Pink rabbits & phantasmagoric flying dreams

(Part one)

It was interesting to hear last week about Amy’s uplifting dream of us flying together over Hailey’s 4^th of July Fireworks, because I had a similarly powerful dream regarding sweet Amy back at our old Petit Lake family cabin. I haven’t been up to Petit for ten years, but recently went on Google Maps and flew around the woodsy neighborhood a bit. Something, I’ve always admired about my father, Rainier Rudolph; is that whenever he bought a house, it was always adjacent to some woods, giving us young rapscallions a healthy place to scamper around to release our energy.

*

In the dream, I awoke on Saturday daybreak and went outside, barefoot in red pajamas to collect an Idaho Statesman from our snowy driveway. In reality, we lived on the sleepy dead end, but in the dream, cars could now connect into the forest. In fact, it was a bustling thoroughfare now; for some elaborate racecars were speeding into the hilly woods up to Alice Lake, and one or two old jalopies were pulling out to return to civilization. Even though it was snowy, I was excited to be back, and to show Amy my treasured childhood summer home. We thought we should take an encompassing stroll around the Lake, while waiting for the newspaper. So, still barefoot, we walked east, to see several children shouting with squeals of glee, preparing to sleigh down our cabin hill. It was a magnificent morning for sledding, and we trudged up the knoll a way, to be closer to the enjoyment. Halfway to the pinnacle, the children easily maneuvered around us, in figure-eights on their toy-sleds. While we reached the top, we saw several more houses. The furthest yard was filled with dozens of other children, enjoying some festive event. The first few modern homes were quiet and dim, but the ancient house was where the action was. As we approached, we saw a great cauldron of stew boiling over a pit in the front yard, while the happy children continued to dart about, every which-way. It was a four-story grey house, and I tried to picture it from my past. I remembered it being an old house, even back when I was young. Then in the hub of activity, we spied the property owner. She was somebody, I knew from decades ago, but she hadn’t aged much. She had some wild grey curly hair around the fringes of her head, and everyone there respected her with high regard. Trying to be polite, I asked in a curious voice, above the merry din, “How old is this house?” She was elusive with her answer, but smiled, and then kindly but sternly, grabbed me around the forearms, saying, “I remember your kind Max; I had to straighten you and your brother out a few times, from some of the trouble you caused out here in the woods!” I thought that this wasn’t necessarily true, but perhaps there was a small element to what she spoke. We briefly conversed some more, then I asked what her name was. She spoke a name so peculiar that I knew instantly Amy and I would be incapable of remembering it.

To be continued…

~

Pink Rabbits & Phantasmagoric Flying Dreams - Part two

(Continued from last week)

It was as if the strange woman had cast a spell upon her obscure name, rendering it impossible to recollect, although, I do remember her long singular name had four “i’s” in it. She released us and we trotted a little further down the wet and rocky Petit Lake trail. As the snow melted in the late morning forest sun, I came upon two more houses that I remembered from childhood: the last one an old blue Victorian, facing Toxaway Loop. I vaguely recalled some sort of strange happenings there too, but couldn’t penetrate the decades-old memories to put my finger on it yet.

*

Suddenly, as I spun around in the wet mud, I realized that I was able to fly again. I grabbed a hold of Amy and we flew feet-first with our bare toes sticking out straight ahead of us. Remarkably, the fact that we were able to fly felt quite natural, as it usually does with such triumphant flying dreams. This incubated a thought that I would like to twist our bodies to face forward and fly like Superman and Superwoman to show the Petit-Lakeians what their prodigal son had learned, while gone ten years on vast Indiana Jones adventures. They will love this! -I thought in a powerful inner celebration, and they will talk about it for decades! The plan was for Amy and me to float slow-motion past the children’s clamor and their holiday cauldron, while giving them the broadest smiles we could possibly manage. However, when we tried to spin about, to fly face-first like Superheroes, something went off kilter with our inner gyroscopes. A queer anti-gravity force led us to a higher altitude, and unexpectedly we were soaring in fast motion clouds, directly behind four space pilots and four astronauts. Those high-flyers were all relying on spacesuits and other backup technologies, so we laughed at them, as we took wing on mind-power alone! It all felt quite fearless, but for some reason, Amy and I were unable to switch our inner gears back down to earth, no matter how hard we tried. Then finally Amy showed me the secret – that is, we could regulate our altitude by taking deep breaths, just like with scuba diving in Petit Lake.

*

Abruptly awakening to present day reality, I lay there motionless for several minutes, lightly buzzing about the powerful flying dream. Then, as the dreamscape partially melted, it occurred to me that those uncanny houses in the woods were never actually there, but rather had been places imagn’d from childhood dreams. Vivid places I occasionally revisited over the decades, where many events had taken shape and form – enough to record a small history deep in my subconscious. These made me wonder if this all was merely in my mind, or are our minds potentially more powerful than what our instructors taught, in earlier schools of thought? When we dream, do we somehow mysteriously connect to otherworldly dimensions, where ongoing ethereal events persist in parallel fashions?

*

Then I realized that I had been sleeping on a sofa with a cushion that Amy had specially embroidered for me. She emblazoned it with some cute animals, most notably some pink rabbits dancing on the pillow, which had been pressing softly against my dreamy head…

~

About the author: Once in the middle of an incredibly lucid dream Jim Banholzer tried to leave a phone voicemail to the waking world. He strongly felt like it went through, but when he awoke to check his messages he was disappointed to find massive nothingness.

Pink Rabbits and Flying Dreams

Last night, I had a fanciful dream that I was back at my old Virginia house. I haven’t lived there for decades, but recently went on Google Maps and flew around the woodsy neighborhood a bit. Something, I’ve admired about my father, is that whenever he bought a house, it was always adjacent to some woods, giving us young rapscallions a healthy place to run around to release our energy.

In the dream, I awoke on Saturday daybreak and went outside, barefoot in my pajamas to collect a Washington Post from our snowy driveway. In reality, we lived on a sleepy dead end, but in the dream, cars could now connect into the forest. In fact, it was a bustling thoroughfare now; some elaborate racecars were speeding into the woods, as one or two old jalopies were pulling out and returning to civilization. Even though it was snowy, I was excited to be back, and thought I would take an encompassing walk around the backyard, while waiting for the newspaper. Still barefoot, I walked to the side yard, to see several children shouting with squeals of glee, preparing to sled down our hill. It was a magnificent morning for sledding, and I thought I would trudge up the hill a way, to be closer to the enjoyment. Halfway to the pinnacle, the children easily maneuvered around me on their toy-sleds. While I reached the top, I saw there were several more houses. The furthest yard was filled with dozens of other children, enjoying some festive event. The first few modern houses were quiet and dim, but the ancient house was where the action was. As I approached, I saw a great cauldron of stew boiling over a fire in the front yard, as the happy children continued to dart about, every which-way. It was a four-story grey house, and I tried to picture it from my past. I remembered it being an old house, even back when I was young. Then in the hub of activity, I spied the property owner. She was somebody, I knew from decades ago, but she hadn’t aged much. She had some wild grey curly hair around the fringes of her head, and everyone there respected her with high regard. Trying to be polite, I asked in a curious voice, above the merry din, “How old is this house?” She was elusive with her answer, but smiled, and then kindly but sternly, grabbed me around the forearms, saying, “I remember your kind; I had to straighten you and your brother out a few times, from some of the trouble you caused out here in the woods.” I thought that this wasn’t necessarily true, but perhaps there was a small element to what she spoke. We briefly conversed some more, then I asked what her name was. She spoke a name so peculiar that I knew instantly that I would be incapable of remembering it. It was as if she had cast a spell upon her obscure name, rendering it impossible to recollect, although, I do remember her long singular name had four “i’s” in it. She released me and I trotted a little further down the wet Virginia clay trail. As the snow melted in the late morning forest sun, I came to two more houses that I remembered from childhood: the last one an old blue Victorian, facing Rabbit Run creek. I vaguely recalled some sort of strange happenings there too, but couldn’t penetrate the decades-old memories to put my finger on it yet.

Suddenly, as I spun around in the wet mud, I realized that I was able to fly again. I was flying feet-first with my bare feet sticking out straight ahead of me. Remarkably, the fact that I was able to fly felt quite natural, as it usually does with such flying dreams. This incubated a thought that I would like to turn my body around and fly like Superman to show the Virginians what their prodigal son had learned, while living twenty years in Idaho woods. They will love this! -I thought in a powerful inner celebration, and they will talk about it for decades! My plan was to fly slow motion past the children’s clamor and their holiday cauldron, giving them the broadest smile I could possibly manage. However, when I tried to spin about, to fly face-first like Superman, there was something off with my inner gyroscope. It led me to a higher altitude, and suddenly I was soaring fast, directly behind four space pilots and four astronauts. Those high-flyers were all relying on spacesuits and other backup technologies, so I laughed at them, as I was flying on mind-power alone. It all felt quite fearless, but for some reason, I was unable to switch my inner gears back down to earth, no matter how hard I tried.

Awakening to present day reality, I lay there motionless for several minutes, lightly buzzing about the powerful flying dream. Then, as the dream partially melted away, it occurred to me that those uncanny houses in the woods were never actually there, but rather had been places imagn’d in my childhood dreams. Vivid places I occasionally revisited over the decades, where many events had taken shape and form – enough to record a small history deep in my subconscious. This made me wonder if this all was merely in my mind, or are our minds potentially much more powerful than what my instructors taught, in our Virginia school of thought? Do we somehow mysteriously connect to otherworldly dimensions, where ongoing ethereal events persist in parallel fashions?

Then I realized that I had been sleeping on a sofa brought home recently as a gift from a friend. The sofa is emblazoned with some cute animals, the most notable of which are some pink rabbits dancing on the pillow, which had been pressing against my dreamy head…

From Hermann Hesse's "Demian" (written in 1919)

Aus Hermann Hesses "Demian" (geschrieben 1919)

Das Ende von Kapitel 5 - Der Vogel kämpft sich aus dem Ei heraus

" Häufig haben wir uns auch unsere Träume erzählt. Pistorius wusste, wie man sie interpretiert. Ein Beispiel dafür fällt mir gerade ein. Ich träumte, ich könnte fliegen, aber so, dass ich kapituliert in der Luft wirkte und alles verlor Das Gefühl des Fliegens begeisterte mich, aber die Erheiterung wurde zu einer Angst, als ich mich immer höher fahren sah und immer machtloser wurde. In diesem Moment machte ich die sichere Entdeckung, dass ich den Aufstieg oder Fall meines Fluges regulieren konnte meinen Atem anhalten oder loslassen.

Pistorius 'Kommentar lautete: „Der Antrieb, der Sie zum Fliegen bringt, ist unser größter menschlicher Besitz. Jeder hat es. Es ist das Gefühl, mit den Wurzeln der Macht verbunden zu sein, aber man bekommt bald Angst vor diesem Gefühl. Es ist verdammt gefährlich! Das ist der Grund, warum die meisten Menschen ihre Flügel ablegen und lieber gehen und das Gesetz befolgen. Aber du nicht. Du fliegst weiter. Und schau! Sie stellen fest, dass Sie allmählich beginnen, Ihren Flug zu meistern, dass zu der großen allgemeinen Kraft, die Sie nach oben reißt, eine eigene feine kleine Kraft, ein Organ, ein Steuerungsmechanismus hinzukommt. Wie wunderbar! Ohne das wärst du in die Höhe gezogen, machtlos - was mit Verrückten passiert. Sie besitzen tiefere Andeutungen als Menschen, die erdgebunden bleiben, aber sie haben keinen Schlüssel und keinen Steuerungsmechanismus und brausen ins Unendliche.


Aber Sie, Sinclair, gehen Sie richtig vor. Wie? Sie kennen sich wahrscheinlich nicht. Du machst es mit einem neuen Organ, mit etwas, das deine Atmung reguliert. Und jetzt wirst du erkennen, wie wenig „Individualität“ deine Seele in ihren tiefsten Tiefen hat. Denn diesen Regler erfindet er nicht! Es ist nicht neu! Sie haben es ausgeliehen: Es existiert seit Tausenden von Jahren. Es ist das Organ, mit dem Fische ihr Gleichgewicht regulieren - die Luftblase. Tatsächlich gibt es unter den Fischen noch einige merkwürdige Urgattungen, bei denen die Luftblase als eine Art Lunge fungiert und gelegentlich als Atmungsmechanismus verwendet werden kann. Mit anderen Worten, genau wie die Lunge, die Sie in Ihrem Traum als fliegende Blase verwenden.

Er brachte sogar ein Zoologiebuch heraus und zeigte mir die Namen und Illustrationen dieser anachronistischen Fische. Und mit einem merkwürdigen Schauder fühlte ich, dass ein Organ aus einer früheren Evolutionsperiode noch in mir lebte. "

The ending of chapter 5 – The bird fights its way out of the egg

"Frequently we also told each other our dreams. Pistorius knew how to interpret them. An example of this comes to mind just now. I dreamed I was able to fly, but in such a way that I seemed capitulated into the air and lost all control. The feeling of flying exhilarated me, but exhilaration turned to fear when I saw myself driven higher and higher, becoming more and more powerless. At that instant, I made the saving discovery that I could regulate the rise or fall of my flight by holding or releasing my breath. 

Pistorius’ comment was: ‘The impetus that makes you fly is our greatest human possession. Everybody has it. It is the feeling of being linked with the roots of power, but one soon becomes afraid of this feeling. It’s damned dangerous! That is why most people shed their wings and prefer to walk and obey the law. But not you. You go on flying. And look! You discover that you gradually begin to master your flight, that to the great general force that tears you upward there is added a delicate, small force of your own, an organ, a steering mechanism. How marvelous! Lacking that, you would be drawn up to the heights, powerless – which is what happens to madmen. They possess deeper intimations than people who remain earthbound, but they have no key and no steering mechanism and roar off into infinity.


But you Sinclair, you are going about it in the right way. How? You probably don’t know yourself. You are doing it with a new organ, with something that regulates your breathing. And now you will realize how little ‘individuality’ your soul has in its deepest reaches. For it does not invent this regulator! It is not new! You borrowed it: it has existed for thousands of years. It is the organ with which fish regulate their equilibrium ---the air bladder. And in fact among the fish there are still a few strange primeval genera where the air bladder functions as a kind of lung and can be used on occasion as a breathing mechanism. In other words, exactly like the lung which you in your dream use as a flying bladder’

He even brought out a zoology book and showed me the names and illustrations of these anachronistic fish. And with a peculiar shudder I felt that an organ from an earlier period of evolution was still alive within me."

Another strange flying dream

There was a certain sage stick that when I picked it up and fluttered it in a particular way, it started to lift me up off the ground. As I did this, I remembered the person from another dream who dropped their sage stick while aflight, resulting in a bad disfigurement for her.

As I lofted over the hills of Bald Mountain, the experience became irresistibly exhilarating, yet also quite natural. The potential for any danger quickly dissolved from my concerns.

To fly, I had to twist the sage stick in a peculiar figure-8 motion by using my hands, right in front of my body. I needed to complete the figure eight motion hundreds of times within one second to generate enough energy to fly, much like a hummingbird.

I don’t know how I was able to accomplish this, but once I started flying, it became easy. Soon I could adjust things, so that I was able to fly and steer wherever I need to go by mind control, overriding what my hands had previously been needed for, to direct my bodily flight with the swirling sage stick. Evidently, the specially powered stick now integrated itself within my body, lessening my earlier worries about needing to fly with a spare safety stick.

The full ballet of turns and spins I attempted became easier than I imagn’d they would be. After a soft landing, my company and I inspected some detailed maps of the over flown area. Interestingly, Baldy’s Southside matched exactly the area, where I grew up in Kings Park West. If you overlapped the map of the Virginia area, east of where Lord Fairfax and his wife are buried, with the proximity of the territory due east of Bald Mountain in Ketchum, Idaho, you would be hard-pressed to say, which map covers Virginia and which Idaho.

I wonder if this dream had something to do with the fact that I cannot fly and leap as I once could and it’s a desire to be more alive as I was in those great days. Some of the dream may also source from my recent perusing of Charles Hapgood’s Maps of the Ancient Sea Kings.