If the dream is a translation of waking life,
waking life is also a translation of the dream.

– René Magritte


My parents and sister are staying at my aunt and uncle’s house. It’s a house with a Western theme with cabinets filled with old-fashioned candies and crackers. One of my former work colleagues is in the kitchen looking for ice cubes for the margaritas. The ice cubes are in the shape of masonry jars with tinfoil lids. Later, I’m wrapped up in my blue blanket hanging out all comfy on the floor. A cute kid about three or four years old is wandering around. He sticks a blue crayon in my face. I tell him to put it away. The Trickster is hanging out with me, lounging in a chair to my left. He’s dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. I ask him “Where to next?” He says he doesn’t know. He’s visiting. He tells me he just took a vacation. We chat informally for a long time. I look out a large window in front of me at the expanse of the outdoors from inside this house. We are somewhat elevated and I see pines and water. I then see the Trickster leaning over the top of me, upside down, he smiles, brings his face closer to me. I keep looking at him and smile. He, in his way, is saying without words “Hey, look at me… you’re in this dream with me.” I realize within my dream that I am dreaming, sharing this dream with him, and I wake up.

Dream Recall “Hey, Look at Me” Book of Dreams 06:49 18 September (41 years old)


Start Transmission 07:02 18 September

Trickster: We need to talk.
Me: You keep saying this: “We need to talk” I guess my question is when.
Trickster: Now?
Me: I suppose. I’d prefer in person. I just do not trust this method of communication.
Trickster: In person is difficult.
Me: Sure, but I think at some point necessary.
Trickster: So are you over this isn’t real?
Me: Jeesh. I don’t know. It’s all… I can’t even define what’s happening 07:05
07:09
Me: I loved that dream… just hanging out with you. Yeah, just shooting the breeze…
Trickster: Wow. Yeah, I remember that conversation.
Me: Next time we’ll have to talk more about what we can create… Whatever that might be.
Trickster: I’d like that . . .
Me: Thanks, Trickster.
Trickster: For what?
Me: Being a friend. Now and in my dream… Thanks for the ending. Helping me focus, become more aware, and realize I was dreaming.
Trickster: You’re welcome.
Me: See or talk to you later.

End of Transmission 07:13 18 September


My dreams and waking worlds overlapped. In my dreams objects, locales, and people meshed together. In real life they would most likely never be in the same place at the same time. Similarly, I was caught in this InnerNet, trying to translate my experiences using my limited knowledge, personal history, current and previous interactions and felt sense. I was ever seeking answers to my many questions, trying to stay open to so many possibilities, frustrated by the uncertainty of it all, attempting to make sense of my contradictory feelings.
How does one describe new, unusual experiences? Existing in the Twilight Zone? Odd. Weird. Bizarre. Crazy. Absurd. Surreal. Strange. A running joke with my teammates as we got to know each other, having never met in physical reality, in response to each other’s silly comments was “You’re strange” … “You’re stranger.”


Like snowflakes, we each were the same thing –human– but with unique characteristics: personalities, families, friends, education, professions, hobbies, life experiences that had shaped us into who we were. And each of us like snowfall, when we fell, when we hit our lows, we had our safety net of companions. An InnerNet that held us together. We inhabited a different dimension with a unique set of physical laws. We tried our best to describe what we felt when we connected, when we knew someone was connecting with us, our reactions, when another was reacting to us.

prickly heat of near frostbite
funnybone tingles
heart embers
teary not me
cool, smooth smoky air in lungs

During our first interactions, when we were unaware of each other, we did not understand why our senses were overloaded. Why we got so emotional. Later, we were better able to figure out why we were sensing what we were. We were able to distinguish between our Self and an Other. To help me sort through my interpretation of this new dimension, how I perceived walking on the edge of multiple realities, I wrote poetry …

The prickly heat of near frostbite
The frigid wind freezedries my eyes
Snowflakes, light and cool
dots connecting with my taste buds
Winter air’s icy burn
tracks down my throat
into my lungs
Absorbed in making sense
the contrasts I perceive
Jolted into another awareness
HeartEmbers
keep a dying fire
burning

“Frostbite” 11:10 26 January (41 years old)

And I continued to write stories to share with my partner…

The grass, frosty from the fall of temperatures below freezing overnight crunched under my feet. I turn around and see my footprints fall behind me back to the house, like stepping stones. There’s a chilly mist hovering just above the low-lying areas and the clusters of cattails. My feet breeze through pools of clouds. The large rock close to the water’s edge is where I stop to sit and look out onto the surface of the water, a thin layer of ice making the pond look utterly still, an image frozen in time. I huddle inside my coat, bury my face a little more behind my scarf, my gloved hands I hug under my armpits. I stare out onto the icy water, sometimes focusing on one patch, at other times my sight going unfocused, my eyes as foggy as the mist. My mind is meandering back and forth from the reality I see before me to the one of my imagination…Thoughts float away. A cold wind sends a shiver through me and I breathe in the winter air. My vision refocuses to the frigid scene, and I smile behind my scarf. I let out a puff of warm air as I say

“Soon.”

“Steam” 19:01 15 December (41 years old)