Anyone who can interpret this one is more than welcome.
What follows is a description of my experiences as a lucid dreamer.
(Note that my understanding of the term lucid dreamer is: one who is aware that they are dreaming while doing so.)
I had the same lucid dream repeatedly, beginning at about age 15 and ending at about age 48. The dream expanded in both length and territory as time went on and I grew older. For clarity, I am presenting the dream in sections, in chronological order as the different areas appeared.
Section 1: The Dream Times Square. I began to have this part of the dream at age 15, and until I turned 18 this was the only part of the dream that there was.
The dream always begins the same way. I am riding on a regular New York City Transit bus. Sometimes it is the B-9 bus, sometimes the B-6. Both of these pass within a few blocks of my home, and actually intersect nearby. There is another place in Brooklyn, about a mile and a half from my home, where the two routes come within four blocks of each other. This area in the real world was replaced, in my lucid dreams, by my dream world.
My reflection in the bus window always shows me at the same age I am in the real world at the time when I have the dream. Regardless of which bus I am on, I always get off at that place where the bus lines are four blocks apart. I walk to the street which runs directly from one to the other. Instead of the street which is there in the real world, when I turn the corner I enter my dream version of Times Square.
In my Dream Times Square, there is one street, four blocks long, and with four lanes going in each direction. Each of these blocks is occupied by two or three large buildings. Each building is a skyscraper, stretching upward beyond vision. Rather than appearing to taper due to perspective, these skyscrapers seem to remain the same width from bottom to top, while the alleys between them taper away to nothing in the far distance upward. The Buildings are all either red brick or gray stone.
Every building has a movie theater and one or two bookstores occupying its ground floor. None of the buildings seems to have any lobby, or any other entrances than those of the theaters and bookstores.
The marquees and poster displays of each theater advertise a different double or triple feature. All the films are movies that have never been made in the real world, but which I wished had been made. When I enter the theaters they are always beautiful, spacious, cool and clean. The movies' soundtracks are always playing in the theater lobby and concession area. The movie is always just starting when I take my seat. I remember being very satisfied with the films when I leave the theater, but I can never remember any details of the movies I saw; not even the titles.
The bookstores all have different books and magazines for sale. Each bookstore is playing a different kind of mellow, soothing music, of a kind conducive to contemplation. All the books and magazines never existed in the real world, but are ones which I wished someone would write and publish. I never read more than a few words of any book or magazine, but I always like what I read and buy some to take home. Sometimes, when I awaken, I remember a few images from the magazines, but never much detail, and never any of the words, nor anything of the books beyond a vague image of the cover illustration.
This section of the dream seems to exist in an eternal early afternoon. It always seems to be early afternoon of a mild day in late spring when I get off the bus. It is this abrupt transition to a different time of day and a different time of year which makes me aware that I am dreaming. I see several movies and seem to spend hours browsing in the bookstores. It is always still early afternoon of a mild day in late spring when I get on the other bus to return home. The bus rides, however, seem to take place at whatever time of year it is in the real world, and at various times of day or night. There is a seamless, instant transition to or from the early afternoon of a mild day in late spring at the moment when I get off or on the bus. When I say get on the other bus to return home, I refer to the fact that if I arrived in the Dream Times Square via the B-9 bus I always leave on the B-6 and vice versa.
Perhaps the oddest aspect of the dream is that there are no other people present. There is never any traffic on the big street. There are no people on the sidewalks, in the theaters, or in the bookstores.
There are no sounds anywhere except for the soundtracks of the movies while they are on, the music tracks of the movies playing in the theater lobbies, and the background music in the bookstores. There are no sounds of any kind when I am out on the street, not even my own footsteps. I never attempt to speak, sing, or make any other noise to break this silence while I am in Dream Times Square. It is not that I am afraid to, or even that I choose not to. It simply does not occur to me to do so.
When I enter a theater, I walk up to the box office and put money down. Nothing ever happens till I look away. When I do, when I look back the money I put down has been replaced by a ticket and change. Paying for purchases at the concession stands in the theaters or in the bookstores works the same way. Both buses have normal drivers and a variety of other riders, and a normal background of the sights and sounds of the city streets and the conversations of the other bus riders. There is never anyone in my Dream Times Square except me.
Section 2: The Dream Greenwich Village. I began to have this part of the dream shortly after age 18, and until I turned 24 these were the only parts of the dream that existed
One night, while having my usual dream of the Dream Times Square, instead of going to a bus stop and getting on a bus to go home, for the first time I turned down one of the three side streets opening off of the main street. The moment I passed the line of the building fronts on the main street of the Dream Times Square I was in a completely different environment.
Instead of early afternoon of a mild spring day, I was now in the late evening of a relatively moderate night in mid winter. The temperature was just around the freezing mark. I was suddenly dressed appropriately for this weather, although a moment ago I was dressed for late spring. There was no snow on the ground, but a layer of snow a few inches thick covered the rooftops, stoops, fire alarm stands, phone kiosks and mailboxes.
The architecture of all the buildings was the kind seen on the television cartoon show “The Flintstones”. The streets turned and twisted unpredictably. Some streets ran into tunnels to pass under other streets. Some rose onto flyovers to pass over another street. Some streets forked in the middle of a block. There were places where two streets merged into one. Sometimes the same pair of streets would intersect repeatedly as they meandered to and fro.
No building was more than eight stories high. Each building seemed to be carved from a single huge boulder. All the roofs were curved and the edges and corners were all rounded. The doorways and window frames were all round on top. Every building had residences on the upper floors. The ground floors, and in most cases the basements as well were commercial spaces. Some of the second floor spaces were also commercial. These commercial spaces held the same mix of restaurants, nightclubs, jazz clubs, rock clubs, folk clubs, general utility stores and quaint craft shops as were to be found in the real Greenwich Village in the 60’s. These establishments were all far more exotic and far more interesting than those in the real world.
The shops had leatherwork, woodwork, garments, musical instruments, jewelry, sculpture in clay and stone, ceramics, drawings and paintings, macramé, beadwork, blown glass, mosaics, collages, metalwork, candles, incense, fragrances and essences, herbal medicines, poetry and calligraphy. All were handmade, homemade pieces. All were being sold by the original craftsperson or a collective/commune to which that person belonged.
The quality of all these wares was higher than anything ever seen in the real world. Among the items for sale, I recognized some illustrations I had drawn, some poems I had written, and some calligraphy I had done. All of my works had somehow been improved to a point that made them worthy to share display space with the other exquisite works available. The prices of all the items were amazingly low, especially for the superlative quality offered. The price tags next to all my items were covered by little stickers with the word “sold” on them.
On some visits to this section of the dream I would only window shop, on other visits I would enter the shops and purchase things. I always seemed to have plenty of cash to buy whatever I wanted. Sometimes I would shop before visiting a restaurant or club, sometimes after. On some visits I would shop and then leave, back to the Dream Times Square and then home.
On some visits I would pass quickly through the Dream Times Square and linger in the Dream Greenwich Village, then return to the Dream Times Square for my usual activities there. Other times I would linger in the Dream Times Square first, then spend time in the Dream Greenwich Village before passing quickly through the Dream Times Square on my way to the bus.
In the Dream Greenwich Village restaurants, there was a wider variety available than even in the real Village. Every kind of ethnic and regional cuisine imaginable could be found. The aromas wafting from every kitchen were wonderful. On every visit I ate at either a restaurant or a club. Every dish was fresh, delicious, and served superbly.
The clubs had every genre of music that existed in the real world at the time, including some that were never found performed live in clubs in those days. There were also comedy clubs and combined music/comedy shows. Whenever I entered a club and ordered food and/or drink, my order would arrive just before the show began.
One big difference between the Dream Times Square and Greenwich Village was that in the Dream Greenwich Village there were street sounds. The normal sounds of a weekend evening in the Village were always present. There was vehicle traffic on the streets. Even though the streets and buildings were “Flintstones”, the vehicles were all modern. There were no convertibles. The faces of the drivers and passengers were always hidden by fogged windows, or tinted or mirrored windows. There were never any people visible on the streets, even though the sounds of a crowded, busy street scene were always there.
There was never anyone in any of the shops or restaurants, neither patrons nor employees. All transactions took place the same way they did in the Dream Times Square. In restaurants, the menu would appear on my table while I was looking elsewhere or distracted. The prices were all amazingly low. When I had decided what to order and put the menu down, the menu would disappear the same way. In similar fashion, each drink or dish would appear in its turn, and vanish the same way when I was finished with it.
There would always be just as much as I wanted of each drink and dish, no more and no less. No matter how much I ate and drank, I would never feel full until I finished the last item. I would never become drunken, or even slightly buzzed. The sounds, muted, of employees interacting with each other and with customers were always there in the shops and restaurants, but never any visible person.
In the clubs, the only people visible would be the performers. There would always be a strong impression of lovely women and handsome men, but never a clear view of anyone. I would never see or remember any details of the appearance of any performer. All the music and singing was always perfect, virtuoso quality. The jokes were always hilarious, but I could never remember any of them upon awakening. The decor in all the clubs would be appropriate to the kind of entertainment offered. The same was true of the shops and restaurants. It was always tasteful decor. The styles would range from generic unobtrusive to quietly outrageous, but always eye pleasing.
Just as it always seemed to be between 1 and 3 PM in the Dream Times Square, so it always seemed to be between 9 and 11 PM in the Dream Greenwich Village, no matter how long I spent there. Each time I returned to the Times Square section of the dream, it would be afternoon again. When I got on a bus to go home, it would be whatever time of day and time of year it had been when I was on the first bus going to my Dream Times Square. At some point during the bus ride home, the dream would always end. Just as it was always late spring in the Dream Times Square, so it was always mid winter in the Dream Greenwich Village.
Incidentally, it never mattered which Times Square side street I turned onto; I would always emerge in the same place in the Village. When returning, I would turn a corner in the Village and find myself coming out of the same side street in the Square I had last gone into.
Section 3: The Dream Seacliff Town. This section of my dream world appeared shortly after my 24th birthday. Until I turned 30, these three sections remained all there were.
One dream night, after I had spent some time in the Times Square and Greenwich Village sections of my dream world, instead of turning back to the Times Square to head for the bus and go home, I turned onto a street that was visibly different from all the others in the Greenwich Village section. This one street had a normal, modern gutter and sidewalks instead of the rough-hewn “Flintstones” look of the other streets in the Dream Greenwich Village.
I walked along this different street, and as I passed the end of a block it developed an upward slope, and suddenly I was no longer in the Dream Greenwich Village. I was now in a small town on the top of a sea cliff. The streets were neat and clean. There was the usual mixture of shops, residences, eating and drinking establishments and other amenities one would expect of a resort town. There were many bistros and sidewalk cafes.
The signs of the commercial establishments were mostly bilingual, but with different languages. Some were in English only, but most had English as a second language under a different primary language. Some of the signs had French as primary language, and some had Spanish. A few had Italian and a few had Portuguese. A small number had Greek, Dutch, Welsh, Celtic or Gaelic. A very small number had Romanian, Ukrainian, Danish, Swedish or Norse. I surmise that this section of my dream world was an amalgam of the many sea cliff resort towns I had learned about over the years. These included French and Spanish towns on the Riviera and the Bay of Biscay, Italian towns on the Tyrhennian and Adriatic Seas, Portuguese towns on the Atlantic, British towns on the Channel, Welsh towns on the Irish Sea, Irish and Scottish towns on the Atlantic and the North Sea, Norse and Danish Towns on the North Sea, Danish and Swedish towns on the Baltic, Romanian and Ukrainian towns on the Black Sea, and Greek towns on the Aegean.
The Dream Sea Cliff Town had about a dozen long streets running more or less parallel to the cliff edge. The cliff looked southward and down on the open ocean, with no beach or harbor visible. There were large villas in groups at the east and west ends of town. Two or three villas at each end had private trails down the cliff to private docks where Yachts were tied up. There were also three or four (it varied) public trails down the cliffs to docks where charter yachts were available. Some yachts were powercraft and some were sail craft.
The Town seemed to be about 4 miles long and to extend inland from the cliff about a mile and a half. There were about 80 streets running perpendicular to the long streets that paralleled the cliff. These all began at the cliffside main street and trended down hill as they ran north away from the cliff, crossing the other 11 long streets as they went.
The main street, nearest the cliff, curved closer to and farther from the edge as it ran. It ran right up to the edge with only a sidewalk and a protective brick fence between the road and the edge for about half its’ length. The other half of that street curved away from the edge, and a row of buildings occupied the space between the road and the edge in these areas.
Some of the buildings were upper class residences, two were hotels. Several were restaurants, bars, bistros or cafes. In some places the buildings seemed tightly squeezed between street and cliff. In others, there was room for a deck or terrace between the building and the edge. In a few cases there was even room for a lawn or sidewalk cafe in front of the building as well as a terrace or cliff edge garden in back.
Every building in town was lovely, with many quaint architectural flourishes. The shops all sold wares of high quality and great variety. Some catered to the tourist trade, while some seemed to cater to the town’s residents. This was also true of the wide variety of eating and drinking establishments.
The businesses with English only signs offered goods or food and drink from Britain. Those with bilingual signs offered the products or cuisine of the nation represented by the other language on the sign. The food and drink offered in the Dream Sea Cliff Town was even better than what I could get in the Dream Greenwich Village.
It was as if the Greenwich Village places offered the various cuisines toned down for the palate of the American tourist, while those in the Dream Sea Cliff Town offered the real thing. Everything served was delicious, served in exactly the right quantity, and priced very cheaply. The non-food goods for sale were also very cheap, especially considering the high quality of everything.
In the Dream Sea Cliff Town the time of day was always between 7 and 10 AM. It was always a hot day in late summer, with a pleasant breeze off the sea and intermittent clouds offering breaks in the bright sunlight.
I always entered the Dream Sea Cliff Town from the Dream Greenwich Village, never from the Dream Times Square, and always left that way as well. As with the transition between the two earlier sections of my dream world, when I entered the Dream Sea Cliff Town my clothing would change from what was appropriate to New York City in mid winter to what would be appropriate for a sea cliff town in Europe in late summer. The climate seemed to be an average of the climates of towns in the various countries mentioned above.
The biggest difference was that in the Dream Sea Cliff Town there were always other people around, although I could never recall any faces when I awoke. There was traffic of vintage and modern vehicles in the streets, but rather sparse, and always with open windows or convertible tops down unless it was raining. Rain happened occasionally, sometimes quite hard, but never chill or unpleasant.
I would have normal conversations with the staffs of the shops and food and drink places, and with fellow diners or passerby on the street. The natives seemed to know me and to treat me as one of them from the very first time I visited.
I always seemed to spend much more time here than in the earlier sections, sometimes days. I seemed to have permanent lodgings in both of the cliffside hotels. Sometimes I would sleep for a while in one or the other, and then re-emerge to while away more time. I was never in any hurry to get any where or do any thing in particular in the Dream Sea Cliff Town.
I would buy books and read them at cafe tables. I would sit and gaze out over the ocean while sipping coffee, tea, or iced drinks. I would have leisurely meals in various places. I would set up my art materials on a table and sketch or ink pictures or illustrations. I would converse with people at other tables or with the staffs of the places. Sometimes another person would sit at my table for a while. I would occasionally go down one of the trails and charter a boat and go for a cruise, either alone or with others. Once in a while I would be invited to one of the villas at the ends of town, and sometimes out on one of the yachts. I would often just sit at a window or open air table and watch the pretty, scantily clad boys and girls (late teens to early thirties) pass by, appreciating their always exquisite physical beauty.
I could never remember faces upon awakening. I could never remember the substance of the books I read or the conversations I had, nor the names of the natives of the town who had apparently become my close friends.
Eventually, I would always get the feeling that it was time to leave. Then I would always pass through the Dream Greenwich Village and the Dream Times Square and get on a bus home, and the dream would end there. I found that I could enter the Dream Sea Cliff Town from anywhere in the Dream Greenwich Village by looking for the different, uphill street. I would always emerge in the Dream Sea Cliff Town at the downhill (northern) end of the centermost of the short, north-south streets. When I left the Dream Sea Cliff Town, I could simply head down hill on any street, looking for the Dream Greenwich Village, and within minutes be there.
Section 4: The Dream Coney Island. This section of my dream world appeared shortly after my 30th birthday. Until I turned 35, these four sections remained all there were.
During one of my visits to the Dream Seacliff Town, I walked along the cliffedge road all the way past the end of town to the West, and suddenly found myself on the Coney Island boardwalk, overlooking the beach and the Atlantic. It was the late afternoon of a bright, warm day in early autumn (it would always be late afternoon of a bright, hot day in early autumn in the Dream Coney Island) and the clothes I had been wearing in the dream Seacliff Town were still appropriate.
Everything was clean and bright in a way never seen in the real Coney Island. All the roller coasters and other rides were open and ready to go. All the amusement arcades were open and waiting and clean and ready. All the foodstands were filled with fresh, tasty looking foods and wafted enticing aromas into the air.
As in the Dream Times Square and the Dream Greenwich Village, there was never anyone but me in the Dream Coney Island. I would wander the streets, the boardwalk and the beach. I would swim in the ocean and go on the rides, which would always start as soon as I was ready. If I grew hungry or thirsty, as soon as I decided what I wanted, it would appear on a part of the counter I was not looking at, and I would walk away with it.
Most of the amusement arcades were filled with the same games to be found in the real Coney Island, and were of no interest to me, but one was different. I seemed to be drawn to this one arcade, with a very low ceiling, deep under the big roller coaster called the thunderbolt.
This arcade was different from the others in several ways. The lighting was dimmer than the others, the paint less new and bright. The smells from its’ food concession were funkier and more real-worldly. The important difference was the games.
In one section, all the games were antiques, from the days of my earliest childhood or even before. Some were even mechanical rather than electrical, requiring hand cranking to work. All these antiques were in perfect working order, and had the most wonderful bells and whistles and moving figurines and such. Some reflected societal attitudes of the past as well.
In another section, all the games were from the future, using technology out of science fiction. They were all arcade games I had from time to time imagined but which had never actually existed. Some were interactive in amazing ways, as if fully independent intelligences in their own right. These were the greatest games to play.
The Dream Coney Island was different from all the earlier sections in one other fundamental way; I never had to pay for anything. If I ate or drank, I just picked up the item and walked away. If I wanted to go on a ride, I just climbed in and buckled up and the ride would start. If I wanted to ride again, I just stayed on board and it would start off again. If I wanted to play a game, It always had credits up, ready to play by just pressing a button.
There was a juke box in this special arcade, and every song in it was one of my favorites. The juke box also always had credits on it, ready to play.
Another important difference was that in the Dream Coney Island, while the tastes of the foods and drinks were always satisfying, they never filled me up. While I never felt really hungry or thirsty, I always felt as if there was plenty of room if I wanted to enjoy the taste of something else, no matter how much I had just eaten or drunk..
Whenever the time came that I had had enough of the Dream Coney Island, I would go back through the three earlier dream sections, in order. As always, the dream would end with getting on a bus back to the real world.
Section 5: The Dream Red Light District. This section of my dream world appeared shortly after my 35th birthday. This was the last new section of my dream world to appear. Until I turned 48, at which time this dream world vanished abruptly, never yet to reappear (at this writing I am 56 years of age), these five sections constituted the full extent of this dream world.
One afternoon in the Dream Coney Island, I exited the special games arcade via the rear exit, instead of returning to the street in front. I found myself in the Dream Red Light District. In this section of the dream world, it was always twilight of a sweltering day in high summer, and seemed to be in a former industrial neighborhood of the West Side of Manhattan. When I arrived it would always be evening twilight, but once I stepped into any building, when I came out it would always be morning twilight. My clothes would again change to be appropriate for the weather.
The streets were all very wide, as if designed for heavy commercial traffic. The buildings were all either factories, warehouses or lofts which had been converted to other uses. Except for a scatter of cheap food stands and sleazy bars, every business was sex related. There were pickup bars, hooker bars, topless bars, gogo bars, nudie bars, hooker hotels, swing clubs, and outright brothels in all directions. There were theatres showing pornographic movies or erotic live shows. There were peepshow and peepalive emporiums.
All the people who lived and worked in the Dream Red Light District seemed to recognize me on sight. I was apparently well known as the most effective and respected bouncer and security chief in the districts’ history, having worked for several of the best establishments in the district at various times in the past. When I went to the Dream Red Light District, there was never anyone out on the streets, because it was too early for the customers to show up. The doorguards and barkers at the various businesses would greet me by name as I passed by. If I chose to enter any place, I was always treated as a visiting friend, never as a customer.
I never went to the Dream Red Light District to buy sex. I went there to sit and have long conversations with the pretty, fragile, emotionally hurt boys and girls who worked there. In these conversations we would share our respective emotional pain, and verbally comfort each other. The people and conversations there would, as with the other sections, never remain in my memory when I woke up.
These conversations would sometimes be one to one, but often involved a group of the workers in the particular establishment. The management never seemed to mind that I was there, or taking up the workers time and attention. In the course of time, customers would come in and take the person or one of the people I was speaking with away for a while, but they would always return later and continue the conversation.
Given the nature of the work these people all did, and intimate nature of the conversations, from time to time one or another of the women would offer physical comfort, for mutual solace, with no money to change hands. Most often, I would gently and politely decline these offers, but if it was from a woman in my own age group, with a certain level of emotional maturity, and if I were feeling particularly needy due to events in my real world life, I would accept, and the ensuing intimacies would always seem to attain a perfection of mutual pleasure, comfort, satisfaction and relaxation never approached in the real world.
On such occasions, the woman would check out of work for the rest of the night, we would engage a room for the night, and spend the night together, going somewhere for breakfast in the morning before kissing goodbye and parting. Regardless of weather I passed the time in conversation (about 29 times out of 30) or exchanged orgasms with a woman, when I left the Dream Red Light District it would always be morning twilight, just as it was always evening twilight when I entered.
Getting to the Dream Red Light District always involved the bus ride and passing through the four earlier sections of the dream world. Returning always involved the same route in reverse, and the other bus. Sometime about halfway between my 48th and 49th birthday, the dreamworld vanished from my dreams, and I haven’t been back since.
Update; as of last month( that was August of 2006), these dreams were back after an abscence of about 9 years, with all sections present. Go figure.
Anyone have an interpretation?
That false image remains stuck in my head. It automatically pops into my mind's eye whenever I hear the word "hurricane."
