A dream I had this past Friday:

A large sprawling city of small buildings- no higher than five stories- from a disjointed maze of narrow alleys and back rooms. Made form assorted materials, as varied as wood, corrugated tin, steal and brick. The city goes on, stretching out to the horizons, until it disappears. There are large dark clouds, heavy with rain cresting over the horizon. “This is my city. I don’t own a single brick, I don’t live here nor do I spend much time within the winding streets. But this is my city.” Cold wind rushes past.

In a field next to a towering apartment building looming over head; it stretches out in a crescent moon, framing the field with its’ convex side, sky open with out stars or clouds above it all. I am running as fast as I am able, though effortless, and my feet never quite touch the ground, I know that someone is fallowing close behind. Cool air rushes past my face as panic sets in; feels easing, and I calm enough to see from a prospective not my own- off to one side, next to the apartments, and a little above me- a man tall and black, dressed in runners tights, fast gaining on me. Not more than two feet aside and dead even with me, we look at each other. Now, he is not dressed in tights, but in a green T-shirt and blue-jeans. I know not what I where. Something soft in his face puts me at peace. No longer do I run, now we race.

Gone are the apartments. Gone are the fields. Gone is sky, with out stars or clouds. Dark clouds in the night sky lay over the narrow street, framed by the buildings to ether side. Now, it is bright- only enough to see clearly, not so much as to hurt my eyes. We run past an abandoned bazaar, in to a noodle house with a low ceiling. I am the first enter; pushing through a paper door with out damaging it, I see -from the other runners view- myself leaping over a low divide in the way. I see the astonished patrons ogle with relative fancy, from their cushions, set besides the low tables. I see us both run past confused wait staff, and a row of diners along a wall, towards the rear of the restaurant and the back door. Heavy in weight, I slam in to the solid metal door, and push it open.

The other runner and I jockey for position as we race down a soft dirt alleyway, towards the street. Leaping over trashcans and construction debris, we reach the street. There are none but us in the thoroughfare; it is the deep of night now and all have left. Though we both stand panting, hands on are knees, gasping for breath, we are not tired. Looking at each other, I know we will meet again in the cities ways, and shops.

Wind blows and my face cools; I regain my breath.

I stand on a ledge above city looking at the other runner and myself. I see us reflected in my eye as I become aware of where I am. I am no longer on the roads or in the alleys but on the ledge above city, dressed in a tan over coat, loose cut gray shirt, and light brown pants. Looking out toward the horizon, I sell the dust and squint towards the bright sun, braking over the cool morning earth. I know there is a storm coming.

I woke calmer than I have been in weeks. The city is not new, I have been there several times, but going through my old dream journals, I found that this was the first time there had been commentary. Indeed commentary is a rather a new occurrence altogether, happening only in the last few six weeks or so.

Cheery-Bye

Narrated by a small boy.

Ten are so bats fly past my view of the cloudy night sky. Ben's father- a heavy set balding man, in a tweed sweater- is standing on the low railing of a strut iron bridge, that is spanning a large, steep gorge. He is preparing to jump, for he cannot stand living with his free spirited wife. A friend of Ben's father is down below standing in the wide, but shallow, rocky stream. An average build but slight muscle tone keeps his feet struggling against the fast moving current. He pleads with his friend to talk him down. Speaking with an English accent, "Common, your wife will be mad at me." Becoming nervous, he tries to any thing that comes to mind, "The water is too cold, and it"s dark out here; come down; let"s go home." Pleading now, "I'm already in the water, just come down." His friend leans forward and falls of the metalwork, descending through the air for several seconds before landing, with a splash and a thud thirty meters away.

Ben is with his mother at the bank of the stream with soft, gray sand, watching the fading twilight of the dusk- the one where his father died. His mother- seen only as a tall, slim, silhouette- walks away, when he is laying by the water, leaving him on the soft sand. Ben relies his mother is gone- I believe this happens often- Ben is a little worried but not terribly so. He is comforted when he finds his mothers foot prints in the sand. He fallows the prints away from the stream. At their end, he finds in the hollow of a tall hill- carved to form a wide crescent- a toppled statue. Ben plays by the feet of the fallen monolith. Ben speaks, "My mom leaves me things. She leaves them on mount hood." Looking off in to the distance, "It is far away- I will go there now."

I see Ben working his way, first by sidecar of a motorbike- a nice old man let him hitch- then by running, until he barrowed a bike for the journey. "She me things on Mount Hood, way at the very top." There is a village on three tiers." I see a small village with five or six houses mostly two storied country home affairs, with there light on in their windows- bright against the night sky. I see Ben as he climes up the side of the tiers. "She leaves me things in the barn." Ben is half way up. "The only barn is on the very top tier." Ben is ascending the last tier. "it's O.K. though , I don"t mind." Ben is at the barn. "There is a cameraman there." The man readies the camera. "It"s O.K. though, he lets me in." The man needs to get a better view. I see Ben enter through a loose plank in the barns side. Bats fly out the barn door; left ajar. They fly out towards the cloud-crossed moon, as the man films. "My mom leaves me books- I love her." I see Ben move towards a book lying in the middle of the straw covered floor. I see Ben stoop to grasp the book in his hand, and lift it from the ground. "My name is Ben and this is what I reads."

Greetings,

{This was dreaming the plain old none lucid kind.}

It occurred to me several hours after I woke up, to check my dream Journal- some times I know I wrote something in it, some times I don't. This morning I found a rather interesting dream.

It begins in my old neighborhood in the sadly under stocked "new age" store. I'm browsing the three isles and thinking why don't I use the express. I have the vague impression that �the express� is a sort of subway. So I go to he back of the store and push down a wall, it gives way- swings on hinges. I walk over it and find myself on a large round tube thing.

I'm underground for some time, but emerge out of a wall in what I described in my journal as a large industrial shipping center. All concrete, and open on one side, with a few trucks that where being filled with boxes by workers. The workers did not seam to notice, so I strolled out on to the street.

Here I wrote of feeling the small suburban town- like the suburbs of New York or Baltimore- was somewhere in the Midwest, but after pondering the word "hills" and "San Francisco" I think it must have been in the foothills of the rocky moutons, Montana maybe.

I walked in the street awhile, then boarded a trolley and headed down hill for some time before winding up at literally the end of the line. The rail that the trolley was riding on stops right at the front door of a large three-storied integrity carved wood building. There is a something over the double door but I don�t think I could read it. Interring the building, I saw a large open space with carved wood beams holding up the two floors above. There was a large skylight where both the upper floors had been removed. Looked like a resort cabin, with masks and totems hanging on the walls.

There was an old- old but not elderly- looking man in the kind of storekeeper dress that one sees in Client Eastwood westerns- standing at the front counter. The counter is covered in odds and ins, the big glass front shows off several anthems and goblets. I ask him something that might have been along the lines of "what do you sell�" Hear my journal becomes nearly indecipherable, so I can't tell you what he said but, it was definitely occult related- I get that impression clearly.

I'm looking at the scene trying to see what else is there, when abruptly I'm back in the Shipping center, getting on the tube train. As I'm riding back I get the impression I'm remembering something- the shopkeepers name perhaps? I am riding the train for some time trying to tease out what it could be, and then- in a most un-dramatic way- I wake up.

Cheery-bye

I was walking in my dreams, last night, simply having fun with lucid dreaming. I came a cross a train station that looked abandoned.
I stayed there for some time, and then moved out of the lobby and on to the platform. The sky was gray, overcast with heavy clouds.
There was a coldness lingering about but no wind. A lovely place; I enjoyed staying there. After some time I excited through a large
archway in the lobby.

Good day all,

I have seen many things, odd or slightly off, in the time I have dabbled in magick; but this morning I saw something slightly more off-kilter than I am accustomed to. Leaving my dorm at about six in the morning a headed off to the bus stop, when I rather large raven landed on a street lamp some ten feet in front of me. Anywhere else, this might be dismissed but I currently live on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. There are no ravens here- many, many, pidgins, but no ravens. It was a little odd to be sure, but what got my intention was that even when it crowed and flew off, no one seemed to notice.

Never before has any type of apparition- be it spirit, construct, or elemental, even auras -none have been this clear. Every other time I have seen something it was like I forgot to where my glasses; blurry and jumpy. Yet, not this bird, it was as if, and this may indeed be the case, it was a real flesh and blood raven.

I will keep an eye out for it. In the meantime I will try to get a baring with tarot, then go from there.

Cheery-bye