kind of cloisture, european, old buildings with a central square to every connection of buildings. we're al there to learn some ancient form of witchcraft, socery, meditation, etc. i don't remember much of the days except i'm traveling with the same group of people, mostly females, maybe that's because of how we're broken up by sleeping arrangements. i have my own room - it's large, simple, with lots of windows. overall the place gives me a very medieval, catherdral feeling.
the part that sticks out to me most is the fact that throughout the dream, people ae picking up fortune cookies at random times. they're scattered about the place in bowls like holy water.
i say goodnight to a friend, and as i'm leaving her room i pick up a cookie.
it reads:
forever tatiana, in this world and beyond.
i wake up.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
astral projection and lucid dreams
for a long time when i was younger (well into my early teens) i was able to astral project in my dreams pretty much all the time. I never really understood what i was doing, nor did i have a vocabulary to talk about it until years after it stopped happening, but nevertheless, my dreams would constantly start off with me "leaving my body" very vividly and obviously, hovering over myself for a few minutes, occasionally hovering around the house for a while, and then flashing into my dreamworld.
i mentioned this to a friend of mine in high school, who was pretty open to altered states of consciousness. he told me that it freaked him out. not surprisingly, fear set in and the astral projections stopped happening. I'm still trying to figure out a way to get them back.
luckily, i'm still able to dream lucidly. the dreams i remember tend to be lucid dreams, although i remember most dreams at least for a few minutes after waking up. if i don't write down the non-lucid dreams right away, they're usually lost in my morning routine.
for example, i had some pretty unreal dreams the last two nights, both of which have been largely lost to my conscious memory except for certain pieces of them. in one dream i remember being tossed about in some major waves, like tsunami waves, except i wasn't scared. in fact, i was pretty much giddy. i could breathe and see the top of the water, so that might have helped, but more than anything i loved being surrounded by such a powerful force of nature. there was a train station just above the water (thank you spirited away) and the people waiting for the train were pretty rattled by the waves. i remember helping them out of the water.
the rest might come to me later if i think hard enough about it but for now, that must have been the most important part.
i mentioned this to a friend of mine in high school, who was pretty open to altered states of consciousness. he told me that it freaked him out. not surprisingly, fear set in and the astral projections stopped happening. I'm still trying to figure out a way to get them back.
luckily, i'm still able to dream lucidly. the dreams i remember tend to be lucid dreams, although i remember most dreams at least for a few minutes after waking up. if i don't write down the non-lucid dreams right away, they're usually lost in my morning routine.
for example, i had some pretty unreal dreams the last two nights, both of which have been largely lost to my conscious memory except for certain pieces of them. in one dream i remember being tossed about in some major waves, like tsunami waves, except i wasn't scared. in fact, i was pretty much giddy. i could breathe and see the top of the water, so that might have helped, but more than anything i loved being surrounded by such a powerful force of nature. there was a train station just above the water (thank you spirited away) and the people waiting for the train were pretty rattled by the waves. i remember helping them out of the water.
the rest might come to me later if i think hard enough about it but for now, that must have been the most important part.
neurogenesis
this post has nothing/possibly something to do with dreams.
i'm probably way behind the times on this, but I've recently become fascinated by neurogenesis (the growth of new neurons in the brain). having taken biology in early 90s, i was taught that the brain developed in the fetal stage and for a brief time after birth.
In 1999 a neuroscientist discovered that mammals (and birds) actually generate new neurons in the brain well into adulthood. this growth happens largely in the parts of the brain that dictate memory (increased capacity for, interactions between and its relationship with time).
this is, of course, an oversimplification of a topic that i'm not in any way knowledgable enough to discuss at length BUT - think of the repercussions!
first of all - this is a completely opposite way of looking at the brain as was previously thought.
AND what could this mean in terms of our memory and relationship to dreams?!
holy smokes batman!
i'm hooked.
i'm probably way behind the times on this, but I've recently become fascinated by neurogenesis (the growth of new neurons in the brain). having taken biology in early 90s, i was taught that the brain developed in the fetal stage and for a brief time after birth.
In 1999 a neuroscientist discovered that mammals (and birds) actually generate new neurons in the brain well into adulthood. this growth happens largely in the parts of the brain that dictate memory (increased capacity for, interactions between and its relationship with time).
this is, of course, an oversimplification of a topic that i'm not in any way knowledgable enough to discuss at length BUT - think of the repercussions!
first of all - this is a completely opposite way of looking at the brain as was previously thought.
AND what could this mean in terms of our memory and relationship to dreams?!
holy smokes batman!
i'm hooked.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
the count - early 1980s
so obviously, the blog is about dreams. my dreams to be exact. not the abstract ones that i'm supposed to have to guide my life, but the nonsensical/insightful ones that i live when my eyes are asleep. good thing my brain is always awake and that my memory has served me well. i hope to document as many of my deams as I can. I also want to try to document dreams that I had years ago, that are still vivid to me. This is one of those deams...
It starts off in my childhood home. I'm looking out my bedroom window, onto the backyard and pathway between the houses on the block. If you're not from the northeast - houses tend to have alleys/walkways between them. it's interesting.
anyway, i'm looking out the window when i realize how quiet the neighborhood is. this is very weird considering i lived in semi-urban part of northern NJ just 3 blocks from the hudson river. no planes landing at la guardia, no cars honking in the dead of night, no fighting/yelling from the neighbors, no rowdy "guests" at the strip club a few doors down. just silence.
my parents aren't home. no one is home, i'm completely alone. just then, everyone i know is walking down the pathway in nothing but towels. they look green and sickly to me. like zombies. they look up at the window and acknowledge seeing me, but no one says anything. they all file in to the house next door. the strange house where the older women used to live. the house that's been empty since they passed away. the house i'm scared of.
i decide to check it out. i run downstairs and into the backyard. i run through the gate and catch up with someone. they tell me to go home, that this isn't for me. i won't listen. i'm convinced that whoever is keeping these people away from me is reasonable and will listen to my request to return my friends and family so, i follow everyone into the house. i'm still confused why they're all naked wrapped in towels.
we're in the house. more green. green walls, air, people, everything. all of a sudden, the count walks into the room.
i can't breathe. it's him. it's that strange little man with the funny accent who won't stop counting. i hate him.
the count comes over and puts his arm around me. tells me how happy he is that i've joined them. takes me upstairs. i don't remember saying anything except "no". over and over again.
he straps me onto a metal slab, tells me it won't hurt a bit. as soon as i let him give me the shot (the needle is as big as my head! where did that needle come from!?), i'll be back with my family and friends. i struggle, the straps are too tight. i can't get out, and he's coming closer. all i can see are his teeth and that weird smile of his. the needle is about the break the skin.
i wake up in my dad's arms. i'm sweating from head to toe, and crying.
it's still strange that i remember it so vividly. this must have happened sometime in 1984.
It starts off in my childhood home. I'm looking out my bedroom window, onto the backyard and pathway between the houses on the block. If you're not from the northeast - houses tend to have alleys/walkways between them. it's interesting.
anyway, i'm looking out the window when i realize how quiet the neighborhood is. this is very weird considering i lived in semi-urban part of northern NJ just 3 blocks from the hudson river. no planes landing at la guardia, no cars honking in the dead of night, no fighting/yelling from the neighbors, no rowdy "guests" at the strip club a few doors down. just silence.
my parents aren't home. no one is home, i'm completely alone. just then, everyone i know is walking down the pathway in nothing but towels. they look green and sickly to me. like zombies. they look up at the window and acknowledge seeing me, but no one says anything. they all file in to the house next door. the strange house where the older women used to live. the house that's been empty since they passed away. the house i'm scared of.
i decide to check it out. i run downstairs and into the backyard. i run through the gate and catch up with someone. they tell me to go home, that this isn't for me. i won't listen. i'm convinced that whoever is keeping these people away from me is reasonable and will listen to my request to return my friends and family so, i follow everyone into the house. i'm still confused why they're all naked wrapped in towels.
we're in the house. more green. green walls, air, people, everything. all of a sudden, the count walks into the room.
i can't breathe. it's him. it's that strange little man with the funny accent who won't stop counting. i hate him.
the count comes over and puts his arm around me. tells me how happy he is that i've joined them. takes me upstairs. i don't remember saying anything except "no". over and over again.
he straps me onto a metal slab, tells me it won't hurt a bit. as soon as i let him give me the shot (the needle is as big as my head! where did that needle come from!?), i'll be back with my family and friends. i struggle, the straps are too tight. i can't get out, and he's coming closer. all i can see are his teeth and that weird smile of his. the needle is about the break the skin.
i wake up in my dad's arms. i'm sweating from head to toe, and crying.
it's still strange that i remember it so vividly. this must have happened sometime in 1984.
giraffe? giraffe! - dec. 7, 2007
My dream residence (apartment in this case) is exactly like the space I’m living in now, only dustier, dirtier, and a share it with another person. She happens to be a lesbian.
We’re waking up for work – she’s on time, I’m running a bit late. I ask her to wake me up. She’s in a rush because she’s off to meet her mother (from here on known as Fancy mom). This women turns out to be a nasty piece of work – all Southern with no charm, lipstick on her teeth, hypocritical.
There’s a sidebar moment when my roommate and I are looking in to the apartment across from ours. We catch a glimpse in as our neighbor is getting ready in the morning. The place is impeccable and the furniture frilly. It's like Laura Ashley threw up in there. There are curtains covering the mirrors, and lace everywhere. Overall the apartment is very white. We make a point to mention how happy she must be.
Our apartment is next door to a fancy restaurant. It’s election day so people are ordering their food and discussing politics. I catch Fancy mom there eating something that looks incredibly rich (some cream sauce) talking about how she hates it when her daughter eats there because the food is so incredibly rich.
By this point her daughter(my roommate) has left and others in the restaurant are mentioning how rude it was of her to try to take money out of the atm when she had no money in her account. Then someone else yells that the ATM was/is out of cash, more yelling back and forth about manners. It’s never clear if the ATM was out of cash or not.
After leaving the restaurant, I walk across the street to an apartment that is being renovated by our same landlord. I've been asking about this apartment for some time, but he keeps giving me the impression that I can’t afford it, even though when he tells me the cost, it’s only slightly over what I can make. Just out of my reach.
These apartments have been in my dreams before, because I remember seeing this apartment over the course of its renovation. There's actually a point in the dream where I have a memory of an earlier dream.
This time, I walk in and the first floor of the apartment is still under construction. There are 3 levels. The basement level looks complete and is meant to be a workout and laundry room. The second floor houses the bedrooms. The floor creaks under my feet. One room has little character at the moment (still under construction), but you can tell that the second bedroom will be beautiful – moldings, arched ceilings, and a window seat overlooking the street. I move on to the third floor, where I find a state of the art kitchen and family room. The family room is one large room that takes up the entire length of the apartment. It overlooks a small but pretty garden and a set of floor to ceiling windows at the other end, which overlook a body of water. It’s interesting thinking back on it now, that the scene outside of these windows is nothing like the actual outside of the building. In the dream, the neighborhood is a bit more run down than my own in real life. Through the windows, it looks like the neighborhood is on a beautiful crystal blue bay and sunny outside. When I leave the building, it's gray outside and very urban.
I’m suddenly joined by San Juanita and Emile outside of the building. They hang out while I try to discuss the apartment with the landlord again. He tells me he has someone moving in next week; the deposit is on its way. I ask him to keep me posted. I don’t understand why he keeps putting me off about moving in to this place. It’s not the perfect apartment (there’s some green carpet/floor tiles that I could do without) and overall the renovation is close to what I’d like but not exactly how I would have done it. He gives me the impression that I’m not good enough for the place.
SJ, Emile and I leave the building. We’re talking about how the charm of the neighborhood lies mostly in the fact that its’ (I believe the acronym Emile used was DDR-direct downtown runoff).
We’re on the street waiting for traffic to slow down so we can cross. SJ has a cute little fluffy white dog with her. I tap the dog on the back and she lays down, just as she was about to cross into oncoming traffic. I ask SJ to please leash her so we can cross. She does, but as soon as we start crossing, the dog takes off. The leash doesn't seem to want to retract or stop the dog in anyway. I slowly start to say SJ’s name. Quietly at first as the dog is running towards oncoming traffic. I keep expecting the leash to stop the dog in her tracks. It doesn’t.
SJ…… SJ………SJ……… SJ!
The dog looks like she’s gone under a car, San Juanita starts moving. The dog is running out from under the car and towards a basketball court. Bad move, there’s a huge german Shepard on the court looking to lunch. The dog is desperately running towards the fence. In my mind, I say, jump it, you’ll be ok. He jumps the fence. The leash gets caught on the fence, but the other dog doesn’t try to jump. One of the guys playing basketball is running to help SJs dog over the fence – he was trying to save him. His friends are laughing at him “Oh, ha ha, you were trying to save the preppy dog! Hahaha”
I suddenly love the dog saver. As SJ is working to get the dog collar unstuck from the fence (we have all RUN over during this exchange), I look to the right.
There’s this awkward giraffe standing in the corner of the basketball court. He has the body of a giraffe but the fur of a llama. We exchange hello’s. He puts his head down to meet mine and lets me pet him.
I wake up.
(The title of this blog - "Giraffe? Giraffe!" is a reference to what I hope/expect to be the first of many fantastical stories of the true nature/purpose of animals.)
We’re waking up for work – she’s on time, I’m running a bit late. I ask her to wake me up. She’s in a rush because she’s off to meet her mother (from here on known as Fancy mom). This women turns out to be a nasty piece of work – all Southern with no charm, lipstick on her teeth, hypocritical.
There’s a sidebar moment when my roommate and I are looking in to the apartment across from ours. We catch a glimpse in as our neighbor is getting ready in the morning. The place is impeccable and the furniture frilly. It's like Laura Ashley threw up in there. There are curtains covering the mirrors, and lace everywhere. Overall the apartment is very white. We make a point to mention how happy she must be.
Our apartment is next door to a fancy restaurant. It’s election day so people are ordering their food and discussing politics. I catch Fancy mom there eating something that looks incredibly rich (some cream sauce) talking about how she hates it when her daughter eats there because the food is so incredibly rich.
By this point her daughter(my roommate) has left and others in the restaurant are mentioning how rude it was of her to try to take money out of the atm when she had no money in her account. Then someone else yells that the ATM was/is out of cash, more yelling back and forth about manners. It’s never clear if the ATM was out of cash or not.
After leaving the restaurant, I walk across the street to an apartment that is being renovated by our same landlord. I've been asking about this apartment for some time, but he keeps giving me the impression that I can’t afford it, even though when he tells me the cost, it’s only slightly over what I can make. Just out of my reach.
These apartments have been in my dreams before, because I remember seeing this apartment over the course of its renovation. There's actually a point in the dream where I have a memory of an earlier dream.
This time, I walk in and the first floor of the apartment is still under construction. There are 3 levels. The basement level looks complete and is meant to be a workout and laundry room. The second floor houses the bedrooms. The floor creaks under my feet. One room has little character at the moment (still under construction), but you can tell that the second bedroom will be beautiful – moldings, arched ceilings, and a window seat overlooking the street. I move on to the third floor, where I find a state of the art kitchen and family room. The family room is one large room that takes up the entire length of the apartment. It overlooks a small but pretty garden and a set of floor to ceiling windows at the other end, which overlook a body of water. It’s interesting thinking back on it now, that the scene outside of these windows is nothing like the actual outside of the building. In the dream, the neighborhood is a bit more run down than my own in real life. Through the windows, it looks like the neighborhood is on a beautiful crystal blue bay and sunny outside. When I leave the building, it's gray outside and very urban.
I’m suddenly joined by San Juanita and Emile outside of the building. They hang out while I try to discuss the apartment with the landlord again. He tells me he has someone moving in next week; the deposit is on its way. I ask him to keep me posted. I don’t understand why he keeps putting me off about moving in to this place. It’s not the perfect apartment (there’s some green carpet/floor tiles that I could do without) and overall the renovation is close to what I’d like but not exactly how I would have done it. He gives me the impression that I’m not good enough for the place.
SJ, Emile and I leave the building. We’re talking about how the charm of the neighborhood lies mostly in the fact that its’ (I believe the acronym Emile used was DDR-direct downtown runoff).
We’re on the street waiting for traffic to slow down so we can cross. SJ has a cute little fluffy white dog with her. I tap the dog on the back and she lays down, just as she was about to cross into oncoming traffic. I ask SJ to please leash her so we can cross. She does, but as soon as we start crossing, the dog takes off. The leash doesn't seem to want to retract or stop the dog in anyway. I slowly start to say SJ’s name. Quietly at first as the dog is running towards oncoming traffic. I keep expecting the leash to stop the dog in her tracks. It doesn’t.
SJ…… SJ………SJ……… SJ!
The dog looks like she’s gone under a car, San Juanita starts moving. The dog is running out from under the car and towards a basketball court. Bad move, there’s a huge german Shepard on the court looking to lunch. The dog is desperately running towards the fence. In my mind, I say, jump it, you’ll be ok. He jumps the fence. The leash gets caught on the fence, but the other dog doesn’t try to jump. One of the guys playing basketball is running to help SJs dog over the fence – he was trying to save him. His friends are laughing at him “Oh, ha ha, you were trying to save the preppy dog! Hahaha”
I suddenly love the dog saver. As SJ is working to get the dog collar unstuck from the fence (we have all RUN over during this exchange), I look to the right.
There’s this awkward giraffe standing in the corner of the basketball court. He has the body of a giraffe but the fur of a llama. We exchange hello’s. He puts his head down to meet mine and lets me pet him.
I wake up.
(The title of this blog - "Giraffe? Giraffe!" is a reference to what I hope/expect to be the first of many fantastical stories of the true nature/purpose of animals.)
sufi's - oct. 17, 2007
David’s band was playing somewhere. I decided to go to the show. David was kind and attentive, warm as always, sincere in his interests in how I was doing and how he could help me. My need for help is written across my forehead, I think.
We go to the show in a large van. Vic and Rocky with arms around each other, Lauren looking bored and 15, some other folks who didn’t stick out to me, but were familiar nonetheless. I’m sitting in the passenger seat looking back at them. No one says anything.
We arrive at the concert and Vic et al. sit together. I sit on the floor further back, barely moving to the music. The others are turning in unison like sufi’s. I feel left out and discouraged by this. Like I’ve lost my way, my spirituality, my self.
Someone sitting on the floor near me asks, “Is this your stuff?” I turn and realize that I’m surrounded by junk. Pens, paperclips, books and things you would find in the bottom of a purse (used wrappers, gunk and general what nots). I’m embarrassed and try to pick everything up, apologizing all the while for making everyone so uncomfortable. Then I’m hit with an overwhelming sense of stupidity. I get up (feeling incredibly empowered), leave the items, and the concert.
I’m back where we started, and David is in front of me. He is with three young woman dressed in white. They appear to be healers. I look at them, and they avert their eyes. David asks me what’s wrong. I feel the words rising in my chest, and then my boss walks by. Seeing her in this context is so startling to me that I stop myself before I’m able to tell David what I’m feeling and why. He seems disappointed but doesn’t press further.
I wake up.
We go to the show in a large van. Vic and Rocky with arms around each other, Lauren looking bored and 15, some other folks who didn’t stick out to me, but were familiar nonetheless. I’m sitting in the passenger seat looking back at them. No one says anything.
We arrive at the concert and Vic et al. sit together. I sit on the floor further back, barely moving to the music. The others are turning in unison like sufi’s. I feel left out and discouraged by this. Like I’ve lost my way, my spirituality, my self.
Someone sitting on the floor near me asks, “Is this your stuff?” I turn and realize that I’m surrounded by junk. Pens, paperclips, books and things you would find in the bottom of a purse (used wrappers, gunk and general what nots). I’m embarrassed and try to pick everything up, apologizing all the while for making everyone so uncomfortable. Then I’m hit with an overwhelming sense of stupidity. I get up (feeling incredibly empowered), leave the items, and the concert.
I’m back where we started, and David is in front of me. He is with three young woman dressed in white. They appear to be healers. I look at them, and they avert their eyes. David asks me what’s wrong. I feel the words rising in my chest, and then my boss walks by. Seeing her in this context is so startling to me that I stop myself before I’m able to tell David what I’m feeling and why. He seems disappointed but doesn’t press further.
I wake up.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
what's done is done
why I open accounts on public domain websites is beyond me.
if patterns of behavior were to prove instructive, I would not be here today.
The following is a list of sites for which accounts have been opened and closed: friendster, myspace, facebook, livejournal (actually, this one may still be open, but inactive for many many years), diaryland and a few other sites which I believe are no longer in existence.
i concluded with a close friend recently that blogs are best for people who prefer whiskey over beer.
i'm under 30 and nostalgic for the good ol' days of bulletin board posts and irc.
nevertheless, here we are. typing away publically on what should be an inner monologue.
at least i'm not writing from the perspective of a dog.
if patterns of behavior were to prove instructive, I would not be here today.
The following is a list of sites for which accounts have been opened and closed: friendster, myspace, facebook, livejournal (actually, this one may still be open, but inactive for many many years), diaryland and a few other sites which I believe are no longer in existence.
i concluded with a close friend recently that blogs are best for people who prefer whiskey over beer.
i'm under 30 and nostalgic for the good ol' days of bulletin board posts and irc.
nevertheless, here we are. typing away publically on what should be an inner monologue.
at least i'm not writing from the perspective of a dog.
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