My Mutable Dream Body
© 2001 Linda
Lane Magallón
The lucid dreamscape is obviously mutable and that
fascinates me. But I didn't think to experiment with the flexible form of
my own dream body until the repeated comments from a couple of dream characters
suggested that possibility to me.
The Uniforms, 1/11/86
I become lucid crossing a street to walk up the sidewalk along the grass
in front of a multistory university building. Down the alley I see a couple
of professors talking to one another. I stride toward them with the intent
to speak with them but they finish their discussion and hurry away. Under
the eaves to the right are two more men. I turn and walk towards them. The
gray haired man is speaking as I approach.
Feeling the pressure of time (a lucid dream doesn't last long!), I interrupt
him and say, "Excuse me, but I need to talk to someone." Finally
he stops conversing. His younger brown-haired companion turns to look in
my direction. "It appears that this is a dream," I say. Yet, as
I gaze fixedly at the younger man, I realize that he's as clear and real
as anybody in waking life.
"A dream?" he retorts, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.
I know from past dreams that trying to convince him is an exercise in futility.
So I decide to take a different tact. "Have you ever known of anyone
who held the same viewpoint?" I ask.
"Well, yes," he replies, "The uniforms do."
"The uniforms?" I ask. I wonder if he's referring to people
who wear regimental clothing.
"Yes, the uniforms," reemphasizes a dark-haired Caucasian woman
who has appeared to his right. Suddenly I understand what they are talking
about.
"Oh, you mean uni-FORMS, shapes, people that retain the same outline."
What an interesting thoughtthey must be people who are so closely identified
with the earth ego that they don't realize they can shape-change in this
environment. At any rate, the woman seems to be inferring that I'm one of
the "uniforms," but she's a shape-changer. Oh, yeah? I think.
"So I can put my hand through your arm," I say and reach out,
grab her right arm with my left hand, and begin to pass my right hand through
her arm in a slicing motion.
"Ouch!" she yelps. My hand is stopped halfwayas though
my fingers have passed through the muscle but are being resisted by the
bone. Oh great!I thinkI'm going to be stuck in this woman's arm!
So I concentrate to complete the job, closing my eyes in the process. It
feels as though my hand goes through several layers and out the bottom.
When I open my eyes, the woman appears to be Black. I'm still holding onto
her arm.
"Now you try with my arm," I invite her. She hesitates. "Go
ahead, you can do it. It's just a belief."
"A belief?!" she exclaims with disbelief. |
The woman didn't take my suggestion that she experiment
with the malleability of my dream body. But that invitation remained open
to other dream characters.
Proud Out-Of-Body Traveler, 5/10/88
When the dream springs up, I find myself in a large living room. I converse
with the people around me. There's serious conversation but I perch myself
casually on the thick arm of one of the long sofas. I ask the young blonde-haired
girl seated next to me, "What year is this for you?"
"1984," she replies. "1984?!" I repeat, excited.
This means I can question her about the future because I'm from 1982...or
am I? I concentrate to remember. No, I'm not, I mentally correct myself.
"Oh, for me it's 1988," I say.
I get off the edge of the couch and go round the young woman to sit next
to and converse with an older, gray haired woman. She asks me some very
pointed questions, listening to my responses with a frown. Then I watch
her get up and go sit down with the women on the sofa at a 90° angle
to mine. She gives a report to them about me, with some men on the opposite
sofa listening too. After they discuss what I've said, a couple of women
state matter-of-factly that someone like me (from the outside) could be
an unsettling influence on their group.
At this, I exclaim to all within hearing distance, "I'm very proud
of being an out-of-body traveler!" After all, it takes a lot of concentration
on my part just to be here. I think I should be congratulated, instead of
criticized or constrained.
Convinced that talk will get me nowhere, I decide upon action instead.
I walk out to the middle of the adjoining room, which is as large as a convention
hall. A group of younger people gather round me as I begin to chat with
them. As with all the people in this dream, they are dressed in colorful
clothes (I remember lots of bright primary colors, especially purple, as
well as ornate brocades). I am trying to tell them that the imagery in this
place is unusually flexiblenot fixed like they all expect. To prove
my point, I impulsively perform a very vivid demonstration.
"Look," I say to a shorter, Black young woman. "I can
put my arm into you." I do, directly into her solar plexus. "Yikes!"
she responds, automatically pulling in her stomach. But I've moved so fast,
my fist is already inside her. With the speed of molasses, I continue pushing
my hand through her and out the other side. I can feel the layers of muscle
and bone as my hand and then arm go right through. I end up with my fist
out her backside so those behind can see.
"Hey," I hear an excited voice say behind me, "My shoulder
passes right through hers!" I turn slightly to my left and see out
of the corner of my eye the courageous young man who, following my lead,
has attempted this feat using me as the target. (Interestingly, I haven't
felt it much. It's certainly not painful, more like someone softly brushing
against me with a bunch of feathers.) His voice and the voices of his friends
rise in a ripple of amazement. Great! I turn back and withdraw my arm from
the young woman, who is none the worse for wear.
Now the young people really crowd around, peering directly at me and
making conversation. I especially recall the face of a young dark-haired
Caucasian man with glasses who looks like he's from the 50's. Suddenly,
I get an intuitive impression of just who these people might be. I turn
and walk with the young blonde-haired woman (who I met at the beginning
of the dream). "Are you dead?" I ask. "What's the last date
you remember?"
"September 25th," she replies. "What year?" I ask
again, but she doesn't respond because now she's walking so fast, she outdistances
me. Through one of several glass doors, all opened in a row she goes, along
with her companions. As if heeding some inner call, they're herding together,
pouring out of the convention center and across the street to a circular
structure. I follow for a ways but stop far behind, watching the group enter
the building which is on a slight hill. Off to my left, under an overhang
and by a concrete wall are two men dressed in guard uniforms. I walk over
to them. "Where are they all going?" I ask.
"We'd rather not tell you right now," one of the blonde haired
men replies. The other almost seems his twin, although I don't get a very
good look at him. Unusual for me, I don't start to argue or complain about
this delaying tactic. Instead, I ask, "Are there any guides or maps
for out-of-body travelers around here?"
"Yes," one of the two replies. "Could I have one, please?"
I request. They turn to look up the street toward the building. My gaze
follows theirs. I hear one of them call, so softly that it might be telepathy,
"Marilyn!" With that, a woman who has been hanging out on the
sidewalk starts my way. So do her two companions, a man and a woman. What
a comical twist: instead of guide booklets, they understood me to mean people
who are guides.
The man arrives first, dancing on either side of me, like a jester, in
clothes that keep changing. The other woman seems to have the same rather
irritating behavior. However, the woman who has been called comes directly
down the sidewalk. As she nears me, her appearance takes on that of a portly
woman with curly, mid-length blonde hair. Her garment is a robe brocaded
with ornate black designs. The white background to her robe pulses into
a brilliant glow which I know comes from within. "Wow," I exclaim.
Then, as if in response to my awe, her appearance immediately changes
into a darker-haired woman whose clothes seem made of sandy-colored burlap,
though there is still a square of colorful brocade on her chest. Amused
at this transformation, I respond, "Hey, that's pretty tricky!"
Together, we turn and go back up the hill. |
The penetration and reconstitution of the dream body wasn't yet obvious
to me. I got the closest view of those visual effects in this dream.
Hand Through Limbs, 9/15/89
I become lucid in a small living room occupied by two women: an older
gray haired one and one slightly younger. I get the feeling they're related
to each other. When I ask, "What's your name?" the youngest does
tell me hers. I respond, "My name's Linda Magallón." The
older woman nods and echoes, "Linda," about the same time I say
it, continuing, "I know."
Because I've had some trouble saying my name, the younger woman talks
about "clearing." I realize I have that old mush-in-my-mouth feeling
and reach in three times to remove it. The substance is blue in color and
has a gelatin appearance.
I wake and though I'm a little stiff, I direct myself back into dreaming
without changing my body position. I quickly get to the voices-in-the-dark
level of consciousness where I hear two children, a boy and a girl, arguing
with one another. "Hello," I think towards them, "Can you
hear me?"
The darkness shifts and a lucid dream scene springs up again. To my surprise,
I find myself standing on my hands, upside down, as if preparing to push
off and levitate. Across the room (seen upside down, of course) is a color
television showing Star Trek. I can hear Captain Kirk's voice.
I let myself down to the floor and turn around. There is no TV anywhere
and the room is dead quiet! Somehow, from this position, there's been a
change in my surroundings. The room looks smaller and bluer than before.
Since the two women (from the first dream) aren't around, I figure I must
be focused in a different level of consciousness. Without moving I try to
refocus to where they exist by remembering them via their feeling tones.
The scene blurs and springs up again bright and warm. I did it! I walk
out of the front room, towards the kitchen and encounter the younger woman.
Now what was her name? Jessica? Jezebel? Didn't it have a "Jerri"
in it? I consider asking her directly, "Now, what was your name?"
but decide against it. I finally remember that it's "Jerrica."
We walk to the hallway between living area and kitchen. I notice a roll-away
cart with a microwave oven, crockery and books piled on it. I ask Jerrica,
"What is this place?"
"It's like Columbus' cinnamon," I think I hear her say
"A cinnamon for Columbus?!" I repeat, grinning at the absurdity.
Then I realize she has a slight European accent which probably slurred the
word. "Oh, you mean synonym! I wonder what a synonym for Columbus would
be? Columbia?"
Jerrica doesn't respond, so I walk into the modern kitchen where the
older woman is working. Suddenly I get the inspiration to demonstrate my
degree of lucidity to the two women. "Look at what I can do to my astral
body!" I tell them.
As they gather round to see, I take my right hand and try to push it
directly through my left arm. The skin indents and then allows my hand to
go through. My fingers feel as if they are passing through different layers,
slightly different textures, but they don't encounter the resistance of
hard bone. As for my arm, there's not much more sensation than the pressure
I'd feel if I were to press my hand against the skin (in waking life). I
roll my arm over and observe my fingers exiting the other side of it. All
fingers save my second finger reemerge. It is bent over? I try to feel it
by wiggling my hand inside my arm. I notice that my index finger has a long,
sculpted fingernail, unlike my blunt nails of waking life. Also, the fingers
have a purple cast.
The older woman frowns as if thinking hard. "How many years have
you been doing that?" she asks me.
"How many years?" I reply, "I'm not sure. If I try to
concentrate, you know what happens to a dream!" In fact the energy
effort of conversing does cause the scene to mist, but fortunately I am
able to pull it back again.
Then I lift my left leg, reach down and pass my right hand into it just
above the calf muscle and below the bone. I notice with amusement that,
unlike physical life, my dream leg is hairy and has dark freckles. But it
is just as glaring white as in waking life. The older woman starts tapping
on the upper side of my leg. "Not the bone," I caution her, knowing
from past dream experience that it's harder to pass through bone than muscle.
When I withdraw my hand from my leg, I can see it takes a while for the
pucker to disappear. Also, there is a glistening of moisture as if it came
from the interior of the leg. |
Does anyone know a synonym for Columbus? :-) |