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UNWORLDING... the art form formerly known as 'out of body experience,' 'astral travel,' 'lucid dreaming,' 'phasing,' 'the quick switch,' etc.



(obsolete agenda item becomes well-worn)

September 20, 2017

We do not experience the world, but mental models of the world.

      --Stephen LaBerge

2017-09-20 5:30 am

[Last night before bed, I wrote most of a chapter on pulling oneself out of unconscious sleep with Intent and Daytime Practices.]

[After a dream about D. Levy that I forgot:]

I'm finding some ODD, soft PURPLE [8ness] fruits in a large potted plant on a table. In a fairly dark environment, people around [Soul Retinue]. I'm thinking, Wow, the passion fruit vine finally made fruits, but then I think, No, this is the wrong color, shape and texture [I've never seen passion fruit that wasn't yellow.] The fruit I pick is 4-1/2 inches long, and roughly triangular with rounded corners and edges, [the shape of an asymmetrical croissant. It has the consistency and taste of a ripe fresh fig as well as the color of one, but I don't get this at the time.]

I nibble gingerly at the fruit, afraid it might have worms in it [and oddly, just as I was about to type that phrase--with the phrase forming in my mind--an insect larva literally fell on the table next to where I was writing, almost hitting me on the hand. I had to do a reality check. Upon examination of the ceiling I saw a tiny insect nest made of mud had broken open which was attached to the ceiling hook above me--it was a wasp larva.]

[J. woke me up getting T. up for school. I helped a little, but decided to stay in bed and shoot for a lucid dream, feeling guilty and telling myself not to feel guilty. This led to a false awakening in which] I'm going downstairs and almost trip over my fuzzy YELLOW blanket which is on the stairway landing for some reason. I guess J. has decided to do the laundry and thrown my blanket halfway down the stairs. I kick it to the side so no one will trip over it.

6:40 am

I'm outside our real house, bright sunlight, right outside the back door [right outside the Urumara is the Projection Room], looking at a large branch of the guava tree that has apparently broken off in the night. I Notice very large YELLOW fruits with a wrinkly texture and mistake them for oversized PASSION FRUITS [which aren't wrinkly or sweet till essentially overripe or slightly aged] and they become passion fruits, but too large and distorted, some of them past their prime, too distortingly shrivelled, and one is definitely moldy. I recall that passion fruit is a vine, not a tree, so I decide this is a pomello tree that was brought down by the passion fruit vine. I push a smaller branch aside and slide past it into the wreckage of the tree WONDERING why I'm not being jabbed by thorns since pomello trees have deadly, long thorns. Thinking, "These fruits are way too big, like in my dream." I can already taste the passion fruit as I gather several of the very wrinkled and shrunken [i.e. ripe and sweet], huge passion fruits the size of pomello.

[Fruits are one of my Personal Lucidity Objects. J. woke me up shouting from downstairs that T. is leaving for school. I was annoyed, since I was woken from a vivid dream in a REM state. My arms were still vibrating, but I told myself to not get pissed, as it would hurt my chances to get lucid later. I went down and almost got pissed when I saw I'd been woken prematurely, T. hadn't finished putting on his school uniform and his ride wasn't even here yet, but in both instances I told myself to not get pissed because it might hurt my chances to get lucid later. T. left and I went upstairs and closed the door to the terrace and the curtains, reminding myself to move without jerking and keep the mind quiet since I still wanted to get lucid. When I got into bed, I was momentarily surprised to see my YELLOW BLANKET there, and remembered the false awakening on the stairs, realizing for the first time it had been a dream. I lay down and remembered for the first time in months to use a mantra, the word "dream," while going to sleep. It worked.]

7:20 am

In the back yard [chained content].

I'm WONDERING where all the marang fruits--four of them--had come from, I thought the season was already over. They are smashed-looking as if they were harvested carelessly when very ripe. I pull some flesh-covered seeds off from the mass in a handful of rind, Noticing one perfect seed still embedded in the rind, covered with a fat layer of bright white flesh. I put the rind up to my face and pull the fruit out with my teeth, worried about getting food on my face.

I'm looking for a place to sit down. It's sunny and the yard is full of visitors in occupied benches at small picnic tables [Soul Retinue]. All are Filipinos. At the FAR RIGHT picnic table there is one space available at its far RIGHT end, so I go to sit there, but as I arrive at the table, another visitor also gets to the same table, headed for the same empty seat that I'm headed for. I'm annoyed and decide to not be, since it might get me in trouble with all these happy-go-lucky Filipinos if I act annoyed, and the man sits on the lap of the man to the LEFT of the empty seat. So I take the leftover spot at the right end of the bench. Our hips still touch and I bump into him slightly so he'll move over and give me some space, while feeling guilty since he has a full-grown man on his lap and I don't.

I forget about my tablemates as I focus on the fruit I plan to eat. It seems that I've brought a large container of smashed pieces and have to go through it somewhat, picking out moldy and undeveloped parts of the fruit as well as bits of trash, in order to get to the good stuff. I fade into a revery.

When I refocus my Attention, it's much darker as if a roof had gone over where the tables are, and I no longer have the sense of being in my own yard. Still in a place with picnic tables full of Filipinos. My tablemates are now teenage girls jabbering about something. The girl to my left has a plate with a small pile of meats, a little of this and a little of that, just pieces of hacked off hot dogs, sausages, etc., looks like tablescraps, but technically edible. She's asking her friends, "If I were a piece of meat, what kind of meat would I be?" I rouse myself from my stupor and chime in as Limberluck: "You're a hot dog."

I get dead silence in return, so I guess my sense of humor is unappreciated, but I don't mind. I get up and wander around in the dark place.

Someone has put one of those fuzzy black-and-white Buckingham Palace guard helmets on me and it's way too big, so it slips down over my face, covering my eyes [I am wearing a sleep mask in bed, a device which figures regularly in my unworldings as one symbol or another].

I'm overcome by a strong desire to lie down and relax, so I do, deciding not to worry about what all these people will think of me for sleeping in public [hovering on the borderline of sleep]. I'm lying on my back propped up on something with my elbows propped up on something [my exact physical sleeping position, with three pillows behind me and one at each side]. I focus on the ODD fact that I can see a little light through the heavy helmet, and as I hone in on this thought, I SEE my dark green sleep mask instead of the fuzzy helmet. As the light passing through it quickly grows brighter and washes all the color out of the mask, it occurs to me that I'm entering the transition zone into a true unworlding [but without the terminology]. I say, "I can see through my mask!" and remember the instruction of Phase Evolution, Michael Raduga, Samael Aun Weor and others, which I repeat to myself: "Just get up! Just get up!" I dispel the doubt about this which comes as a result of feeling 100% real and not what I think a "dream" or "OBE" would feel like, and climb quickly to my feet, worrying that I might be getting up too fast. Clambering to my feet feels exactly 100% physical so I ignore this lest it become distracting, and just keep getting up. I banish doubt spontaneously by clapping my hands together loudly. This clarifies my state, instantly driving all doubts away by quieting my mind [the way some of my elementary school teachers would clap their hands to quiet a babble of voices].

I'm aware that I'm climbing out of my real bed--the dream scene is gone and there's now a lot of light--but I carefully don't think about this, putting all my attention on moving forward and away. A bright sunny scene appears before me: a double set of heavy glass doors [the Urumara] in a wall of pure glass [the Nowhere]. A pair of teenage Filipino boys [Nitpicker and Potwatcher] dressed in black slacks and flouncy white shirts with long tails and long baggy sleeves are opening the doors as I arrive and I momentarily fear them, so I assume they're gang members since they're dressed alike.

I pass quickly through the open doors, ecstatic, lifting into the air spontaneously, but in a controlled way. I start to tell the dude on my RIGHT that he's dreaming, but decide he's just a dream character and I have better things to concern myself with. I had grabbed at his oversized white shirt and now I release it as I float into the air repeating an odd series of exact words [words forgotten; merged with N & P, my 4ness dream body, the Dichotomous Duo, who are gone and forgotten, i.e. we merged or else they gave some of their energy to the Uppers if you assume we were already merged]. I float up ecstatically at an angle to my LEFT in a relaxed, easygoing way, and then recall that I am not to waste my lucid time flying. I have a plan of action, so I better get to it.

I'm on the ground crawling because I recall that crawling is on my Intent Agenda [actually it's a past agenda item already well-fulfilled, oh well]. I'm on my "front lawn" [I don't actually have one, any more than I have picnic tables in the back yard.] It's very bright, I'm unusually lucid. As I crawl quickly around in the yard, I worry I might be crawling too fast, but again I'm happy with how stable the lucidity seems to be and I Notice that losing lucidity is caused by worrying about losing lucidity, so I must banish the thought and carry on with my Intent Agenda. While I crawl around feeling the grass with my fingers and feeling the hard ground under my knees, I am shocked that once again I can't remember what I was supposed to do next. Each time I feel the lucidity start to fade, I banish the THOUGHT OF LUCIDITY FADING by clapping my hands, which seems to change the direction my mind was headed, and lucidity stabilizes when I stop worrying about lucidity.

I decide that the best thing to do is to keep crawling till I can remember what else I was supposed to do. When I wonder what the next agenda item is, my mind comes up with nothing, so I chop that thought off too, and keep crawling because I don't want to sink into a revery about 'nothing' and forget who I am. I can actually feel the blankness of memory expanding on itself so I stop trying to dredge up the memory of my plan of action. I think maybe I should burrow into the ground or something, but this doesn't seem right, so I keep crawling. [The problem is that crawling was a past agenda item already well fulfilled, and the notion of burrowing into the ground was also left over from another agenda item long since fulfilled when I dove into the ground to teleport during a long unworlding, over a year previously. So the real next agenda item that I was unsuccessfully probing for was not linked or Chained to crawling at all. Drawing a blank was natural because memory is a Chaining of thoughts to each other, and no further actions were Chained to crawling as the agenda item "crawling" had already been abandoned as per conscious intentions. But crawling itself turned out to still be uppermost on the list of the Intent Agenda. That's OK because it gave me a simple task to focus on while trying to squeeze more information from memory. This was by far the longest I've ever crawled in a lucid dream, and I stayed lucid for the whole thing, so I'm not complaining.]

I turn around again and crawl the length of the yard with the house to my LEFT. At this point I'm struggling anxiously with the fear that I will lose lucidity if I can't remember what I was supposed to do next. In between these worried thoughts, I keep re-establishing the state by engaging confidence: I'm lucid, aren't I? Just keep crawling!

As I pass between two small evergreen trees [the Urumara], I reach out with both arms and brush the leaves with my fingers, but after this I feel my focus fade so I relax into my body [gradually becoming aware of lying in bed vibrating. I wanted to re-enter the Unworld, but I mentally struggled with also wanting to write all this down. I told myself there's nothing to write down, because nothing happened! The Idiossifer, up to his usual tricks. But I was so well rested after 9-10 hours of sleep that I doubted I could overcome the excitement enough to go back to sleep, so I went over the details for five minutes until I felt the zinging fade and got out of bed to write this down before it could slip away from me.]

[I ended this long dry spell by making sure that getting unworlded was my last thought before going to sleep, every time I woke up, not letting any other thought distract me. Sublimating opportunities for getting distracted is often what gets me lucid, because it collects and conserves the energy that was ready to be wasted on a fine ball of emotional turmoil or a shot of the Adrenalin of Righteousness, and this energy, borrowed from rejected chances to emote uselessly, collects in one place as focused intention which sometimes invests itself as real Intent to get unworlded, which always gets results.]

[I'm happy that I'm getting pretty good at not automatically flying off all my energy, I'm learning to engage the ability to think and learn which thoughts are helpful and which are not. I recall forcing myself to take notes on every scrap of non-physical experience preceding this, and had amazingly well-chained plot content--fruit after fruit after fruit--and as usual, Nitpicker and Potwatcher ushered me into the lucid state by accepting their correct position as workers vs. the often domineering attitude of 4ness as a sort of compulsive perfectionism pill. This is the balancing of 4ness--YELLOW--in which my overzealous, obsessively detail-oriented, easily offended, energy-grabbing 4ness body sacrifices its vaunted position as the Lord of Time-Space, and allows the Uppers to use this energy to their advantage in merging all us dream bodies together in lucidity. Limberluck--the relaxed one who can sleep in public and flirt spontaneously with girls--is the octave or 2nd harmonic of 4ness. His relaxed attitude, which I've recently come to consider as the willingness to laugh, is the epitome of the Magical Mindset. This is the expansion that allows harmony, synthesis, the merging of the Seven into the Body of Air, the vehicle of freedom.]

[In the past two-to-three days I had become totally obsessed with finding JDM--who I've dreamed about four times this week in spite of not having seen him in 42 years--to the point where it became my default thought and I had forced this to stop, worked on my unwordling website instead of looking for him again, and watched a video on unworlding right before going to bed.]

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