-------------- BEGIN dream-flow.v001.n228 --------------
001 - "Wilkerson, Richard" <rcw - The house
002 - "Wilkerson, Richard" <rcw - Cats
003 - "Wilkerson, Richard" <rcw - dreams during alien abductions are electric and
vivid
004 - [EMAIL PROTECTED] - Re: Digest dream-flow.v001.n227
005 - Christina Moon <moonpi@ip - Re: Digest dream-flow.v001.n227
Electric Dreams: Dream Flow
A fountain of dreams in Cyberspace
--------------- MESSAGE dream-flow.v001.n228.1 ---------------
From: "Wilkerson, Richard" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Subject: The house
Date: Sat, 15 Jan 2000 16:10:55 -0800
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Dream Title The house
Date of Dream
Dream I been having this dream for many of years. I going though this huge
old house looking for my grandmother. I run into so many problems trying to
get to her. My grandmother isn't dead so why am I'm looking for her. Please
help.
Shannon Myers
[EMAIL PROTECTED]
Comments by Dreamer
Permission to Comment yes_share_comments
Permission Comments Please if any comments, E-mail me. At
[EMAIL PROTECTED]
--------------- MESSAGE dream-flow.v001.n228.2 ---------------
From: "Wilkerson, Richard" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Subject: Cats
Date: Sun, 16 Jan 2000 00:31:30 -0800
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Dream Title
Date of Dream oct.
Dream I am soundly asleep, dreaming. I dream that I am in a trailor, I do
not recognize where I am or who is with me. There is a black cat which is
chasing after me, I keep throwing it outside, but somehow, the cat keeps
coming inside, at the 3rd or 4th time of throwing the cat outside, there is
a knock on the front door, it is raining and very dark out, so I was
anxiuos to find out who would be coming there in this weather. I open the
door, and there stands the cat, only it is the size of a grizzly bear, and
at that moment, I froze and woke up.
Comments by Dreamer I have had a lot of dreams of cats, and it has made me
wander the meaning, can someone help me?
Permission to Comment yes_share_comments
Permission Comments Anyone can comment on my dream.
--------------- MESSAGE dream-flow.v001.n228.3 ---------------
From: "Wilkerson, Richard" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Subject: dreams during alien abductions are electric and vivid
Date: Sun, 16 Jan 2000 00:29:32 -0800
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by M
1:15:2000
He is flying high over lush green tree landscape, over rolling tree
lined hills.
He knows that it is night but the fields and countryside below are
lit up as though it were day but he knows it's night because he is
dreaming. For a few brief seconds he sees the green granular nature of
the trees below and a visual exhilaration of flying combined with a
sense of peace and happiness. He marvels at the texture and color and
his movement above it.
He is dreaming but he is awake.
He is told by a tourguide, who is always just out of sight, that he is
to wait on line for a tour of the insides of a country estate. He is
numb and is dreaming. But he feels that he is awake.
He is moving forward, people in front and in back of him, all adults on
a narrow path surrounded by flat, English gardens. It is hot and humid
with the rank smell of soil. People clutch what looks like brochures and
move slowly in a single line, towards the country estate. He feels
bored, but he is mildly interested. A ticket taker sits at the entrance
way, on a stool behind a lectern; He is a slim teenager but as he looks,
he turns into a kindly old man.
Everyone is awake but dreaming.
Inside is a waiting room; a dull, white room with no adornments and a
black floor. Inside, a dozen or so middle aged men pace nervously. Some
speak in brief low voiced non-sequitors and look worried. Some of the
men move towards a buffet table, strangely empty of food or drink. An
unhappy, slight, balding man peeks up at him from the paper cup he is
holding in hand and makes furtive eye contact.
The tour guide, who always remains out of view, now tells him that
it is a cocktail party. He senses an uncomfortable corporate uneasiness
in each face that repels him from the room. He thinks to himself: I'd
like to find the hosts of this party and give them a piece of my mind;
no food no drink! What kind of party is this?
As he starts off to look for the host with that thought in mind,
he is slapped with an emotional wave of terror and remorse. It is the
tour guide again who tells him it would not be a good idea to insult the
host. In the dream, he asks himself , why would it scare me to insult
the host if I have no idea who the host is? But he has the feeling of
having averted jeopardy, he quickly dismissed the idea.
He went back into the party. Everyone stared at his nakedness.
He blinks and looks again; many hold and drink from invisible cups
and are half dressed. Each man is in an unhappy jittery dream. He is
quickly overwhelmed with the feeling of not belonging in that room.
Although the tour guide is watching, he sneaks out into another
less crowded smaller room. Free-ego-child-wild and mischievous glee
overcomes him. He drops and darts under a table whose tablecloth drops
to a few inches above the floor. He is underneath. He is hiding. No one
knows. Again he is suddenly gripped with a joyful childishness that
forces his eyes and mouth into contorted joy.
He can hear voices of the people talking in the room but he feels
safe, hidden, draped on all sides by white cloth. Someone is about to
pull the tablecloth up and find him; the tips of black shoes intrude
under the cloth's edge. He reverts, atavistically; growling electrified,
animal like and launches himself, snarling, forward. It is a dream
within a dream.
A bright light and he is dreaming, but he knows he is awake; He is
not awake but moving, climbing up a steep stairway ladder pathbridge in
a very large room , still in line with people in a guided tour, dreaming
awake.
The tour guide, always just out of view, tells him to keep
climbing up a ladder towards a small room at the top of the stairs.
Someone in front of him dreams, wakes up dreaming. He looks to his
right as he climbs by an enormous domed -curved window which makes up
the whole upper wall.
He is slowly climbing, feeling very numb. He pauses, stopping the
line of climbing people and places his arms on a curved railing where
the staircase meets the bottom of the window. Cupping his chin on his
hands, he tried to understand what he was seeing but he was so numbed
that what he saw didn't affect him, emotionally.
Outside is blackness. The Earth and the Moon are far to the right
portion of the glass, the Earth swimming in blue-white haze, except for
a large red area which he saw as the desert of North Africa, or the
Arabian peninsula. Far away, violet splashes of nebulae and points of
red pinpoint starlight intersperse with millions of white stars.
Chin in hands, he leaned over and said in a sad, wistful, admiring
tone, "These people who live at this estate have some view; "wow what a
view!"
The tour guide, always just out of view, was startled and quickly
changed the scene to that of a unidimentional English garden landscape.
Chin in hands, still looking out of the window, he said again, but
this time looking at the garden landscape, They do have a nice view."
The tour guide was startled to hear him repeat, and not realizing
that the scene of the garden had already worked to distract him, over
reacted.
He was thrown into a vivid emotional ecstasy.
The ladder path transformed into a delicately patterned,
dazzlingly ornate inlaid wood design cryptic and deep in beauty and
complexity. He was forced to kneel and examine it, and turned away from
the window.
Powerful awe, love, admiration and godlike reverence flashed
through his mind and body, at the wood-inlay staircase, suspended in
air, lushly constructed in multi-colored wood. An awe, tingling through
his skin, thrilled him.
He felt a powerful, spiritual deep love for the construction, the
unknown artist, the wood pattern, and became so absorbed, that he forgot
what he had seen outside the window.
The sleeping line of climbing people was stopped by his fawning
and repeated examination of the simple metal staircase. He repeatedly
retraced his steps to further examine it.
The tour guide, always just out of sight, had had enough. A
paternal, parental impatient voice said in his head, "just keep going;
it will be there for you to see when you get back." But things change in
dreams he tells himself and does not trust that it will be there again
for him when he returns.
The guide had made the staircase the unrightful recipient of the
awe, rather then the scene outside the window, so that he would not
remember; but when he woke he did remember.
He awoke exhausted, with a dull headache and a nose bleed; more
tired getting up then he had been going to bed.
He opened the door, slowly and peeked down the hall; there was no
one in evidence. He threw on his red-striped, tattered bathrobe, full of
holes, and barefoot, stole out into the hallway, leaving his door barely
ajar. He went to the stairwell; chose the second floor, and peeked up
and down the hallway from his vantage point behind a hinge of the
stairway door. It was five fifteen a.m. He bolted quickly down the hall
and turning quickly in reverse, in three swift movements, picked up,
first, from one doormat, a bottle of fresh milk, from a second, a small
bag of bakery delivered fresh rolls, and finally scooped up a morning;
paper, under his arm, from a third. His heart pounding, lest he be
detected, he ran up, breathless, to the fourth floor his stolen
breakfast in hand. He locked the door.
He heard, in his head a voice and a buzz. It was a slight ring in
his left ear. that odd inner ear ringing tone, one hears sometimes for
no apparent reason. Concentrate on it, it gets louder; pay no attention,
it dissipates. The ringing in his ear got louder and he shook his head
to stop it. It was, he thought, clanging loud enough for the neighbors
to hear it coming from his head. He wildly moved his head to stop it. It
grew louder. The sound moved deeper into his head and melted into a
humming vibration. The whole left side of his head was humming.
He heard a voice which began quietly, but he couldn't understand
anything, not a single word. He began to pray silently to St. Jude, as
he stood there alone with a voice grinding out sounds in his head. His
heart pounded and his jaw fell slightly open as the stolen groceries
fell from his grasp to the floor. He held his hands to his ears,
supporting his head, and tried not to scream and run.
He thought people in insane asylums who heard voices could be like
him or him like them.
He was climbing to the small room at the top of the ladder. He was
dreaming awake.
The high school basketball game was in the last quarter; the
crowd's howl and the tattoo of the drums from the drill team seemed
miles away. He and she had left the game and now sat on the sweet
smelling lawn of the school, in the night listening to the sounds of the
game behind them.
He was cloaked in blackness; dreaming a memory: she was in his
arms; soft, dark., long brown hair brushed his face; coquettish liquid
dark eyes looked deeply into his. He returned her gaze with a
passionate, loving sensuality. She held his hand; it was cool and
slender. A mysterious and provocative incense coursed through his blood
and made him dizzy with desire for her. He moaned and leaned closer.
She pressed her slim body close to his and he lowered his eyes
closing his lids, flushed with lust.
She suddenly stiffened and withdrew, and he sensed a wave of
disgust and disdain from her wash over him; he was crushed; why had the
sweetness of the dream soured?
She withdrew, backwards into the blackness. The girl in his dream
stared at him; in her hands was a funnel-shaped cup, attached to a tube
receptacle. He was hurt and puzzled and said "Is that all, Is that all
you want?"
Before the darkness came and swallowed him he realized that her coldness
was the coldness of one running an experiment; caring more about the
outcome then the methods used.
Even though he was dreaming he knew he was awake and he struggled with a
feeling if hopelessness in the dawning realization of his experience.
Cold, dispassionate, unblinking eyes recorded both psychic and
anatomical responses; they registered his emotional responses,
categorizing, summarizing, analyzing and judging him. The alien
administered a progressive personality assessment, a standard
psychological measurement exam which had more subtle discernment and
calibration of the soul than any earthbound measurement.
The creature stared directly into the priest's eyes and induced a
delusional thought system; a gauntlet of nightmares, a funhouse of
terrors. A series of three-dimensional scenarios in crystal clear
virtual reality were projected into the priest's mind. His reactions,
nuances of feelings
to the projected visions, were carefully registered and recorded. The
aliens had already found a genetic site for dysocial psychopaths and for
people of moral goodness.
First he was pushed into a small room with white walls and a
red. bloody, gory floor. In the center of the room, back to the viewer
were two butchers, white coats splashed with blood, busily chopping
infants into butcher cuts. He was urged to enter the room but his mind
rebelled in horror and fear and he refused. The horror of the chopped
infants saddened him, tightened his stomach and filled him deeply with
fear. He trembled in terror. "Who in God's name could bring himself to
do such an evil thing?"
He was thrust into another scene; a rubble-strewn street with
burnt shells of vehicles, some upside down surrounded by shells of
fragmented buildings which were precariously perched. In the background
smoke and flame issued all around. At his feet, injured, partly buried
in the rubble was a frail old woman with a kerchief covering her head.
She weakly jestered for help. He knelt beside her, but his eyes were on
the building above him which began to weaken and shift. Fear of death
overcomes him and in agony he runs from the scene, leaving her behind.
He is stricken with grief and guilt over the decision, but he feels
grateful for having escaped unscathed.
All of this is carefully registered and recorded. Again he is
thrust into another scene, the small, dark creature staring fixedly into
his eyes. He hears the repeated cracking sound of a whip on flesh
overlaid with screaming pleas of mercy. It is just around the corner.
Shrieks and howls in loud, deep agony accompany satanic
laughter. Fear crawls down his arms and legs. He is psychically
prodded to look within. A tall, muscular, athletic young man with black
hair is writhing in pain, chained by arms and legs to a wall-mounted
wood cross. A black-hooded inquisitor, demonically laughing delivers
loud, whip-snapping cracks onto the screaming man' s back who pleads for
mercy in fervent agony. Blood and tissue, noisily splatter the walls at
each stroke.
The priest's mind shrank back in mortal terror, disgust and raw
horror.
Next, a thick-bodied, squat, gangster-type sat at a table playing
solitaire. With a growl rich and deep with menace he picked up a hand
gun and told the priest that he was going to kill him. The priest
nodded in silent placation and tacit agreement. The gangster, never
taking his eyes from his cards placed the gun at the far end of the
table close to the priest. The killer assured the priest that no matter
what the priest did, he would definitely murder him. He was urged to go
for the gun. The priest's mind eye measured the distance between the
gangster's hand and the gun and his own relative distance from the gun;
he decided it was probably a trap and did not go for the gun.
The next scenario - a beautiful woman, a Hollywood femme fatale
with short skirt, long white gloves, very long legs and dark hair told
him that she was in danger and needed him to go with her to help her.
He patently refused, smelling danger, seeing through the disguise. She
promised him her body if he would help her. He abjectly refused. The
alien introduced a promissory image of her long limbs lasciviously
intertwined with his. He still refused.
The next psychic measurement was for honesty and guilt; he was
left in a room with money piled high on a table. He was urged to fill
his cassock pockets and he did. He as made to feel the slow burn of
shame.
At the end of the exam, bereft of strength, disheartened, deeply
depressed, he sat in the spacecraft drained and exhausted. At this
point the alien applied an artistic touch to the delusion. It gave
closure and diverted the priest's mind, but it also mercifully
alleviated his soul's suffering.
Each main character from each scenario filed in one by one with knowing
smiles and sat at a table in front of him. He was at the center of a
"Mission Impossible" scenario.
With the dawning realization that these people were simply
players, conspiring to fool him, two things happened; surprise at the
complexity of the dream, and awe, at the enormity of the staging, by
seeming strangers. This revelation replaced the angst this series of
visions had provoked. It also underlined the alien's total duplicity;
when the alien saw the priest's slow smile and lightening of spirit he
brought him out of the delusion and back into blackness. When his
alarm rang, he swung his feet onto the floor.
"Dreadful dream," he thought "My god, what a dreadful dream;
someone was butchering babies; horrible dream
--------------- MESSAGE dream-flow.v001.n228.4 ---------------
From: [EMAIL PROTECTED]
Subject: Re: Digest dream-flow.v001.n227
Date: Sun, 16 Jan 2000 09:57:40 EST
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dan drm-peace had lain to the right of the substance if you had avoided being
"like"
murder drm-peace had lain to the right of the house if you had avoided
becoming "some"
more at www.dreamgate.com./dream/dubetz/
--------------- MESSAGE dream-flow.v001.n228.5 ---------------
From: Christina Moon <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Subject: Re: Digest dream-flow.v001.n227
Date: Sun, 16 Jan 2000 11:22:36 -0600
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In-Reply-To: <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
PLEASE UNSUBSCRIBE ME FROM THIS LIST & THIS DIGEST. Thank you, Christina
Moon
===========
May your mind be filled with Wisdom...May your eyes be filled with Beauty...
May your soul be filled with Peace...May your heart be filled with Love...
-- Blessed Be \o/ Christ-in-a-Moon
--------------- END dream-flow.v001.n228 ---------------
dream-flow is for the sharing of dreams
Courtesy of DreamGate www.dreamgate.com
