Dream 20021007, 2:45 AM:
I’m with Chris, in a dark house. He keeps telling me that he doesn’t believe any of the magical things I am talking about are real, and I want to demonstrate to him that they are. I try several times to find an example, but can’t. I think that I have a way to prove it, but it would be demonology, and it makes me very uncomfortable to contemplate it. I’m holding various items, thinking about how to prove that magic is working, and I just can’t think of anything.
I feel myself becoming paralyzed. I recognize that this is sleep paralysis, and I start trying to wake myself up, because I am getting an uncomfortable panicky feeling from it. I see things running past in the hallway on the edge of my field of vision, like ghostly figures. I keep trying to do the usual tricks, like scream out or wiggle a toe. Nothing seems to wake me. I try to go with the flow and become lucid, and that doesn’t seem to work either. Finally, it seems to free up, and I look at Chris and grab him by both shoulders and say, “I’m dreaming. And you’re dreaming too. This means we can become lucid.”
I take Chris to the front door. The house has shifted to be the Kingwood house, sort of. I open the front door, and wave my hand at the view, telling Chris to look at it. The grass is very tall, in lush green clumps; it looks like a fantasy meadow. There are some animals here, I think they’re deer, but might be something else. It’s exceptionally green, and the sky is a beautiful October blue. I tell Chris that we can fly now, and that it’s like swimming in the air. I feel like I’m giving him a flying lesson. I take off from the ground, remarking half to myself and half to Chris that “This feels so wonderful!” I don’t feel the buzzing sensation that I get from hyperlucid flight, but I also notice that I don’t have any of the choking sensation around my chest and throat. It feels really good. Chris flies up into the air as well, hesitant at first but with growing confidence. We fly up into the air just in the front yard, playing around like we’re swimming, turning flips and rolls. I look over at Chris, and he has turned into Buio, the black cat. I take him by the arms, still flying, and say, “Stop being Buio.” It seems like it’s a funny joke, and I’m laughing about it. I fly over the house, and notice that there are lots of joints and gables, more than there are in the real house. The roof is reddish, and at some of the joints I look closely to make sure that there aren’t spots that would leak. I think to myself briefly that this would be a good way to check a roof, in a dream – but I wonder if it would be truly effective because of dream distortion.
We fly over the house and to the back yard, and walk around the back yard. It seems darker here. I hear a loud clanging noise, and walk toward it; I find Richard and some other man whom I don’t know standing at the entrance to a big barn. It’s placed about where Dad’s shop used to be, but the door is facing toward the Bass’s yard. Richard is banging on a large steel kettle with what appears to be an aluminum coffee pot. The kettle is full of what appears to be darkish red candle wax, and it is mostly solid but boiling and plopping on one side. I walk up to Richard and grab the coffee pot out of his hand. I say angrily, “This is not a spoon!” He counters, “It’s like a second spoon to me…” it seems like he was trying to stir the kettle by banging on the outside. I reach over beside the door of the barn and look through a can of big utensils until I find the spoon I’m looking for, a very long-handled steel slotted spoon, and pick it up. I tell Richard, “You take the extra-long spoon, and stir it like this.” I demonstrate, stirring the pot. It turns to a mush, like very red apple sauce, or accelerated-trace soap. I stir for a little bit, then hand the spoon to Richard, who continues stirring. Chris and I walk away. I have a little wad of the wax, and I tell him, “You know, we ought to do something that we could check in the morning. Like leave some of this wax up on the roof.” He nods, and we start to fly up over the roof. I look up, and realize that the sky is divided in half; the area over the front yard is sunny and blue with white puffy clouds; the part over the back yard looks like it’s in full night. There is an area over the house itself where it shades from one to the other. It looks really pretty.
I wake, and find myself lying in bed next to Chris. I don’t realize that it’s a false awakening. We are in the Kingwood house, in the blue bedroom, but it’s set up the way it was several years ago, before Richard moved back to the house. I am bubbly with excitement over the dream; I turn to Chris, and ask if he had dreamed the same thing. He laughs, and says, “This is me you’re talking to…” and spits out a green leaf that looks like a four-o-clock leaf, and a piece of wax. The wax is kind of pink, rather than red, and I think it’s because he’s been chewing on it. I laugh, and I’m so amazed that he somehow managed to bring it through the dream barrier. I reach down and grab his butt, and say, “This is one for the workshops!”