I am Dreaming. Remain Calm. I am Dreaming...

It occurred to me tonight while in the shower, that the dream state may be much more than a simple playground for the subconscious. In my study of ancient wisdom texts, it is stressed over and over again the importance of the imagination, the importance of the ability to create with the mind alone.

Could it be that the dream state is a school for the spiritual aspirant? It seems that 90% of my dreams take place in some type of school-like environment. I've always thought it was just because I love to learn new things, but maybe it's more than that. I've had lucid dreams before, and it seems that one of three things happens:

1. I become excited upon realization that I can do whatever I please, and I instantly wake up.
2. I become excited, and before I realize what is happening I fly into the air - then wake up.
3. I become excited, but attempt to calm myself, and have the ability to change the course of the dream before being overcome with excitement and waking up.

What if I concentrated on remaining calm only, and avoided the impulse to live out some fantasy?

Last night/this morning I became aware that I was dreaming, but only partially. Some part of my mind knew that I could change the surroundings, so I tried and was minimally successful. In fact, I struggled to gain control, but I intuitively knew how it "felt" to change things. I didn't "say" it in my mind ("this can change into this...") but I imagined that it were different, expecting the dream to conform, which it usually does. In this instance it didn't due to self-doubt.

I think what I need to do, is train myself to 1. recognize that I am dreaming, then, 2. to remind myself to stay calm so I can remain in the dream state and gain incremental control over the surroundings. If I can do this, hopefully, I can gain enough self-control to probe my dream-world for information about myself/reality. In essence, I can gain direct access to my subconscious mind, in order to learn more about myself.

From now on, when I am going to sleep, I will repeat to myself: I will recognize that I am dreaming. I will remain calm. I will remember it upon waking.

Alchemy and Hermeticism

Hermeticism is something I've always been very interested in. The conclusions that humans have come to and the rituals that they have employed to enlighten themselves throughout the centuries fascinates me. I continue to study the works of the hermeticists, theosophists, and alchemists in an attempt to realize the truth about the nature of the self (selves) and reality.

Last weekend I read Theurgy and The Secret Fire, both written by E. J. Langford Gartsin, which I found at hermetics.org.

A major theme of Alchemical writing is the separation of the soul/mind from the physical body. Having read about this before, I tried it again (I've been experimenting with OBE or Astral Projection for years now). The results were subtle, but important:

I lied in bed, K by my side, asleep. I allowed my body to relax, as I consciously kept my mind awake (the "mind awake, body asleep" technique). I focused on nothingness, and listened to the sounds of my ears. As has happened before, my limbs stiffened, my heart-rate decreased, and I felt myself "drifting". I could feel my subtle body attempting to separate, but the "pull" or "magnetism" of my physical body kept it from it's goal.

After a little while K stirred, half woke up and began rubbing her face with her hands. I couldn't resist and opened my eyes, thinking to myself that she was distracting me from my practice. I said, "Are you ok?" She replied, "I'm washing my face..."

I began thinking about what that meant to me, given The Universe's symbolic language. I came to the conclusion that it was not a distraction, but a communication. In the Alchemical/Hermetic texts, it is stressed that the Adept must "purify" or "cleanse" himself before attempting The Art/Practice. The washing of the face was symbolic of this very cleansing.

I am now faced with the question: What exactly must one do to purify or cleanse one's self? I've taken it as an ethical/spiritual cleansing, i.e., the student must live a life of compassion, humility and suffering before Nature will grant him the privilege of separation (The First Matter).

I must take Her advice and be aware of any opportunities to be compassionate and loving, empathetic and gentle.

I am going on a trip for the holidays, which includes a long plane flight. I intend to find a book to read on the flight. I pray that The Universe puts into my hands the appropriate text.

Thank you Mother for your care and attention. I promise you, it will not be in vain.

Childhood memories, color-corrected.

I don't remember a whole lot from my childhood. Bits and pieces pop up here and there now and then. It's my opinion that if these transient, fleeting half-memories surface, it's my subconscious trying to relay an important message to me - I make it my duty to, at the very least, listen. A long neglected memory sought attention by bubbling up from the depths tonight.

I work as a self-employed (a.k.a. freelance) video editor (among other things grafix, web and video related). One of my current responsibilities is color correction. At some point I was thrust back into my childhood for a split second, the event was accompanied by waves of numbness washing over my head; not unpleasant nor unfamiliar.

I was sitting on the carpet in front of the television in my childhood living room. It was dark except for the flashes of color coming from the screen in front of me. My dad was sitting on the couch behind me, growing ever impatient as I fucked with the color and contrast settings on the tv. I wanted to get it just right; a little less brightness, more contrast, more color... whoops, the red is bleeding, need to bring it down a bit...

I remember my dad asking me what I was doing.

"Fixing the color," I said.

"No your not," he said, frustrated, "Your just experimenting with it. Give me that..."

I handed him the remote control. In my head I thought to myself, "I am not experimenting. I know what I'm doing."

The truth was that, I was in fact experimenting. I didn't want to tell him that, but that is exactly what I was doing. I was interested in how I could change the tint, contrast, etc., to make the picture look more brilliant or dull and subtle at my will, and how those small changes could effect how I felt about what I was seeing.

Now I do that for a living. I still experiment and fuck with the settings. But now I've learned how each of the controls can effect the mind of the viewer. Deep contrast evokes mystery and curiosity; while bright, oversaturated colors goes mostly unnoticed by the conscious, but effects the subconscious deeply, like cartoon images invoking primal instincts that the evolutionary psychologist would link to our ancient past.

It's not often that I experience memories associated with my father. Why would I even choose to file such a seemingly insignificant memory away in my mind at all? A matter for more serious contemplation I'm sure. Either way, it's nice to be reminded that I do have a past, sometimes. It's nice to be reminded that introspection is necessary, that I'm not wasting my time exploring myself, there are genuine personal mysteries in here. Self-analysis is not just mental masturbation after all.

Fuck SD.

I got back today after spending the weekend at K's. We had fun. We went to that Halloween party Friday night. I had fun running around taking pics of everyone's costumes. If I hadn't been drinking vodka, it would have been a really long night. Most of the guys there looked/acted like the typical, annoying, frat/military dumbshit (which is what I expected for San Diego), and the women were all dressed in skimpy little outfits (sexy referee, sexy nurse, sexy something-or-other with her tits hanging out). Although there was one cool person - a guy dressed in drag. He had fake cleavage and a short skirt, and he let me grope his plastic tits. That essentially was the highlight of my night. So, the low-light you ask?

I went upstairs to go to the bathroom. While I was kneeling next to a couch, taking a picture of a life-size Marilyn Monroe cutout, one of the aforementioned dumbfucks walks up behind me, and in a sarcastically effeminate lisp says, "Oh, I like your long hair and horns..." I turned around, smiled, and headed for the bathroom. "Oh yeah," I thought to myself, "I forgot I was in fucking San Diego..."

For those who don't know, San Diego isn't really a part of Southern California. SoCal (Los Angeles/Orange County/Inland Empire) prides itself on being creative, open-minded, artistic and intellectual; San Diego does not. While most of SoCal is politically democrat/independent and even anarchistic, SD is mostly republican (partly having to do with the plethora of military bases in the county, party due to the traditionally popular racist/elitist views concerning the Mexican border...). I just forgot for a minute, luckily I was quickly reminded.

After I went back outside, where the non-SanDiegans were having a smoke and chatting, and after the very same dumbass had finished groping and fake-humping his thoroughly embarrassed girlfriend a few feet away from me, I pondered it all. Until, the guy in drag came outside. I got up and asked if I could his photo. He said it was cool, and even light-heartedly agreed to let me grab his plastic boobie for a pic. We both laughed at it all, and I returned to my drunken who-gives-a-fuck-osity.

In the future, I won't hesitate to go to a party in SD - I mean, shit, I saw more sexy women in short skirts and thigh-high stockings then I ever had previous to that night. It was worth it, I would argue.

The rest of the weekend was pleasant. K and I hung out, watched TV and ate fast food. I stood up while she slept, occasionally admiring her beauty and vowing to myself that I will never take for granted how special she is to me. She knows me better than anyone on this planet, and she loves me with a fervor that is sometimes difficult for me to understand or accept.

Hallowe'en

K came by after work wednesday because I wanted to do something for Hallowe'en. We went to one of those haunted maze things (in Anaheim). Neither of us have much money right now, so we couldn't afford Knott's Scary Farm, maybe next year (I've yet to go there, and for someone who's grown up in SoCal that's rare. Then again, the $45 ticket price isn't too inviting no matter how much money I have). The one we went too costed a small $5! And it was well worth it.

It was the first one I've been to, and it was seriously a lot of fun and maybe even slightly illuminating. It's put on by the Terry family and the Loara Band Boosters (terryhaunt.com). It was good, we paid our 5 bucks and walked in, waiting for the gatekeeper to let us into the maze. As we did so, I noticed this cool ghool/demon statue standing there, I pointed and it came to life! Scaring the shit out of K in the process. It actually scared her twice, the second time it quietly moved behind us for a surprise boo! I just laughed as K scuttled around to hide behind me. She was all: Ahh! (hides) Dammit! The person in the mask must've been like: Really?! Twice?!

So anyway, we cautiously ventured in, walking down a long, dark, smoke-filled hallway...

Then the fun commences, around every claustrophobic, black, strobe-lit turn a demon lurked; either jumping out and screaming/moaning or simply standing there, content to look creepy and dangerous. My favorite parts were the rooms we stumbled into, dark, hazy and foreboding, with some anonymous evil creature performing it's evil duties, only to see two intruders and threaten us with the some implied torture or pain. It was all very well crafted and disorienting. I found myself searching desperately for the path, just wanting get away from the devilish monsters at our heels. K of course, had no idea, she was just trying to find a spot to hide behind me as the demons lurked and followed her. She is so jumpy as it is, at every little indication of a surprise she lifted into the air and screamed.

After the seemingly endless halls of horror and surprises there was one final scare. A guy standing in a dark corner with a chainsaw (Jason? from Friday the 13th?). He scared me. The chainsaw was all loud and he really looked like he was just going to carve us the hell up for the fun of it. K freaked out and we darted down the last hall, back to the safety of the open auditorium from whence we came, breathing a sigh of relief, and feeling as if we had just successfully endured some torturous ordeal (symbolic initiation?).

After that we went to the mall. I just wanted to see if there were any little kids in their costumes roaming around. There was, and they were all very cute. Lots of pirates, princesses and fairies, and one very cool little stormtrooper.

There was this very pretty girl (wearing practically lingerie) who was flirting with me a bit at the register of a costume shop we went into, that is, until K decided to investigate. The girl quickly changed her demeanor. I had considered asking her if I could snap her photo, but I thought better of it and didn't. I wish I had before K noticed her, but whatever.

As we drove back to the house (after we sat in some massage chairs for what seemed like hours, and I bought a Marilyn Monroe calender with a gift card) I couldn't help but noticing all the very sexual/fetish costumes being worn by the young women trick-or-treating on the streets. French Maids, sexy Alices and Dorothy's with short skirts and knee-high stockings and fishnets... it seemed like if there was a girl older than around 16, she was dressed in (traditionally) fetish attire. Is this what Hallowe'en has been become? An excuse for young girls to express their inner lolitas?

Part of me wanted to look a bit longer, part of me was sad for them. It wasn't like that when I was that age, and I'm still in my 20's, so this must be a new development. Anyway, I tried to focus on the road I was driving on and not that woman walking into the liquor store in fishnet thigh-highs and the skirt that really didn't cover much of anything.

K stayed the night since she works near here. It was nice having her here to cuddle with as we slept after I finished some editing. We had a fun night. Tomorrow we're going to a costume party in San Diego. Yeah, we'll see how that goes.

Small Epiphanies (are all the rage)

I was struck by some kind of small epiphany tonight/this morning (~2am). Here is the crux of it:

Life is what it is. "Control" is the idea that one must act as a god in their personal world; dictating outcomes and consequences based on one's wishes and notions of that which is preferred. But, in reality, what is, is what is.

I have a choice to make. And it is profound, and may set the course for my view of reality (and, consequently, my place in it).

So, I decided to do laundry at 2am. I wanted to have my white tie cleaned and shiney in case I need it for tomorrow, Halloween. I went to the washer, and having bought a new bottle of bleach yesterday, it had a plastic cover over the lid that needed to be pulled off before I could pour the substance into the wash. I've been drinking vodka, so I'm not thinking too clearly, and I rip the plastic off the lid. In the process I spill/splash some of it onto my new black sweatpants (I get careless when I've been drinking).

Now there is orange spots on my new sweatpants. Fuck, (I think to myself) These are new! Son of a bitch! Then it occurs to me: the sequence of events that led to the bleached splotches was unavoidable, destined even.

So the choice is clear: 1. consider this a problem to be remidied (with black die or something) or 2. accept the inevitable, and live with it (maybe even be glad that Fate has blessed me with a real Choice).

Considering myself somewhat "aware" I realize that the choice could very well effect the rest of my life. Do I choose to see Fate as something maleable and subject to my whims/decisions, or is it something determined, and deserving of acceptance and even reverance?

Tentitively, I choose to see it/Her as something beyond my "control", something to be dealt with, understood, and (gasp) loved. While taking a piss, I decide to not attempt to "correct" the mistake of dropping bleach onto my new sweatpants. Fuck it, you know? If Mother wants my new pants to display the scars of drunken laundry, who the hell am I to argue? I know this flies in the face of all that is American and Masculine, but you know what? I don't give a shit. This is the way it is, and I think I need to start dealing with the fact that I am not in control of the events that effect my life. I would much rather be a co-creator with Life/Mother Nature/God than an adversary vying for control.

I need to remember this. I need to accept. Even if everyone who ever reads this sees this as an insignificant event in an insignificant life, fuck 'em. It is important to me. And when it comes down to it, what the fuck else really matters?