Lord of the Flies

1/12/2015: 12 Hours Later... 
IMAGE: AyamiKojima

This was an especially long and memorable dream, intense in its moments of emotion and philosophical over and undertones. Like all my favourite dreams, I seem to remember most of it, but not nearly enough. The following is what I can recall.

The dream started with a group of children converging in an open plaza, their mean age was around 8 years old and I was one of them. At some point it became apparent that I was participating in the "world youth fair" or some such occasion, where children from all around the world converge for cross-cultural experiences. It in many ways reminded me of a "Scout Jamboree", a nation wide event I attended at about the same age. I have never before had a dream of being a child again - it was quaintly interesting in that I was at once aware that I was a child, and able to second-guess my own primitive reactions, while at the same time - sufficiently absorbed by the experience to loose myself within it.

We were gathered around, exploring our surrounds but it was not long before the dream narrative launched its ordained script. Perhaps echoing recent current events, there was a sudden outbreak of Islamophobia; and groups of children were converging into groups to persecute other children on evidence or even suspicion of being Muslim. As these quasi-pogroms would form, the targeted children would in turn merge into defensive groups and eventually start launching pre-emptive attacks and assaults on the progenitors of this unrest, till eventually the cycle of conflict was so cultivated it was without apparent cause, and simply perpetuated.

This is the point where the dream became increasingly vivid, profound and very much un-dream like. A child wheeled another around, disabled or presumably paralysed from the waist down. He was gaunt and thin, but he brandished an AK-47, and would occasionally aim it to fire at a fleeing non-faction member, and excitedly proclaiming "allahu akbar". The individual pushing his wheelchair would whisper something in praise before steering him towards a new target. A child with dark hair ran up to me, but was shot in the chest before I could help him. As he lay there on the ground, dying, he proclaimed in shock "I came all the way from Iran to watch people from around the world, but all I see are people turning into animals" and the life slowly left him. As with all my dreams, especially the intensely traumatic ones, my own lucidity is never far away, waiting in the wings to make sure that I don't actually experience any real fear or trauma. It was about this point that I had a chance to stand back and marvel at the theatrical capacity of my own unconscious mind, before the scene changed and my lucidity went back to where it was hiding, and I was back in full belief that what I was seeing was real.

The next thing I recall was that a group of us were sitting at a table, in the corner of the plaza, while the violence reached its climax. We were dismayed at what we saw, and had opted to simply sit down and await out fate and die at the hands of the frenzied mob. Though we did not voice it, our collective existence, in this corner of the plaza, was mutual confirmation that we preferred our boycott of this violent enactment even over our own instinct for self defence, and perhaps did not wish to continue on in a world such as the one that was readily shaping itself around us. As we sat there, in silent mourning and awaiting our impending peril, a few of us locked eyes and realised that we were all ethnically diverse and crossed many of the factional lines that now spurned the open conflict around us.

Some time later, we were still waiting, for the violence never came. The combatants had largely consolidated themselves into a single roving faction, and had ceased the indiscriminate killing of all before them. They approached our 'table of boycott' cautiously and curiously, and inquired as to our identity and our allegiance. It then became apparent from the conversation unfolding that the single consolidated group was not actually a surviving faction, but a loose coalition of all the surviving groups, and what united them was their extreme religiosity. One by one we were quizzed by members of our own 'faction' about how religious we were, and made to recite prayers and details of landmarks of pilgrimages we had made to pass the test and have our lives spared. It then became apparent that within this loose political group not all factions were equal; as the pacifist Muslims at my table were subjected to much stricter litmus tests than the Christians, and me being Jewish apparently had but to recite a single sentence in Hebrew to be deemed safe. And before I could even do this, and well before the panic set in that I could speak no Hebrew, I was passed anyway.

The Muslims at my table were then ordered to pay $200 as a 'survival fee' which they did, to the representatives of their faction, and I was asked to pay $20 though when I handed over a fifty I was gazed at coyly and received no change back. We then parted ways and begun to discover and explore life in this new world order. The surviving members of the ultra-religious meta-faction were the new policemen, the teachers and the clerics of known political world and we one by one determined to keep our heads down and survive as best as we could. Life at this point became quite fun, and contrary to intuition it was quite exciting and remarkable living in this strange oppressive village. Romances and intrigue flourished, and somehow we were now either teenagers or had inherited a teenagers mentality as we had all suddenly become aware of each-other and our mutual capacity for reciprocal sexual feelings. It was a lot like graduating from primary school and emerging into high-school.

A series of bizarre plots, adventures and mischievous pranks dotted the next hour or two of the dream (and yes I am adamant it was this long) and I became virtually lost within the entertaining world that unfolded before me. At some point things became somewhat serious, and an energy of insurrection or uprising was in the air. I cannot recall specific details, but at some point through a Sunday school-esque classroom lesson about how "each ethnicity-faction is distinctly different" and "therefore should not mix or become friends"... an ostensibly cynical method for the ruling elite to maintain their powerbases, I reasoned... I got up and 'stole' a series of plastic disks with symbols printed on them, that were supposed to represent pseudoscientific evidence for genetic differences between the factions... and somehow as I ran out of the classroom this mere act heralded the beginning of the uprising, and I was its reluctant leader.

The dream goes blank for a while, for the memories and emotions are far too intense and the images far too hazy for me to be able to transfer them into words or narrative, but this was one of the best parts of the dream. I later recall coming back from a sensitive mission of some sort, and being greeted by two girls who had been childhood romantic interests from the very start of the dream, but who I had not seen for some time. We were all in our early teens by now. One rushed up to me and jumped on me in a kind of flying aerial hug, and I was overcome with joy when suddenly the next one jealously did the same and I felt myself divided and confused, for I liked them both tremendously. Looking back, they were pretty much just variations of my present, real-life romantic interest (Hi Chan) differentiated only by their extremely curly and straight hair respectively. I also think the curly-haired one represented this specific individuals confidence and masculine tendencies, while the straight hair represented her meek and feminine side, but all being said it was the same person.

The world was turning for the better, and I was filled with optimism and joy for the revolution against tribalism for political purposes was coming to an end, but before I could execute my plans I could sense my vision fading and a desperate desire to stay in the dream came over me. But it was too late; for I was well and truly waking up and I emerged into consciousness at 5am, in part dazed and confused, in part impressed with awe and in part simply longing for return to this universe of my own creation. I went back to sleep, but did not return at all.

๑๑๑

Analysis time. I suppose you can see the common themes? Lord of the Flies? Tick. Current France/ISIS/West-versus-East cultural turmoil? Tick. The Hunger Games.... yes, shudder, tick. It seems my dreaming brain has concocted a virtual reality from whatever it had laying around, up to and including a Scout camp from my childhood, a book I have not read in over 10 years, and a film series that I detest. That said; it was totally worth it and I commend my own imagination for having taken me this far. Perhaps the single biggest influence on this dream, if you have read my previous entries, was my own dream entry 'I am my own Complexes' which it most certainly shares some stylistic themes with.

Well, I'll leave it there. This dream was so amazing it pretty much speaks for itself. I only wish I could have actually found a way to record its real-time duration... for as scientifically implausible as it seems, it felt like it lasted a good 4-5 hours in the depth of content it covered, which would be an amazing feat of physiology were it even remotely possible.

Fear of Heights

28/10/2015: 24 hours later....
IMAGE: LeArchitecte

I sat down last night to meditate, and as my thoughts started to silence a powerful memory arose within me: it was the dream I had the night before. This happens not infrequently - strong emotional flashbacks of forgotten past dreams, it has always just been one of those oddities of meditation that I accepted. It is rare however to have a flashback to something to immediate, perhaps because my dream recollection is usually too good to present the situation. Of course, once that initial seed of a memory became conscious I was virtually free to recreate the whole dream from memory, allowing emotions to give rise to vivid images and so on and so forth until I was back in the world of my own creation, once again.

The dream itself began - or so I recall - exploring the basement of an old soviet-era building, as part of a museum tour. I walked past a strange boiler room chamber, that was welded and bolted shut, and guide informed me this was the historical site of a mass atrocity, perhaps where political prisoners were tortured and executed by some exalted leader a generation past. A mixed feeling of terror and excitement arose in me, as I contemplated both the brutality and barbarity of the location whilst curiously wondering what lay behind the bolted door, in the now sealed depths of the construction itself.

We ventured out of the basement and into the ground level of the building, and at this point I can say that I am reminded why I have such a love affair with my unconscious mind: I emerged into the cavernous shell of an old brick and stone building, perhaps like an 18th Century railway depot or an old naval collage, which was gutted and hollow and overgrown with trees and forest like an old Angkor ruin. Except the scale was absolutely gargantuan - the foyer area was the size of a football oval and the structure just went up and up for thousands of meters, its hollow windows open to sky and breeze, with the occasional patch of climbing moss or tree protruding through. The narrative of the dream, or perhaps the actual in dream narrator/tour guide (is there much of difference?) informed us all that this building had been heavily bombed and it was a miracle it was still standing, but that it was once the old command center for the Russian military government in a bygone era. I was now lost in the fantasy, intoxicated by the beauty and majesty of what I was now both creating and perceiving.

Often when I have dreams such as these - of paralysing beauty - the sheer generative load of sustaining and maintaining them pulls me into a kind hybrid sub-lucid state, where I no longer believe I am in the dream and don't take its events to be especially seriously, and revert to simply exploring its contents the way one might enjoy and explore the digital world of a video game, or inspect a sculpture or piece of art. I get so caught up in the state of 'flow' of sheer perception I forget that I actually have an existence, an identity, a history or a set of goals - and paradoxically I seem to stay in this state even as my own in-dream brain power increases to dangerous dream-ending levels. This is what happened to me at about this point, for I was flying around the structure at phenomenal speed and inspecting its marvellous and meticulous beauty from all angels, extremely aware and lucid of the technical marvel of what I was inspecting but almost too distracted by it to even notice that I was in an altered state of consciousness, and that somewhere else I had an existence too.

The dream changed a little, and soon the hollow Gothic/Elizabethan structure was even larger than it had been - towering over the city around it like mount Everest itself. The city below it, skyscrapers tightly clustered with spotless shining glass windows - was Tokyo, or so it suddenly appeared, and yet this Russian structure was right next to it, and I wondered how two capital cities managed to literally exist right next to / on top of each-other, and what this meant for regional geopolitics. I was now on top of the hollow structure, looking down over the city of Tokyo. It's skyscrapers hardly came up to more than 5 or 10% of the structures height, and a great fear came over me as I began to fall from the structure and down towards the city below. This was real fear and real pain, and it makes me shudder even as I type this to recall it, it was certainly not pleasant. 

At some point before hitting the ground I remembered that I had control over all of this and slowly hovered back down safely, but then a series of compulsive thoughts / images came to me as I pictured sections of the large Russian structure coming down and collapsing onto the city bellow, with Godzilla like calamatic results. I had difficulty differentiating these flourishes of the imagination from actual dream content, and as is often the case with my use of in-dream imagination, I could not stop producing these simulations as they bore too strongly onto my in-dream emotions to just push back below the surface. Wary of this trap, I decided it was time to wake myself up, which is what I did.

๑๑๑

I find this dream interesting for several reasons, but it mostly speaks for itself. I am a little curious where the fear of heights came from, when everything else about the dream displayed remarkable hedonic qualities and self-serving lucidity. Perhaps I just pushed my own experience within the dream to the limit of what my executive control could emotionally handle, before bottom-up processes broke free and did the only thing they knew how - synthesise fear from the data being reported.

Is this why we do not have these kinds of dreams every night, or indeed in many cases, simply not at all? This dream does strike me as something of a high-stakes game played by my mind unto itself, with risk and reward amplified in equal measure. So in that sense, this probably answers itself: my brain likes to take risks even in its dreams, but it does not really see it that way... and perhaps it is all just a calculated investment. Looking back, this dream was very much worth the fear statistically experienced as the price of admission.

The corridors of Sanity

2/08/2015: 48 hours later....
IMAGE: MichaelBrack

This is a rather exciting dream I had but a few days ago. It was rich visually and, like all my best dreams: full of psychological intrigue and layered context. I awoke from it at about 3am, and spend the next 45 minutes mumbling to myself in the silence as I attempted to chronicle the dream by transcoding it from short term to long term memory. It seems to have worked; for here I am now typing. Alas, the extent of my mnemonic technique will only reveal itself as this entry plays out.

The dream begun with myself and a few nameless friends sitting at a small stone warf, bordered by steep cliff face and an unruly ocean. We were gathered around, fairly bored, waiting for a nameless transport to come and collect us. There was an East Asian guard in typical khaki and peaked cap, standing over us. I was trying to pass the time by playing with a small geode (volcanic rock). One of my friends commented "better be careful, we are in North Korea and the guards here mean business".

I joked and threw the geode on the ground, breaking it in half cleanly and revealing a jet black polished interior. The guard came over to me and said "That is very bad behaviour, you unfortunate visitor. It is too bad that you might bring trouble on yourself that you cannot comprehend" and I was touched by his sincerity and, and apparent empathy for my lack of street smarts. He sighed, and informed me however that the penalty for causing disturbance was 13 years prison, and casually but regretfully begun to call in my transgression on his radio. I would not be leaving this place after all. 

Panicked, I tracked my eyes to an obese Asian looking man, who was shirtless and wore an unkempt beard. I suppose in retrospect he appeared half way between the Chinese artist, Ai Wei Wei and a long distanced friend of mine, who developed drug induced psychosis. As I stared at him, his image morphed and contorted before my eyes and I knew him to be insane. And yet insanity was not my fear at this time, it was the rational sanity that facilitates tyranny to descend onto the individual from an impartial and unconscious state actor. I took my chances, and took his distorted otherworldly appearance as an omen of deliverance.

I followed the man through a tunnel in the stone cliff wall, it perhaps it was more like a cave: it was layered with thick soiled mattresses as a floor and seemed to just go on forever. As I ventured deeper into this corridor, I could smell the madness and the urine of the man and it literally had permeated everything within. I could ascertain that he indeed did live in here, and my repulsion and desire to leave was countered with an intense curiosity as to just how extensive this network was, and how and why he had manifested such bower-bird like instincts to construct it. Deeper and deeper I went, and he became a little agitated and hostile and told me not to venture into his inner sanctum; his final bedroom which of course I did anyway. I had figured the entire soft-floored coridoor complex to be his bedroom of sorts, alas there was a final room waiting at the end of the tunnel and while he was not looking I peaked inside. It was a large square room, with no flooring to speak of just hard stone. It was also dark, which was a real contrast to the sprawling tunnel network that had apparently enjoyed full ambient natural lighting, with no obvious source. On closer inspection, the square bedroom was bordered internally on all sides by wooden framework, the kind you see on an unfinished house, and it was all partially burned by a fire from the distant past.

The shirtless man was calling me, imploring me to follow him down another corridor. I obliged, and along the way stopped to open a door I found and saw on the inside a very similar square bedroom, only this time fully lit and cushioned by the same salvaged mattress material. I wondered why he did not just use this as his bedroom but continued on in his stead. Eventually he took me to a small and narrow tunnel, that branched off once again. I had to crawl through but it was so comfortable that I did not care. I came through the other side and saw an old room full of discarded and dusty furniture, broken woodwork, cleaning equipment and brooms. Pushing my way through the clutter I saw through an open doorway, a kind of underground driveway that opened up to a suburban street on one side, and led to an underground commercial premises of some type. And old style ambulance drove in and came to a halt, and white coated medical staff escorted an naked girl out and beyond another doorway where blue sparks and screams were distantly emanating. I realised it to be my good friend, Anna. "This is where they take her for her daily electroconvulsive therapy" the shirtless man told me, and I knew this to be a place of danger. I also knew that I was now back in Melbourne, and through a few hundred meters of tunnels had transversed several thousand kilometres. A nurse was starting to notice me, and I backed away to hide within the maintenance closest where the hidden tunnel was accessible. It was not enough, slowly others were beginning to notice too.

The shirtless man beckoned me to withdraw within, he said we would be safe inside and the others would not follow us. I wanted to return to my home but did not like my chances of running the gauntlet of the medical personnel, who radiated a cold danger very different from the warm and empathic guard I had escaped earlier. I turned back to re-enter the squalid tunnels when I heard the voice of my mother: she was in an old white station wagon of the same model that she drove in the 90's, when I was a young teen. She had the trunk open and was standing inside, like an animal trapper and was beckoning me to enter. "Come on, you must come with me! Come with me! There is a job waiting for you" she kept repeating, and I was tempted to oblige, but before I could get inside, images of being detained by the medical staff for psychiatric treatment flooded me and I swiftly turned around and ran back into the tunnel, where the fretting and anxious shirtless man showed great relief and ushered me deep inside the padded corridors. Behind me, I heard a frustrated expletive, followed by "oh damn it" which confirmed my suspicions that my mothers intentions were not genuine.

The dream becomes murky at this point, for a time we just explored the tunnel network and received guidance from the shirtless man about where the passages lead. He assured me that there were "many Melbourne outlets" and it would not matter much if they concreted this one up; so long as we were not phased at having to emerge through the floorboards of somebodies kitchen then we should be fine. I decided at this point that I would like to visit New York, and proceeded to follow the passage that lead there. On the way I stopped by the original entrance from which I begun this journey, and gazed out at the waiting people on the stone platform. They were still there in North Korea, and the guard was peering curiously down into the tunnels. We could see him but I somehow knew that he could not see us. Before I ever got to New York, I woke up.

๑๑๑

I would probably interpret this dream to be a metaphor for the power of insanity, or in more succinct terms, the evolutionary efficacy of selective delusional belief. Whether that belief is the superiority of the white race (when you just so happen to be white yourself) or the rules governing sexuality or the privilege of the wealthy, up to and including the social inclusion generated through a shared religious faith, we all to some extent blind ourselves to the true nature of the world to ensure our own prosperity and our own survival. It could be that in extreme cases: loss of sanity becomes the ultimate culmination of this process when taken to its extreme, and people may choose whatever system of mental organisation that keeps them the most insulated from terrors that be. From within this state of mind, no matter how temporarily entered into, any apprehension from the outside becomes a threat in of itself and the comfort of delusion becomes a one way ticket.

Not such deep thoughts, given recent events both domestic and abroad. I do not fear for my own sanity for one second, and if anything I have taken the clear and unobstructed vision of the truth to near pathological levels, trading unconscious access to my own privilege away at just about every turn. I suppose in the context of this dream, it was just nice to be able to feel what it feels like to take the "blue pill" and regress inside a safe and comfortable mental state in the face of external threat; the way in waking life I simply never could. 

Dream Architecture

15/07/2015: 12 hours later...
IMAGE: Pbario

The following is a dream I had last night that was quite unlike any other I have in memory. It combines many aspects of previous dreams, several of which I have catalogued and discussed on this very blog, but in its entirety it was something completely new. The dream itself combined all of the following themes: Self-generating architecture, underwater exploration, hidden structures, and even sexual extinction... though I will not discuss that last aspect in this entry. It was perhaps the most vivid dream I have had in months, which is a little sad as I could usually rely upon them whether I wanted them or not. More on that later. For now, I will just try to recreate the memory as I type.

The dream started off a little strange, I was on a boat with a few friends and it cold and it was rough and windy. We pressed along on our unexplained journey and later found ourselves on a sparkling bay, littered with beautiful islands. Some unspoken reality told me that we were in Israel, and we made our way to one of the islands to pass through immigration. I remember at this point inserting an electronic identity card into a reader and pulling it out,  having done so incorrectly. I attempted it again but got it wrong a second, and again a third time. The terminal flashed a warning and displayed an electronic code frame which meant that I had drawn attention to myself; my visa was now declined and some unspoken intelligence service was on its way to apprehend me. Fear and paranoia might have overtaken me at this point, but I diverted the dream narrative by approaching a female authority figure with red hair, and insisting she advocate for me against her own ridiculous system. She begun heatedly negotiating with immigration officials and while this transpires I wandered off and decided to go swiming in the bay.

This is where the dream became amazing. The entire bay was surrounded with mountains, and the water was little more than shoulder deep like a swimming pool. The ground was paved with exquisite engraved and painted tiles, and I remember a vividness and clarity in the dream that was very close to waking life. My friends and I begun to dive under the water and explore the beautiful surrounds. It was not long before we discovered flooded buildings with exposed sides; truly 3 dimensional structures that at once begged exploration and screamed hazard. As an experienced free-diver I that it is generally quite safe to dive for extended periods under the water, even at great depth... as the process of returning to surface is remarkably simple. In fact when the drowning reflex takes over, paddling to the surface is probably about the single application of self-directed agency that comes to mind, and I quite enjoy having my body take over on such occasions and simply relaxing and waiting for the surface to arrive. I cannot however, imagine anything worse than having to actually use my brain during a mad break for the surface, let alone having to navigate a complex three dimensional structure. So as I swum past these drowned architectural forms, I was constantly reminded that they were for me to safely observe from the outside and that entry would not go very well for me.

Of course, I went inside thought. A voice in my head started playing that essentially said "you will be fine" and that was that. With the benefit of hindsight; I can attribute such voices of agency to those aspects of my frontal cortex that were unable to entirely accept the dreaming process as it came, but at the time it was just mixed voice of intelligence, confidence and recklessness. I started to explore, and before I knew it I was having so much fun that I did not even need to breath anymore... it was as if I somehow had an innate appreciation for the fact that simply having enough fun was sufficient to change the dream rules on the run, and after that the idea of reassembling the fourth wall and suspending disbelief was quaintly unattractive, and I just wanted to explore.

Did I know that I was dreaming? Not precisely and not exactly. As is often the case with my dream lucidly these days: its not very cerebral and virtually all behavioural/functional. After some time my functional lucidity reached a zenith and I was simply swimming around in circles seeking sexual encounters, like some horny psychedelic fish. The last of these was actually an extinction experience which was quite interesting, as it is only the third time I have had one of these. I have no idea why my dreaming brain suddenly decided to sneak one in at the very end of this dream but for whatever reason it seems thats just what happened.

So why do I report all this? It's curious, but its starting to make a lot more sense. I have always had vivid dreams like these, but I have also always had insomnia and restless sleep, night sweats and bizarre nocturnal ideation that saw me pull all nighters for no apparent reason and microsleep through important events later in the follow day. Recently I have been a good boy; sleeping regularly and waking up comparatively early. I have also been meditating for 10-15 minutes every night before bed, which I have found to be an integral part in maintaining these healthier life habits.  It seems that my vivid dreams have been one of the first pieces of collateral damage in such healthy ways, but I am thankful that the skill is not lost completely. I hope that in time, I can train myself to sleep both healthily and dream creatively. Whatever I did last night, it seemed to strike the right balance.

NREM in Action

20/05/2015: 2 hours later... 
IMAGE: Vugrin et al.

Success!! After a relative period of dream recall inactivity, I have been waking up with startlingly vivid images and autobiographical memories of my nights experiences.

On this account, it was not so much a dream in the classical sense (which I would associate with REM) but an NREM dream. Whether these are indeed dreams or not is currently subject to debate, but I will say that NREM can be both dream like in a phenomenological and neurophysiological sense without strictly meeting the definition. Then again, wasn't it David Chalmers who demonstrated that all verbal disputes could be reduced to a disagreement over the definition of a single word? Perhaps the issue here is that nobody can actually say where the boundaries of dreaming consciousness lie in the first place, because like our own waking consciousness, they are necessarily fluid.

I remember my NREM dreams very rarely. They are indeed strange: Repetitive, visually weak going on non-visual, often just auditory or streams of thoughts. It is like having your brain stuck on a slowly evolving automatic loop, and I can only describe it as what it must feel like to be having an acute episode of psychosis, without the unpleasantness.

The night before, I had replied to a text message from a girl then went to sleep. I have met her only a few times, and we had organised a date of sorts but distractions and general ambivalence saw that I never followed through to actually meet her again. That was a month ago, and yesterday she contacted me out of the blue. I was curious what her response would be to my response. Anger? Surprise? Elation? I went to sleep on this thought.

At around 9am I received my a silent vibration from my beside table, indicating a response. I was sound asleep, but I noticed it. This is when the NREM loop begun. I would reach across and pick up the phone, and read her message (which would elicit strong emotions). This would not last long, for just enough lucidity would intervene for me to realise that I was visually blind; all I could see was a feint blue-grey fog. I would then understand that I was not indeed awake, and that the message I was reading was just an apparition from my dreaming brain; and I was simply experiencing a thought-loop. I would slip back into a thoughtless rest again, but it would not be long before I would arouse and grow curious, fictitiously reach out for my phone and thus generate another round of this NREM loop.

How many iterations did I experience? Probably 4-6. Each response was drastically different; ranging from hostile rejection to calm platonic reason to seductive enticement. I probably cycled my way through every single extreme possibility that theoretically existed, within the confines of my applied waking imagination. Except I was not awake, and my brain was doing this all of its own accord. I am not so interested in the how or even the why of all this, a least not for this entry... it is relatively self explanatory and entirely consistent with the emerging scientific literature: REM essentially resolves/beta tests hypothesis and synthetic learning operations, while NREM encodes the outcome, or so my theory goes. What my dreaming brain was essentially doing was unconsciously preparing me for what I would have to face when I woke up, so that I would not have to face unexpected emotion unprepared and unhabituated.

For me the question is, and almost always is: Why did I remember? I can only speculate that in going to sleep literally minutes after sending my reply, having had the whole day to think about what I was going to do, I was just plain curious. And in giving this curiosity oxygen; I had unknowingly engaged in a kind programmed auto-suggestion that saw aspects of my higher cortical functions come into states of activation when theses specific cues were detected. The NREM content would have been pretty much the same no matter I had done, I would probably say... for I am a light (yet very sturdy) sleeper and seldom awake unaware of what has transpired in my cognitive absence. So I would say that my own conscious engagement played very little part in mediating the connection between the vibration of my phone and the subsequent cycle of NREM mentation.

Where my consciousness did play a part, for certain, was in the fact I came back to a state of wakefulness with these memories in my very possession. I would probably say that once aroused, my own consciousness (primary) was just far too interested in what was happening to let itself go back to its intended state of disassociation, like a child who spots his parents hiding away his Christmas presents and cannot help but ruin his own surprise by investigating their contents.

Which brings me to return to the original statement of this entry: Was this actually a Dream? This I will leave to the reader to decide. However I am inclined to say that before we can answer this question, we have to ask ourself what the phylogenetic purpose of dreams, particularly recollection, are in the first place. This NREM encounter felt very much like a case of the brain tricking its own biological parameters, creating these memories but achieving very little in the process except potentially undermining its own intended function by creating the contents of this report. In settling this debate, I think it is important that we ask ourselves what role our own consciousness plays in our mental processes, and where we draw the line in separating unconscious mental content, from the mental content we make conscious, from mental content we are powerless but to perceive. From the experience of this entry, I am inclined to say that NREM exists somewhere between the first two, and REM somewhere between the latter two.

The birth of the esoteric

12/05/2015: 25 Years Later... 
IMAGE: RolandtheIllustrator

The following is a dream from my distant childhood. It is probably the first in my colourful accumulation of unusual dreams; and marks the commencement of my long journey into the search for psychological meaning through dream introspection. And like all of these colourful dreams, I have simply never forgotten it. The dream in question took place when I was approximately 5 years of age; yet I remember it as clearly now as I did upon waking in the late 1980's.

I have been rather busy of late, and sleeping irregularly. Short of having any new dreams worth writing about, I thought it might be good to use this brief opportunity to write about the 'classic' dreams such this one, from my early life.

The dream itself was very haunting, and emotionally intense. I am not quite sure how it started, except it involved me standing among a crowd, at a large night market with my father. As I wandered through the crowded space, I gazed at the many stalls and experienced emotions that I had no words for and had almost certainly never experienced in my waking life. It would be many years before I would experience them at all outside of dreams.

These emotions could best be described as an intense curiosity, interwoven with a lustful desire to consume and the strange magnetism that comes through the pursuit of the extreme esoteric and the taboo. I do not have a word for this emotion, for I experience it in waking life so rarely. I have probably had more of it, pound for pound, in this dream than I had in the sum 20 years after, and this is why I can never forget it's etching-like visuals.

The market was enclosed at all sides, perhaps like a large circus tent, and there where people everywhere. The stalls themselves were aesthetically reminiscent of medieval Japan, and they were selling all manner of martial arts equipment: various powders and explosives, magical goods, blades and clothing. Looking back it had the distinct feel of eastern romantic meets high fantasy, although being at the age that I was I doubt I would have had a particularly well established concept of either to draw upon in my construction of this dream. I am, in this case inclined to say that the emotion was entirely endogenous, and that the vivid dream imagery perhaps only resembled the aforementioned themes post-hoc, as I was able to reproduce similar emotions in established aesthetic styles. For this reason, I may never know what I was actually perceiving at the time.

I walked around, approaching stalls but never being able to penetrate the dense crowds, only ever getting a small glance and the curious contents before me. At some point I turned and noticed that I was not with my father any longer. Perhaps he was lost, or I was lost, or he had simply left me on some account? I noticed now that the market stalls no longer had their quaint attraction, and were now just regular market stalls selling entirely uninteresting wares. I scanned with my eyes, and felt an intense longing for that emotion; that strange and secretive desire to witness and posses the truly special and exclusive, but found nothing in any of the stalls that held any value. I continued searching for my father, and noticed a diffuse crowd gathered around one stall in particular. They were playing a strange kind of carnival game, and were throwing rings or balls onto an angled wooden structure, with holes or maybe pegs on its surface. The game board, several meters large, was covered in painted illustrations of what I can describe now as hooded ninja. Staring at these illustrations, and loosing all focus on the mundane crowds around me and their unremarkable gambling activities, a flicker of lost memory came over me and the images seemed to speak to me from another dimension.
 

Part II

I was sitting on a large fortress-like platform, made of wooden logs. My father was standing behind me, but I was too absorbed in what I was doing, focused on this strange object I was holding. It was a rectangular toy, about the size of a cereal box, and no thicker than an inch. It had a bright yellow and red surface, with black masked figures illustrated all over in various poses. It had small holes all over its surface, with chrome metal ball bearings inside, contained behind a glass screen. I was not so much playing with the toy but just staring at the illustrations, somehow they aroused in me feelings that I could not escape. My father spoke to me, but I was too focused on this strange thing. It was not very remarkable in itself, but something about the illustrations just reached out to me, and I could not remember where I had seen them or what they had meant. As I put down the toy and turned to my father, a faint emotion begun to leave me. It was that same emotion of mystery and taboo but it was so faint that I did not mourn its departure, and I let the distractions of the present moment take over.

We set off down the platform, down a crude wooden staircase and across a muddy dirt field to a road where we walked without end. As moments went by, I would return my thoughts to the strange toy; conflicted on the one hand in focusing on the present moment and at the same time, mourning the loss of mystery and meaning that seemed to have left me. As we continued walking, we encountered other such wooden fortresses along the pathways and stopped to investigate them. In each case, I would hope to find some relic or some totem that would bring me this feeling; but I would always be disappointed. There was something to primal, so distinct about the way it made me feel it was like having a sense of smell for it and simply smelling nothing. In every case I was disappointed, and my distress grew.

After some time, I was alone in the dream and I was wandering all by myself. I had resolved to find my way back to the original wooden structure, and relocate this strange toy, alas I found myself was wandering aimlessly across vast and labyrinthine muddied pathways, and finding nothing. I begun to fill with panicked intensity, that this object was potentially lost forever, and I turned back and forth at a great crossroads between ambiguous and indifferentiable pathways. I came out of the dream, and I found myself lying awake in my bed. I could remember everything about both dreams, but the panicked feeling of loss survived. For I was a 5 year old child; and I had still no such toy.

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Analysis...

 

So, where did I find these emotions later in life? It was not for many years, and only in very small quantities, during rare and unexpected moments. My first memories of this feeling in waking life was in playing early RPG video games on a SEGA console, and would usually come when I entered an in-game store selling weapons, magic and armour. Needless to say, I was an extremely ardent consumer of high-fantasy and cyberpunk themed video games, maybe for exactly this reason, and they always held a particular place in my dopamine releasing neurons. I also recall, around this same time, experiencing such an emotion when my father found an unspent bullet by the side of the road on a family holiday, and put it in my hand and showed it to me. Another time, I experienced this while canons were being fired, on board a restored naval schooner at a tourist destination.

Later in life, I would find small droplets of these emotions when first acquainting myself with Bit Torrent software, and suddenly finding the worlds entire digital entertainment catalogue at my fingertips, remote and free of charge. About the same time, I experienced similar emotional feeling downloading and learning to use various hacking utilities and auto-scripts from a secret website I had found, alas the 90's washed this all away very quickly and technological progression saw that I never went on to become a hacker of any significance.

I experienced this feeling again in my early twenties, when first walking into an Airsoft shop during my first trip to Japan (Replica firearms that fire painful plastic pellets) and spent nearly half a day playing with inspecting the several hundred items they had on display, before finally purchasing one and carrying it out of the shop proudly. I would again feel this feeling several years later, when shopping for my first spear gun, having just found myself living in a tropical location indefinitely, and seeing/holding one for these devices in my hands for the very first time. I continue to feel this emotion today, when using online websites to browse and order equipment related to free-diving, spearfishing and camping.

I think this dream speaks very much for itself. Humans have strived for the esoteric, the powerful and the magically profane for as long as we have existed. It has produced religious belief in magic and superstition as much as it has produced gunpowder and quantum cryptography but it is ultimately all one and the same: the drive to maser ones environment through the discovery and the attainment of sacred power. If I was to reduce this emotion one label: I could call it the military incentive for the attainment of technology. I encountered this very early in my dreaming life; I might even go so far as to say that my dreaming brain discovered it for its very self. It was probably lurking there in my epigenetic memory in some capacity, and dreaming brains are very good at uncovering things like this.

Through the years my mind has often wandered back to this dream; and relived the desire and wonder for whatever it was being sold at the strange stalls in the market. This emotion is still there, but I now associate it more with actual life. If generations of evolution has left me with an instinctive desire to craft a sharper spear point, in a world where this is exceedingly a counter-productive behaviour to act out, I suppose in the end its just a price we pay for having evolved ourselves so fast. I am only glad that there are fantasy computer games and fishing sports to fill its wake. 

Paradise with a friend

17/4/2015: Two days later...
IMAGE: Gazornonplat

This is a reoccurring dream I have had, possibly 3 times or more. I loose count, I literally forget every time but the memory becomes stronger somehow. Now I have had this dream enough times I am brought to the point where I can write about it. 

The dream starts out a variety of ways, but I am always brought to a place from my childhood. It is (in real life) along a river bank near my childhood home, right between a horse paddock and a golf course. There is a hidden path that link the two areas; across a gorge caused by soil erosion and a fallen tree. It was always a prime place as a teenager to sneak away and smoke mysteriously acquired cigarettes and other exciteful contraband. I have no idea why my dreams keep revolving around this place, but they appear subtly different every time. The following is an account of the most recent.

In the most recent dream, I had come across this place as always.The sense of awe and mystery that invariably accompanies the discovery of a childhood place was certainly there the first time, but has been fading in every subsequent instance. More recently, it has been replaced by a creeping lucidity that I am about to have 'one of those pathway dreams'. And on this instance it was just strong enough to arouse some mild excitement. I jumped across the gorge and went exploring, wondering what the dream would have in store for me this time.

The dream was very vivid, as were all my dreams that night. They were also exceptionally repetitive, which I put down to all the cheese I had eaten the night before and the subsequent 5-hydroxytryptophan synthesis while I slept. I remember walking back and forth along this path, to collect a friend for some meaningless, unimportant activity. It was a very euphoric dream, despite the repetition. Eventually I came to a crossroads at the end of the path, that bore no resemblance whatsoever to the actual path in real life. It contained on the one side, a field of marijuana plants, and on the other a stony uphill pathway. I had in my possession a BMX and decided to explore the stony uphill path, aware at some basal level that it was the better of two options but entirely oblivious as to why. In all my dreams to date I have followed this path, and all have had the same positive conclusion.

At the end of the path I found myself at a spectacular sight: It was an epic landscape of rolling green hills that progressed at steady declination into the horizon far bellow. These hills were somehow far up in the clouds, despite being at ground level only moments ago, and were saturated with bright warm sunlight. In some of these dreams I begin exploring, either running up and down or lying down and relaxing. A persistent feeling came to me: "I have to bring this friend back here, she would enjoy it so much". At this point, I am usually filled with a very strange kind of reverse lucidity, I say to myself:

Me: "I know I am not dreaming so I will certainly remember to take her back here. If I was dreaming then I would just enjoy this by myself, but since this is real I definitely have to remember to tell her!"

Most of the rest of the dream is split between me enjoying the experience and being so anxious not to forget to tell her; I don't enjoy it much. Eventually I work my way back down to ground level, and the dream starts changing. I then become aware that I am, in fact dreaming and feel a momentary pang of double disappointment: I will not be able to take Chantal to this amazing place, and I also forfeited much of my potential pleasure remembering the location of a place that did not actually exist. And so the dream changes, and I eventually wake up with no memory to recall except for a trace of a hint of something that never actually makes it to conscious awareness.

In this instance I think I worked out that I was dreaming before the green hills came to an end, and thus I was able to bring this memory into waking awareness after the fact. Curiously: rather than enjoy myself, the anxiety was replaced with something else. I was stressed that the bike I had been given, the BMX, was not my usual mountain bike and I would not be able to handle the hills as effectively as I could otherwise. I made my way down to the bottom in equal measure of euphoria and dysphoria before once again the dream moved on.

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Analysis...

 

This dream is interesting for several reasons. It seems clear to me that this whole phenomenon is an exercise in training myself to live in the moment, to abandon anxiety, and the tendency I posses that sees me walk away from real happiness just for the chance I may have to improve it. And clearly I fail, time and time again. What makes this more interesting still; is the gradual eventuation of dream lucidity that ultimately sees me aware of the paradox I am in, but does not make one shred of difference, in that I still end up divided and anxious over some technicality of the dream itself.
 

Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned in all this: about the pursuit of happiness. If you are searching for more happiness than you have, you probably can't be happy as an ipso facto. Lesson number two: bringing a problem into hyperconsciousness is not necessarily a viable solution to such dilemmas either. In either case, I suppose I have not been a very well behaved dreamer. In waking life I have no difficulty reprioritising my thought process to achieve high states of happiness... it seems in my dreaming state this talent is lacking.

Then again, if the purpose of the dream was to take my friend back here, then perhaps all the anxiety was not ill-spent: I have now remembered the dream and have a chance to transport here to this place through my writing. It may not be the same, but I hope it will be enough. And perhaps now, I can simply enjoy these dreams for what they are. A beautiful place, just for myself.

Religion and Insanity

2/2/2015: 10 days later...
IMAGE: BeadMaster7

This was a dream I had while on holiday in New Zealand. I would probably have to say, this is the best dream I have ever had in terms of its ability to seed my curiosity. If ever I felt that dreams could be not only auto-creative, but creative to an extent that it equals waking experience, it is after a dream like this.

The dream begins with myself and a good friend Liam exploring the suburb of my birth, Northcote. In this dream (as in real life) there is a rather large and strange radio antenna, that as a child I had always contemplated the purpose of (seen here from street view) and we were advancing upon it in the dream with some notion that it held military or secret intelligence significance. The next few moments of the dream escaped my usually sharp dream-recollection abilities, for reasons that will soon become extremely apparent. However several minutes later I found myself alone, in a strange Church at the base of this antenna, walking through the darkness.

I walked up to a group of people kneeling and chanting, with their eyes closed. They were repeating mantras in another language, and I felt myself appalled at their religiosity and dedication to such pointless ritual. In real life, despite my atheism I am deliberately understanding of religions practices such as these, as I can typically rationalise them on their sociological or psychological merits. However in this dream, I was full of arrogance for what I witnessed.

I listened to what one of the chanting women was saying. It was in another language and yet, no sooner had I turned my attention to it, it was suddenly within my comprehension. And they were saying something that went like this:

Acolyte: "All life exists in the purpose of transcending its organisational structure and its hierarchy, not via ascension through competition but through an ability to form higher structures that subersume these hierarchies"

...

Acolyte: "As biological life forms we are just a single pattern consisting of other patterns under our control. As we identify higher order patterns from which we are, in turn subject to influence... we may assume this influence for ourselves and ever closer we become to the source of all things"

It was fairly non-controversial new age content, typical of Spiral Dynamics, some branches of Buddhism and possibly all religious doctrines once you dig into their theology. This is not to say that it is wrong, or even contrary to scientific knowledge... however I would argue that such ideas are a little too abstract to base ones ethical compass on, or even to take too seriously... and that's more or less the extent of my criticisms.

I remember thinking at this point "all these words might make sense, but are so much richer and more meaningful when accessed through a scientific/rational perspective". And interestingly enough, a multitude of emerging scientific fields are actually producing ideas consistent with these. It was probably my post-hoc knowledge of them that allowed me to so quickly reverse engineer the language of this dream in the first place. Since dreams are so deeply emotional, in waking life it was simply a matter of searching for the sentence that produced the same emotional valence, which I found by applying a particularly sensationalist filter to some of the more common ideas to emerge from complex systems. This is my favoured technique for detailed dream recollection. So there I was, accepting of the message but critical of the way it was being delivered and the significance with which it was being interpreted. I immediately felt sorry for the kneeling acolytes, for they were essentially being seduced by scientific concepts and lacked the self-reflection to know it.

 ๑

Sanity Lost... 

 

It was about this point that the dream changed and revealed its major surprise. As I stood back, quite aware of the conflicting interpretations of the contents of the chanting voices yet resolute to take my hard-headed view of things, something inside compelled me to join the chanting to experience it for myself. I did this, and as I let my scepticism go for the slightest moment, a gripping feeling emerged from deep inside and I felt something that was almost half way between the feeling of laughing, crying and having an orgasm. And as I chanted the words, the feeling grew and grew. It was not that the words held any more significance or that I understood them with any more depth: it was simply that their detached meaning seemed to reach right inside and take effect at a truly emotional level. The affinity I felt for the ideas contained were almost like the affinity one has for a close relative, and I felt personally attached to the meaning behind the words.

It was about this time that something truly broke through, and the words turned to music. I had grown so detached and non-conscious of the chanting that it has become automatic, and now that automatic sound production had shifted into an entirely different form, and the music started to grow louder and louder. It was the second time my brain has produced truly notable in-dream music and this time it was humbling in its clarity. It produced the same emotion to the chanting of the mantra, and by that I mean the emotion did not change, but it was now mapping directly onto a musical sequence and not spoken word. It was at this point that I kind of lost myself, and started to open my eyes. All the people in the room who were previously chanting were now staring at me: I had been screaming in a kind of zeal and realised that I had made quite a commotion. I was momentarily unsure if they held me to be a crackpot or an messiah or how they could even tell the difference (a criticism continue to hold regarding religious belief derived from prophetic sources). This curiosity gave way and it was not long before the internally generated music burst through, leaving me in a state of hysterical laughter and without self control. The emotions were just that strong.

The acolytes dispersed and shortly after that, my mother entered the room. I was prone on the floor, struggling to stand up, with the music still projecting loudly from inside my own skull. I tried explaining to her what was happening to me from a scientific perspective, to restore my credulity and alleviate the shame of my state of being. But as if a hysterical child; all I could convey was more hysteria and all words and logic evaded my grasp. She looked down on me with disappointment and pity and I knew at that point, I was truly lost. The music kept on playing and I was paralysed by its beauty, and destroyed by this loss of control. I was unsure if I even cared, but part of me certainly did.

 

UPDATE

I have produced this song from memory, with great assistance from 'Marcelles' :)

 

Feel free to listen while you read!

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Psychodynamic Neurology

Can you ascertain the physiological dynamics of this dream might have come down to? I certainly can't, but I still enjoy the challenge. In my view, this dream more or less reduces to my own brain wrestling for the interpretation of a single idea (metaphysical transcendence). The perspective of rational/scientific interpretation would most certainly have emanated from various sections of my Orbitofrontal Cortex (Specifically BA11 and BA10) and perhaps the Left Hemisphere more generally. I say this because the sheer act of 'standing back' and manipulating an concept in its abstract representation seems to be a preferred cognitive style of the Left hemisphere, while detached reasoning and logical analysis, both conscious and unconscious, appear to emanate from BA11 and BA10 respectively. It is also a reasonable assumption that my Superior Temporal Gyrus, specifically BA22 was also heavily involved as part of this network, given that it is primarily responsible for the 'output' of internally generated language.

From the perspective of the religious ecstasy, I have a lot more fun trying to decipher what might have taken place. Plenty of evidence to date points to the Right Temporal Lobe being at the epicentre of religiosity in the brain, however have come to consider a more detailed picture involving feedback between the Amygdala, the Insula and Visual Cortex as holding more intricate clues. This especially comes into focus when one joins together the role of the Precuneus in Religiosity, and the role of the Visual Cortex more generally. Factoring heavily into this is also the role of interoception and the Insula, as well as the veridicity of internally generated experiences.

Taken together, I have come to conclude that brain ultimately seeks to generate a cohesive reality from a substrates of interdependently competitive brain regions/networks, and will generally settle on some compromise between what is internally most coherent, and most externally (socially) sanctioned. In my own case: the entire dream was an attempt to see things from the other side of my own tribal theological outlook, and this I did with great success. Despite the euphoria of experiencing my own scientific world view through in such a profound and intense way: my own shame at being drawn into religious tradition left me with mixed feelings. As much as an indictment as this entire piece may be on ritualised religious practice, in the end the dream was just as much an indictment on the atheistic convention of striping away emotion from the pursuit of knowledge.

I do not think these feelings are in of themselves harmful, just as I do not see the Amygdala or the Insula as in of themselves 'worthless appendages' in the phylogeny of the human brain. However it is clear that, as a society we may need to have a deeper conversation about what exactly constitutes 'human experience' and critically analyse such experience before rejecting them out of hand.

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  Waking up, Sanity Gained

 

After waking up, I think I commenced what was probably the most intense race to produce a post-dream memory I have ever undertaken, and my efforts were entirely focused on remembering this song. Why? I wanted to know (somewhat objectively) whether my brain had actually experienced spontaneous creativity or whether the entire experience was distorted through the emotional amplification of the Amygdala and Insula, attributing the song with qualities of intensity that it did not actually have. Thankfully, I am now relatively good at committing post-waking dream memories into longer term memory and I was able to recall key aspects of the song I was hearing. I am working with a friend with music production experience to have the result made real; and I will publish it soon.

How to Train your Dalmatian

17/12/2014: 7 days later...
IMAGE: Carl Moore

This dream was perhaps one of the more intense, philosophically important dreams I have had in recent memory. Somewhere between psychedelically haunting, intelligent and outright strange, it has been on my mind since late last week and I feel myself now compelled to write about it.

The dream starts with a fairly standard narrative: My mother had recently purchased a new family pet and wished for me to play with it. It was described in-dream as a Dalmatian and Red Healer cross, though it basically just appeared as a Dalmatian. Brief side track: until writing this dream entry, and actually having cause to hyper-link the word "red healer"... I actually had no idea what this breed was. And it turns out that it is just a fairly common hybrid/Australian cattle dog, though prior to this: all entires in my memory would reliably bring up strong associations of "dangerous" and "independent", due to a story I have of such a bread almost killing a friend of mine. So coming back to topic: for whatever reason my dreaming brain was attempting its very best to sow weariness and unpredictability into this animal, from the moment of dream inception.

So I tried playing with the animal: and true to my previous statement, it started displaying problematic and adversarial behaviour, as far as dogs typically go. I would throw a ball, and it would run in some opposite direction. I would call for it; and either it would not come at all, or would come close then veer of in some other direction. It was frustrating and indeed I was growing quite frustrated. The next thing that happened was retrospectively quite amazing. The dog transformed into an 8-foot tall walking anthropomorphic being, with human gait and skeletal physiology but canine features. Then it started talking to me.

Dog: "See, I am a Dalmatian cross Red healer. That combines both the intelligence and loyalty of one breed with independence and adversity of another. You have to work with that."

Even in under the dreamer's delirium I was surprised by this. A talking dog!? If he could talk then why does he need training? But I persisted. I started giving the gargantuan nightmarish canine instructions, and he would either respond or fail to; each time with some aspect of feedback to give about his own breed's temperament and some trick to making use of that knowledge to simplify and improve the training process. The dog continued to run around, basically acting like a dog, except that he was now rather tall and evidently bipedal. I asked him to come to me, stating that I had some task I wished to show him and that I would appreciate his cooperation.

Dog: "It's no use asking me like that. I won't understand it. Dog's require instruction that feeds right into their emotional aspects of cognition; its what they are genetically hard-wired for. Try calling me with a melodic pitch and a sense of urgency. That tends to activate legacy pack behaviours"

I followed the dog's advice as best as I could; alas it was a bit much and I struggled to keep up with all of his instructions. Shortly after the dream changed its central concept, as the dog was a regular dog again, and was attacking ducks in a pond. Interestingly enough, these ducks seemed to be assembling artistic underwater mandalas made out of coloured fried rice. I briefly through about the idea of sustainable ecosystems, and mused the best way to preserve all of the duck's morale, the beauty of their creation and the nutritious/economic output of their pond when before I knew it, I was in another dream and the bipedal Dalmatian was but a distant forgotten thought.

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Dream Introspection

So what does this all mean? It is a curious situation indeed, a dog giving me spoken instructions about how to best give him unspoken instructions that he may be trained into obedience. And besides the necessary conundrum: this dream spoke to me quite deeply and it did immediately make some sense, at least upon my awakening. I feel that the central concept of this dream shares a remarkable similarity with the mechanisms through which the human brain communicates information inside of its own virtual world (since I have been thinking about this subject for quite some time) and it makes sense that this was how my brain found its way into repackaging my own ideas to myself while I sleep. In other words: we are more similar to the bipedal Dalmatian than we indeed realise, at least so I have gradually come to theorise.

Probably sounds confusing. Indeed it is a little bit much for many people, but in older psychodynamic theory (dissociation) it is more commonly accepted that our mind can consist of several non-integrated voices of agency. When it comes to neuroscience, such functional segregation of volitional agents in the brain-mind are increasingly becoming understood, and this, this and this link will hopefully canvas the progress so far. Since these discoveries are indeed rooted in hard science, not speculation and subjective observation of behaviour steeped in statistical analysis, such approaches will hopefully bear some very tangible fruit once it they reach maturity.

And while this dream, like all my philosophy-laden dreams, did not so much tell me anything that I did not already know, so much as express to me my own ideas in a state of perfection. And this idea was probably most easily expressed as the notion that we exist as a hierarchy of information states, all speaking essentially different internal languages, and that our cohesion and success as continuous beings relies primarily on the capability of one layer to translate its message to the one below. If that message becomes too fractured or too abstract, we loose our ability to know our own minds. Should it degenerate even further, we may even loose our ability to predict out own thoughts and neurosis would be an obvious consequence. Should we ultimately loose our ability to predict our own predictions: we would experience what I would call classic psychosis.

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Metacognition: A Rose by any other Name

If you were to consider where language is centred in the brain, and by that I mean the neural parcellation in which it is most significantly rate-limited; consider then that this parcellation (the Left Inferior Frontal Gyrus) occupies something of a philosophical conflict of interest: it is necessarily responsible for the very language used to describe itself. What does this mean? In my view, the phenomenology of cognition becomes somewhat unreliable when we so heavily depend on our own internal language to form and focus out thoughts, because such language can never entirely express the sum contents of our internal mental state. If I attempt to use language to explain and justify a complex problem, I am thus metacognitively compelling my entire brain to integrate and converge across a single brain region, and probably limiting a great deal of what that brain has to say in the process. And yet, we are still able to integrate this information at some innate level outside of language whenever we are required to, and because we have metacognition.

For the brain to function outside and above language, I feel we have to be conscious at a level that paradoxically evades even our own conscious awareness. I suppose this was the idea that was expressed back to me in this dream. By brining such control into the realm of spoken language we necessarily destroy it to some extent; and thus I have hypothesised the existence of an unconscious agent of cognition that exists (cryptically) above consciousness awareness. It is the disembodied interpreter that reads the will of the conscious brain and feeds itself back into that brain, doing what consciousness cannot do for itself. So far there is very little known about this, though science is catching up and these processes appear to be highly integral to the auto-suggestion that underpins the ability to dream lucidly. And while my own lucid dreaming ability has become incredibly rusty; I have trained myself relentlessly to recall my dreams with a very high state of clarity, and have no doubt this achievement owes its existence to a very similar process. Stay tuned, science is making excellent progress.