The Fort Mason Gate .. Dreams & Worlds Unfurl

<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” /> for Robert, Janie, and the Fort Mason Dreamers, with gratitude


The Fort Mason Gate .. Worlds Unfurl

(This piece is designed to be read with the mouth as if out loud.)


The Experiment

   ShaSha Man was debriefed at the Spa of Sloth in the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Calder Desert in South Mars.

   “How was your trip to our pet planet Dlareme?” asked Dan Gero, philosopher journalist for the South Mars Gazette. “I hear you went back to Northern California.”

   “Yeah. San Francisco shone like a jewel. The lighting down there is an envy. I was pretty stoked to see how our Velv Eeta would take the deceleration and the extra Gs after gallivanting so long around the boschian edges, funny and awful, of muchasD, the many dimensions of our sweet Holosphere Grande.

   “Remember how much we worried about how she’d take it when she found out she’d been an experiment of our clan, the Celtic Ironists? I have her sardonic but cheerful comments on that and let me read them to you before we get to the Fort Mason Gate Debrief. They come to bear on what happens there.”

   Dan Gero nodded.

   ShaSha Man read Velv’s notes. “‘Besides the male-mind transplant from a Socrates to a little girl at seven years old, the great experiment done with me was whether with no ‘help,’ one could ‘read’ the secret communiqués. Along the last twenty centuries, so many Christians were virulent and deathdealing – not tender like Jesus. So many animists died at their hands, guilty only of  raw joy. Paying fealty to no institution nor their minions, could I trust, like Frodo in Shelob’s cave, the elf light alone? The world itself my dream and beloved beacon? A universe in a grain of sand, as dear Billy would put it?

   “'It was all about love of Earth, of Dlareme, as the Big Dream. Can a perfectly ordinary child be ignited? Make the journey alone, if needs be? If all the ‘masters’ are lost? In the darkest ages? This is the gist of the quest and the question. The Celtic living holo-bible, the church with no walls, the sky is a song, the shine of leaves the promise, the talisman, and the record.

   “The 2nd big experiment required getting old, fat, and toothless – and a late discovery of peculiar and necessary love, of grok so ruthless, of obsidian humor so brutally, erotically funny that it would illuminate the xanadu halls of temptation and devotion across times. Could one stand the crushing loneliness between the stars without insanity or bitterness? Could coal be taught to be diamond? Without false allegiances? Without a desperation to belong? To belong to some tribe, some cult? Eclectic, choosing the best from all possible sources, could such a creature drink the ocean and not drown?

   “Well, there is never an end to any journey, but we came this far still bylar (to dance) and with an elf star (unquenchable gladness) in our pocket.


Photonic Ethics

  “As the worlds get closer and the veils thin, fusion emissaries and translators will need to be trained –rather like fusion cooks – people who can use ingredients from different cultures. How to introduce ourselves to ourselves? The challenge isn’t the variety of photonic physikses, the multiplicity of physikses, but the variety of photonic ethics. Not the envelope-pushing unfamiliarity of pork sushi, not the vertigoes on the way to happy levitating and ebullient flight, but your beloved’s other cosmic mistresses and the different meanings of murder and of war, & so4th. Monogamy (at least serial) tends to work better so far earthside, but eternity sure ain’t monogamous (cf til death do us part). How do we incorporate these strata, these exhilarating but often turbulent meteorologies of ethics we find ourselves suddenly inhabiting amongst the far-flung realms of densities?” 


   ShaSha Man said, “I was always afraid we’d get cynicism, some dearth of mirth, but we didn’t.”

   Dan Gero grinned. “What we got was wry defiance. Remember that letter she sent me about Earth, Dlareme, not being a 'Colony of Heaven'”? She flayed the idea of earthers being some kind of dolls or children overseen by phalanxes of winged nannies. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ she said. ‘I’m grateful for my non-carnate and semi-carnate experiences. Learning to fly, walking on water, floating through the ceiling. Giddy stuff. But I will not have us be a colony of heaven. We are the experts on relatively sequential time, on solid experience, on being able to actually eat a whole chocolate chip cookie, to drive where we’re going and not end up somewhere else. Our beloved realm is a masterpiece of reality engineering — there is no higher place to be. Different, just different.’”

   “Yes,” said ShaSha, “and I got that letter defrocking the Vertical Model with its putative Higher Selves. Let me read you that excerpt I keep in my wallet. ‘All of Earth's old troubles came from the Vertical Model which had kept its heel on the throat of the human spirit for centuries.

    “‘Simply turning the axis of understanding to horizontal solves 99% of both human horror and human awkwardness.

    “‘First consider the range of densities our consciousness crisscrosses in a life's experience. We have spaceless/timeless thought. We have dreams, daydreams, fantasy, imagination, memory. We have the precious, moving kinesthetic present, seemingly sequential and solid. Now, in the dominant Vertical Model, as invisible as space, our religions have posited a non-solid, spiritual realm which is above us–is better, purer, less gross than our terrestrial experience, all muck and rut.

    “‘Of course, conveniently, the priests, monks, gurus, and shamans had the key to our escape from all this toil and turmoil.

    “‘What I'm about to tell you is radical because I have searched the literature of the globe and that literature is invariably full of the higher self or the soul or spirit, all more valuable and more wise than we sluggish, lesser, benighted earthdwellers who will ‘ascend’ in death or enlightenment to our truer selves. Balderdash.

    “‘If we see consciousness vertically, a ladder to be climbed, we are falsely forced to see ourselves on the lower rungs staring up at the compassionate rump of the priest, guru, monk, shaman who precedes us to the heights.

     “‘If, on the other hand, we rotate the axis of consciousness to be sideways, we can more correctly and coherently see the spectrum of our consciousness as including all the densities with no greater value implied. Just as in light, ultraviolet is not better than infrared, our less-dense experience is not better that our solid experience, only different.

    “‘The old Vertical Model organized millions, then billions of people for millennia. In a rough sketch, the Vertical Model puts God up in Heaven & the Devil down in Hell. God & his Angels in idealized pure heaven and us down on gross, coarse Earth. The lower chakras are coarse energy, the upper increasingly more sublime. We are basically a colony of heaven. And when we refine ourselves enough, we'll get a white robe, join the junior ranks of the choirs of Angels and be allowed to kiss the big toe of God. And then when we've really refined our unruly consciousness, we get to dwell in the vast seamless rippleless nirvanic stillness for our Good Behavior. Thus, depending on the phase or fullness of my rage, the virulent or pesky Vertical Model came about because the daggone Head/Heart got an inflated or puffed-up view of its importance to the whole system though it cannot even digest a single groat–not a single grain of barley nor grow a single toenail.

    “‘The higher self doesn't have digestion and mucus and dirt under the fingernails. One could wax as rhapsodic about digestion as about Christ Consciousness if we were less prissy and overfastidious about what qualities we invited through the spiritual front door.’”

     Dan Gero laughed, “Indeed.”


Velv Eeta at the Fort Mason Dream Gate

  Me & my dog-eared Teach Peace sign went to Fort Mason Building C, Rm 307 on Feb 11, 2006, Saturday. How could I know that 2/11 would be a concatenation of Such Events? A Dream Council – a circle of Janie & Johnny Appleseeds of Dream Play and the sublime ridicule wreaked upon Darth Dick by my darling Fat E in the bliss-struck When Dick Shot Harry Episode, oh frabjous joy. Every now & then, Fat E cooks up a scenario so sublime, so birdshot blast of hilarity in your face that you forgive her for her other many petulant and mulish sins.

   What the changes? what the fate? How could Fat E embroider us so fancifully, her delicacy, her brutality? What the design? What the signs?

   When I got to Fort Mason 9-ish Saturday morning, it was radiant, preening. It was day 1222 in a row with my Teach Peace sign, 16″ x 18″, black letters on apricot matte board on a 4' 7″ stake. It and I are completely old-shoe (comfy) by now, and our mini-spur-the-world-to-be-bloody-better (and less bloody) is keen and honed and street-tested. “Let’s spend the $820,000 per minute we spend on the Military Budget on education instead.”

   I see a silver-maned bear of a man sitting at a picnic table with a paper cup of coffee, musing. I figure it’s Robert Moss and I decide not to say Hi & gee-whiz giga-thanks for the brilliant, grounded, vividly sane books. I teach a lot of TV-for real-people workshops and I know how on he’ll have to be shortly enough. So I leave him in this sweet lull and wander over to the dear slosh of the Bay through the pilings by the great Fort Mason docks.

   I always feel a bit balboa when I’m near the Pacific (“…when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific – and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise…”), but I’m one of the chosen lucky to whom this great-heart ocean has become a friend, if, like the MultiVerse herself, both bright-&-dark-hearted, capable of halcyon and fury.

   Multi-Verse — many-poem place. Halcyon – the kind of sweet day in which the kingfisher can make her nest upon the bosom of the sea.  

   I gaze at the reflections of the cream-colored with maroon trim warehouses on the glossy indigo water. An indigo-emerald rather than an indigo-sapphire. Undertones and undertows of black-green.

   As I lean against the fence of old thick timbers right at the edge of the dock, a grackle appears on my left with a bright yellow insolent eye. He’s an obsidian shiny black so sheened and burnished that I laugh. A grackle, the coyote of crows, mischief maker. Clearly your messenger, my daemon darling, a talisman for my adventure.

   There are about 40 people in the big circle in Rm 307. Other than being as good a student and participant as I am a teacher in my own classes, I have no plans except the usual being ‘deftly intent.’ It’s always a bit of a challenge for a teacher-to-the-bone to give over 100% control to another teacher or director. The habit of seeing the big picture, coalescing the energies, and moving the pieces is a strong template. Being a pawn is tricky.

    Playing someone else’s games – especially holding hands and swaying in a circle without being sardonic is for a moment more demanding than I expect. I am naturally edgier than all these very nice people. But ‘earnest’ is also truthfully my mode so I default to that.

      I like Moss because he’s secure enough to teach true – he wants to define and refine so he can distill what he knows so his ‘students’ get as good or better than him as fast as can be so we all can move the active knowledge and journey forward. I loathe guruism – the holder-of-secrets priestrabbiguruetc to whom you have to be subservient in order to enter the inner sanctum, the heaven, the nirvana. Triple piffle. Truer teachers know there’s a universe in a grain of sand and that they’re lucky to be able to point at a grain of sand and say, daffily, “Ain’t that grand!?”

   The drumming is astonishing. Literally. It strikes with small thunder. You feel the percussion into your blood and into the vault of your mind. In a sense, it keeps startling the mind quiet perhaps. It obviates left brain chatter & clutter & clatter. You just go straight to the vision with sonic precision. Being in the same immediate space with the drumming is stunning. Again literally. You are micro-stunned by the percussion. I think the effect may be as much K (kinesthetic) as A (auditory). It’s certainly a gift the drumming. I’ll always treasure it.

   It was fascinating being in a DayLand room full of all people for whom visioning was assumed. What was it like? It was like visiting Versailles – fabulous gardens and mirrors. Or like my darling Point Lobos, all wild flowers and wild sea and sky and otters, dainty and spectacular splendor—holo-runes through which one walks immersed in the shimmer of awe. These folks’ visions were, indeed, fabulous.

   I felt a staggering sadness and a somersaulting of flagrant gladness. Sadness because of the soulless corporatocracy which steals too much time and energy from these glorious founts of creativity, the dreaming & visioning birthright of each human. And blazing gladness because we are all part of the prometheus dawn of stealing our fire back from the war and money mongers.

   The holo-tapestries of people’s visions are fabulous. I was surprised, I suppose, at how masterful and intricate people were at vivid visioning or dreaming compared to vivid waking. As I looked at the circle of dear and true-hearted people, the energy they had in their daylife was so much less confident and vivid than in their stupendous dream or vision tracking and acting. Why? They didn’t seem to treat their daylife as another masterpiece of local dream. Almost without exception, any of them could have bumped up the quantum level, the champagne fizz of their daily energy a step or two with only an increase in delight and mischievousness.

   Here were people brave enough to dare sacred journeys, vivid journeys in a dream-dull culture. Yet they seemed unaware of the rheostat they also had in their day. Of course, there is the factor of the shyness or reticence of a roomful of strangers, but I’m speaking of the general brightness or luminousness of people at repose. This surprisingly low octane of earthside elan vital of ordinary poetic or distilled energy of delightful and interesting people is why I think we need to encourage the study, the training, the experience of vivid waking along with vivid dreaming.

       (‘Surprise’ to me is a definite and visceral feeling – it’s a poof of inner fireworks or the pop of a champagne cork at about the bellybutton. Being slightly startled or surprised or seized by everyanything is my luckiest modus vividendi – it’s how to have a peak life rather than peak experiences.)

       Ah, the sweet geode surprise of just how fabulous the veins of ultra-emerald, infra-sapphire, and marvelous opal are in these people’s dream mines. They are such accomplished and vivid and fearless visoneers. Clearly, achingly, this courage, this ability this agility must, like apple trees, be spread across the planet – for the sweet wealth of it, the health of it. The sheer ebullient delight of it.


Honor the Dream

   As the Fort Mason Feb 11 weekend was a big waking dream, what am I going to do to honor it in a specific, new & concrete way? Well, I’m doing two specific things. After the class was all done on Sunday, I happened to end up in the elevator with Robert and several of his assistants. One of them asked me about my Teach Peace sign which I have carried around my small city, Mountain View CA, for 1252 days in a row now. I said that I’d only felt like a raving idiot for the first two weeks. Now I’m used to it and it gives me a chance to talk to people about Peace, to shock and wake people with the “We’re spending $820,000 per minute on the Military Budget. (Dramatic pause) Plus an extra $200,000 per minute on Iraq.” Hmm, I thought on my way home on the train, what was the synchron of being in the elevator and the Teach Peace sign & so4th? Aha! I could carry a sign about dreaming. Hmmm. To have a sign one can bop around the world with in a daily way, one is constrained to a max of 5 letters per line. Between mulling and my darling pal, The Blue, who showers me with sudden presents, it appeared, seemingly self-evident: DREAM PEACE. Then when people stop and ask me about the sign, I can do a fortune cookie on Peace and a fortune cookie on Dreaming.

   I bought the new sheets of a goldish matte board and the Avery Marks A Lot chisel black markers. I’ve done the lettering and with gratitude and wistfulness pried off my old faithful TEACH PEACE sign & stapled on the new doublesided DREAM PEACE sign. After 3 years 5 months & 5 days, I’ll take it out tomorrow on my pal’s birthday and start this new campaign.

   The second honoring thing is that I’m teaching myself a new habit of bringing up dreaming at every opportunity as I’m out and about. I realized that it would be handy to have a business-sized card with the name of one Robert Moss book & his website url & EastWest Book Store so the person has the info for their own concrete step & I don’t have to keep jotting down all that info for folks. I use the Avery 8371 packet of blank business cards so I can run off a sheet or two at Kinkos and try them out and refine them as I get feedback.

(Here’s the first run of the dream & peace info card.)


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    A key to these Janie/Johnny Appleseed of Dreams tactics is ‘the elevator pitch.’ What do you get to say if you only have 30 seconds? The subtext is The Appleseed Project. Plant dream trees. Your day as an illustrated poem, your night as an illustrated poem. Dreams, dreams burning bright In the forests of the night. All dreams, all tygers, all bushes, all dirty dishes – burn. I’ve been starting with ‘I just took a class in lucid dreaming. I’m doing a quick informal survey about people and their dreams. Do you remember your dreams?’


   The Fort Mason Dreamers. The parade, the cascade of power animals, landscapes, and treasure – all the hieroglyphs, the oneiroglyphs of a hololanguage through which they ride, glide, stride, make evident, make manifest their artistry. It’s intensely inspiring.

   A person beside me tells of a winged black leopard who bears him on his journey. After lunch, I show him the postcard of a black leopard I just happened to grab at the very last second before I ran out the door to go catch the train to San Francisco that morning. A delectable synchron & we both grin. 

    There were so many gifts and treasures and pleasures of the “abalone mirror” weekend that it’s hard to single any out, but a meta-gift was to be in the same DayLand place with so many people who honored dreams and visions, where one wasn’t secret and underground. Where and when I grew up on the East Coast, if you spoke of Other Realms of Density, of Dreams, if not quite still burned at the stake, people shied away when they did not recoil. And then wretched Freud (Siggie Fraud) poisoned dream study in the West for 100 years by making it a mirror of pathology rather than an ebullient waterfall of creative abun-dancing. I realized how long I’d been silent except in my writing and with a few friends. I still can’t talk much about the Unspeakable Realms of Obsidian Humor where my pal and I bring the odd, beloved light of  brutal and fierce silliness to buried pain of horrible sorrow. But to speak of and hear tales of OtherLand at all is a rivendell oasis on a long lonely journey – the alchemy of the Shadow – chiaroscuro, the celebration of cosmicomic art in all densities of realities.

   Of course I’d really like the universe (or multi-verse, many-poem place) to arrange a cache of cash for the May Dream Teachers Class. If I were even accepted. I haven’t asked yet. Come what may, a few years back, I dedicated the last third of my this-life to promoting the Integration of Lucid Waking with Lucid Dreaming and that purpose is polished and radianted by Fort Mason with its intrepid and dear dreamers. I’ll always be grateful. Frabjous joy.


Lightning DreamPlay Mnemonic

   I have one more piece of honoring that tasty Fort Mason weekend. I found that I didn’t have the steps to Robert's quick and sleek Lightning DreamPlay nailed. Aha! I need a mnemonic device. The two I’ve had since I was six are A Rat In Tom’s House Might Eat Tom’s Ice Cream — arithmetic. And George Eaton’s Old Grandmother Rode A Pig Home Yesterday – geography. Once you embed these in your mind, they last forever. Roy G Biv for the colors of the rainbow.

   Anyhow, I found that I didn’t have the Lightning DreamSharing steps on the tip of my mind. Title. Dream Story. 3 Questions: Feelings when you wake. Reality Check. Know – what do you want to Know about your dream. If it were my dream. Action – what action to honor dream. Bumper Sticker. So I came up with this mnemonic device: Two Ducks Suddenly Quack 3 Times; Four Red Cavorting Kangaroos Ingest A Banana Split. It’s quirky enough to remember and highlights all the key DreamSharing steps. Yippee. If you use it with your friends a few times, it’ll become as embedded and automatic as a mnemonic device should, & you’ll start doing the Lightning DreamSharing out there with more confidence. I put the mnemonic device on my dream card handout so I wouldn’t have to write it down for folks whom I accost in the supermarket line.  


Dlareme .. jeweled planet

ShaSha Man smiled at Dan Gero. On the Galactic Council, they were both not-so-secret devotees of dear Dlareme, the jeweled third planet in a minor solar system. In spite of all the evident blaring glaring reasons the bipeds had failed as a biomental experiment, ShaSha and Dan Gero were always murmuring sweet somethings into the ear of this Councilor and that in order to stay the Black Hole Cleansing for another year, another decade. ‘We have projects that are becoming fruitful,’ they would soothingly assure Black Beak from Dnimtirips, Polipo the Octopoid from Inchiosto, and most importantly Tortuga, the Great Tortoise who was the chief-among-equals philosopher queen from Antares. With torture, war, and grotesque poverty next to obscene gloating midas accumulation, the Galactic Council was on a hair-trigger of impatience to clean-up ‘that benighted toxic backwater planet in the Sol system.’

   ShaSha and Dan Gero had worked tirelessly to delay the dreaded Black Hole Edict. “We’ll meet with Tortuga for some Lugavulin tomorrow evening,” said ShaSha. “I’ll show her this report from Velv and she’ll believe that we aren’t just fumaring again. She’ll see that there are Dlareme dreamers actually acting, not just lying around like spongeoid spectators.”

  Dan Gero said, “We should be able to get her to table the Edict for two months. The idea of losing Lugavulin and Mexican food has always been our trump card, but the Council might just download the codes for those and scrub the planet in a fit of galactic pique. Hard to blame them.

  “By the way, I still am on for that mozartian megahertz pulse of photonic energy into the Dlareme grid on May 27, 2006. We’ll give’em a nice jolt of quetzal energy to promote the waking lively alliance between our bioElans bipeds and the Mineral Queendom. All the jewels in the planet will ignite. For the alert, it’ll be like fireworks of emerald song under their feet. I had to escroq Black Beak to get her to let me tune the Arbol Hub Pulsar to Dlareme one more time. She rolled her eyes and said, ‘Only for old pal’s sake, Dan Gero. We have lavished that damned planet with everything from giraffes to avocados to daffodils to zephyrs and they’re still largely a ratminded herd of billions of ingrates. Chile verde burritos, for galax’s sake! What more do they want? If it weren’t for our ever so pleasant fling back when the stars were young, Dan Gero, I wouldn’t waste a megalerg on these whinging beasts of whom you’re so unaccountably fond.’

  “So ShaSha, we have a stay, a respite, but our Dlareme Dreamers need to start talking to apparent strangers in order to seed the Dream Game far and wide. Wake up. Speak up. Somersault. The Dream’s afoot.”




Fort Mason Gate Glossary

for words not defined in the text.

Dlareme .. the galactic name for the planet Earth.

escroq – a cross between to con and to cajole, from the French escroquer, con, swindle.

K1 .. the Dlareme ‘masterpiece of reality engineering’ signature is the persistence of the kinesthetic notated as K1.

muchasD .. the many dimensions usually ignored by standard physics, even quantum. We experience them, but standard science disdains them as evidence worthy. Muchas means many in Spanish.

Universe in a grain of sand .. from William Blake.

Pacific/wild surmise .. from Keats. He said Cortez, but meant Balboa.

Calder Desert .. A tip of the sombrero to my darling Alexander ‘Sandy’ Calder who managed to be a great artist and a funny decent guy. His mobiles look like Miro in 3D.

prometheus .. Prometheus stole fire from the gods to give it to mankind – for which he got his ever-renewing liver devoured daily by Zeus’ ravenous eagle. As an entirely unrelated side note while we’re on livers, it was the liver which was the seat of affections in the Middle Ages, not that mere old pump, the heart. I always chuckle at the Valentine’s Day cards with their faux organ of love. Now, “I lost my liver over you, my darling” has got a visceral ring.

Darth Dick .. Mr. Cheney, the Deeply and Dangerously Deluded.

midas .. Midas is the symbol of pathological wealth past any usefulness.   

Fat E .. is Fate. She writes the scripts for persons & worlds, sometimes drunkenly.

xanadu .. from Coleridge “In Xanadu did Kubla Khan/A stately pleasure-dome decree:
/Where Alph, the sacred river, ran/Through caverns measureless to man/Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground/With walls and towers were girdled round:/And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,/Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;/And here were forests ancient as the hills,/Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. … /But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted/Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! /A savage place! as holy and enchanted/As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted/By woman wailing for her demon-lover!”

bylar .. from Spanish to dance;

oneiroglyphs .. cf hieroglyphs. Oneiro means dream in Greek and oneiroglphs are dreams, are a hololanguage (including your daylife) through which you walk. You are immersed in meaning and synchronicity – you can ‘read’ it like a full-body braille.

multiverse .. multi-verse/many-poem place. Probably my favorite phrase I’ve coined. As some people might speak to ‘God,’ I chat up many-poem who gives me a myriad of multi-dimensional poems to wander around, to braille in.

deftly intent .. another favorite phrase. It refers to an attention which can be always maintained – not quite effortless, just the amount of energy that a butterfly expends to keep from crashing into a flower it’s about to land upon.

geode .. geodes are these totally plain looking rocks which when they’re cracked open sort of like a big egg, reveal fabulous crystals, often amethyst, attached to their inside walls. Very thrilling to see a geode.

chiaroscuro .. the interplay, the intercontest of light and of dark.

putative .. supposed.

fumaring .. to blow smoke; fumar is to smoke in Spanish.

everyanything .. a word-phrase of ee cummings.

bioElan .. a galactic phrase for the mobile meat-embedded consciousness featured on Dlareme. Elan vital (ay-lawn vee-tahl, the ‘ay’ as in hay) is Henri Bergson’s phrase for the vital and delightful energy which keeps us bipeds humming and abun-dancing, which is why sullenness, dullenness, sulking, and self-pity so suck.

rivendell .. like Lothlorien, one of the few magic respites for the Fellowship on their journey to Mordor. A place for deep heart rest and restoration.

joyas .. jewels in Spanish; jeweled joy.



 Thanks again to Robert Moss and all the Fort Mason Gate Dreamers – most especially for the nudge & the tools to get out on the street talking up Lucid, Active Dreaming hand in dancing hand with Lucid Waking as the joyas road to peace.






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2 thoughts on “The Fort Mason Gate .. Dreams & Worlds Unfurl

  1. Mr. Pogblog, it seems like you ought to meet up with this Ms. Vel Veeta, sounds like you have much in common.
    I've been minding and trying to heed my own dreams more lately. I've heard of people seeing “signs” in dreams, but I've never heard of anyone taking it quite so literally that he/she actually changed a sign.
    Thanks for this extended piece. Missed having you on the internet that month even though you obviously were traipsing the dreamnet.

  2. Velv Eeta takes herself more wryly than I am yet able to do consistently with my own murkier self. I don't embrace my (precious) preposterousness as wholeliveredly as I might.
    Giving whatever fragments of dream you can glimpse a quick title is crucial to holding on to the shimmering 'dream fish.' I can't emphasize how important it is that this quick title not be literature!! If you fuss yourself to make it literature, you flip yourself into the wrong mind to recall the dream. It's like opening the oven door on a souffle to check it out — the blast of cold air deflates the souffle if it isn't cooked enough yet.
    It takes discipline to do this title trick because when you're still 2/3 in the dream mode, you are positive you will simply remember it without the title trick — and then mostly you don't.
    Later you can mull over the Bumper Sticker to make it trickier & slickier if you want.

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