2017-06-15 1:30 - 1:50 am
[Meditated in the wee hours for the first time in a long time. Felt dull, but meditating woke me up after a few short lapses into sleep. When I went back to bed I lay on my back and did some Noticing but heeded the rollover signal and went right to sleep with no strong intentions to do anything. My last thought was a passing or detached thought of getting unworlded, having read somewhere that it's OK to roll over upon getting the rollover signal because you will wake up in a lucid dream, which I did two sleep cycles later.]
[This is a chained dream with a long, jumbled plot. I don't remember exactly how or where it started, it just grew from jumbled thought dreams in the Tunnel. The lucid part was unpleasant because I couldn't tell if I was dreaming and hoped that I was, but it went on longer than I wanted it to. When I did wake up in the Nowhere I chained right back in to the exact same dream location but the nightmarish situation changed from burning to flooding. The chained, non-lucid dream was longer than the original dream that became lucid. I don't even remember Chaining now, but I did remember when I first woke up about an hour ago and lay in bed trying to recall the many lost details of a disconnected plot.]
I'm sitting on the floor in my beautiful, spacious, airy, empty, brightly lit concrete house with shiny, colorful tiles everywhere, feeling grateful for this place.
I'm in the basement and a bunch of people are there including my dad [not really seen but sensed]. Suddenly I realize that my dad has tied up my son and roasted him over a fire, propped up rigidly in the space between the headboard of a bed and a concrete post. I rush over to him and take him away from the heat source, carrying him in my arms. For a moment I know I'm dreaming and I want the dream to end. The dream stubbornly refuses to end so I start to question whether it's really a dream because I should be able to wake up; it continues and the lucidity gradually fades away but the vivid horror never fades.
T. is damaged by being propped up over a bed of coals. He has spots on his face. He is droning on in a clear, illuminated tone of voice, on mystical topics, but this I find very bothersome because I don't want an illuminated mystical wounded warrior soapboxer for a son, with burn marks all over his face, I want my real son back, the real boy. I put him down and tell him to hold still while I look for medicine to put on his face. In a frenzy I tear through bottles of medicine looking for the right kind. I can't take this torment and I wake up.
[Chain back in.]
The number of people in the house seems to be multiplying out of control. I don't know where they came from or what they're doing here, and it's got me in a bad mood. It wasn't so bad when they were guests of my wife, but now a family of teenage boys, tricksters in white T-shirts [Dream Usher] have shown up and are raising hell and destroying things or threatening to with their sneering, casual attitude. They're not really doing anything but they're somehow threatening to or intimidating me which creates a tension that's worse than destroying things, because I know that if I lose my composure and start treating them like the hillbilly scum that they are, then they will start busting up the place and I won't be able to do anything about it. [Like the movie Straw Dogs.]
A bunch of middle-aged women I don't know are sitting at a large round, dark-colored wooden table with me and I get so annoyed about their presence that I pick up a small drinking glass and throw it in the general direction of one particularly stout old woman sitting directly across from me. It breaks and the jagged base of the glass bounces back my way. The SQUARE FACED WOMAN puts on a big horrified act, even though she knows she was being annoying. Hooting loudly as if I had hurt her, she gloats with the satisfaction of now being able to get me in trouble with my wife: "Oh! Oh! Oh!"
My wife has really messed up this time. Water is seeping onto the living room floor, saturating the BEIGE CARPET in the big empty room [the Nowhere]. I squeegee it out with my hands toward a pattern of holes in the floor so it will drip down into the basement. I run downstairs and put a bucket there to catch the water. On my way back up the stairs I go out a side door situated at the stairs landing to see if it's raining. I stand on a slab of concrete feeling the faint drizzle, and as I listen to the sound of the rain it turns into a heavy downpour. I start roaring, waving my arms around and shaking my fists, hollering as loud as I can, angry and frustrated and unable to do anything but to try and express my frustration as powerfully as I can, under the circumstances.
People, people, everywhere, and nobody's helping me with the flood. It's really getting out of hand, the whole house is going to be ruined. They're all middle-aged, dowdy housewife types. One tries to be helpful so I pull her off what she's doing and tell her to put a "baldi" (bucket) downstairs like I did and start moving water toward a hole in the floor--no not toward there, that's the FURNACE [chained content from lucid portion] and I can see its orange glow through the floor grate. Let's find you a better place to squeegee water towards.
I look up and the woman is walking on a part of the floor that is rickety, not flat, just a few short pieces of 2x2 set next to each other, not even nailed down. Why is she walking there? She going to fall through to the basement... which she starts to do. I grab at her flailing arm and this is just too much, I can't take it anymore. [I wake up in vibrations. This was no ecstatic dream but there was a moment of lucidity so I was too excited to go back to sleep. I tried but not very hard as there was no time, summer vacation is over and I had to get up in a few minutes anyway so I mulled over the dream details and tried to remember what order things happened in. The house was a hybrid of the house I live in now and the Ohio street house in Kansas where the insurance company got us a new carpet in the basement due to a flood.]