INK IN THE SKIN
If you can’t write your dreams, remember to live them. Then maybe someone can write them for you.
INK IN THE SKIN
If you can’t write your dreams, remember to live them. Then maybe someone can write them for you.
THE WRITER’S LIFE
Burning the midnight oil at both ends of the candle, in this life and the one before it, desperate to ignite some of the methylated spirit which is the ink in my veins, I turned again to 642 Things to Write About (San Francisco Writers’ Grotto). On an otherwise blank page, there’s a line at the top: ‘What did you dream about last night?’ Mine is one of thousands of copies of this empty ideas book, and my entry only one of many versions of events. Recurring dreams are just history repeating, in a surreal retelling of witness statements.
We don’t remember all of our dreams, although I probably recall more than most. I keep a notebook by the bed, so when I’m woken by a dream, I’ll write it down. I also have a rare and occasional ability to dream lucidly.
Lucid dreaming took me years of practice and I’m far from mastering the art, but when I manage to dream lucidly, it’s quite literally like exploring the cosmos. It’s a journey into the wider space of the unconscious mind. It’s essentially being aware that you’re dreaming within a dream.
Usually a dream will carry you along like a captive audience trapped in your own head. There are jumps and frights to guide the way to an exit, but otherwise you’re not in control. If you can be aware that you’re dreaming, you can interact within your dream and change it. It’s the difference between being in the audience and being the director on the set of your own scientific horror films.
To get yourself onstage, you need that initial awareness. You need to plant a seed. The way I did it was a bit like counting sheep to clear the mind, but by repeating to myself as I laid there, ‘Tonight I will be aware that I’m dreaming,’ or words to similar effect. I find it difficult to clear my mind, so sleep eludes me regularly, despite prescription tranquillisers. In a way, it helps with achieving lucidity, taking my waking thoughts with me as I slip into the other world.
It can take years of practice though, not least in suppressing your emotions so that you don’t wake yourself at the moment you realise you’re dreaming. That’s the opposite of being shocked awake by a nightmare. Conversely, sometimes you don’t realise you’ve achieved lucidity. Often the difference between awake and subconscious can be so subtle that you feel you’ve not slept at all.
You’re never aware of the moment you fall asleep, but you’re neither awake nor asleep in the dream. I learned to sleep like this when I was homeless.
It’s a different kind of consciousness. You’re exploring the subconscious mind, and that’s connected to the rest of the universe. How? Quantum entanglement: The simple idea that at the moment of the Big Bang, all matter was created from a point of almost infinite density. To do that, sub-atomic particles – many degrees of magnitude further from the smallest we can now detect – were ripped apart. 14.6 billion years later, each retains a link to its partner (they’re monogamous), and science has demonstrated that these connections operate over cosmic distances. We’re all in this together.
Essentially, each of us is connected to every single part of the universe at a sub-atomic level. And that’s how lucid dreaming works, as those wires which trail between galaxies get plugged into the universal power supply. The people you’re thinking of are far more likely to be looking up at the stars than those you’d rather forget. You’re more likely to bump into people you like when you dream. Better to sleep.
While you’re slumbering ethereally, you’re in a place of eternity and infinity; one where all knowledge is to be found. Count the sheep and follow the last one.
And that’s how I circle back to what I dreamed about last night.
Dreams are an exaggeration of reality, and the things you take with you become amplified.
While I drifted around in space the day before that which is now, I thought of how what could be my personal heaven might be someone else’s hell, if they fear a truth which might challenge their conditioning; and of how we’re all conditioned by modern terror.
Our rulers and governors would rather we didn’t dream. They made mind-expanding drugs illegal because they don’t want us to explore beyond this planet they’ve engineered; heaven and hell respectively, on either side of the great manufactured divide, pumped full of licensed drugs. The only psychedelic substances we’re allowed are the artificial ones made by big pharma companies, paying little tax in the havens governed by their shareholders. They fear what might happen if we were able to lay our hands freely on natural resources which might expand our minds beyond their blinkered vision, available for reading from the limited library of the right-wing press, or by borrowing someone from the human lending library of people most likely to give you unsolicited advice at a Wetherspoon’s fruit machine.
Like everyone’s dreams, mine are an exaggeration of reality. I have a feeling we really are in the midst of a third world war without realising we’ve been polarised, because it was engineered by a whole film crew of politicians, producing the living nightmare we see being played out around us.
Maybe I didn’t sleep after all, but I was there. All around the world, then and now. One person’s dreams are another’s nightmares. The only way to stop it is to switch it off.
This post was brought to you by the letter E, the number 37, and the writing prompt, ‘What did you dream about last night?’
A shrunken and dried-out mermaid (from “Fiji Mermaid” Photo © Russell Richards, from AmusingTheZillion blog)
MERMAID IN THE BATHROOM
Never tell a kid they’re being silly. My daughter told me this, adding that if I told her she was being silly, then it might be me who looked that way in the end. She was four at the time, and in a land which didn’t know tiredness.
My mum used to tell me I was “overtired” most weekends, when I was allowed to stay up later than on schooldays. I’d milk those extra couple of hours, hiding my yawns behind the hood of my dressing gown until I caught my second wind. When you’re gliding on that bonus bogus gust, you really don’t want to come down. But your wings aren’t your own; you’re someone else’s responsibility, and the strings aren’t those you use to puppeteer your parents, they’re kite strings. If only life were still so simple.
Back when the youngest was four, her older brother was seven, and they’d choose which story they’d like read to them before bed, usually the longest they could find on the contents page of an anthology. Eventually we ran out, so I started writing bedtime tales of my own, which gave me editorial control over the duration of any night’s literary theatre. Matinees were a different matter, because a story in the afternoon for one so young and adventurous would only be told when the explorer had been laid low by an injury, a cold or a pox.
The youngest used to call matinees ‘manatees’: sea cows, supposedly mistaken for mermaids by ancient mariners (probably high on rum). The little one was keen to point out the manatees’ accolade among the animal kingdom as the most spherical animal on earth (which they are).
Always hoping to be the harbinger of dreams, not nightmares, I’d write stories appropriate to the audience, but there’s no accounting for imagination, especially in a child with a wild mind.
After bedtime, my youngest one announced that she’d seen a manatee down the toilet and she couldn’t pee. Like any dismissive parent, I replied that she was just imagining it, if she needed a pee that badly, she’d go, I’d sort it out, and to go back to bed. She protested that the manatee needed rescuing.
When they get up and tell you there’s something troubling them, don’t dismiss them. That might be the only chance they’ve had that day to think about certain things, and if you’re the nearest person, they’re going to want to talk to you. However much it might sound like nonsense, there could be something in there (it’s like dream-interpretation without so much bullshit). Send them straight back to bed and whatever is on their mind will fester and mutate. Tell them they’re just being silly, and they’ll never confide in you again. There was a manatee in the toilet.
I remember teasing girls at primary school, telling them their reflection was a devil in the toilet water (I made one wet herself). I used to throw my sister’s things on the fire. I was fascinated by the flames and what they did, especially the way a doll’s face melted. I didn’t have an open fire like my parents, so I wondered if my eldest might have taken to flushing his sister’s toys down the lav.
I lifted the lid and only my own face looked back. I flushed myself away in any case, and we watched from an angle as nothing but bubbles came round the U-bend. “Someone’s breathing,” she said. I told her not to be silly. “You’re silly. You’ll see.” Then off to bed she packed.
Next to wake her was a monster in the cupboard. Again I guided her back to bed, but only after we’d inspected the wardrobe. Like most, it had clothes hanging in a line, like so many days of the week. I was asked to leave the stage door open, in case someone should wish to swish through my old suits, the curtains leading from Narnia.
There was only a ghost under the bed to deal with, then all was quiet for a couple of hours, so I decided to have some supper: not a pretentious name for dinner but the last meal of the day, this being a grilled haddock with some extra bits which look good on Instagram (I always take before and after shots, as the latter reminds the kids of cartoons: a fish skeleton with just the tail intact).
The night passed without incident, and fortunately my bladder roused me to flush the toilet again before anyone else got up and had nightmares. The fish tail went first time, a skeleton swimming in the sewer.
I was surprised at how calmly the kids told me there was a fish in the toilet the next day, as though this was an everyday event. In no particular hurry to get to the bathroom, I explained that I’d been silly the night before and flushed the remains of my supper. “But it’s moving,” the youngest said. The eldest lifted the lid, and all three of us peered over the rim into avocado cave.
There was indeed a tail, once belonging to a fish. And it was moving, as they’d said. I assumed it was the movement of the water in the bowl. I flushed the toilet, the water level rose almost to the brim, then quickly dropped, signing off with the kind of sucking noise you’d hear in an airliner toilet. The tail was still there as the water rose again around it, and it was still flapping. “Well, as long as it’s breathing,” I joked, and closed the lid. “I’ll chuck some bleach down.”
“You can’t do that.”
“You’ll kill it.”
“But it is a cartoon fish skeleton.”
“But it could be a mermaid.”
Nope. Let’s have me being the silly one for once. Let’s have me pulling this fish skeleton out, and posing with it like either Tom or Top Cat for them on their mobiles and social media.
I flushed once more before lifting the lid, only to have my hopes dashed when I did. The bowl was full and the tail was still poking out of the U-bend. It was still moving, but only slightly. “What’s obviously happened,” I said, “is it’s got stuck behind something else that’s blocking the toilet. Did either of you have a Sinead in the nigh?” (A ‘Sinead’ is our code for ‘before you go on stage, do you need a big poo?’). Neither had.
“It’s a mermaid,” the little one said, “and it’s drowning.”
“Don’t,” I paused, “rule it out.”
Like Ewan McGregor in a twisted version of The Little Mermaid, I thrust my hand down the toilet and tugged.
There was squelching and noxious bubbles, movement in my hand, then a sudden emptying of the Hoover dam as I lifted the fish tail out.
I used to write my kids bedtime stories and trust their imaginations not to have nightmares. I wouldn’t want to be in a child’s nightmare. That’s the kind of place where things can fester, like a fish tail in the toilet, actively refusing the liberation of the sewers.
In that world, the tail is indeed that of a mermaid. On first sight, it’s the tail of a fish swum into the body of a child’s doll: small, pink and wrinkled from sewage erosion, the arms contorted from entrapment in the drainage pipes. You’re about to pull the fish from the doll when the arms start to move. You imagine the crack of the skull on the porcelain toilet pan if you’re to put it out of its miserable life. Then it cries.
“It can’t breathe,” the little one says.
I’m not sure if what’s in kids’ imaginations is real, or if us dismissing it makes it real. “Can we keep it?”
So now I’ve got this puss-ridden thing, bloating about in an aquarium. It’s hardly a talking point, so it’s a feature in the airing cupboard, only coming out when the kids come to stay. Their mum wouldn’t let them have pets.
I sleep with the lights on, only in case that fucking thing gets out. Who looks stupid now?
© Steve Laker, 2018.
THE WRITER’S LIFE | DEAR DIARY
Have you ever bet something on a ball of paper going into a waste basket? Then when it doesn’t go in, made it best of three? Whether consciously or not, we all ask questions – rhetorical and specific – of whom? Who are we speaking to when we ask if a certain person likes us, or whether this too shall end? God? Ourselves? No-one? And sometimes we might notice little things, like a certain thing or person being in a particular place, something someone says on TV, or just a weird coincidence. Could those be the answers to our questions, or at least clues?
Image: Waking Times
Am I off my nut on weed? No, but cannabis does open the mind. It’s a medically proven fact: A cannabinoid is one of a class of diverse chemical compounds that acts on cannabinoid receptors in cells that alter neurotransmitter release in the brain. It was more imaginatively summed up in a recent Lifehacker post:
“Essentially, cannabinoids’ effect on our brains is to keep our neurons firing, magnifying our thoughts and perception and keeping us fixed on them (until another thought takes us on a different tangent). That’s why when you’re high, it’s really not a good time to drive, study for a test, or play sports that require coordination, like tennis or baseball. Like alcohol, caffeine, and sugar, cannabinoids also affect the levels of dopamine in our brain, often resulting in a sense of relaxation and euphoria.”
It’s a subjective thing, but for me it means that I can think much more deeply about things, and for longer, not just when I’m high, but as a regular user of cannabinoids. My own atheism is explained on this blog, most recently in my quasi-religious posts about quantum physics and lucidity. Together with the personal statement on my Typewriter page, these are the means by which I reconcile religion with science. Smoking weed has been helpful in allowing me to consolidate things in my mind, and take on a more spiritual view of life, the universe and everything. Living alone helps too.
So very often, I’ll sit and read, write, question and learn, for many hours. And sometimes, I’ll stare out of the window from my desk, or make a nest on the sofa and listen to some music, and I’ll think aloud (yes, I talk to myself. I live alone). My IQ and my knowledge will only get me so far, and I’m hungry for more, so I ask questions of my heart and my head. I balance my own needs with those of others, but I can’t help but follow a dream, however unscientific that may seem. And if I dream, if I put my mind out there, sometimes I get an answer.
Religious people might call it a message from God, but I believe the universe talks back. I believe there is something out there, and the best term I can think of, is it’s a force (not unlike that in Star Wars), which can be used. I’ve not started practising Voodoo yet, but it’s one of many belief systems based ultimately in spirituality. But I’m no more a spiritualist than I am a Christian: I’m an atheist and I believe in forces greater than us in the universe, which is perfect common sense really.
At an existential level, the universe (The Force, “God”…) can give us huge signs as a wake up call, whether individually or collectively. My personal non-religious epiphany came when I was quite literally in the gutter: Drunk and on the streets, with no-one and nothing. Many agencies conspired to get me better, including a great deal of work on my part, but it was something which made me reflect on things I didn’t understand. It’s obvious to me now, that if I’d been more attentive of the warnings in the first 42 years of my life, I might have avoided a breakdown. But with hindsight, I’m grateful it happened.
Nowadays I’m a writer. I’ve only had the courage to call myself that for almost two years, since I built a portfolio and a track record. But I’ve been writing full-time now for nearly four years, mainly fiction. My stories are imaginative, but I like to think that they’re plausible (they’re researched thoroughly), certainly in the sci-fi genre (where much of the research is scientific). A good story needs to be affecting but believable. As writers, we can’t rely too much on chance, even though wildly coincidental things do happen in the real world.
As someone who’s been accused of relying on coincidence in the past, Paul Auster no less, set out to demonstrate how strange coincidences happen in real life, by asking National Public Radio’s Weekend All Things Considered listeners to submit their own stories. And lots of people had tales to tell, with over 4000 submissions to Auster’s request. My personal favourite was this one, from Linda Elegant in Portland, Oregon:
As I was walking down Station Street early one Sunday morning, I saw a chicken a few yards ahead of me. I was walking faster than the chicken, so I gradually caught up. By the time we approached Eighteenth Avenue, I was close behind. The chicken turned south on Eighteenth. At the fourth house along, it turned in at the walk, hopped up the front steps, and rapped sharply on the metal storm door with its beak. After a moment, the door opened and the chicken went in.
Weird things really do happen, and not just in America. And not many in my fiction writing, but those odd signs and coincidences are there in my real life, like they are in everyone’s, but often unseen or dismissed.
Through learning and practising, I am able to dream lucidly. Essentially, when I’m asleep, I’m aware of being in a dream, and I can interact with whatever that contains. My dreams are still surreal, but I’ve learned how to recognise when I’m actually in them.
Dreams, or the dream scape, are visions of the universe, much of which we don’t understand yet. One day, perhaps we will. For now, dreams are a representation, some of which we understand. That’s what surreal is: Not quite real, but comprehensible. Only with further thought and learning do those things become easier to accept. As Ted Arroway said to Ellie, near the end of Carl Sagan’s Contact, “We thought this might make things easier for you.”
Much has been written (by others) of dream meanings and interpretations. As far as I’m concerned, that’s as subjective as the dreams themselves, and people’s personal interpretations are therefore what they make of their own dreams. But I also believe that three people live within each of us: the person we think we are, the person others think we are, and who we really are. I treat my own dreams as a combination of the three.
There are no great messages or revelations in my dreams, but they fuel my active mind. Others may recommend keeping a dream diary. All of my thoughts (both wakeful and dreamed, as the two become virtually indistinguishable sometimes in lucidity) are in notebooks, my short stories, my novels, and on this blog. This is my universe as I see it. If I can get all of that, just by keeping an open mind and dreaming, it gives you an idea of how much is out there. Again, none of my dreams contain neon signs, but now that I look back over four years of writing, I can see that I’ve been somehow guided.
Dead people do exist in the dream scape, but they’re not always the cast of a nightmare. I’ve written before of how quantum physics allows ghosts to exist, and I wrote a story – Cardboard sky – about exactly that. People in dreams are real people, alive or dead, who are able to be there: The living who imagine and dream, and the dead who now live in a different physical form. Dreams are our way to meet them, out in the universe, where they now live. Lucidity in dreaming took me months to achieve, but it’s ultimately easiest to get there (eventually) by repeating, before sleep:
“Tonight I will receive and remember the messages of the dream world.”
Look out for synchronicity, those strange little coincidences. A call from someone you were thinking of; suddenly seeing something which suggests a third way, when we’d already considered two competing ones; a book falling open, a snippet of information, a number popping up. These are coincidences, but we know that those are common outside the realms of fiction. They seem more common than they actually are, because coincidences are more memorable than anything less subtle. It’s the way of the force, to guide us gently. So conversely, when things are a bit shit, that’s because we didn’t notice the more subtle signs. I’m living proof of this. Now I’ve learned to not live blindly thrashing around, but with a greater awareness of all around me. I opened my eyes and my mind.
There are those who believe that physical health can be improved with spiritual healing. Not being a practitioner of anything particularly physically strenuous, I’m not qualified to have an opinion. But what I do know, is that my mental well-being has improved over the last four years. Now with a permanent base, I feel secure enough to question my mind, rather than fear it. My depression and anxiety are chronic, and I have medication to help, but my questioning and exploring mind keeps the dark dog to heel most of the time.
By questioning and examining even the small things, I can play devil’s advocate with myself. If I have any kind of internal or external conflict, I’ll always try to understand my opposer’s point of view, so that I might better understand it. I much prefer debate to argument, because the latter always breaks down by definition, never leading to a solution. If you try to see things from another perspective (how others see you), that viewpoint becomes easier to understand. And it can be applied to bad things happening too, and how those could just be one of many subtle signs from the universe. To use an example:
Some unspecified time ago (many, in fact), I was involved in a relationship. For whatever reason, that partnership ended. In one particular case, I was very deeply affected. Essentially, I’d lost a life, and I was trying to hang on to it. I treasured a particular bracelet: Just a cheap, leather strap, but it had an emotional connection. So when that bracelet was stolen, I was distraught. I’d lost my one and only link to a person who’d been a part of my life. I was upset, and I was angry, at whomever had taken it from me. But then I realised there was no point. With that last connection gone, so was she. And the thief was the one who’d facilitated that. That was a whole different way to look at it. And just like my breakdown, as time went on, I realised it was for the best. And like my breakdown, it was of my own making. But unlike that, it’s as though I had a guide. Some would say, a guardian angel. From an atheist point of view, given the science behind my own atheism, angels do exist. Like the ancient gods and aliens of theorists, angels in religious texts are one scribe’s interpretation of a witness statement, or of their own vision. So mine are of my own dreams and imaginings.
Problems and delays can often be overcome if you think differently. Where there are two obvious but conflicting routes, there is often a third, less obvious one. If you’re stuck somewhere, use the time to think. As I myself once said: “Imagine you’re in a room, with no visible means of exit: how do you get out? You could stop imagining. Or you could use your imagination.” If I’m ever delayed by trains, unable to leave a train station, I’ll find somewhere to sit and write.
If you pay attention to things around you, it will inevitably lead to further discovery. Something you see while you’re out and about in the world, something on TV, in a book, or in a newspaper: Look it up and learn more about it. This works especially well for me when I’m adding to my film collection. If I like a film’s direction, production, camera work, costumes, or whatever, I’ll make a note of the crew credits and look up more of that person’s work. If I watch a documentary, I’ll often look into a subject further, inevitably leading me into a day-long Wikipedia session. And from all that learning, sometimes a question will pop up in conversation that I’m able to give a qualified answer to. It’s nice to be informed. Another recent personal example, from nature:
One of the many avian visitors to the flat roof outside my studio, is a wagtail. The window in front of my desk looks out on the flat roof, so I see the little chap quite a lot. So I decided to learn more about him. He wasn’t pissing me off, but I wanted to know more, and as well as wagtails’ characteristics and taxonomy, I looked into their spiritual meanings (because I was writing):
“Seeing a Wagtail is a reminder to stay cheerful. It is a healthy practice to make ourselves feel light and happy. Being cheerful and gregarious to others will earn us the same treatment which in turn makes our lives happy and worth living.”
I live a life of discovery and exploration, not of conflict and blinkered belief. Whether you’re awake or dreaming, smoking weed or not, the universe is out there.
My books are available on Amazon.
A place where books and imaginations spring into life
never learns ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Making People Cool and Author
A website about ‘all things nice!’
Пленэр 2020 - проект Алексея Марковича (писатель, художник)
Thoughts, Stories, Poems
The Power of Story
Lydia Rae Bush Poetry
Spiritual isn't non-physical, it's an elevation of the physical
thoughts about the atheist perspective
Live, like the moment belongs to you
A Self Love Journey 💕
Pieces of my soul in words
Something for Everyone...from Poems, to TV/Movie Reviews, DIY Furniture, Artwork, Memories, and More. Lets go on this Art Literary journey together! 🤞🏾🖤
Come let's fall in love with reality through words.
Welcome to the Emporium! My name is Zozie Brown and I'm the proprietor of this establishment. I'm also a writer and illustrator with a love for all things whimsical.
No matter what you have been through, you can feel better again
Psychic Will - Get free Accurate psychic predictions Online
Thoughts that provoke yours. (Season II coming in Dec 2019)
Made on Mars.
Short stories, writing advice, book reviews, opinion, PhD patter
blogging, and reblogging
By Dan Sims
Poetry, free verse, haiku, senryu, photography, books, art, philosophy , nature, literature.
Poetry, Parenting and Mental Health, From A Stay At Home Dad
caustic words and primitive art
Beautiful & Damned!
My musings about everything from entertainment to life!
The Mystery, Motivation and Mastery of Life
We are at war. Life is a battle. Every day we fight for joy, peace… love. This is correspondence from the front line.
True wealth is the wealth of the soul
Marking my words on Life, Music, Chess & Creation by Simon Edward Jepps
Theater performance. Author, director: Alex Markovich. firstname.lastname@example.org
Creating art, poetry, and fiction.
Andie's author blog
Rhymes and Reasons
Just another WordPress.com weblog