Dream Log Entry: 10.13.10 "Him, The Underground & Lift Offs"

Here are my dreams from the past few days, or rather as much of them as I am able to recall this far after the fact. Should've documented them sooner. There are pieces missing, I'm sure. But even the most minute particles of memory hold within their fragmented selves a thread of validity to contribute to the quilt.

A'ight. The rundown, as concise and bare as possible:

10.11.10

Him again. We talked. I have no idea what about. "I'm testing your strength and staying power..." he said. That's all that stands out.

10.12.10

Me and a group of friends (of which he was a part of) were trapped in a dark tunnel underground. The number 50 stands out. I don't know why. 50 feet under the earth, I think.

As we maneuvered through the tunnel, it started to resemble an abandoned, dimly lit parking garage - each level presenting us with a different obstacle to surpass. Someone asked, "How the hell will we ever get out of here?" No one knew. No one offered a response.

I noticed a huge crack in one of the walls, and as I examined it more closely, I noticed that it formed a pattern...a shape of some kind. I traced its edges with my fingertips and then stepped back to get a broader view. It was in the shape of a Grammy award, I thought. The moment I realized what it was, light began emanating through the cracks and the shape began to move out of its place in the wall and the ground shook violently.

Suddenly, the divine voice spoke to me, and this time the group heard it too. "You've toiled in the background for so long... Now comes light. Heal through song," it said.

The light got brighter. It covered me. "Go now. This is your 'out'..." the voice instructed.

I didn't know where I was going. But I followed the light and walked through the wall. The group followed. We got out. Destination unknown; but by golly...we got out.

10.13.10 

As a means of rewarding our efforts & artistic achievements as native Houstonians who positively represented the essence of Space City, the city of Houston and NASA joined forces and invited me and the fellas on a trip to accompany its astronauts to the moon. We had to endure a couple of weeks of training in preparation for our adventure.

Fast forward to that fateful day. We boarded the space shuttle, doubling over in nervous excitement. The big guy was sweating. The other tried to look composed to conceal anxiety. I worried mostly about the fact that we were physically going to be OFF THE PLANET and the sun would be back at home... back on that blue ball that would fade into the distance... back on the earth we'd always known...without me.

The countdown was already underway, and I hadn't noticed with my mind focused so intensely on that last thought. There was a huge rumbling as lift off began. No sooner than we exited the earth's atmosphere did something hit the space ship! The fury of the slam tossed us about like rag dolls and when we regained composure, me and the fellas looked wide-eyed. We all panicked.

"Oh sh*t, we're gonna die! I knew we shouldn't have done this!" one of them yelled. (I'm not at liberty to say which one) . . .Although this sentiment was the general consensus among the three of us, he blurted it out first.  lol!

"How do we contact earth?! I need to call my baby! If this is what it's gonna be, I can't go out without saying goodbye to him." I said, in a voice of helpless resignation. There was nothing any of us could have done to help ourselves in the middle of nowhere, literally. So optimism was bull crap at this point. Or so we thought.

The crew leader communicated with the base in Houston, explaining what had happened. Then he came to explain it to us. He reassured us that this is experienced sometimes in space flight. We had simply encountered a small scattered meteor shower. A tiny meteorite had nicked the ship, but caused no real damage. We would all be fine.

The trip continued. The ride was bumpy at certain points. We laughed at ourselves for freaking out.

We made it to the moon and back perfectly in tact.


- kj

Becoming Write - 10.06.10

I have nothing worthwhile to type or say. No subject in mind. No pre-packaged idea. No dream to relay.  No. . . destination. I am adrift in a boat with no row in the primordial sea of thought. My fingers move of their own volition. Only spirit and mind dance now. I willingly submit.

When I close my eyes, I am naked unto myself. Formless. Nameless. I am not Pam's daughter, Kim, Zeni's mama, or any of my aliases. I am timeless. Genderless.  An oddity enveloped by the surrounding darkness. No one special. Nothing more than a fetus cushioned by abysmal waters; oblivious to the chaos that prevails outside its own.

Space is the womb. But whose? Am I a merely a planet, and how does one become the Sun? Better yet, how did I birthed one?

Why do computer chips resemble aerial views of cities? Was that intentional?

Could I be the proverbial insect in a divine ant farm, overseen by gods or aliens alike who observe our lives for either entertainment or self-comprehension? Who are the producers and creators of Earth: The Reality Show? How are the ratings? Who's the star?

Perhaps I'm the distant ancestor of an atom (adam) that loaned its riboflavin (rib) to catalyze evolution (eve).  My questions are often pebble tosses into a lake that ripples on and on and on and on and...on...in endless continuum. Too cerebral, by far.

Still, today I am humble. I hope to remain so in the tomorrows that follow.

Today I am as curious as I was yesterday. Curiosity killed the cat. But I am not one in this lifetime. I walk upright in this incarnation.

Today. . . in this moment. . . I am whole. One. Connected. Attuned. Picking up signals in all directions.  At peace with all that I assume I am, and all that I proclaim I am not.

Yes, sailing in a sea of constant becoming.

 If you're coming. . . well. . . open your eyes.



- kj

Dream Log Entry - 10.05.10 "Makes No Sense At All"

I became conscious of the fact that I was dreaming when she knocked on the door. It was Erykah Badu. No, I don't know her personally...but apparently, the other me does. Either that, or she symbolizes someone in my life that reminds me of her - or maybe an energy that I've made peace with even. Dream language has meanings that extend across numerous dimensions; so one never quite knows.

We hugged and exchanged pleasantries. She asked what I was cooking. I advised that I was just about to heat up the rest of some homemade veggie soup I'd concocted. She grabbed a bowl off the table and replied, "Oh now, you gon' have to share that." We laughed.

My sisters were in the kitchen heating up their portions of the soup as well. For them, I'd prepared various side dishes to choose from too.  I encouraged them all to help themselves to either of the two cakes on the table that a good friend had made for me. They did. No hesitation at all, as if they'd been waiting for me to give them the green light so they wouldn't have to ask.

We sat around, eating and talking as women do. Female bonding. Sharing stories and experiences. The energy in the room was strong. My place smelled of food and patchouli. One of my sisters kept butting into a conversation that Badu and I were engaged in. I reminded her that it was rude. She relented before leaving the table, "Sorry...just can't believe she's here...in your apartment."

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. We all ceased our actions and conversations. I was annoyed, "I'm not expecting anybody. Hope the neighbors didn't see you come in [Erykah], and now they're coming for autographs and such. Wanted you to be able to chill in peace."

I shuffled along to the front door, expecting to see a group of nosey birds with cameras poised, anxious to catch a glimpse of the person that they were sure was Badu.  I braced myself and got ready to block them from barging into my spot. . . but for naught. I was wrong. Instead, it was him. Again. Popping up as he always does.

I opened the door and smiled in relief. "Oh, it's just you. I thought you were someone else."

"Why?" he looked confused.

"Well. . . because. . . " I signaled to Badu. "Look who's here."

"Ahhh, I see," he walked over to hug her. "How've you been maam? Good seeing you again. What brings you down here?" She explained she had a spur-of-the-moment show at a secret location in Houston and wanted to drop in to see her people first. Apparently, we both were friends with her on the other side.

He looked at me, "Hey you...Didn't mean to pop up like this. Don't be mad. Got off of work early and wanted to talk to you in person about something. You got a sec?"

"Well, I kinda have company right now. Can it wait til later on maybe?" I reminded him.

"Well... I mean... I just thought... well, I guess I should've called first...Can't expect for you to just not have your own stuff going on, right?... " he fumbled.

Badu interjected, "It's okay sis. Me and the girls are gonna go hang out for a while. We'll be back... You stay here and have that talk. It's overdue." She winked and smiled.

They left. I locked the door behind them.

We sat there for a moment in silence. The imagery had become so vivid and life-like that I could almost reach out and touch him and he wouldn't have disappeared, faded to vapor or morphed into something else like most dream figures do. The kicker was that I could clearly smell his scent. It seemed more pronounced now than when he first walked in. It was familiar. Where had I smelled it before? I couldn't recall, and that bothered me.

Finally, he began to speak. It was garbled. I couldn't make it out. Whatever he was saying, it seemed sincere enough. Of all the senses that had suddenly been magnified, why did the one I needed most at this moment  decide to fail me?! My hearing grew lower and lower as he spilled his guts to me about whatever it was that he had to express so immediately. His words faded into a whisper.

The divine voice came to me through the rubble - always arriving with its lesson or riddle. It said: Much will be shared, but how do you expect to receive it when you're standing so far away in that fortress. Get out of there. Come closer. . . 

Botswana.

His scent grew even stronger. Still no sound. At least I remembered where'd I'd smelled the aroma before at that point. I closed my eyes, swallowed my nervousness, took a deep breath,  and inhaled a strong whiff of that signature scent in the dream.

Then, I woke up in reality. . . to a nose bleed.

The universe got jokes 'n whatnot.

- kj

Dream Log Entry - 09.10.10 "Death of a Rapper"

There was a Breaking News flash. Rapper Lil' Wayne had died.

One of those crappy MTVBETVH1 "Story of Lil Wayne" type of specials was on the idiot box.  Some male friends and I were watching it together. I was the only girl in the room. I shook my head in disagreement at much of what was being said.

Just as they were discussing his drug habits, his perceived inadequacies, and his failures in their eyes, some old footage of Wayne as a young pre-teen was played. How timely.

It displayed him (high as a kite) talking about his parents - or the lack thereof.  The dudes in the room nodded their heads and signaled to the TV. "See! Look at this nigga, man...A waste," one of them validated.

Wayne touched on how he was a product of his environment. He explained how many like him can only express what they absorbed; what they were fed; what they saw everyday; what they heard. The point being, in so many words, what life deposits into a person is what that person spits out in return.

"This is my way of expressing that shit... " he said, after exhaling a puff of smoke.

The special continued on. They fast forwarded to a more recent clip of him as an adult. In it, he was high to the point of incoherence. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but I remember that he started to get emotional and teary-eyed. Finally, I heard him mumble, "If I could do anything differently, I don't think I would. . . or could. I think I'm who I was supposed to be. I think I did what I was supposed to do."

He paused. The off-screen interviewer waited. Wayne needed a moment. "Hey, cut the camera off," he managed finally.

The dudes in the room dismissed his comments in the clip as bullshit. I intervened. My two cents: "Say what you want, but he still made a HUGE impact on millions of people. And whether you deem it positive or negative, it's both...because it could be either one to anyone in the world. " 

"Please. Buffoonery. He could've been great," one of them protested.

"He was... Maybe not to you. But he was [great]. And relevant in the eyes of millions, no less. If you could've done what he did, better than him, you would have. But you didn't. You have your own mission to accomplish instead; your own part to play." I rebutted.

At once, the voice I've come to know so well, and even expect, was audible once more.

It whispered: Every contribution is valid. Every expression's a puzzle piece. Every message will reach who it is intended to reach.

I woke up. Late.

- kj

Dream Log Entry - 09.07.10 "The Da Vinci Mode"

"You know the deadline is near. Where's your painting, Jefferson?" a female voice said to me.

"What painting? I just got added to this class. I didn't know that was an assignment. Can't you give me an extension, if only for that reason?", I pleaded.

"No. You're capable of catching up...and so much more...," she insisted. I hated how she implied things without finishing the thought. What was the secret to the and so much more?

"But that's not fair. I wouldn't have had nearly as much time as them. Mine'll be crappy and thrown together as a result," I expressed while looking around the room at the other students' works of art in progress.

Many of them were intricate portraits of people, places, things. One of them, a fairly common-looking oil painting with no real spark to it, was of a saxophone with a red ribbon tied around it. I imagined it was Charlie Parker's, though it may not have been. I thought the red ribbon looked a lot like the HIV awareness one, and if this was not the message the artist was conveying, I thought about how it would surely be misconstrued as such. I wanted to tell the painter my theory, but thought the awareness message was better. People should think that's what it was. I would have called it "Raw Jizz Jazz". How cynical and inappropriate of me.

Another, a dark depiction of the face of a very sullen-looking woman, seemed to have eyes that peered right through me and made me want to ask it "why so sad?".  I imagined she was a gypsy or some southern creole slave with no name that mattered. Perhaps she was overworked -- like me -- and longed to dance barefoot in the rain. Probably completely off center with my guess there as well. I remember saying to myself in the dream, I always see something other than the obvious or the intended in everything.

"Fine. It'll be done. . . ", a surrender in a no-win situation, after much delay. I turned to the teacher (whose face I could not see), and sighed.

"That's more like it. You can do this..." she reassured me. I hate motivators, too. I wanted to be a jerk. YOU DO IT, THEN.

"By the deadline though. . .?" I whined instead. How rhetorical. I knew the unyielding answer - times infinity.

"Yes. A body of work. By the deadline," she emphasized with gritted teeth.  She didn't have to stress the point, I thought.

"And I assure you, it'll be a masterpiece, young Da Vinci." she reinforced, with a smile in her voice that knew many things that I am not privy to.


My alarm clock intervened in reality. I woke up thinking: Oh. Right. Work. Ugh. (Expletive). 


- kj

Dream Log Entry - 09.04.10

Memory has betrayed me as it pertains to the details of last night's whirlwind of night visions. Only about 2 random things stand out. Random is an understatement by the way, but it's my favorite word. I'll use it as I please (out of context or not), and you'll say nothing against it. Ahem.

Here are the 2 things:

• In one dream, I was being interviewed by the good people at MTV. They were asking me how I felt about being an artist who doubles as a writer & director (?) for other artists as well.  Lauren Hill popped up at MTV headquarters and chimed in during the interview, offering me some encouragement. "Pick up where I left off. Continue the mission," she said. I woke up at 3am. 

• Upon falling asleep again, I dreamed I was attending some sort of event at Rice U, and I was responding to the flirtatious advances of a really charming Asian dude with crazy hair like Goku. (#random shrug...lol)

Dreams are awesome. Can I get some of this action going in my waking life, already? Geez.

- kj

Dream Log Entry - 09.01.10

I've been slacking on documenting my dreams, as you may have deduced by the dwindling and/or insufficient number of entries regarding them. That's not to say I haven't been dreaming. I always do.  Several times a night, in fact.

There was a different male figure in them this time though, acting in the place of the usual star player.  Perhaps on the other side (dream land, that is) the story of the other me's life is shifting.  The new actor is someone I do know pretty well in my waking life this time, and who is actually a friend.

I won't go into the details, because they're a little too personal to share. However, I get the feeling that the dream world is attempting to elude to the fact that there are some underlying themes in my waking life that I should take notice of as it relates to this person. Usually there is a flicker of "something" in reality that is synonymous with the subconscious realm; a barely noticeable connection tying the two. . .

I'll keep my eyes peeled and remain open & observant. I'm not the best at detecting subtle hints by any means, but if you point me in the right direction, I'm on the scent with the precision of a blood hound.  Even in silent inconspicuousness.  No, not even. Especially so.


- kj