Bill Mallonee - Amber Waves
12 years ago
May 31, 2007
May 27, 2007
The Black Boxer
There is something uniquely exhilarating about realizing that one is dreaming in the midst of a dream. In my case, unfortunately, this sensation rarely lasts long, and I wake up. The adrenaline-type rush also makes it difficult to return to sleep.
I've read up on what some call "lucid dreaming," but I have neither the time to practice getting better at it nor the money to attend swanky conferences in Hawaii.
Last night I found myself standing in the den in the house in which I grew up, petting a very large dog, even for its breed (Boxer). Another distinctive feature of this dog was its colour: a shiny black. (From the linked Wikipedia article: "The Boxer does not carry the gene for a solid black coat color and therefore purebred black Boxers do not exist.") I found myself thinking about how much the dog had grown since the last time I saw it.
Wait — the last time I saw it? Suddenly I realized that I had seen this dog in a recent dream, and that I was also dreaming at the moment. The electric charge I felt coursing through my nervous system upon this awareness caused me to wake, and I was left with only the memory.
If I let my imagination run wild, here is a spooky twist to ponder. My dad died just over 3 years ago. I have been "visited" by him (or his memory, whatever) several times in dreams, and almost every time he has come by to announce an upcoming change in his afterlife. The last such visit was quite some time ago (I need to start blogging these to keep track), and he was about to leave a basically human-like form/format and enter what my subconscious understood at the time as "The Dark Tank." It really wasn't a tank per se, but was liquid and two-dimensional, an infinite plane of black, silent absorption. He was letting me know that he would be there for a while. An analogy that comes to mind is that of a caterpillar entering a cocoon, where it "melts" and later transforms into a moth or butterfly.
Here's the kicker: the last weeks of Dad's life were spent in hospice care in a medical bed that was placed in the den. He died in the same room in which I have lately found myself standing and becoming acquainted with this dog, in at least two dreams. Now, I'm not suggesting that he has been "reincarnated as a dog," in the juvenile understanding that many Westerners attach to this concept. I don't profess to understand the spiritual world, mostly because I cling to the notion that there is a scientific explanation for everything in it, such as, for example, sub-atomic routines related to what we know as "memory," which defy our current "knowledge" of time and space.
But is there not a chance that the "soul" (for serious lack of a better term) of my late father is traversing unknown pathways that occasionally intersect with the unconscious meanderings of still-living offspring's minds? And if that's so, then there is no reason I know of to doubt that my end of this interaction would, for whatever reason, ascribe a form to this entity. And so, though I currently don't know why such a form would be a friendly, youthful, big shiny black Boxer, I simply cannot rule it out.
I've read up on what some call "lucid dreaming," but I have neither the time to practice getting better at it nor the money to attend swanky conferences in Hawaii.
Last night I found myself standing in the den in the house in which I grew up, petting a very large dog, even for its breed (Boxer). Another distinctive feature of this dog was its colour: a shiny black. (From the linked Wikipedia article: "The Boxer does not carry the gene for a solid black coat color and therefore purebred black Boxers do not exist.") I found myself thinking about how much the dog had grown since the last time I saw it.
Wait — the last time I saw it? Suddenly I realized that I had seen this dog in a recent dream, and that I was also dreaming at the moment. The electric charge I felt coursing through my nervous system upon this awareness caused me to wake, and I was left with only the memory.
If I let my imagination run wild, here is a spooky twist to ponder. My dad died just over 3 years ago. I have been "visited" by him (or his memory, whatever) several times in dreams, and almost every time he has come by to announce an upcoming change in his afterlife. The last such visit was quite some time ago (I need to start blogging these to keep track), and he was about to leave a basically human-like form/format and enter what my subconscious understood at the time as "The Dark Tank." It really wasn't a tank per se, but was liquid and two-dimensional, an infinite plane of black, silent absorption. He was letting me know that he would be there for a while. An analogy that comes to mind is that of a caterpillar entering a cocoon, where it "melts" and later transforms into a moth or butterfly.
Here's the kicker: the last weeks of Dad's life were spent in hospice care in a medical bed that was placed in the den. He died in the same room in which I have lately found myself standing and becoming acquainted with this dog, in at least two dreams. Now, I'm not suggesting that he has been "reincarnated as a dog," in the juvenile understanding that many Westerners attach to this concept. I don't profess to understand the spiritual world, mostly because I cling to the notion that there is a scientific explanation for everything in it, such as, for example, sub-atomic routines related to what we know as "memory," which defy our current "knowledge" of time and space.
But is there not a chance that the "soul" (for serious lack of a better term) of my late father is traversing unknown pathways that occasionally intersect with the unconscious meanderings of still-living offspring's minds? And if that's so, then there is no reason I know of to doubt that my end of this interaction would, for whatever reason, ascribe a form to this entity. And so, though I currently don't know why such a form would be a friendly, youthful, big shiny black Boxer, I simply cannot rule it out.
Jul 28, 2006
Jul 26, 2006
Jul 14, 2006
How I Know It Is Summer
As if the stifling heat and suffocating humidity weren't enough, I also experience an uptick in strange, prescient dreams and other so-called "paranormal" happenings. July and August are the "hottest" months wherein this type of activity occurs.
Now that I've outed myself as a wacko, let me illustrate. I had a dream last night that I was stopped by the side of the road, and was stepping out of (not my) car, when a dog walked out of the roadside brush within about ten feet of the front of the car. My location was, as best as I can recall, on the East side of Missionary Ridge. (Picture I-24W going over the ridge but as a two-lane road instead of an interstate.) It was twilight.
The animal, however, wasn't a dog. In my dream, I said aloud (to myself) "that's a coyote! Right here in the city!" It was an extremely vivid image:
the coyote stepped out of the brush,
I paused in exiting the vehicle as I identified it,
it looked at me,
then it walked away. The dream either ended or moved on into some unrelated scene right after that.
But I didn't remember having that dream at all -- until I was browsing Chattanoogan.com and found this story. Then the image of that coyote on Missionary Ridge snapped into my mind, and I had to blog it. Even now I'm struggling to determine that it actually was a dream, and that I didn't see a coyote on an evening drive somewhere recently. But I haven't stopped on the side of the road since my Valentine's Day car breakdown, and I know it wasn't then.
Okay, Joe, this was just one little dream, and one little Chattanoogan.com recycled press release. But 1) they happened on the same day, and B) I swear this kind of thing happens somewhat frequently, but mostly during the "dog days" of Summer. I've been keeping mental track since 1998, and I really should have been keeping a better written record.
If this gives you a good laugh, I'm glad I provided humor. Laughter is a good thing. If you take it even slightly as my honest word, which is how it is given, I hope I've enabled your mind's question factory. Questioning is also a good thing.
And, for what it is worth, there are coyotes in Chattanooga, and somehow my unconscious seems to have known that before my conscious mind did.
Now that I've outed myself as a wacko, let me illustrate. I had a dream last night that I was stopped by the side of the road, and was stepping out of (not my) car, when a dog walked out of the roadside brush within about ten feet of the front of the car. My location was, as best as I can recall, on the East side of Missionary Ridge. (Picture I-24W going over the ridge but as a two-lane road instead of an interstate.) It was twilight.
The animal, however, wasn't a dog. In my dream, I said aloud (to myself) "that's a coyote! Right here in the city!" It was an extremely vivid image:
the coyote stepped out of the brush,
I paused in exiting the vehicle as I identified it,
it looked at me,
then it walked away. The dream either ended or moved on into some unrelated scene right after that.
But I didn't remember having that dream at all -- until I was browsing Chattanoogan.com and found this story. Then the image of that coyote on Missionary Ridge snapped into my mind, and I had to blog it. Even now I'm struggling to determine that it actually was a dream, and that I didn't see a coyote on an evening drive somewhere recently. But I haven't stopped on the side of the road since my Valentine's Day car breakdown, and I know it wasn't then.
Okay, Joe, this was just one little dream, and one little Chattanoogan.com recycled press release. But 1) they happened on the same day, and B) I swear this kind of thing happens somewhat frequently, but mostly during the "dog days" of Summer. I've been keeping mental track since 1998, and I really should have been keeping a better written record.
If this gives you a good laugh, I'm glad I provided humor. Laughter is a good thing. If you take it even slightly as my honest word, which is how it is given, I hope I've enabled your mind's question factory. Questioning is also a good thing.
And, for what it is worth, there are coyotes in Chattanooga, and somehow my unconscious seems to have known that before my conscious mind did.
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