So last night I was just getting over the really tough part of a flu-fever type of illness I’ve had for a few days. In the past few days, I’ve had very vivid dreams, but nothing you’d consider abnormal as far as my dreams go. Then last night, before I started to get better, I had an extended dream that I found very vivid, very confusing, and very strange. I’ve never been one to take a stock of dreams, either for the future or for what it may tell me about my subconscious, but I found this one worth sharing. It’s quite long, though, so I’ll try and chop it up into several smaller posts to keep you from reading a wall of text.
So anyway, it started off as all fevers do, with my mind just racing around and around and making very little logical connection to anything (images I had seen throughout the day rebounding and imploding against my consciousness until it seems to make some kind of cosmic sense). But at some point I began to see “flashes” of scenes, like a flashback in a movie. First I’d see my pillow, I’m lying face down, and I roll left, and suddenly I’m in a hospital waiting room. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, but I know I’m there for a purpose. Then I see myself face down on my bedroom pillow again, and this time I roll right. Another flash, and I’m seeing a doctor, he’s performing cursory examinations. Very basic, turn your head and cough, kind of things. The doctor is very wooden, no talk beyond what is absolutely necessary, the less he spoke the better. It’s like he doesn’t want me to share how I’m feeling, instead trying to work out from my physiological responses how well or not I am.
Then I’d be looking at my pillow again, and I’d roll left. Flash. Back in the waiting room. Then the pillow, roll right, Flash. And a different doctor was checking me out for something else, the same non-committal interest in talk. I went through this several times over. I registered the pillow as part of the vision, but I didn’t simply think “hey, I’m in a dream because I can see my bed”. I saw every doctor you could possibly imagine (well, every doctor I can imagine, if you know medicine more than me, you probably know of several others I could have seen). One that stands out is a psychiatrist. I don’t remember him speaking at all. He just sat there, mechanically, and I flashed through whatever I happened to be rambling about in my life. So I began to share some stories of my life, and periodically I’d stumble across two stories that seemed share commonality, and I’d say – “these are two unrelated events, but you’re telling me they have a connection”? But he hadn’t said anything, it was me who was telling me that they have a connection. I knew this, but I kept blaming the psychiatrist for making up connections to my life and history. I can’t explain how frustrating it was talking to this person and blaming him for what I was saying. Incidentally, I don’t know whether there actually was a connection between these events or not, since the only one making the lines of reasoning was me (some of which is a lot more befuddled now in the light of day – eg, from memory I remember attributing something to a “post-mortification Oedipal [or possibly Freudian] outlook”).
Anyway, the “flashes” with my pillow slowed to a near-stop, but every now and then, at some point I felt like I caught a flash of the pillow again. But for now, I was back in the waiting room talking to an officious-looking gentleman. Kind (by the looks) and not too hardened by the ways of the world. He speaks to me and says, “well, I hope the integration hasn’t been too taxing on you”? Not sure what he meant, I looked at him questioningly. He clarified – “we’ve found it best over the years to make our patients as disoriented as possible in the early stages of integration, to make sure that what has happened dawns on them gently, and therefore cause no excess terror than necessary”.
“I don’t follow you”, I replied. He told me that if I weren’t disoriented, the last thing I would have remembered before the hospital was going to bed. And if I turned up here with no idea where I was or how I got here, I could freak out, panic, possibly cause harm to myself or others. Keeping an implanted image of my pillow helped me to adjust to the fact that I wasn’t still in my bed, and could therefore acclimatise to the fact that I am now elsewhere. I thought about it for a moment and said, “It makes sense”.
Apparently, the physical stage of testing was over, they knew my inner and outer health, and God knows what else. So I began to ask questions, “Where am I”? “We can’t actually tell you that”, came the reply. “Why am I here”? “All we can tell is that we have an interest in the social, cultural, religious and political landscape of your world”.
“World? Are you saying, I’m an alien abductee”? No, technically my body is still fast asleep in bed. I can’t move or drink my water or wake up or talk, but I’m there, alive. I’m being monitored, if someone needs to speak to me then my consciousness will be transplanted back into my body ASAP. Other than that I’ll be transferred back to the body every now and then, for brief times just to turn in bed and keep the body functioning healthily. “So, does this happen a lot, you guys take a lot of us”? Not sure what kind of response I'll get to that. The man told me, “oh, no more than 8 or 9 people each night”. I wasn’t sure if this was planet-wide, or just my country, or just my city, or just my suburb, and I did not ask (I suspect it more likely to be my suburb or city, than country or planet, but that’s something for later in the dream).
I think I’ll leave off for part 1, right there. I’ll post another part shortly! Normally I don't go in for multi-posting, but I find it much much easier on the eyes to read manageable chunks. Back soon
Edited by Paranoid Android, 08 May 2013 - 07:48 AM.