14/03/2014 1 Day after waking...
IMAGE: AbstractLuva
Much has been speculated recently about the zombie fascination in contemporary culture. I for one have cause to suspect an almost Jungian level of meaning behind such themes but thankfully my speculations carry no weight. Otherwise I might have to back up my ideas with a lot more than a blog entry.
This is one of the more common themes in my dreams... and probably among the most vivid that I have. The dreams themselves are stunningly similar. Always, I am exploring a familiar place, usually from my childhood. A park or a suburb. Always, I stumble across some incredibly impressive architecture; a Gothic building, an abandoned piece of infrastructure, a water station or a sewer entry. I pause for a second, and with a sliver of lucidity think 'well that is not supposed to be there' however awe and curiosity reliably take over and I venture forth regardless.
Always, I can recall entering the structure with a sense of foreboding fear, unease, wonderment and exploratory curiosity. The positive emotions win out, but just. Always, I venture deeper and deeper into the chasmic structures, finally entering into a sprawling subterranean network of tunnels and pipes. I know I should be terrified but I never am, not by this point.
At this point some form of zombie will come. Usually a horde of them. I will experience a fleeting moment of panic, a sense of impending doom, and then the voice of an accompanying companion will announce the nature of the danger with as if the narrator of a film. All fear subsides, and I wait and observe as what should be among the most terrifying experiences in the dream state unfolds and yet I am passive and relaxed; enjoying the spectacle. I do not know that I am dreaming, but somehow I do not suspect I am experiencing reality either.
The horde passes, or sometimes just stays around. I decide enough is enough and proceed to leave the sewer, avoiding the death and pain that always should I step awry and into the perceptive field of these dream-world monsters. I never feel I am at any risk of this happening, I feel somewhat in control of things. No sooner is the choice made to make my exit than the dream reliably changes. On waking, I recall everything.
Now... deconstruction time. Jung feels that water in the dream world usually represents the unconscious mind. I cannot for certain say if this is what I experience, but I do happen to include among my more ridiculous hobbies a very old human art called free-diving. This basically involves overriding the mind's "drowning instinct" and swimming underwater for much longer than one sensibly should. My record is 3:25 at 18 meters depth. Anyway, curiously enough the precise emotion I have in these dreams, exploring cavernous waterways under the earth, feels remarkably like freediving.
Am I indeed exploring my own unconscious mind? I suppose the simple act of dreaming could be characterised as doing exactly this. Or to be more precise; exploring ones Secondary Consciousness once it has been taken off-line and 'rendered unconscious' by what, through a leap of scientific intuition, I would attribute to functional network changes that conform to my own definition of consciousness.
The zombies themselves I do not fear, just as I do not fear drowning when I am underwater and my diaphragm is having convulsions due to the building levels of my carbon dioxide. I suspect it is largely about control; I am confident when I freedive as I am confident when I dream. The zombies are only a danger if I let them be; and so long as I am smart they are a spectical to observe and not an existential threat.
Which brings me to the central question here: why do I bother freediving, and why do I have such vivid dreams that take on its features? To answer this I can only bring to the table what practical conclusions I can find. I happened spent many months building up the psychological discipline to switch off my drowning reflex, and seemingly lost it no sooner than I stopped trying to build it further. It was an extremely arduous task and one that I would struggle to endure again.
Having been far far away from any environment where I can continue to practice it for some time, I surprise myself when occasionally finding myself in a deep body that I can still maintain my breath underwater remarkably well. The catch is: only when I can enjoy it, only when I can get into the mind space. In times past it was automatic. Now I have to remember what it felt like, why I enjoyed it so much, before I am back in that place where the characteristic thumping in my chest, my bodies final attempt to indicate to me that I am about to die; is nothing more than a handy alarm clock to return to the surface.
I can only presume I have these dreams so that I do not forget what it feels like to enjoy diving whilst similarly to remember what it feels like to be in control of of my own impending demise. Without the memory of these emotions; without these as a proverbial treasure map to this long forgotten state of mind; I can not hope to dive the way I did. I must train again from the beginning.
Which brings me invariably back to the second question: why on earth do you enjoy freediving? I have often asked myself exactly this. And I do not have a clear answer. However, when Jung describes the qualities of water in dreams; when he describes the voyage into the unconscious, the existential challenge, and the return to reality bearing divine insight.... he comes pretty damn close.
Much has been speculated recently about the zombie fascination in contemporary culture. I for one have cause to suspect an almost Jungian level of meaning behind such themes but thankfully my speculations carry no weight. Otherwise I might have to back up my ideas with a lot more than a blog entry.This is one of the more common themes in my dreams... and probably among the most vivid that I have. The dreams themselves are stunningly similar. Always, I am exploring a familiar place, usually from my childhood. A park or a suburb. Always, I stumble across some incredibly impressive architecture; a Gothic building, an abandoned piece of infrastructure, a water station or a sewer entry. I pause for a second, and with a sliver of lucidity think 'well that is not supposed to be there' however awe and curiosity reliably take over and I venture forth regardless.
Always, I can recall entering the structure with a sense of foreboding fear, unease, wonderment and exploratory curiosity. The positive emotions win out, but just. Always, I venture deeper and deeper into the chasmic structures, finally entering into a sprawling subterranean network of tunnels and pipes. I know I should be terrified but I never am, not by this point.
At this point some form of zombie will come. Usually a horde of them. I will experience a fleeting moment of panic, a sense of impending doom, and then the voice of an accompanying companion will announce the nature of the danger with as if the narrator of a film. All fear subsides, and I wait and observe as what should be among the most terrifying experiences in the dream state unfolds and yet I am passive and relaxed; enjoying the spectacle. I do not know that I am dreaming, but somehow I do not suspect I am experiencing reality either.
The horde passes, or sometimes just stays around. I decide enough is enough and proceed to leave the sewer, avoiding the death and pain that always should I step awry and into the perceptive field of these dream-world monsters. I never feel I am at any risk of this happening, I feel somewhat in control of things. No sooner is the choice made to make my exit than the dream reliably changes. On waking, I recall everything.
Now... deconstruction time. Jung feels that water in the dream world usually represents the unconscious mind. I cannot for certain say if this is what I experience, but I do happen to include among my more ridiculous hobbies a very old human art called free-diving. This basically involves overriding the mind's "drowning instinct" and swimming underwater for much longer than one sensibly should. My record is 3:25 at 18 meters depth. Anyway, curiously enough the precise emotion I have in these dreams, exploring cavernous waterways under the earth, feels remarkably like freediving.
Am I indeed exploring my own unconscious mind? I suppose the simple act of dreaming could be characterised as doing exactly this. Or to be more precise; exploring ones Secondary Consciousness once it has been taken off-line and 'rendered unconscious' by what, through a leap of scientific intuition, I would attribute to functional network changes that conform to my own definition of consciousness.
The zombies themselves I do not fear, just as I do not fear drowning when I am underwater and my diaphragm is having convulsions due to the building levels of my carbon dioxide. I suspect it is largely about control; I am confident when I freedive as I am confident when I dream. The zombies are only a danger if I let them be; and so long as I am smart they are a spectical to observe and not an existential threat.
Which brings me to the central question here: why do I bother freediving, and why do I have such vivid dreams that take on its features? To answer this I can only bring to the table what practical conclusions I can find. I happened spent many months building up the psychological discipline to switch off my drowning reflex, and seemingly lost it no sooner than I stopped trying to build it further. It was an extremely arduous task and one that I would struggle to endure again.
Having been far far away from any environment where I can continue to practice it for some time, I surprise myself when occasionally finding myself in a deep body that I can still maintain my breath underwater remarkably well. The catch is: only when I can enjoy it, only when I can get into the mind space. In times past it was automatic. Now I have to remember what it felt like, why I enjoyed it so much, before I am back in that place where the characteristic thumping in my chest, my bodies final attempt to indicate to me that I am about to die; is nothing more than a handy alarm clock to return to the surface.
I can only presume I have these dreams so that I do not forget what it feels like to enjoy diving whilst similarly to remember what it feels like to be in control of of my own impending demise. Without the memory of these emotions; without these as a proverbial treasure map to this long forgotten state of mind; I can not hope to dive the way I did. I must train again from the beginning.
Which brings me invariably back to the second question: why on earth do you enjoy freediving? I have often asked myself exactly this. And I do not have a clear answer. However, when Jung describes the qualities of water in dreams; when he describes the voyage into the unconscious, the existential challenge, and the return to reality bearing divine insight.... he comes pretty damn close.
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