Have you ever had those weird dreams, but has an underlying fact of wisdom to it?
I've just dreamt last night that I was "jailbreaking" my own brain, getting root access to my own consciousness.
There's a line in Twin Peaks, when Cooper is explaining his experiences in the red room, with the giant. He says,
"Not a dream, but a vision... The mind revealing itself to itself."
these moments are powerful, you should return to them at different times, in different states of consciousness, and see how they feel
the key question is, I believe, who had the dream?
which part of you got access to the metaprogramming console?
do you finally remember who you really are?
Quote from: Cramulus on March 19, 2018, 02:09:23 PM
There's a line in Twin Peaks, when Cooper is explaining his experiences in the red room, with the giant. He says,
"Not a dream, but a vision... The mind revealing itself to itself."
these moments are powerful, you should return to them at different times, in different states of consciousness, and see how they feel
the key question is, I believe, who had the dream?
which part of you got access to the metaprogramming console?
do you finally remember who you really are?
Wow! That's really deep! Thanks for the reply :)
Gonna sound glib, but I love seeing Cram's posts when he's deep inside one of his trips.
That's honest.
11/12/05 (Dream journal)
Three nights ago I dream:
The house is medium-small, with a largish, rustic backyard. It could be the Crawford's place from my childhood; it's that style of house, I think, in the middle of nowhere. Separated. Apart. Alone. Haunted. I live there (I am not myself; I am another body with another mind). I am young, but old enough to be afraid. It is my home; I cannot afford to lose my senses to terror, but I am unsettled, constantly.
The tire swing sways back and forth in the front yard (which is scattered with old pieces of junk), despite the lack of wind. The yard feels the safest. I sit on the porch steps and watch the swing warily. It stops swinging, and its stillness strikes me with more dread than its unexplained movement.
I sit with my back to the house, not because I am comfortable with it behind me, but because I am too afraid to turn and face it. But it is my home. Where else can I go?
Inside: cold, dead, gray infants lie in baskets. Faceless prepubescents drag themselves naked across the hardwood floors by their fingernails. I cannot ignore their tortured, silent sprawl.
Through the living room window, I see the lawn chair in the front yard hovering in midair. It is raised and lowered by an unseen hand, refusing to touch its legs to the ground as a normal chair should.
I close my eyes and try to keep the insanity from prying its way through. As usual, unseen terrors prove more potent than seen ones.
When I open my eyes again, I am a fully grown man. It is my first time returning to the house in years. The exterior is rotting; the once-white paint is now speckled with black and gray, like an ancient photograph. It is a corpse that has refused to stop twitching for years and years. The trees in the yard are all dead, too, but the tire swing still sweeps back and forth casually, like a whisper.
I am surprised to find my mother still living there (she is not my actual mother, of course, but my dream character's mother. A redheaded, thinly drawn, weary woman with sleep-hungry, hope-devoid eyes). I ask her why. Why she never left when the rest of us, my brothers and sister and I, left long ago. Her answer is a defeated glance at the house. "It's my home," she says, much in the same way an alcoholic might grudgingly admit: "It's my addiction."
She opens the front door for me. "Things are worse," she says. "The rooms change sizes." The air feels different inside. It's like stepping into a greenhouse; there's a distinct and tangible change. I feel as though I've stepped into another dimension. I take a deep breath and suck in what tastes like my childhood. I inhale dread.
It's like being crushed, stepping into the old kitchen. The linoleum floor is slippery. Grime lines the sinkboard. The world outside the window is blurry.
I enter the living room, whose walls are stretching and reforming. The room grows to nearly twice its size when I enter it. All the chairs in the room are facing each other in a tight circle in what would be the center of the room if it would only stay one size. I smell blood.
The connecting hallway is dark. I don't remember it being carpeted. For some reason, narrow hallways never feel safe to me. I can feel the walls touching me, even though they're not.
There is a large figure standing in the shadows of the next room. From the slivers of light hitting it I can tell that it's a scabby creature, a putrid demon covered in puke and lacerations. It's grinning at me, welcoming me into the darkness, with the fat expression of satisfied buffet-diner patron. I stand in the doorway hesitantly, with the darkness before me. The hallway behind me. The living room expanding and restricting like my beating heart. The slithering kitchen. The swinging tire. Nowhere to go. It is my home.
Had one a while back (http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php/topic,14214.msg453325.html#msg453325)
Quote from: Cramulus on March 19, 2018, 02:09:23 PM
There's a line in Twin Peaks, when Cooper is explaining his experiences in the red room, with the giant. He says,
"Not a dream, but a vision... The mind revealing itself to itself."
these moments are powerful, you should return to them at different times, in different states of consciousness, and see how they feel
the key question is, I believe, who had the dream?
which part of you got access to the metaprogramming console?
do you finally remember who you really are?
How am I not myself?
Quote from: Hoopla on March 22, 2018, 07:59:44 PM
How am I not myself?
An underrated movie, if only for that line, and the way it was delivered.
It's a shame it got buried in all the hoopla surrounding David O'Russell's fight with Lily Tomlin. It's a bit woo in places, but I like it a lot.
I love that it busts woo right in the chops, and a lot of people don't notice.
Feel free to elaborate for the poor fools who didn't catch it.
I am not myself as a dream, oblivious that it is such.
I dreamed that I was in jail and nobody would tell me what for. I think it was a metaphor for the uselessly vague negative feedback I get at work.
And also the jail in the dream was a minimum security rich people jail, so it was actually better than how I live in real life.
EDIT:
Like, I remember thinking "at least I'm not at work"
Do you guys ever have dreams that feel like you have had them before? Like returning to those dream-places feels familiar.
I don't get them often but I had one last night -
I woke up in a treehouse like place (kind of like Centerparcs for UK spags) and had to go get breakfast. I came to a t-junction on the forest path but the left hand path (which is where the 'familiarity' of the dream would have had me go although I don't actually remember having a similar dream now awake) was blocked by a rhinoceros.
I didn't feel like facing down the rhino so went right. This took me down a hill to a country pub. I met my old company's CEO on the path who walked with me down to the hill where we met the R&D director. I didn't feel comfortable having breakfast with them so moved to go back where I came. As I was leaving I walked past a bunch of my new colleagues who called out to me.
End dream.
I guess all the work stuff is some subconscious processing of next week's conference where I will be meeting almost everyone featured and they'll be assessing my progress over the last couple of months. That's really the less interesting part though - it's the feeling of 'I have been here before' that really stuck with me.
Quote from: Vanadium Gryllz on April 10, 2018, 03:10:38 AM
Do you guys ever have dreams that feel like you have had them before? Like returning to those dream-places feels familiar. .
During the dream of after waking up.
If after then yeah, I just had one. In the recurring dream I'm trying to navigate a fantastically enormous and confusing house to find one specific room and invariably get lost and can't find it. Usually the house in the dream is owned by my rich aunt and uncle, but this time it was owned by my one cousin on the other side of the family who in real life lives in a fantastically small apartment.
There was one a month or so ago where there was a feeling of familiarity in the dream. I think this one was a mashup of several different seashore houses we've rented over the years appended onto aspects of the same aunt and uncle's real house