Visceral Dream, Complete With Tarot Card, Plus 50 percent more aliens and home invasion. Options

Hi, all. This is my first post on the forum (obviously,) and I was just hoping to get a little insight from this awesome communtiy on a dream I had a while back.

As a little background on me, I've always had the good fortune to remember a large percentage of my dreams, and this has allowed me to sort of become a connoisseur of dreams. I generally lump them into a few subsets: average subconscious stuff, partial lucid (dreams in which I realize that 'reality' allows me certain abilities, without ever having the thought 'this is a dream.' It's a bit like recognizing that in this place where I am and have been before, x rules naturally apply; also, dreams in which I recognize that I am dreaming and try to control my environment but fail,) full lucid (where I realize I'm dreaming and therefore can manipulate my surroundings,) ultravivid dreams (full sensory input, including ambient environment. Sense of touch, smell, taste, and environmental sounds. Textures are sharp, tends to follow a sense of logic and clarity in regards to time, place and movement, with little or none of the muddiness of action of average subconscious dreams, ) and external dreams (dreams, usually with some characteristics of ultravivid dreams, in which I do not feel that my surroundings entirely originate in my sub-conscious. Contact with other entities, including on several occasions the dead. Not to get too metaphysical with it... )

The dream I'd like to recount definitely falls under the blurry line between ultravivid and external:

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I open my eyes in bed. It's clearly night, probably sometime around 2 or 3 am. We live in a city and it never gets entirely dark in our bedroom, so the ambient glow of the streetlights outside makes it easy to see shapes and even some detail clearly, but color is all muted and blue grays. G is still asleep beside me, and it occurs to me that my legs are curled up kind of uncomfortably. I try to straighten them out, but there's something heavy at the foot of the bed. I assume it's one of our cats, notorious bedhogs. I look down to see which one it is, and discover it isn't a cat at all, but a man sleeping curled at the foot of our bed. He's wrapped in newspapers, and still asleep.

My heart skips a little when I realize there's a strange man sleeping at the foot of our bed, but it nearly stops when I realize there's someone walking around in our bedroom. I get out of bed, but this stranger ignores me. He is crouched in front of one of our bookshelves, sliding each book towards the edge in order to examine the cover. Most books he replaces after a cursory examination, but some he takes. He has a very small stack in his arms at this point. As I watch, he crosses to the bookcase opposite the bed and begins the process again with those books.

I stand beside him and tell him to stop, he can't take those things. He has to get out. When he turns to look at me I realize that his face is inhuman. His mouth is almost lipless, and all of his teeth are nearly uniform and pointed. The skin of his face is very taut; he's bald, and has two small horns that look very much like the plates from a stegosaurus where the hairline on a normal person would be. He also has two small tufts of hair on the crown of his head in line with the horns. He just smiles at me and leaves the bedroom. I am sure he's heading to one of the bookshelves in the living room, and I go to follow him, but find my way blocked by the Newspaper Man, who grabs me as I pass the bed.

He stands, and I notice that he's a black man, taller than me, wearing newspapers all over, and filthy. He speaks to me, but can't make himself understood. He sounds garbled to me, like a bad recording on a cassette tape, speaking another language. He's frustrated by our language barrier, and he shoves a card at me. It is the style and size of a card from the Rider Waite Tarot deck, with the same gaudy colors and black outlines, but it isn't a card I recognize. Instead, it shows a single pink cloud approaching from an ocean horizon. In the foreground is the deck of a ship with people on it. Where the shadow of this cloud falls, their faces and limbs are distorted and grotesque. It is clear from Newspaper Man's manner that this is a warning, but he can't explain it to me.

I leave the card with him and go into the livingroom where the other stranger is, indeed, still taking books and now DVDs off of the shelves one by one. I tell him he has to leave, and when he comes to the end of the shelf he's working on he looks at me. His manner is very leisurely. He indicates to me that I'm not the one who controls when he comes and goes. He's here on behalf of someone else (his manner implies that someone is a group, not an individual.) His name is Qe (pronounced Key.) He ambles toward the front door through the very dark kitchen (no windows in there. Lighting in the dream was very realistic, including ambient light shifting by area and room,) and there is the implication that I can expect further visits. It's clear that he's leaving because he's finished, not because I told him to go, and he took with him whatever it was he took from the shelves.

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Any thoughts? Any insight you can bring to some of the symbols? The card and Qe himself are big ones for me, and one of this first impressions I had on waking was that feeling of separateness between Qe and I, that even upon reflection I cannot make him jive with any part of myself. He was very alien to me. I can't really stress enough how identical it was to our apartment, or how visceral and intense the physical sensation of REALNESS was.

>>>it shows a single pink cloud approaching from an ocean horizon. In the foreground is the deck of a ship with people on it. Where the shadow of this cloud falls, their faces and limbs are distorted and grotesque.

wonderful! - i'm assuming it wasn't inverted - the shadow distorts indeed (inverted or otherwise), and a 'red (or pink) sky at morning, sailors take warning' and 'red sky at night, sailor's delight' (tradewinds required)

and of course the horned man will return - and why would you tell someone to get out of your house who was examining your choosing of books and picking one here and there with a knowing nod of his noble sweet horned kissable head? - do you feel you own your secret knowledge? - to whom does ownership incur and when?

i love dreams

This post has been edited by esoterica: Mar 4 2010, 07:52 AM