That day after we went to Butt Chart Gardens, we went to the 14 Carrot Café for huevos rancheros, a tradition now two years old, and then Lisa and David went off to attend to some pre-workweek tasks, while I went for a stroll.I started by walking all the way downtown to visit my favorite building, Two Union Square, and then I generally toured downtown and visited the public library, which is in a very unique building and well worth seeing. I obtained a small gift for David, whose birthday is coming up soon, and a card and a bunch of sunflowers from Pike’s Place Market, and then I walked to their place for a delicious dinner made by Lisa and the viewing of another DVD, plus this thing was said by David, calling to Lisa in another room: “Lisa, Linda scarfed down all our lemon drops,” which I thought was very funny (not to mention true).They escorted me back to my hotel and in the morning I walked back to the bus stop, where I met a deranged man who was spectacularly good-looking except for his teeth. He had beautiful brown eyes and a nice mouth and buttery smooth tanned skin. (Unfortunately, I didn’t get a photo.) He told me every detail of his bank account, how much was added on what occasion and how much was later subtracted, and to the penny what he believed the balance to be. He said that if there was any trouble with his health benefits, he was going to refuse to stay in Seattle; so there.
If you want my opinion, I think he should get his teeth fixed, get some nice clothes, try not to talk too much about his bank account, find a rich girlfriend and live in luxury. He was utterly gorgeous.
Well, it wasn't exactly this plane, but mighty similar.
Scene: I’m in a car with David C. He’s in the driver’s seat, wearing a nice button-down shirt, looking at a map.Scene: For some reason, I’m in the international terminal at the San Francisco airport. Oddly, the sound of distorted electric guitar is reverberating through the huge space.Scene: I’m with a lead-footed ex-wrestler from Uzbekistan who speaks four languages and claims to live on Treasure Island. He tells me his name means “dream” or “wish.” We drive all over San Francisco, always screeching to a halt five feet past the stop signs: we’re near San Francisco State University, we’re at the beach, we’re on Geary St., we’re on a twisting little lane we fear getting permanently stuck in; we get to a road you used to be able to drive down, but it’s blocked and people are sitting right in the middle of the road drinking coffee. We pass the first place I ever lived in S.F., 27 years ago, and then the second.No wonder I can’t figure out when I’m dreaming or not. The first scene above was a dream; the second occurred during waking life and so did the third, courtesy of SuperShuttle. It was fantastic—where else can you get a 105-minute tour of the entire city for only $17 with such a colorful and charming character, especially when you live only 10 minutes from the airport? I tipped him $20 and took his photo and there was much hand-shaking all around. (His name really did mean “dream.” You see the problem.)There was one interesting thing about the scene that was actually a dream: While it was utterly indistinguishable from real life—David quite often wears a nice shirt—it did have the excellent property of coming true several hours after I dreamed it, when David and Lisa and I were in a Kenmore Air seaplane making our way from Seattle to Victoria, British Columbia, and I looked across the narrow aisle and saw David studying a map. We were in almost the exact physical configuration I saw in my dream, and he was doing the exact same thing.The people playing the electric guitars in the international terminal at the airport—I was just going to Seattle, but that’s where the lavender-drenched Virgin America is—were members of Persephone’s Bees, and since the information about the gate for my flight was not imparted until worryingly late, I had plenty of time to listen to them, and it made me have to dab at my eyes with my hanky, it was so lovely and unexpected.After my plane landed, I took the bus to downtown Seattle and Lisa met me at Convention Place Station and we walked to my hotel and then to an Ethiopian restaurant, where David (in a nice shirt) joined us. They walked me back to my hotel after dinner so I could get my requisite nine hours of sleep, and the next day, we took an itsy-bitsy seaplane to Victoria, and then a rental car to Butt Chart—oh, sorry, Butchart (say “boo-shart”) Gardens, where there are many, many, MANY flowers. We sniffed nearly every flower in the rose garden and took photos of our favorites. Nearly every soul there, including all three of us, had a digital camera along.Before we boarded the first seaplane, which took off from Lake Union and seated just nine people plus the pilot, the pilot asked who would like to ride in the co-pilot’s seat in the cockpit. My hand shot into the air, but he, obvious misogynist, pretended he didn’t see me and asked the fellow next to him if HE’D like to ride in the co-pilot’s seat. When I was grumbling about this later, David and Lisa said that I should just ask the return pilot right away if I could sit in that seat; David also thought the fellow who got to ride in the cockpit might have been the pilot’s friend (in which case he shouldn’t have pretended he was taking volunteers; all right, so just possibly he wasn’t a misogynist).Anyway, the advice of Lisa and David was excellent, and thus I did get to ride in the cockpit on the return trip, and see the view out the big front window. There were tiny windows on the pilot’s side and the co-pilot’s side that could be opened; we both had them open. When we got near Seattle, we could see the downtown skyline and Mt. Rainier beyond, which was stunning. I hadn’t wanted to distract the pilot, but at that point, I couldn’t resist pointing at the window and mouthing “Wow” and then the pilot and I grinned at each other and nodded vigorously, as if to say, “Yeah—cool!” Then I got out my camera and took a photo and the pilot did the same.That evening we ate vegan Asian carryout at Lisa and David’s place and watched a DVD.
Guess WHAT? The night after I realized I was dreaming and woke up from the bad dream, I again recognized that I was dreaming and had, uh, “quality time” with Johnny Depp, which is on my lengthy list of things to do when lucidly dreaming.(When I told my mother, she said, “He’s mine! Are you trying to tell me he cheated on me with you?”)I was dreaming that I was back at the house I grew up in, which I dream about very often, probably four times a week, decade after decade, and there was Johnny Depp in the study with two other people, a major clue that I was dreaming, AND I remembered my previously formulated goal (Johnny seemed amenable—OK, go ahead and say it: “In your dreams”), AND I even remembered that rubbing one’s dream hands together is a way to prolong lucidity.Now, the quality of the “quality time” was not actually amazing; it wasn’t tremendously vivid and didn't feel all that real, but that I realized I was dreaming and was able to do something from my list is a major step forward in this project.But there was considerably more, actually the best part: When I left the house on my bicycle, I felt UNBELIEVABLY good. I felt completely and utterly free (free as a bird, as Mily says), like, wow, I’m AWAKE! And I can DO ANYTHING I WANT! I can ride my bike HERE. I can ride my bike THERE. And I was indeed riding my bike here and there, and so I felt like the absolute ruler of the universe, and two hours later, I still felt that exact same way.(A very stressful situation at work managed to quell some of the good feeling, but didn't entirely remove it.)So it’s as if dreaming and being awake reinforce and elevate each other: being awake is even better when it’s like a lucid dream, and a dream is even better when it’s like being awake!I’m going to take my big book about Iraq back to the library, because for the time being, I’m only going to read books about lucid dreaming. I have one in progress (Stephen LaBerge’s first), four more on the shelf, and will acquire two more soon. I am obsessed. (Looks like I don’t have to get a tattoo, either, which is just as well.)Stephen LaBerge, uncharacteristically indulging in italics, says this about how to decide what to do in lucid dreams: “I have found from experience that the feelings I am left with after a lucid dream reliably indicate my intuitive evaluation of my behavior in that dream. Please do not misunderstand me. I am not saying that 'if it feels good, it is good.' What I am saying is that 'if it feels good afterward, it was good.' … If I do something in a lucid dream that I feel good about later, I do it in future lucid dreams. If I feel bad about what I have done, I avoid that action in later lucid dreams. Following this policy, of course, leads to increasingly good feelings in my lucid dreams.”Sounds like a pretty good prescription for the rest of life, too.He also writes this: “I believe the habit of flexibility to be well worth developing in lucid dreams. In addition to being highly effective in the dream world, it is also generally applicable in the waking world. Indeed, it may at times be the only course of action open to you. In most situations, it would be unrealistic to expect other people to change in the way you want them to. You cannot always, or even often, get others to do what you want; you may not even be able to prevent them from doing exactly what you don't want. Nonetheless, at every moment, whether dreaming or waking, you have the power to reframe the way you see the circumstances you find yourself in.”This made me think of grilling. Regarding that, I have vowed not to fight with my neighbors henceforth—not about smoke, not about grilling, not about noise, not about anything that is not truly actionable. Of course, it’s easier to say now that there pretty much is none of those things (for which I’m grateful). But I think I did learn from the situation.
Or would I do the exact same things again? Maybe I would. Anyway, at THIS point, I will not fight with my neighbors. I was talking to someone who is about to sue two different people in small claims court, and thought that if it were I in either situation, I wouldn’t bother. It wouldn’t be worth the cost in peace of mind.In my previous building, I also had conflict with neighbors, but in that case I compromised, and compromised some more, and compromised some more, so I guess I have now tried both extremes and found both wanting.Yesterday I took the bus to Novato to see Carol Joy, and we had our usual fabulous visit. We had lunch at a P.F. Chang’s, and then we saw The Time Traveler’s Wife and Adam, both of which we both liked. The first has some logical flaws, but Eric Bana is great and it is a poignant meditation on love and its costs. The second is about a young man with Asperger’s whose neighbor develops a romantic interest in him.After the second movie, we had dinner at Vasco in Mill Valley, which is really nice, and at every opportunity during the day, we whipped out the cards and played a hand or two of Sneaky Pete (“Deal ‘em!”)This morning we had breakfast at Toast, played another few hands of Sneaky Pete, and then I came home on the bus and spent the afternoon cooking.
I’m feeling very hopeful about my lucid dreaming project. First of all, I’m finding it reasonably easy to make a few dream notes during the night using my new LED pen, and, second, to remember to practice LaBerge’s technique, as well, which always eluded me before; I just wouldn’t be able to remember what I was supposed to do when the time came. I also couldn’t get myself to make dream notes before morning, and would spend each period of wakefulness during the night mentally going over my dreams so I’d be able to remember them in the morning, which also interfered with doing LaBerge’s technique.
Besides those good signs, three very encouraging things happened last night. First, I had a dream about a young lady instructing DREAM RESEARCHERS as to where to put certain pieces of modular furniture. Dream researchers! Then, as if that weren’t enough, I dreamed about looking at a checklist pertaining to lucid dreaming—without it crossing my mind that I could be dreaming.For the grand finale, I actually did realize I was dreaming, and I woke up at almost the exact same moment, but that’s totally OK. Things are trending in the right direction.When I started this project this time around, at the end of July, I was able to remember one dream snippet in the morning. This morning it took me half an hour to write down six or seven vividly detailed dreams. In one, I had stored up a whole bunch of pubic hair in a gold casserole my mother once gave me. (Now, THAT should have told me I was dreaming.)Toward morning, I dreamed about a cat getting hit by a car. Unfortunately, I now and then have this sort of dream. These are among the worst kinds of dreams I have—they cast a lingering unpleasant spell—and last night’s dream was of course terrible and upsetting.In my dream, I thought, “This cat is going to die. This is awful! I wish this weren’t happening. Oh: this DOESN’T have to be happening—this is a dream,” and then I woke up, which was a relief in and of itself, and it was also a moment of realizing I was dreaming, a first step to build upon.I feel so good about it, I’m going to retract my hyperbole about Stephen LaBerge’s books. Wikipedia says this, which should clear the matter up. I think the earliest book may be out of print.—1985 Lucid Dreaming: The power of being aware and awake in your dreams—1987 Controlling Your Dreams (audio cassette)—1990 Exploring the World of Lucid Dreaming, with Howard Rheingold—2002 KISS Guide to Dreams, with Lisa Lenard —2004 Lucid Dreaming: A Concise Guide to Awakening in Your Dreams and in Your Life (a short book bundled with a CD)—2009 Lucid Dreaming: A Concise Guide to Awakening in Your Dreams and in Your Life (paperback release with CD)The “KISS” book appears mainly to be by Lisa Lenard, and is apparently part of a series whose names all start with “KISS,” which undoubtedly stands for “Keep It Simple, Stupid.” I’m not going to get this.Another reason it’s good that I received a positive sign or two is that I had pretty much decided yesterday to tattoo some text onto my left hand, but now maybe I won’t. As part of my project, I’ve been asking myself many times per day, “Am I dreaming?” and counting the fingers of my left hand as the palm faces me, one, two, three, four, five, from thumb to pinky.Apparently if you do this in a dream, you will never come up with the right total number of fingers, which will be a sign you are dreaming. But then I happened upon something about looking at one’s hand as a lucidity cue, and I didn’t read much about it, but became concerned (slightly) that maybe it’s an accepted lucidity cue to say, “Ah, there are my five fingers,” meaning that you CAN expect to see five fingers in your dream. (Though maybe that’s not even true. Maybe they just meant that one’s hand is a lucidity cue because it won’t have five fingers.)By all accounts, if you look at a digital (not analog) clock in a dream, look away, and then look back, the numbers will have changed; ditto if you look twice at any text, so that should be a reliable sign that one is dreaming.So it occurred to me that it could be handy to have some text permanently etched on my hand that I could use during the day (and night) for my “Am I dreaming?” test.I figured “AWAKEN” would be good for this purpose, or should it be “AWAKE,” as in “I am … ”? I liked that that would cover two of my major interests in one short word, dreams and meditation. Though if I wanted to cover all the bases, I might want the tattoo to read AWAKEN AND EAT GREASY SNAX. The X would save me three letters’ worth of pain.
On July 18, I went to the Zen Center for a class meeting and then I went down to the Ferry Building to meet Tom for the train to Sacramento. We stayed at Ann and Mac’s that night, and the next day, we had a birthday lunch for the two of them at Joe’s Crab Shack in Old Sacramento. Here’s who was there: Ann, Mac, Tom, Steve, Julie, Dan, Eva, me, and Ann’s friend Geri, who organized our outing.It was extremely hot, to the point that even Sacramentans murmured a word or two about it, which means it was over a hundred degrees. After lunch, we went on the aforementioned river cruise, which was quite interesting and which I already posted a couple of pictures of.
It was rather offensive (I was going to say “comical,” but it wasn’t comical) to hear the complaints about Sonia Sotomayor’s “empathy” being an ominous sign her decisions would be biased (because of course she would feel empathy only for other Latinos; you know how they all stick together). We already have a Supreme Court justice—John Roberts—who consistently demonstrates tremendous empathy—for corporations. If we have a new justice who feels actual empathy for actual persons, that sounds pretty good to me.A movie I enjoyed very much lately was Bull Durham, which I’d never seen before. A young gangly Tim Robbins is in it, and Susan Sarandon, twelve years his senior. He was 30, she 42. This is where they met and became a couple, though the star attraction is Kevin Costner. I’m on a Kevin Costner kick.I also really liked Donnie Brasco, with Johnny Depp and Al Pacino. It’s based on the true story of an FBI agent (Depp) who was embedded with the Mafia for so many years that he became, in effect, a Mobster himself, torn between his job and loyalty to his criminal friends.I enjoyed 13 Going on 30—gosh, Jennifer Garner is extremely pretty—and thought Amores Perros was excellent. It takes place in Mexico and features three slightly overlapping dramatic stories.I read And Now You Can Go, and was surprised at how much I didn’t enjoy it. Didn’t I read another thing by Vendela Vida and didn’t I conclude she was a genius? No! I read a thing by Heidi Julavits (they are co-editors of literary magazine The Believer), and she IS a genius. The New York Observer said this: “Heidi Julavits is a show-stopping maximalist compared with Vendela Vida, whose elegant restraint is sometimes a little too unflinching.” The latter means, as far as I can tell, that Vida’s writing is utterly without affect or human emotion. I read all of And Now You Can Go and never felt engaged or interested. Instead, read Julavits’ The Mineral Palace and/or The Effect of Living Backward; The Uses of Enchantment is on my library list.A book I enjoyed lately was Name All the Animals, by Alison Smith, a memoir about losing her 18-year-old brother in a terrible car accident when she was 15 and subsequently falling in love with a fellow student at her Catholic girls’ school, which also did not have a happy ending. (It’s possible that not falling asleep together in the bed of the nun who was in charge of discipline might have allowed the romance to flourish for a bit longer than it did. Ai yi yi.)Terry Jentz’s Strange Piece of Paradise is also a memoir, about a summer cross-country bicycle trip she undertook with a college friend in 1977. A week into the trip, a never-apprehended assailant drove over their tent with his truck and then attacked them with an axe; the author’s friend’s eyesight was permanently damaged.Fifteen years later, Jentz went back to the small town in Oregon that was the scene of the crime and conducted her own investigation, during which she almost certainly discovered the identity of her attacker. The book is a bit heavy on somewhat mystical introspection, but generally well written, and very interesting, if creepy. The description of the evening they pulled into the campground is chilling.As a side note, Jentz is gay but we don’t learn that until the last few pages of the book, in the acknowledgements section, when she thanks her partner, Donna Deitch. That name sounded vaguely familiar—it's because Deitch is a movie director (Desert Hearts).One striking fact was that Jentz’s friend had complete amnesia about the entire thing: she went to sleep in her tent, and woke up in the hospital, whereas Jentz was acutely conscious at every moment.The friend refused, ever, to listen to Jentz describe what had happened, so, while Jentz was physically with her friend during this act of violence, in effect, she was completely alone, because she could never discuss it with the other person who was there.I lately read Eric Puchner’s Music Through the Floor, a collection of short stories. Here are a couple of my favorite bits. This is from a story about a young man who has a job an an attendant to a couple of developmentally disabled boys:“Jason never went back to his original self. He sat in the back of the van and saved himself for special occasions, shouting out the window only at particularly ludicrous sights, like a dog or a hippie.”Here a character in another story is attending a poetry reading:“After a while, he realized that she wasn’t bowing her head from shyness at all: rather, she seemed to be addressing her own sexual organ, beseeching it in a progressively louder voice.”
