A Pencil In My Eye

A few months after I was arrested in Idaho in 2005, while I was still desperately trying to understand what was happening, I had this dream, which I told my attorney's about and also wrote about in a journal that I was keeping at the time. I dreamed that I had a pencil stuck in my eye, and when I tried to pull it out my brains started to come out stuck to the pencil. I was in an outdoor plaza and people were walking all around me, but they either ignored or even avoided me by walking clear around me. I cried desperately, “Please, help me! I'm hurt! Please help me! Help!” But the people continued to ignore me, some just looked right at me but kept walking. They could see me, but why wouldn't they help me? When I woke up from this dream I found I had been crying in my sleep, and I quickly realized that it was not just a dream. It was an apt metaphor for my “sickness” in real life, and the way people just stared at me, but no one would help. Also, in real life, like in the dream, I am effectively blinded in one eye, which prevents me from being able to perceive depth. But in real life the “eye” is my “heart”, or, the part of my subconscious mind that allows me to “see” (ie. Love, understand, etc.) the world I live in and the other people in it. To me, the world is a flat, two-dimensional reality. Of course I know about depth, and the three-dimensional nature of the world, just as a man with one eye knows the world is three-dimensional. But, like a man with one eye, I simply can't see the same way other people see. I know the depth is there, but I can't “see” it (which could explain why I once proclaimed in another dream, “I want to love Jesus but He won't let me!”). This dream perfectly depicts the nightmare that has been my life. The “pencil” is still there today, and it still hurts like hell all the time. It often gets bumped causing flare-ups of pain that I will never be able to prevent as long as the “pencil” remains in my eye. But Shasta, the little girl I couldn't kill, helped me “see”, by letting me look through her eyes. And what I saw changed the way I see things forever. I saw a whole new dimension to reality that I once knew, but had long since forgotten! I knew that without Shasta I would be “blind” again. But the glimpse she gave me was all I needed. She restored my hope in love. I suspect there are a lot of one-eyed people in the world, but not for much longer. We only need each other to “see.”

Waking Up From Murder

I just awoke from a nap. I was dreaming that I was visiting my step family, who in real life have said that I “deserve to die”. Actually, in the dream, the family I was visiting was a bizarre hodgepodge of past friends, step family and even a reality TV family (kind of a cross between “19 kids and counting” and “little people, big world”). I was sitting in the dining room where two of my real life step-nephews seemed to be doing homework for school. By way of making polite conversation I asked them what grade they were in. The one sitting closest to me, Nick, who in real life, as in the dream, is a very independent young man, told me, “eight”. I said, “Do you mean, eighth grade?” He said contemptuously, “No. We don't have 'grades'. We have 'levels'. We're not like other schools.” I asked, “What do you mean?” And he said, “We believe in the death penalty.” As I started to inquire further I woke up. But even as I lay awake in my jail cell, more questions for my nephew poured through my mind. 'Do you think some people deserve to die?' 'What do you mean by “deserve to die?”' As I lay there, I realized that a person's position on the death penalty is a good divider between basic types of belief systems. And this dream seemed to indicate so by apparently defining an entire school system based on the belief in the death penalty. If you believe in the death penalty, then you essentially believe that some people “deserve to die” (or conversely, “do not deserve to live”). And you can't believe that unless you also believe that there are (and should be) some standards that people must live up to in order to “deserve to live”. You also, by implication, believe that those standards are determinable. And, more importantly, that it is possible to weigh an individual against said determined standards. In short, if you believe in the death penalty, then you believe that humans have the ability to determine (by judgement) the moral worth of other humans. And this belief will determine not only your position on the death penalty, but also your position on many other issues as well, such as whether or not war can be justified on moral grounds (i.e. “in the name of God”). Even a person who calls themselves atheist, is bowing to a false god, if they believe such a thing. I won't go into all the reasons it is impossible for us to morally judge each other, numerous other books have already been written about that (especially the Bible!). But I just wanted to observe what believing in the death penalty really means. I believed I had the ability to judge society once too. And I believed that my ability to judge was superior to those whom I judged. And I carried out my judgements, until a little girl showed me that my ability to judge was pure delusion. That was when I “woke up” in real life!

Art Conscious Dream

I dreamed today that I had returned to college for an art class. I arrived early for class and found the instructor, a middle aged black woman, at the front of the classroom contemplating a painting that she had painted and was presenting for that days lecture. The painting was an abstract watercolor self portrait, black on white canvas, about 3x4 feet tall. It stood on a pedistal at the front of the room facing toward the seats. The instructor stood near a lecture podium as she mused over her work of art from a few feet in front of it. I approached without speaking so as to politely not disturb her. I stopped near the front of the room and also began contemplating her portrait. She then began speaking to me as if we were already in the middle of a conversation about the painting. She said, “Notice how some parts are well defined, such as my arms and my hair, while other parts are intentionally obscure, such as my legs and torso.” I noticed what she was talking about in the painting. The “well defined arms” she spoke of were black rectangular shapes that seemed to extend either out of or into the painting, depending on how you looked at it. The “hair” which clearly defined the position of the subjects head, was a sharply defined black arch near the top of the painting. The “legs”, and other parts of the painting were extremely vague by comparison. After a pause, long enough to allow me to take all this in, she said, “The parts that are well defined express the focus of my consciousness as I worked on the painting. The parts that are blured are areas that my mind was trying to avoid being aware of. For example, see how blured and misshapen the legs are? That is because my legs were causing me pain at the time.” I saw exactly what she meant, and I could almost tell her exactly how her legs felt just by looking at the painting. Then I suddenly “opened up” to the painting and I started “seeing” reflections of my own consciousness in it. I said to the instructor, “Yes I see what you mean. The blured undefined areas seem to change, according to my own mood, while the clearly defined strokes keep me anchored to the subject.” I caught her nod of approval out of the corner of my eye. Then other students started to arrive for the class. (The dream continued, but was less interesting after that)

Sweet Sweet Innocence

I dreamed yesterday that I was visiting a planet where the people lived on an island under constant threat from attack by intelligent creatures that lived beneath the surface of the oceans. Except for their tiny island, their entire world was covered with clear blue water. The sky was permanently overcast by tremendous amounts of moisture from the great ocean, but this protected the islanders from a sun much closer and harsher than our own here on Earth. While I was there an attack came and the alarm was raised for everyone to defend the island. I moved outside and down to the beach where everyone was running around in a panic. Orders were being yelled and ignored. Then I saw groups of islanders opening fire at other groups of islanders, who returned fire to defend themselves. Soon a full scale battle broke out, but there was no attackers! At least, none from the sea. The islanders were fighting each other in the ever escalating confusion and chaos. I began walking along a seawall, where I saw several large horse-like creatures that had been brutally slain in the fighting. Their large mutilated bodies seemed to emphasize the insanity of the “battle”. Then I came to the end of the seawall and turned inland. Just off the shore, and behind the battle lines, I saw where new horse-like creatures were being brought in to replace other ones killed. They seemed unconscious when they arrived, and they were secured with straps inside the crates, lying flat on their sides. I approached one of the crates that had a smaller, pony-sized, creature. As I watched the pony was unstrapped and revived (woke up). It quickly got to its feet and I saw that it was very much like a child's fantasy pony, with a blue coat and colorful mane, complete with wings that seemed to attach themselves to the animal rather thatn being a part of it. I suddenly felt very much as though I was in a child's dream, like no dream I had ever been in. And as if to emphasize my own alien presence, I then noticed a little girl, abous six-years-old, who I knew to be a princess, and the recipient of the flying pony (and perhaps also the “dreamer”). I watched as the pony took to the air and flew majestically out over the sea past and through the many rainbows that made up the sky. It was so beautiful and so innocent at the same time that I began to cry happily. I followed the little princess, who followed the pony, as it flew back toward the castle where I had been before the fighting had started. But now there was no more fighting, it seemed almost everyone was dead or no longer able to fight. I was still crying when we arrived at the castle gates, and as I watched the little girl go inside I couldn't help but notice what a sexy little ass she had, even as I cried over the beauty of her innocence. Then I woke up. I'll let you interpret this dream however you wish. But let me say this; for me, it was a great lesson!

A Dream Not Forgotten

In a dream that I had when I was 21 years old in the cell-blocks at McNeil Island Corrections Center (M.I.C.C.), I dreamed that I was a massive twelve foot tall barely humanoid creature. I was stooped over in a hospital room, and there was an anonymous man, of normal stature, laying in the bed in front of me. I somehow knew that in order to prove that I could be a “demon” I had to eat the man. So I picked him up as easily as picking up a child, and began biting his leg. I was repulsed, so I started laughing and snarling as I chowed on the man's leg in order to stave off my repulsion. Then suddenly two tremendous black shadowy arms wrapped around me from behind and pulled me backwards and down. I fell through the floor of the hospital room and quickly found myself being pulled helplessly down into the blackest blackness. As I fell backwards, the powerful arms constricted my chest and arms, so I could not move or breath! I felt a sense of fear at that moment like nothing I had ever experienced before, or since. It was sheer unrestrained terror, that no worldly experience could ever replicate. Then I somehow knew that I was dreaming, and desperately willed myself to wake up. I woke with a violent start and gasping for air. I was back at M.I.C.C., in the top-front bunk (nearest the bars) of an eight-man prison cell, on “Dog-tier”, one story up. It was morning and the other inmates in the cell were also just waking up and in various stages of dress as they got ready for mainline (breakfast). After catching my breath and taking several deep breaths to calm down, I climbed down off the bunk and sat down on the locker next to the bars. The man who slept below me was a friend, and he was there sitting on his bunk. I began to tell him about my dream. But some of the other inmates in the cell overheard, and one of them began raging on me about dreaming that I was a demon. I got angry and told him to shut up. Incouraged by his own friends, he began taunting me even more, “What'cha gonna do, eat me!” I jumped up and attacked him in the middle of the cell. I was so angry that I quickly brought him to the ground, with me on top, and began forcefully slamming his head into the concrete floor. He stopped resisting after the first blow to his head on the floor. The inmate was dead, but I had my hands around his neck and kept using that hold to lift and slam, lift and slam his head into the floor, until his face started to distort. Then I watched in amazement as his face transformed into that of a hideous demon, and he started laughing at me as I banged his head even more and more furiously into the floor and strangled him at the same time. I screamed (and these are the exact words that I remember clearly to this day), “No! No! I don't want to hate! I want to love Jesus, but he won't let me!” Then I woke up again, this time for real. I was in the same bunk, but the lights were off and a guard was just then walking past the bars at the front of the cell with a flashlight doing a security check. Everyone else was still asleep. It was the middle of the night. My heart was racing, and I sat up to think about what had just happened. Could that really have been just a dream? Or was it some sort of message; a warning? I didn't know, but I decided not to take it too seriously, though it was a dream that I never forgot.