lucid
dreaming
lucid
dreaming
First: I still see people confusing dream control or vivid dreaming or dream re-entry with actual lucid dreaming.
Second: Yes, lucidity of thought is possible in dreams.
Lucid dreaming only means "knowing you are in a dream."
Although I don't endorse any kind of a scale for lucid dreaming, it is obvious to me that not all lucid experiences are the same.
Many people spontaneously notice they are in a dream one or more times during their lives. Often, the experience is so startling they immediately snap back out, into awakening. Learning lucid dream induction and stability techniques can go a long way towards increasing the likelihood and frequency of lucid dreams. When you learn how to cultivate power you will maintain a conscious prescence in these special mental states rather than fade back into ordinary dreaming or out into awakening.
HOW
TO
UNDERSTAND
DREAMING
HOW
TO
UNDERSTAND
DREAMING
The history of dream research reads as a list of null-hypothesis confirmations - any time a guess was made as to the function of dreaming and this was tested the guess turned out to be wrong.
Ideas ranged from instructions via another dimension or God, to advice from our ancestors, to wish fulfillment, to problem-solving, to memory consolidation or junk-memory disposal, to a meaningless epi-phenomenon - every measure to confirm a hypothesis about the function of dreaming has failed to support the hunches of researchers, except...in 2000 Dr. Revonsuo published his Theory (more like an incredibly thorough Thesis) of dreaming as a threat simulating rehearsal space in the December issue of Behavioral and Brain Sciences (which happens to be the most exciting professional journal edition concerning dreaming to date, IMO). This article - The Reinterpretation of Dreams: An evolutionary hypothesis of the function of dreaming - was not reporting on just a single experiment or a set of experiments. Rather, what Revonsuo did was expose what I call the HIDDEN OBVIOUS and showed the golden mean of repetition at every scale when we overlap all the data we've compiled on dreaming over the years.
This is what I think: We don't talk much about our dreams because we suspect that revealing our deepest fears would open up obvious chinks in our psychic armor. Besides, not everyone is a great storyteller and hearing someone fumble about trying to explain their inner weirdness isn't so palatable. The uncomfortable situation of dream-sharing is compounded exponentially because nobody - almost nobody - knows what dreaming is for or what those strange memories mean. Well, here's C(L)UE 1: The younger you are (the less enculturated you are) the more likely you are to dream of THE F-WORDS OF DREAMING as primordial abstractions. Heck, here's C(L)UE 2 and 3 and 4: The stronger a dream is (the more vivid, memorable, emotional, intense) the more the dream involves THE F-WORDS OF DREAMING. Daytime stress or dealing with novelty (and unknown outcomes) triggers more F-WORD themes in your dreams. And, repetitive dreams - those themes we have over and over throughout our life (usually triggered by a daytime stressor) - tend to conform to, you guessed it: THE F-WORDS OF DREAMING.
You already know about fight or flight, right? Well, actually, let's start with just...
FIGHTING
Fighting back against an aggressor is a behavior we may develop in dreams, eventually, but this action is not the go-to move for young children. Start considering the possibility that dreaming served as an adaptive function in our species' history. Imagine: What types of rehearsals would serve us best as we develop across the life-span? For a child, when pursued, the best bet is usually...
FLEEING
Running away. Being pursued. Hauling butt. Surviving to try again another day. Being pursued is THE MOST COMMON DREAM THEME for children around the world, regardless of culture or time in history. Being chased continues to be a predominant theme in adult dreams when the dream system is triggered to switch into high-gear. Who's chasing all of these kids and giving them chasing nightmares? Nobody. Usually. But, in our prehistoric (and not-so-distant) past, rehearsing a get-away may have served us well. And who do we run from in dreams? At first, the monster is a...monster. Sort of. The THEME of Fleeing has to have a place-holder character for the would-be attacker. Something you are scared of. This can be nebulous, or barely formed, or even just the idea of someone or something behind us, despite no visual confirmation. But the particular bogeymen of whatever culture we find ourselves in will fill-in the role. Media figures make for regulars in dreams today. Anyway, sometimes we find ourselves being chased because we crossed-the-line into someone else's property. Sometimes we don't know why we are being pursued. Sometimes we feel like an outlaw and we confabulate a narrative that the pursuer has good reason for chasing us. We run, and our legs feel heavy, we can barely move, it gets closer behind us, we struggle, and struggle, and...wake up eventually. Here's another great C(L)UE about the function of dreaming: It is all about PERSEVERING against the obstacles and setbacks; the threats are not the point in and of themselves. Oh yea, and sometimes when we are being chased we get the urge to escape by...
FLYING
Yes, actual flying around in the dream. This is why I didn't want to keep the fight or flight phrase. For our purposes, fleeing and flying are too distinct -yet frequently overlapping - Fs. Many people report that they have had flying dreams, especially when younger. What is not so well known is that when pressed for more detail, many flying dreams seem to be instigated as a means to escape a monster. The dreamer resolves the danger of being chased by leaving the dream ground. Speculation abounds regarding why flying dreams have always been reported, long before airships were built (could be reminiscent of floating in the womb or being carried as an infant or jumping off of objects or watching birds or simply related to the sleeping, physical body lying down for hours on end). What we do know is that many people describe flying dreams - regardless of what instigates them - as among their favorite experiences. Flying is also considered to be the first-stop for many new lucid dreamers once induction success is obtained. In fact, if we do not have a plan for what to do once lucid, new and experienced lucid dreamers alike will typically resort to floating away once lucid. And along with the thrill of flying comes another typical dream theme...
FALLING
No, you don't die if you die in a dream. Not during the dreams in which people do "die" and then wake up, anyway. But you may be scared (almost) to death in dreams, regardless. The idea that the falling Dream may be an inherited "behavior" was first pronounced to me by my Fifth-Grade reading teacher. As it goes, what is suspected is that many animals - including primates - evolved to have a concern for falling and this can be represented in dreams. Like all of the Typical Dream Themes (TDTs) the Falling theme is best represented the younger the dreamer is. The fear of falling may manifest in dreams while the dreamer is walking or standing near a cliff or driving near a cliff or sitting on a high ledge, etc. And it may come as a surprise to the newly-lucid, but it is very possible to be frozen with fright by obsessing over falling when flying in dreams. Overall though, flying in dreams - especially while lucid - is one of those potentials of the human experience that is nearly too-good to be true. When people think of amazing dream activities, flying is right up there with...
FORNICATION
Yes, in some iterations of the Instinctual F's there is a more colorful word used as the descriptor.Yes, we can have real orgasms during sleep with no physical manipulation. No, in dreams sex does not always go as planned. Dream sex can be very pleasurable and can be pursued in lucidity, but results will vary. In fact, things going sideways in sex-dreams is really a variation of one or more over-arching Meta-Themes...
FAILURE, (MIS)FORTUNE, & FORTITUDE
The whole dream-generating-system in the human mind really involves two over-arching principles: Failure and Fortitude. What accounts for malfunctioning cars, phones, computers; why the difficulty screaming or breathing or getting to that test; why does so much go so wrong so often in dreams? It’s simple really. It is because of the Failure Feature of dreaming. Trying to fight but the punches connect like feathers. Trying to run but it’s as if you are in quick-sand. Trying to get somewhere but cannot exactly remember where or how. Dreaming specializes in failures. But not just to mess with us. Hardly. The point is to simulate worst case scenarios and extraordinary difficulties. Why? So we can practice Fortitude. Trying, hard. Again and again. In the face of extreme challenge.
cultivate power
cultivate power
From Section IV of The F-Model of Dreaming:
Although every “No” against the dragon named Thou Shalt marks a change in course or in momentum, spirit likewise requires a “sacred Yes,” the affirmation of creation. Negation will not suffice alone. So, spirit must become a child. “Innocence and forgetting, a new
beginning, a game, a self-propelled wheel, a first movement” (Nietzsche, p139)…
Hillel the Elder said—and I paraphrase—“If I am not looking out for me, then who is looking out for me? And yet, if I am only looking out for myself, what exactly is my ‘self?’ And if I don’t take responsibility for myself now, then when will I?” Only one thing will remain, when everything else gives way...even as the forms reshuffle.
An oxymoronic motto of Emperor Augustus was festina lente: "hurry slowly." This is intended to encourage proceeding swiftly, but with calm and caution. We can never be sure how much effort will be required, or exactly how many trials are still ahead, even as we can view our goal approaching. Remember, in a labyrinth you may seem near the center, in a sense, except there may still be multiple convoluted paths, and insurmountable walls which must be circumvented, before the circuit has been completed. We may even see the prize, almost within grasp. “Often in primitive tales when a satisfactory ending seems imminent, the whole thing blows up” (von Franz, p189). I am a fan of the long Game. Play as if you were built to last.
THAT WHICH REMAINS AMIDST CHANGE…Read more of this excerpt from The F-Model of Dreaming
Additional free content
from the
F-model of Dreaming:
a. FULLER FOReWARD
1. FOUR SHADOWS FOR FINNEGAN
FIRST, PRINCIPLES…
TWAIN, FOSSILS…
THREE FEATHERS (FAIRY TALES)…
FABLES (MYTHOS)
2. FREUD’S FORMULA
FLESH-(MANI)FEST (F IS FOR LIBIDO?)
FALL-GUY
DIE FATHER (OEDIPUS REX)
3. FAMILY TREE
ALFRED (CONTINUITY)
FAUSTIAN PHILEMON (FOREVER JUNG)
FLORA & FAUNA & FOREST & FIRMAMENT
FISHER-PRICE: MY FIRST THESIS
4. FOUNDATION & FIRMAMENT
FISHER’S FARM
FORTIFICATION (AURELIAN WALLS)
FREQUENCY FIELDS
5. FABRICATION (A NOVEL CONCEPTION OF CONSCIOUSNESS)
NARRATIVE ORATION
VOLITIONAL…
EXPERIENCED LIMINALITY (PHENOMS & STATES)
6. FRACTALS & FRAGGLES
FISSION: MULTIPLICITY
FUSION: MEGAFORMS
7. FALLING & FLYING
VISUAL CLIFF
FLYING
8. FLEE. FIGHT. FREEZE.
FLAG & FORTRESS — THE TERRITORIAL IMPERATIVE
FLEEING
FRIGHT— PARASOMNIAS & NIGHTMARES
FREEZING
FIGHTING BACK
9. FAILURE & (MIS)FORTUNE
TO FAIL, IS TO HAVE TRIED
FORNI-COMPLICATIONS
10. FORTITUDE
11. FRAMING & SACRIFICE
DREAM JOURNALING
LIBER NOVUS
FIG TREES & WHEAT FIELDS
12. FULL FRONTAL
FUNGI FANATICUS
STEPHEN
FEYNMAN
DREAM WORK
b. NOTES
c. SOURCE MATERIAL
A NOVEL CONCEPTION
OF CONSCIOUSNESS
From:
The F-Model of Dreaming
5. FABRICATION— NOVEL
IT’S ALL A CONTEXTUAL DREAM. Here’s the thing— we cannot get far in forming an understanding of our private dreaming, without examining our phenomenological experiences, in general. Yes, there are several distinct mind states, but they are all part of the same nation—
you—and so, their borders necessarily overlap. In a completely vegetative state, nobody's home. The lights are out. But whether awake, or dreaming, or even lucid dreaming, we are having an experience of the world. Or, a world, anyway. In this special awareness, all of these states involve storytelling— telling a story to yourself, in particular. How is that possible?
A Narrative Oration of Volitionally Experienced Liminality: this is the story of Consciousness. A NOVEL conception. This is my answer to “what is Consciousness?” This acronymous framing is a simple model, not a Theory, proper. This is observation and report. Acronyms are easy to recall, and if we keep them short—seven-plus-or-minus-two chunks of information—they hit the sweet- spot for consideration in working-memory. Let’s consider...
NOO. As many an acronym does, my NOVEL contraction omits an extraneous preposition, dropping the “o” from “of.” However, if the second “o” were kept, we are left with the acronym NOOVEL, an interesting portmanteau itself. The word “noo,” standing alone, is a variant of the word “now.” After all, isn’t consciousness more or less synonymous with the experienced now? As a prefix, used when referring to the mind, “noo” means “combining forms,” from the Greek “noo-,” alternatively spelled “noos,” or “nous,” and represents the faculty of mind we call intellect, or intelligence, or rationality (distinguished from other faculties, such as the mechanisms of sensory perception). Again, somewhat appropriate.
What was considered an innate function of the mind since ancient times—the ability to delineate forms and recombine them to create useful and novel meanings—was reconfigured by Kant into the noumenon: “the thing in itself,” the real stuff that we can never directly know. Schopenhauer had to come along and revert the concept to its upright position, so that phenomena referred once again to the things we perceive, and noumena referred to the mind itself, or, to the mind’s capacity for synthesizing meaning from a chaotic sea of phenomena and phantasms. We are the meaning-makers. “We are the dreamers of the dream.”
NARRATIVE ORATION...
“‘Tell me, Socrates,’ said Phaedrus. ‘Do you believe the story?’ ‘The wise are doubtful,’ Socrates returned, ‘and I
should not be singular if I too doubted.’” — Hamilton (p273)
Gilgamesh is the oldest written story of which we have an original. In the Epic, the Uruk king Gilgamesh angers the town elders, who then whine to the gods. The crying incites the gods to form “Enkidu, a wild man who combines human and bull characteristics” (Hoffman). While Enkidu makes its way across the land to reach Gilgamesh, the King has a couple of dreams, and he asks his mother, Nin-sun (“Lady Wild-Cow”) for interpretation. In one dream, Gilgamesh starts off: “My mother, in the time of night I felt joyful and walked in the midst of the nobles.” Then stars appeared in the sky, and “the essence of Anu descended towards me,” and “I sought to move it; move it I could not!”
I myself had a very vivid dream once in which I saw a whole field of Enkidu- like characters. I did not know I was dreaming, and upon spotting them I ducked and hid behind a counter— they were standing right outside a glass door, the nearest creatures a few meters away. I’m not ashamed to say I was apprehensive and hid, though I may have lost out on a huge opportunity. As I understand it, Jung’s own Philemon dream-guide bore such a resemblance as these creatures. I didn’t sense evil, if I recall, but something powerful was there. Whether awful or awesomely good in that power, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll find out “later.”
As for the stars in the sky, and the “essence of Anu” starring in our first-found story, we could find libraries of works trying to bridge us with the lights of Heaven. Hardly seems like a leap to propose there is likely a forced insight (which may have ran rampant in early humans) incepted after having dreamt an incredible dream, only to awaken below the Milky Way. Still wading out of dream-time, why wouldn’t he or she “understand” a link must exist between the wonder out there— wandering stars, Pleiades,[1] and all—and the wonders within. Or maybe I’m just a big fan of astronomy and oneirology. I too, have had dreams in which I would notice stars, and they may then move around or multiply, or both.[2] Then again, same thing has been happening in the night sky—while awake—the older I get. I half-joke about how, now that the sky is so full of our own lights zipping around at night, we wouldn’t even know if “alien” craft were holographing their way around up there, as well. Are some of these lights messengers from God, or aliens, or the robotic overlords— nothing seems too outrageous “these days,” when trying to account for the surreality of the story.
NARRATION. A narrative is an account, a chronological collection arranging the facts of perception. A narrative is that which makes a sequence stick together. “One event follows another; but we never can observe any tie between them. They seem conjoined, but never connected” (Hume, p49). Out of all the possible schematic combinations we could arrange in sequence, in this moment right now, a very particular and unique story has been selected for, and no other. Narrative is—it must be—primarily directed internally. Though, by necessity, the story appears out there, in the game-field-hallucination (remember: just because it’s a hologram, doesn’t mean it’s fake).
Our native perceptua-letters and schemat-archetypes amalgamate into a story, via activation coherence between various perceptual forms. Sure, there is a world out there, probably, supplying the torrents of sensory data pinging our receptors, but this does not change so much as it supports a particular view: our view. Consciousness reveals a narrative, pre-equipped with scripts, displaying faces and shapes, all arranged in places, complete with inferred time-lines disguised as the distance between spaces. Scripts and short stories build from forms that are already present in the mind— either by way of genetic inheritance or incorporated through experience, and act as the skeletons supporting larger, more comprehensive narratives.
If the alphabet of our native language is conceived of as our senses (perceptions), we can then perceive the multi-modal model of the world called our life-story— just as it is. But what are these forms; how is a bombardment of pressure-changes, and air molecules tickling ear hairs, and electromagnetic waves activating retina cells...how does all of this, and much more, transform into the Conscious experience? Well, we can translate all of these events because our brains speak tesseract.
MIND AS TESSERACT DECODER. A tesseract is to a cube what a cube is to a square. It is said that we cannot portray a tesseract in our three-dimensional world, and we must rely on analogies. Wire-frame shadows are the go-to models when describing higher-dimensional images, from a perspective within “lower” dimensions. For example, a two-dimensional entity on a 2D plane cannot “comprehend” a cube. However, if we take a wire-frame cube and shine a light on it, we can then see its shadow casted onto a flat surface. The shadow is not the cube itself but gives an idea as to what a cube is, especially if examining the frame- shadow as it moves around. Using the same method, we can create 3D projections—based on formulas, not by actually illuminating higher-dimensional forms from behind—of 4D image-shadows, but because we are seeing this in the world we are used to, it is easy to get the wrong idea regarding what “four dimensions” means. Because, actually, we already live in a 4D world, and the human mind is a 5D processor.
We’ve been familiar with Descartes’s x-y-z spatial triad for a while now, and Einstein explained how time was twined with these, over a century ago. And yet, it may still feel awkward to combine these four dimensions together. It feels as if our experience is a smooth, continuous trajectory, with each moment seamlessly becoming the next. At best, what our brain’s experience must be is a series of overlapping frames— each an interpretation of what we want, in relation to how it’s going in the achieving. Lo, we do not see the world as a series of frames. Even though our experience is built of myriad cortical maps and their intercommunications, we only perceive a unified whole in the light of Consciousness. Let’s reconsider what 4D means.
Time is not like Cartesian geometry. Time is what Cartesian forms move through. Just like how the x-y flat square cannot be anything other than flat, if it moves through another dimension, it can act as if it is a 3D object. If you could see the iterative frames of a 3D form, or some overlap of frames—viewed from a 4D perspective—what would that look like? Perhaps it would be something like Marcel Duchamp’s 1912 Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2, except, as viewed in 3D, rather than on a flat canvas. Or, to envision four-dimensional reality, just take a look around. Not only are the 3D objects around you capable of moving across time, they are constantly moving about at great speeds, as are you.
If the Earth spins, it does so at about 1000 miles per hour (MPH). As the world turns on its axis it also revolves around the Sun, at 67-thousand MPH. The Sun orbits the Big Black Hole at the center of the Milky Way at nearly half-a-million MPH, and a “galactic year” takes 230-million Earth years to complete. Then, of course, all of the galaxies in our neck of the wood—our Local Supercluster—are racing toward the Great Attractor, or something beyond it, at 14-million MPH. And there is no reason to believe the spinning and racing stops there. But enough of the outer speeds— we could consider the speed of “little” things, like molecules and atoms and the forms they’re composed of. At a comfortable temperature, oxygen molecules in the air zip about at 900 MPH. The speed of light, celeritas, is 186- thousand miles per second. That’s pretty fast, but not as fast as the seams of space itself are unstitching. Galaxies are racing away from one another—that whole cosmic red shift thing—faster than the speed of light. But hold up, slow down— let’s freeze time for a moment and zoom-out to a particular location, in a specific frame.
The Earth-spin seems somewhat fast at 1000 MPH. And that 67k MPH revolving around the Sun— ludicrous-speed, right? Well, perspective can change the way things seem to be. Imagine you have a spaceship and can travel so that you are a few Earth-diameters distance away from our world. It would be hard just to keep up with the planet, as it orbits its star and rotates. Now, zoom away, fly that craft so that you are so far away from Earth that you can see the whole solar system, and from your vantage the Sun is the size of an orange. How fast is the Earth moving now? It must be falling around the Sun at that 67k MPH, still, but as
you are looking through your spaceship window, it looks as if Earth is floating, motionless. Remember, it will take one year to go around that orange, and one day to revolve on its tiny axis. This is a small taste of Relativity.
But what kind of a thing are we, that we could not only make up models of reality like this, but actually create tools and machines which can in-turn make dream-things become real? If everything I have said is true about these orbital speeds, you could, conceivably, fulfill a mission to build a craft that actually enables a view of the Earth, as if it were a small dot in an impossibly vast system— tethered in seeming-place to an orange fusion ball. If the world we live in, the experiential world, is made of 3D forms moving in a fourth-dimension, we are not only creatures which can perceive this, we are creatures which can manipulate 4D forms (3D things moving through time) in an even higher-order dimensional field— the human mind (which may imply that the mind is a kind of 5D “form” manipulator). What exactly did you think you were doing, when considering multiple alternate scenarios in the “future?” You were playing with tesseracts and pentatopes and other 4-polytopes. We are not just in a story. We create the meaning that is the story.
NOVELTIES. When a story is comprehensible, and the characters and themes can be weaved into a familiar narrative, information may be extracted and readily assimilated into pre-existent schema. However, when faced with a highly novel experience, one that “does not compute,” the mind either cannot go there, or else, it must somehow accommodate the new forms, by arranging a new category, schema, or script.
Valence processing—the coding of novelty—is exhibited in the ventral tegmental area, as it switches to a prominent bursting pattern during REM sleep (Wang, 2009). “This thing is not like the others.” Unsure how this thing behaves— or doesn’t—sentient beings tend to act cautiously when facing the unknown. Jung wrote in Man and His Symbols (1964) that “primitive peoples” are misoneistic, meaning, they “have a deep and superstitious fear of novelty...but ‘civilized man reacts to new ideas in much the same way, erecting psychological barriers to protect himself from the shock of experiencing something new” (p17). Novelties are those instances in the story we didn’t know could even be part of the story. No warning, and there they are.
Freud shared an observation from Hildebrandt [1875], of “the striking facility with which dreams are able to weave a sudden impression from the world of the senses into their own structure so that it comes as what appears to be a pre-arranged catastrophe that has been gradually led up to...as though the whole dream had been leading up to that one event” (1900, p59). In retrospect, but rarely in the moment, the coherency of themes and the repetition of motifs throughout our life is...fascinating. Where do these narratives come from?
A narrative is a history, a report. It may be the history of what is happening now, but that begs the question: How much of now is predictive perception (anticipation of where we expect the ball should be, by the time we can get our hand over to where it should arrive), and how much is trace-recall (memory of where items and characters were, just before now, when their image actually activated our sensory receptors and sent the “evoked potential” wave ricocheting through our cortical maps, thus manifesting the corresponding perceptual forms inside of us)? It’s a bit of both, but mostly, the whole thing is dependent on what you are aiming for.
The narrative is the score. Right now, it is the whole orchestra...now, just that section...now, a solo. A narrative is enacted play by play, yet, each act—and the whole collection of chronicles—are all potentially part of your larger Narrative (lo, not all potential innate forms will be realized and activated in each life). Different scripts receive prominence, now and again, flowing above and below, often repeating in rhyming rhythms, as they go out, and then in.
VERBAL. While awake, or a-dream, memory is organized functionally into the form of narratives (Bruner, 1991). We sometimes wrap narratives up at a superordinate level within verbal language. Human verbal language operates at a level of abstraction and construal that is so meta, it imbues our minds with the emergent phenomena known as “planning,” or “consideration,” and with these, language enables not only inter-personal communication, but also intra-space, mental time-travel, and the ability to simulate scenarios. Imagination. Cognitive experimenting. Putting the work into working-memory.
An old conception of human consciousness had it relying on, and wholly shaped by, verbal language. Human as Homo linguae. Way it went, though, “language” meant the learned symbolism of sonic gesticulations— words. As if, without a word for a thing, that thing cannot be properly accommodated into—and manipulated by—the mind. Interesting proposition. To consider this statement, you are required to read it, process it, and possibly even form verbal-like agreements, or oppositions. All of this involves learned words. Schopenhauer admitted: “It is by the help of language alone that reason accomplishes its most important achievements” (p35). And yet, existing a priori to any specific words, the mind already knows how to manipulate and form meaning out of sensory experiences. There is an innate language the mind uses, behind and beneath and permeating all perceived forms. This is the language the mind uses to tell itself stories in its own tongue.
FIRST PERSON. Cadmus—legend tells—“introduced the alphabet into Greece” (Hamilton, p255). Ancient Greek was one of the first, if not the first, alphabets to properly represent human speech as it was spoken. Finally, text and sound and word were one. Certainly, there are advantages to using a textual symbol
system, enabling faithful rendering back and forth between written and spoken words. Then again, words—spoken or written—only label the felt experiences of a story, or an idea. The human brain was as large and as capable in potential as it is now, long before we used anything we would recognize today as verbal language. Maybe. Words and phrases are not the phenomenological reality in itself, right?
REPS. In the late 1930s, Frank Benford decreed a law which stated, that for certain types of data, the numeral 1 will appear in 30% of those data. The second cardinal unit will appear in 18% of instances, and the drop-off continues from there. Extending Benford’s Law to a broad study of English literature, G.K. Zipf ranked the 10 most common words in the language via an assortment of texts, and also divvied up the words’ individual contributions. “The” came in at number one, “of” at number two, “and” brought in the bronze, “to” came in at fourth-place, followed by “a,” and “in,” and “that,” in descending frequency. “Neck” came in at the 1000th ranking.
Of course, there must be an ordered ranking of things, but what was striking to Zipf was that “the” was about twice as common as “of,” and appeared thrice as often as “and.” Zipf formulated his own Law, which states that the most frequent word in a language will occur about twice as often as the second most frequent, and three-times as often as the third, etc.— the same logarithmic function Benford noticed. This actually holds true for all languages, even Esperanto. With words— as with most things—there are a few Giants, and many imps and sprites.
In English, “the” occupies nearly seven-percent of word-counts, and its runner up, “of,” comprises 3.5%.[3] Two words fill in ten-percent of our stories, and coloring with hardly a scant dozen-dozen words, we paint half of our textual canvas. There are many words, and plenty that deserve more mention, but all you really need are a few well-placed phrases, and a small collection of short yet powerful stories, to get most jobs done just fine. Use the best words— you don’t have to use them all.
WORDS ARE ACTIONS. Did you know that gestures are used by the person making the gestures to help activate (find) the words they are intending to draw- up (Wesp, 2001)? Concrete words—things such as nouns, which can be described in 3D space—are especially locked with the physical motor sequences those words are attached to. This is evident when using a tip-of-the-tongue (TOTT) paradigm: A clue is given, and participants are to come up with the word which describes the clue. The correct words are selected by the researchers to be generally known, but also hard to recall— rare. This forces a TOTT response. If participants are free to gesticulate and wave their hands around, they are likely to come up with this TOTT word, eventually. However, if their arms are made immobile and lexical activation is not facilitated by gesticulation, they never get past the tip. Like Watson made clear, cognitions—thoughts and self-talk—are behaviors, too.
LET SLEEPING DOGS LAY? In English, I can form every native word with letters from the pangram: A quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. Below that superordinate level of verbal language, there are the mid-level forms which are conjured up into the mind’s theater— the objects and places and characters evoked by our words and phrases and stories. When we read the words “hunger is the best sauce in the world,” those circuits corresponding to our own understanding of the sentence are activated, within the brain’s enormous association fields. When a string of words relates to our own experience, we nod, in understanding. “A similar proverb possessed by many nations,” confirmed Don Quixote’s “view, that proverbs are true, being opinions extracted from the same experience” (Jones, 1908).
A NEW KIND OF STORY-TELLING. Likely not anticipating what influence he would have, four centuries ago Cervantes wrote not only “the most important literary genre of the modern age, it can retrospectively be said that, among novels, Don Quixote was the first” (Cascardi, p58). Cervantes did not invent something whole cloth, completely new. Rather, he uncovered “new possibilities for the combinations of elements that preexisted it” (p59). Don Quixote was built from rich literary associations, but for all those stories that have been lost, Quixote remains, and for us, serves as a primary source of our own thoughts, even if we don’t recognize it. As is our relationship, also, with all of the great novels handed down afterwards.
Von Franz said that rituals “or religious customs can spring directly from an unconscious revelation experienced by a single individual,” and over long stretches of time the story becomes “beautified, and acquires definite forms. This crystallizing process” cannot be given, and “without personal knowledge of the original experience,” one is left to merely believe “what their elders and teachers”—or more likely today, their screens—“tell them about it. They no longer know that such happenings are real, and they are of course ignorant about how one feels during the experience” (Jung, 1964, p252-253).
We study the classics and travel to the great wonders, to learn how to read the world well, and also, to learn what makes for a good telling. Then, we may right what time is left ahead, even writing some of those perfect acts—already performed a million times before us—into our own narrative. Learn all the best stories, you never know when they might be useful. And tell the best stories, so as to ignite the lights wherever you roam.
BOLOGNA. Julian Jaynes, in The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind, proposed that what we now perceive as our own thoughts were once experienced as external voices, communications from beyond. Not so long ago, mused Jaynes, those gods who talked with us became recognized as ourselves. Or— these became the stories we tell ourselves, and those we tell to others, and others tell to us. Put in highly scientific terms, they all emanate from what Steven Pinker calls the bologna generator (2002). Stan Walters said that sixty-percent of people cannot go 10 minutes without lying. Spinning a yarn. Dreaming.
Clara Hill wrote that “the language of dreaming makes use of two essentially human characteristics: our tendencies to use metaphors and to be inveterate storytellers” (Rosner, p127). As when awake, in dreams, we “are in a constant process of assimilating the variety and multiplicity” of our experiences, through the lenses of personal metaphors and scripts.
INNER & OUTER PERCEPTIONS. In Schopenhauer’s division of thought- types, we have the immediacy of perception from the senses which he likened to direct sunlight and then, as with “the borrowed light of the moon, we pass from the immediate idea of perception” over “to reflection, to the abstract, discursive concepts of the reason, which obtain their whole content from knowledge of perception, and in relation to it” (p32). There is the world as directly perceived, and there are our imaginings. But note the “knowledge of perception” part. We don’t acquire knowledge from perceptions, alone. We already have knowledge, regardless of experience, and this in-forms our perceptions. However, without testing ourselves, out there—in the field of forms—we won’t activate the whole story that already exists, in potential, within.
PSCIENCE. Schopenhauer wrote that the danger “of the sphere of abstract thought,” in contrast to temporary illusions “of the real,” is that an abstract thought “error may reign for a thousand years, impose its yoke upon whole nations, extend to the noblest of humanity, and, by the help of its slaves and dupes, may chain and fetter those whom it cannot deceive” (p32). He was warning us not to readily accept ideas which cannot be warranted through demonstration. If it is said to be, but never shown to be, is it really so? Who or what can you trust? Trust your Self— the perceiver and the creator, the voluble and ineffable, “the always already and the never quite yet” (Shipley). And when in doubt, do some reality testing.
SPOKEN LANGUAGE. Let’s talk Subvocalization.[4] Experiments have demonstrated that subvocalization facilitates certain kinds of meaning while we read. When subvocalization was blocked, by having participants count or say things like “cola-colacola...” aloud, this impaired their reading comprehension, but generally not their listening comprehension. The effect of blocking subvocalization was found to be specific to tests that required integration of concepts within or across sentences, as contrasted with tests that required only memory of individual concepts. Two hypotheses were offered as to why this occurred: a., subvocalization might result in a more durable memory representation—needed for integration of concepts—or, b., subvocalization may enable a “prosodic restructuring” of information, making sentences comprehensible. (Slowiaczek, 1980). As if, to understand a story, we have to “say” the story as it happens.
When wielding language masterfully, the sea of forms quake in frothy breaks behind our wake, as our own thought cuts colors and shapes through the waves— and we race towards self-fabricating fractal arrangements of our own creation. The building blocks of our story include all of the simple, singular percepts: sky blue, dawn orange, middle-C, 42 decibels, knee-pain, hunger, salt, diagonal line, cold, sweet, etc.
Consciousness does not weave its story using an alphabet limited to symbolic letters, but instead, assigns a symbol to every sensation— each color, sound, taste. Even though there are millions of possible colors we could use to paint a story, there are a few types of photoreceptors, basically speaking, with which we use to form any color. And there are only five taste receptors. The complexity of the forms around us are really, underneath, painted from a relatively limited palette (olfaction, though largely “unconscious” or diminished in humans, is an exception to all this, with a thousand different receptor types). How we combine those basic flavors will determine the course of our stories.
Choose only the best words and combine them into beautiful narratives. Nothing is more important than choosing your words carefully, especially those spoken to yourself. Beware the Borg who attempt to take your words away.
APHASIA. Aphasia is losing the ability to speak. In Broca's aphasia the person is aware of their issue— the words they cannot access are “stuck on the tip of the tongue” (Bick). In jargon aphasia, one is unaware of the problem, even as they spew “phrase salad.”[5] With confabulations, people make up stories without being aware they are doing so. In schizophrenia, the patients are actually talking to themselves—it is their voice—and “the voices” may be stopped by holding the mouth open. This is called “precluded subvocalization” (Bick, 1987). The “mouth opening maneuver” was also tested on normal participants—well, those who could…
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F-model of Dreaming:
BRAIN
STRUCTURE
AND
DREAMING
BRAIN
STRUCTURE
AND
DREAMING
FROM CHAPTER 4 - FORTIFICATION
OF THE F-MODEL OF DREAMING
It’s tempting to conclude that the why of all life is: to reproduce. To multiply. Seed sowing. Freud was hooked on this conception of being, and he reduced everything to the sexual libido drive. There is no denying the importance of sex— that is, if we are discussing the perseverance of a lineage. However, what if, in the vast predominance of moments across a life, there are other things going on, besides erotic desire? What animals and machines and gods are predominantly concerned with is this: remaining whole, persevering in a Cosmos seemingly intent on ripping us apart. Sexual union and multiplication have a role in this, and so do things like fortifying your own spot on the frontier.
We have a sense of what belongs to us—right and justly—and what does not: these are our domain boundaries. We also have an ever-present need to protect the perimeter, and to do so, we devise walls and fences around our family, around our resources, and around our Work, and we also contrive shields surrounding our ideas and our ideals. And, for all we encompass, our borders include gates and doors, as well— enabling alliances, and even a means to escape our own preconceptions, if need be.
It is not enough to just be. To remain in this thing, we must earn, and then defend. Fortification is the long-game. This was true even before sexual reproduction was part of what biology did. Prokaryotes, including the Archaea and Bacteria still around and within you—you Eukaryotes—are each an individual living entity, and this is only so because they maintain dynamic boundaries. Boundaries—defining structure—exist within organisms as necessary preconditions for the emergent behaviors which the organisms may exhibit.
In David Byrne’s multi-media “book”— Envisioning Emotional Epistemological Information (2001), the R&R Hall-of-Famer states that organization is content.[1] The way that a thing is structured—say, the brain—tells us much about how it performs. The organization of the brain does seem responsible for how it operates, even if the fine details of its processes may never be fully encapsulated. Starting off as a neurologist before devoting himself to psycho-analysis, Freud had an understanding of where neuro-science was heading. "We will picture the mental apparatus as a compound instrument, to the components of which we will give the name of 'agencies,' or (for the sake of greater clarity) 'systems’” (1900, p575).
With a low-resolution purview, we notice the human think-box is composed of various modules, or sub-structures. A little finer-grain, and we see a discreet separation of neural cell-types. What looked like a labyrinthine-coralesque-yet- basically-homogenous arrangement, from afar—such as the outer rind of the cerebral cortex—is actually a functionally separate plurality of regions, each responsible for particular chores (even though all work together for your benefit,
ultimately). The brain is layered, like an artichoke, or a lotus— each petal a module, all having evolved into roughly concentric, Fibonacci-friendly layers, spiraling out from the core. Lo, we are not vegetables. To build fluid concepts— for sustaining us along disorienting discovery journeys—we draw up analogies from ground already known. Sigmund liked to compare the human brain/mind to the Aurelian Walls.
THE AURELIAN WALLS. Despite the peace and prosperity within Rome, which defined the period known as the Pax Augusta, following a thwarted barbarian attempt to take it, Emperor Aurelian had walls constructed around the great city. The Aurelian Walls were built atop the Servian Wall, a prior incarnation of Roman defensive barrier, 12-feet thick at the base. There were even walls which predated and underlaid the Servian, though recalling those would take us into pre- Roman times.
The Servian Wall was made from local volcanic rock and was situated to take defensive advantage (and minimize natural disadvantages) of the landscape. The Servian Wall successfully defended against Hannibal—through its formidable appearance, if for nothing else—as Hannibal decided that overcoming Rome wasn’t going to happen. Centuries later, when Aurelian commissioned his Wall, the citizens of Rome, themselves, completed the massive project. Aurelian was fully tapped of manpower, engaged in battles elsewhere.
Time and resources were saved by accommodating already-existing structures into the Aurelian Wall, including an amphitheater, a pyramid, and an aqueduct. In 275 AD, the completed wall created a 12-mile circumference, forming an impressive deterrent to would-be attackers and sackers. Over time, the Aurelian Wall was fortified, and in the fourth century was doubled in height to 52-feet. But, why was that first pre-Servian wall put where it was, in the first place? Because: That was a good place to land.
We still don’t know if Romulus was really a founder of Rome, or, if Rome invented Romulus as its founder, after the fact. Rome, and Romulus, may both be named after Rumon, an old name of the Tiber River, where Aeneas landed after fleeing Troy. Mythologies aside, the city that would become Rome was perfectly positioned near the Mediterranean Sea and the Tiber’s banks, almost ensuring that a trading port would emerge there during the age of men.
Whoever it was that really got things going, the people who became Romans turned out to be genius at adopting, adapting, and improving the technologies and concepts of those traders with whom they came into contact. And that Wall atop a wall, atop rock and earth circumscribing Rome maintained strategic use well into the 19th Century AD. The only time it really couldn’t perform its defensive function was during Rome’s civil wars. You might say that the Wall built itself, or, that the Roman will—the spirit of Rome—willed the Aurelian Wall into existence. For defense. As a symbol. To define a space, and a people. Whatever we say, it is
assumed that (like Rome itself) the Wall was not built in a day, nor haphazardly— not in material nor location. Now, let’s dig into the human brain...
BRAINS. Some say that chimpanzees are humans’ closest animal relative. What a moral conflict it must be for many a researcher, who, seeking insight into the human brain, are willing to dig into the skull of a different primate—for the value of what might be gained to humanity—while maintaining the belief that this other creature is almost human, as well. This is not to be speciesist, but we aren’t the same creature, not even close (and that is not endorsement nor admonishment of “animal research”). The thing about genes is that a very few additional or alternate versions of them, between genotypes—despite sharing thousands of other genes in common—can result in dramatically different organisms, with vastly disparate phenotypes, or physical forms.[2]
The average adult human brain weighs about 1400 grams (a little over 3- pounds). The average adult chimpanzee brain is under 400g (or, 368g for female chimpanzees, and 405g for males). The divergence in growth patterns between humans and other primates begins early in life. Measuring with 3D ultrasound, chimpanzee fetuses were only half of the weight of human fetuses by 16 weeks after conception (Sakai, 2012). Even after birth, our trajectory continues to veer from the chimps. The human brain expands three-and-one-third times its birth weight by adulthood, while the chimpanzee brain—born smaller to begin with— increases by only two-and-one-half times its birth weight (de León, 2008). Our brains have similar modules as the chimpanzee brain, but some of ours are much larger, and specializations have evolved in each species. Though this is not unique to humans or primates, it could be said— the deeper into the brain we drop, the farther back we journey into our evolutionary past.
MODULES. Functionally, there are regions of the brain—like tightly packed networks—which change little between early adolescence and early adulthood, although these modular specificities appear to diffuse somewhat later in life (Fair, 2009). Modular connections in the brain become increasingly solidified during the first few years of development, and this follows a similar trajectory across humans. Rather than have a brain which develops into a random web of relationships, what we have instead appears to be the result of time-tested selection; this is economic- ecologic thrift. During our long competitive evolution, these brains etched deep furrows behind the field-of-forms’ brow, despite—or by virtue of—cycles of pestilence, ill-will, and irresolute climates.
Being the new kid in the world, most of our novel modularity is really just refinement of control mechanisms— the overlaying of new circuits atop more primal networks. This is not to say that the resultant abilities made possible with the human brain aren’t qualitatively different from earlier iterations. What has emerged with us is a quality of being which surpasses any predictions availed by
summing its pieces. We don’t just have more brain—merely more forebrain or before-brain—from a functional perspective, we have a whole new kind of brain. A multi-faceted, multi-functional, multi-storied brain. It’s made of old stories, really, told in new ways, given novel twists. But don’t get it twisted— as Pinker replied to Chomsky in their ongoing language debate, “Just as the flying fish is compelled to return to the water...human brains might, for all we know, be compelled to contain circuits for Universal Grammar” (Pinker, 1997). Pinker was suggesting that, perhaps, in order for a brain to develop to the complexity ours has, language circuits are a natural requirement. Big brains, conceived of in this way, must be capable of taking stories in, and of making a story spin.
CONCEPTION. In a cosmic stroke of fortune (whether it was good or bad will be revealed in due time), two gametes—one a tiny squirmy swimmer, the other an enormous and perfect sphere—recognize each other. The seaman is allowed to penetrate the sphere, and the forms from Photo 51 are fused into a novel arrangement; the Earth has been fertilized, and your story is conceived. Spelled as if already having an ending in mind, you are now a one of a kind, one-celled zygote. Your single double-helix splits for the first time, and your walls constrict at the middle, like a relentless belt, cleaving you into two hemispheres. Each nucleic duplicate chooses and rushes for a lobe, and soon—one day after conception—you have become two cells.
Mitotic divisions begin to speed up, and the two cells become four, four become eight...on day three you are a 16 cells-old ball of balls, and your multiple DNA strands are replicating every eight hours. At first, your overall size doesn’t increase, because the cells are smaller for each successive generation and continually pack tighter together. And then, you expand. Sixteen days in, and your neural plate begins taking shape, and by three weeks, most other organs begin forming; at six weeks, that neural plate has become a cellular-tube and forms three bulges— the beginnings of the hindbrain, the forebrain, and the midbrain, between. These three lumps differentiate into all of the modules of your brain, with the spinal cord and peripheral nervous system tailing behind. A first fissure begins to indent the dorsal lump, and the two major brain lobes start their respective journeys. Twelve weeks after conception, the corpus callosum begins to form.
From the core of the developing neural bulges (these hollow-centers will later become the brain-bathing ventricular system), the principle neuron progenitor— the ventricular zone (VZ)—radiates brain cells to their destinations. Neurons proliferating in the VZ are guided by glial cells along their migration, building the brain from the inside-out. The deepest of the cerebral cortex’s six layers is laid down first, then the second above it...and when the neurons are all in position, the VZ and most other cell-generating zones fade away.
FACTOTUM. A factotum[3] is one person—or thing—responsible for multiple jobs. The cook who is also the janitor, who also takes care of the gardening and is in charge of the deliveries and public relations and is a single parent. Or Buckaroo Banzai, who was a neurosurgeon and rocket-car pilot and band leader, particle physicist, and comic book character...a factotum. The mind is the factotum that somehow does all of those things that you do, that you couldn’t possibly do by yourself.
Ever since the idea of “mind” could be abstracted, humans have probably wondered where—if a central point exists—they really are. Called soul or spirit or God or Self, some have considered a spot on or in the body, a place where the God contacts and mingles with our dense plane. Descartes proposed this point of animating contact was in the pituitary, for example. Where is the Homunculus, the little guy at the controls making the decisions, the avatar of “I” in the brain? I don’t know, maybe nowhere, but we do have homunculi, plural. Cortical homunculi. These are neuronal structures in the brain corresponding to various envisages of ourselves. Plural. There is a map for our muscular system. There is a map of the body represented as tactile receptors (of each kind). And there are many retinal maps, with amazing geometric neural arrangements that, like all of these maps, are actually configured in patterns corresponding to the the real-world things being represented.
You couldn’t look at a cortical map as it actually exists in the brain and see an outline of yourself, or even one approximating the famous homunculi representations of the primary sensory and motor cortices made famous by Penfield and Jasper (1954). This is because there is a pattern of overlapping neurons and micro-circuits responsible for showing you, let’s say, “left index finger is flexing” and “left arm is extending.” These perceptual concepts contain overlapping elements (spatially, temporally, functionally); so, the cortical “maps” are not like maps on flat paper, rather, they are dynamic patterns of related activity, sharing nodes of basic representations which our perceptual forms are composed of.
NEO — FOREBRAIN. The cerebral cortex is the convoluted bark of the brain, wrapping all of the other core structures, and, together with the basal ganglia and diencephalon, makes up the forebrain. Ninety-percent of the human cortex is “neocortex,” including the primary sensory and motor areas, and the “association” regions (which are in effect extensions of sensory and motor areas, with many interconnections). The remaining cerebral-cortex is mesocortex, or paralimbic region, made of the cingulate gyrus, orbitofrontal cortex, and friends.
A larger neocortex—particularly amassed in the prefrontal cortex—is the most obvious differentiator of primates from other mammals and is especially apparent in humans. Certain neocortical regions, even prefrontal, are shared by most mammals—e.g., the orbitofrontal cortex—while other regions are unique to
primates, including the lateral prefrontal cortical areas (Zhang, 2011). The larger size and modular complexity of the human prefrontal cortex—of all our features— is the most distinguishing anatomical characteristic of the human creature (Johnson, 2009).
THE TWO HEMISPHERES. The neocortex and mesocortex have a six- layered structure, unlike the allocortex (which includes the primary olfactory cortex, AKA paleocortex— which has one to four layers). However, from the outside looking in, the most obvious subdivision of the cerebral cortex is not its layering, for we could only see the outermost strata, but rather, the two cortical hemispheres. Each cortical hemisphere contains the same number of neurons, though each side retains particular roles. For instance, the left cerebral cortex—in most humans—is where the speech-specializing centers are located (Wernicke’s and Broca’s Areas) and it is in this lobe where much of the processing is performed from which we identify our “humanness.”[4]
THE FOUR LOBES. Each cortical hemisphere is differentiated into four lobes: frontal, parietal, temporal, and occipital. The frontal lobe, behind the forehead, is separated from the parietal lobe—posterior, or behind it—by a fissure called the central sulcus. At the back of the frontal lobe, kissing and running along the central sulcus, is a gyrus called the primary motor cortex (PMC). In front of the PMC and separated by a sulcus called the precentral gyrus, are the premotor and supplementary motor cortices (SMC).
Moving farther forward, or anterior, from the SMC, along the frontal lobe, we arrive at the prefrontal cortex, which includes the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex, the orbitofrontal cortex, and the anterior cingulate regions. “Lack of perseverance”—an inability to constrain one’s behaviors over time—has been positively associated to interactions between the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex and the right inferior frontal gyrus and “lack of premeditation”—weak forethought— has been inversely correlated with contributions from the occipital cortex (Golchert, 2017). These functional circuits overlap with “bilateral dorsolateral prefrontal and bilateral occipital regions of the multiple demand network,” a broad system “implicated in the general control of thought and action.”
Behind the primary motor cortex, posterior to that central sulcus, and designating the start of the parietal lobe, lies the primary somatosensory cortex. Using eye signals—within lucid dreams—as time markers, fMRI showed a match between dreamt hand movements and increased activity in the sensorimotor cortex, suggesting that the dreaming and waking brains use the same processing networks when perceiving body movements (Dresler, 2011).
VISION. Head farther back—posterior—from the somatosensory cortex, behind the parietal lobe, and we reach the occipital lobe, including the primary
visual cortex (V1), or, striate cortex, so-called because it is striped. V1 has been known to exist ever since Korbinian Brodmann identified it (as Area 17), in the early 20th Century. Though we share the same number of neurons in V1 as in primates like rhesus monkeys, ours are massive and result in this region being three-times larger than the monkey’s (Gazzaniga, p663). With eyes closed, V1 shows little activity, but, when we imagine imagery or “call up a visual memory,” we can activate visual association cortex, around it (p77). The occipital lobe is predominantly hidden when looking from the outside-in, its bulk mostly situated between the two cerebral hemispheres. Surrounding V1 is the extrastriate cortex, home of the secondary and tertiary—and beyond—processing areas for visual perception.
When we rotate 3D images in our mind, we activate the same “or similar” cortical areas as we do while wide awake and watching images rotate (Cohen). It should be clear as air that in certain non-awake states (i.e., dreaming), many perceptual faculties are fully functional. Yet, of course, these overlapping states are not the same.
BLINDSIGHT. Visual perception is eliminated after sustaining damage to corresponding regions in the occipital cortex, resulting in what is called cortical blindness. Sufficient damage to V1 invariably leads to cortical blindness, and also to loss of visual dream imagery (Ffytche, 2010). The eyes may remain intact and continue to send visual information to the brain, even as particular visual domains, like color processing, or spatial-positioning in the visual field, are no longer perceived consciously. When some of the functional abilities of vision remain “in the absence of conscious perception,” this is known as “blindsight” (Weiskrantz, 1986). When participants with total cortical blindness on both their left and right visual fields were asked to make “yes” or “no” choices on the position of visual patterns—given auditory feedback when making correct choices—performance improved despite subjectively remaining unable to “see” the patterns (Trevethan, 2012). Even though there was no conscious perception, at another level, perceptions were still being received.
Traveling along the outer cortical surface, below the frontal and parietal lobes—separated by the lateral fissure—but anterior to the occipital lobe, is the temporal lobe. The temporal lobe consists of three gyri stacked upon one another, running from the anterior to posterior of the lobe, with the superior temporal gyrus (STG) and inferior temporal gyrus forming the northern and southern borders, respectively, and the middle temporal gyrus situated in between. Primary auditory cortex, or A1, is located on the STG. A1 is surrounded by the auditory association area, A2. The well-ordered representation of auditory frequency inputs are arranged in “tonotonic maps” in the auditory cortices. In fact, it’s all maps...and associations between maps. (Any neocortical territory, not strictly sensory or motor cortex, has been called association cortex.)
INSULA. Deep within the lateral sulcus separating the parietal from temporal lobes, is the insular cortex. The anterior insula receives input from the thalamus and amygdala, and also shares circuits with the orbitofrontal cortex and areas of the occipital and temporal lobes. The posterior insula also receives input from many thalamic regions, and is also directly connected, both sending and receiving information, with secondary somatosensory areas.
Regions of the prefrontal cortex inhibit excessive amygdala activity in healthy, waking brains—so long as conditions remain “civilized”—but “this relationship was diminished in individuals with posttraumatic stress disorder” (Sripada, 2014). Compared to controls who did not suffer from the disorder, veterans with PTSD exhibited more connectivity between the insula and amygdala.
MONKEY BRAINS. In biology, a homology is a gene, structure, or behavior which is shared between species because it originates from a common ancestor— such as a monkey paw is homologous with a batwing. Things that seem similar but were arrived at independent of one another—such as a batwing and a dragonfly wing—are homoplastic to each other. The “implication” in convergent evolution— when similar structures with similar functions evolve in separate lineages—is that there are “limited and constrained rules” which constrain nature, and even evolution (Gazzaniga, p648).
A “derived trait” is a feature that is unique to a group or species. One derived trait—also a homology, in two otherwise contrasting species—is the echolocation of dolphins and bats, brought to them by an enlargement and adaptation of the inferior colliculus in the midbrain (where, in humans, integration of horizontal and vertical audio signals position sounds in space). When a structure of the nervous system once served a particular function, but then changes and performs a new role, this is called exaptation. The oldest module of the forebrain is the primary olfactory cortex (POC), and a case could be made that much of our perceptual palette is mutated and adapted transformations of olfactory circuitry.
POC. Located at the bottom of the cerebral lobes where the frontal and temporal cortices meet, the POC is connected at one end to the olfactory nerve, which itself travels to the olfactory bulb, the glomeruli, where sensory receptors (of which there are 1000 types) in the nasal cavity make direct molecular contact with the world and then send their signals into the interior. Leaving the POC, olfactory information is sent directly to the orbitofrontal cortex, bypassing the thalamus— the only sensory system to enter forebrain networks without prior thalamic modulation. All mammals have homologous orbitofrontal pathways, and in the human, this region “may have expanded and become prefrontal cortex” (Gazzaniga), and along the way exaptated and differentiated into several major modules, with a galaxy of intertwining circuits betwixt.
ORBITOFRONTAL. The orbitofrontal cortex is located in the frontal cortex, right above and behind the eyeball socket ridges. The posterior orbitofrontal cortex (pOFC) is involved in processing emotions, and in modulating other excitatory modules. This governor helps with “flexibly shifting focus and adjusting emotional drive.” In creatures like us—primates—the amygdala sends “dense projections” to the pOFC, “cooling” hot affect into effectual plans, by sharing this information with various other cortical and subcortical regions which can ration things out (Timbie, 2014). Using rats, the excitatory neurotransmitter glutamate was extracted from the orbitofrontal cortex during waking, non-REM, and REM sleep. Corroborating imaging studies, the orbitofrontal cortex was found to be more active in REM sleep—compared to both non-REM sleep and also the waking conditions—as measured by glutamate saturation. (Lopez-Rodriguez, 2007). One insinuation from this is that during REM dreaming we neccesitate a lot of emotional cooling.
BROCA’S AREA. Another “highly derived” area of the human cortex is Broca’s Area, a primary region involved in language production. This area, though qualitatively unique in humans, may in fact be a co-opting and amplification of motor regions which were, in our ancestors (and still in other existent species)— less gaudy cortical maps, representing “the face and oral structures in the premotor cortex,” as well as similar regions in the primary motor and primary sensory cortices. The language centers of the brain are mostly unilateral, on the the left hemisphere in right-handed people; the right sound-field is processed in the left lobe, so, in this way our language areas are on the side of our “good ear.” Of course, Broca’s Area didn’t evolve in isolation, and to compensate for all that vocal- synthesizer capacity, communication pathways co-developed between itself and Wernicke’s Area, an auditory processing region derived into a super language- receiver (Gazzaniga, p650).
CORTICAL LAYERS. Neocortex is six-layers deep. Some cortical regions include strata that are visible to the naked-eye, like the line of Gennari, a white striation in the visual cortex where fatty axons arrive from the thalamus. Most of the layered-differentiation wasn’t apparent until scientists like Brodmann stained cerebral sections and examined these under microscope (1909), revealing various types of pyramidal and stellate neurons in ordered arrangements.
The cortical layers are numbered from the top down, so that the outermost is Layer I, the one below is Layer II, and the deepest layer is VI— though they do all get “laid down” during development in reverse, from the inside-out. Layer VI— the deepest—receives signals from the thalamus, and also sends signals, both inhibitory and excitatory, to those reciprocating neurons in the thalamus. Layer V neurons send axons down to subcortical regions, mainly to circuits involved in
voluntary motor control. Layer IV receives input from the thalamus and also from other cortical layers, and Layer III receives primarily inter-hemispheric transmissions from across the brain’s bridge. The second and the top-most layers are harder to classify, involved as they are with a lot of cortico-cortico associative processing, though Layer I also receives thalamic innervation.
Not only is the cortex set-up as strata, it is also composed of columns— in many regions there are functional relationships between neurons that are vertical neighbors on various floor-layers. The layering and culmination of the human brain display an order and complexity unsurpassed in the known biological world. Still, there may be other idiosyncrasies—like the spines on our dendrites appearing to exhibit unique properties[5]—which suggest it is not only the number of neurons in a brain determining its capacities, but also the specializations evolved into each lineage’s neurons and circuitry (Shepherd, 1999).
BELOW THE SURFACE: THE LIMBIC SYSTEM. Beneath the cerebral cortex lies the limbic system. Limbus, in Latin, means “border.” The limbic system surrounds and borders the brain stem, and includes the cingulate gyrus, hypothalamus, anterior thalamic nuclei, the hippocampi, and the amygdala. The limbic modules play their mutual roles in emotional processing, long-term memory processing, motivation, and that most ancient of systems— olfaction.
REPTILIAN CORTEX. One wet day, by chance happening or will—I forget which—an animal was born who could develop, as a child, outside of the water world. Vertebrates could now learn about being land creatures. That was 320- million years ago, and early on, the descendants of this new edition split in two directions— the “little” lizards and snakes, still with us, and the Archosauria, or, dinosaurs and birds,[6] and turtles and gators and ‘crocs, some no longer around, others still well and sound. When the lands of Earth were all one—Babylon-like— 230-million years before today, the “terrible lizards” roamed Pangea and swam in the one ocean around it. The dinosaurs reigned until 64-million years ago, when fire rained from above and the sky blackened in the aftermath, for months on end. But we don’t need to build Jurassic ParkTM to get an idea of what the dinosaur brain was like.
All mammal brains resemble one another to a great extent early on in fetal development (and then decreasingly so as “birth” approaches). What appears to be occurring is that the developing brain proceeds through a re-enactment of the evolutionary play each time a life is conceived, building-up newer upon older structures, culminating in a member of whatever species the new being belongs to. All of the major mammal brain regions can be found in reptiles; these homologies appear to be conserved—and adapted—structures, “including the cerebral cortex.” The mammalian cerebral cortex[7] began, long ago, when sauropsids split from the proto-mammals, the therapsids, as a takeover of a pallial brain region.
The reptile cortex contains three layers, and it appears that the medial reptilian layer corresponds to the additional cortical strata-strategies built-up in mammals. Though behaviorally “simpler,” reptiles do exhibit complex problem-solving skills, and many engage in involved-parenting and pair-bonding (families).[8] Reptiles can also solve and recall mazes, a skill we assume requires something like a hippocampus, for integrating various sensory clues. When the medial cortex of reptiles and the lateral palliuminto of goldfish were experimentally damaged, they failed to complete mazes they had already learned, though they still “understood” which cues signaled for them to search for treats; a control group of animals navigated right to the goal, as if the story[9] were fresh and clear.
AMYGDALA. In Ancient Greek it was ἀμυγδάλη. In Latin the word for almond is amygdala. And the brain region which resembles this tree nut was named after it. The amygdala is notable in sleep and dream research because this module is most active during REM— firing rates of pyramidal cells in the amygdala are even higher during REM sleep than when awake (Girardeau, 2014).
The bed nucleus is a limbic structure which receives input from the amygdala and—acting as “a constituent of the extended amygdala”— in turn projects out to hypothalamus and brainstem areas (Kodani, 2017). The bed nucleus may mediate how the amygdala influences autonomic responses to perceived threats, and although it may not play an important role in the Conscious processing of threatening stimuli, the bed nucleus appears to mediate “slower-onset, longer- lasting responses that frequently accompany sustained threats” (Walker, 2003).
Stress—as an accumulated physiological response to perceived threats—can shrink brain regions and disrupt neural pathways. Using animal models, it has been demonstrated that induced stress—such as by way of “chronic immobilization”— can cause neural atrophy in the hippocampus (Vyas). Under the same stressful conditions, pyramidal neurons in the basolateral amygdala complex “exhibited enhanced dendritic arborization”— meaning, under pressure, these amygdalar cells actually grew more dendritic connections, with an exception— “Chronic unpredictable stress” had a neutral effect, rather than growth-promoting, on these basolateral pyramidal neurons, whereas the same destructive threat-effects occurred elsewhere in the brain, whether the stressors were predictable or not.
AREA 32. A cingulum is a structure in the form of a belt, or girdle. Cingulate cortex refers to the cortical regions immediately above the corpus callosum bridge connecting the two cerebral hemispheres. Anterior cingulate cortex (ACC), wrapping around much of the callosum, extends forward up to the frontal lobe, forming part of the medial (toward the middle/interior) cerebral hemispheres. Posterior cingulate cortex, wrapping most of the remaining callosum bridge, is situated behind the ACC.
Cingulate cortex is involved in motivation and, relatedly, the selection of what things need to be attended to in the moment. Anterior cingulate cortex has “robust excitatory connections” with the dorsolateral prefrontal cortices (DLPFC) (Medalla, 2012). Though both are active while awake—especially when in deep thought—during REM sleep the cingulate cortex is activated, but the DLPFC is suppressed.
Brodmann Area 32—the dorsal anterior cingulate—wraps around the anterior cingulate gyrus, forming what resembles a dorsal fin at the uppermost, or rostral, surface of the cingulate cortex. During REM sleep, Brodmann Area 9—the DLPFC—receives “inhibitory cholinergic influence” from Area 32. In REM sleep, cholinergic dominance may support some kind of memory consolidation, or other functions, while the synergism between areas 9 and 32, whilst awake—when both are active—appears to support a more reasoned and rationed style of cognition. Depending on whether Area 32 and the DLPFC are working in alliance, or, as in REM sleep, Area 32 is suppressing that most executive of regions, will determine which world you find yourself to be in.
SELECTION VIA INHIBITION. The basal ganglia (BG), inferior to the cortex, is subdivided into the globus pallidus, caudate nucleus, nucleus accumbens, and putamen. The BG is important for the fine-control of voluntary movement, and is also involved in procedural learning, commonly called “motor-memory.” There are areas in the BG which produce, and have receptors for, opioids, and there are profuse cannabinoid receptors in BG zip-codes as well. However, the BG nuclei run primarily on Dopamine (Lazarus, 2012). Parkinson’s and Huntington’s disease, and addiction, involve under-production of Dopamine in the BG, and behavior control disorders—including Tourette’s syndrome and obsessive- compulsive disorder—also involve atypical BG function.
By the mid-1980s, five different circuits connecting the basal ganglia to thalamocortical areas had been identified, including an “oculomotor” circuit, involved in deciding what to look at, and a dorsolateral prefrontal circuit which appeared to be involved in spatial memory (Alexander, 1986). Outputs from the pallidum project to primary motor and premotor cortex, though most of the basal ganglia—while receiving inputs from all over the brain—only sends signals out to other BG regions, suggesting feedback loops, monitoring how motor plans are panning out. It appears that the structures forming the BG work to inhibit motor patterns vying for muscular activation...all except for one of these competing actions— the one that gets through. Imagine a dozen raging horses waiting to be let loose, and instead of a stampede, you choose...one. The gate opens for you, on that stallion, and ya’ll alone. You can only ride in onto the field on one saddle at a time. Those others will be there, waiting, when you need them.
HIPPOCAMPUS, I DECLARE. Recording electrical signals from regions below the cerebral cortex is normally impractical, with an intact skull, but brain- operations open up this possibility. During pre-surgical evaluations it was found that, compared with waking, coherence between the hippocampus and the rhinal cortical areas were decreased by more than half while the patient was sleeping (Fell, 2003). Awake, rhinal-hippocampal communication is partially responsible for the ability to access declarative memories—“explicit memories”—and the rhinal cortex appears to filter familiar events from reaching the hippocampus, so that the hippocampus may focus on more novel occurrences.
It is said that the word hippocampus means “seahorse,” coming from two ancient Greek roots, one meaning “horse,” and the other, “sea monster.” Underneath the temporal lobe is the hippocampal formation— the hippocampus, the dentate gyrus, the parahippocampal gyrus, and the entorhinal cortex. The hippocampus and dentate gyrus, unlike most cortical regions—which contain six neuronal layers—are composed of three or four cell-layers. The hippocampus is central to some forms of learning, and has plenty to do with navigating through space, and with comparing cognitive maps, and with story-telling. We’ll get back on the sea-monster-horse, later.
THE INNER CHAMBER. The thalamus and hypothalamus, together, form the diencephalon. Thalamus is Greek, for “inner chamber.” The thalamus is atop the brainstem and has been called “the gateway to the cortex,” because all sensory output, except for olfactory, innervate and are processed within its various subregions, prior to continuing on to the appropriate primary, and secondary cortical areas. After visual sensations are processed within the retina by multiple cell layers, those data travel along the optic nerve to the lateral geniculate nucleus of the thalamus, and—completing the primary visual pathway—head from there to V1 (Gazzaniga, p77). Signals from the cochlea in the inner ear are relayed via the medial geniculate in the thalamus to the primary auditory cortex. And, as already mentioned, primary somatosensory cortex receives input from the thalamus, relaying skin sensations and data regarding body-part positioning. The thalamus receives inputs from neocortical regions, and the cerebellum and basal ganglia and thalamus all loop signals back to these regions, as well. The thalamus is not only a relay— its pulvinar nucleus integrates information from various cortical regions, baiting some to assume that Consciousness must be “in” the thalamus (p82). Except, olfaction can be conscious without thalamic intervention, suggesting that conscious awareness does not—necessarily—involve chamber- vention.
THALAMIC-NEOCORTICAL N-REM. After 44-hours of sleep deprivation—intended to instigate an initial slow-wave-sleep rebound—EEG and fMRI data were recorded two-and-a-half-minutes into participants’ finally-
realized sleep. Areas including the medial frontal gyrus and posterior cingulate (B- 32) displayed decreased connectivity with the thalamus, “whereas there was a complete absence of neocortical regions displaying increased thalamic connectivity” (Picchioni, 2014). In stage 2 sleep, “more clusters of significant decreases were observed,” although the stage 2 thalamic deafferentation to cortical regions was similar as in stage 1. It was conjectured that reduced thalamic transmission acts to gate the sleeping mind from environmental intrusions.
Underneath the thalamus is the hypothalamus, a master control-center for many parasympathetic functions. The hypothalamus is involved in emotional processing and is connected to—and in large-part in control of—the pituitary gland and is thus charged with maintaining some semblance of homeostasis in the body. During REM sleep, temperature regulation may be suspended— under jurisdiction of the hypothalamus (Libert, 2003). The hypothalami, particularly their preoptic area, have the greatest increase in “metabolic activity within the dopaminergic systems” whilst dreaming, making these modules key players “in the neurostructural model of dreaming” (Yu, 2011). The hypothalami are “centrally involved in male sexuality,” as well, and their being excited during REM sleep is probably why your nethers regions are, also (Yu, 2016).
CEREBELLUM. Although it translates to "small brain," the cerebellum actually has as many neurons as the rest of the entire nervous system— it's just more compact. Located below the cerebral hemispheres, and toward the rear of the head, the cerebellum is connected to the rest of the brain via the pons and medulla, making it, essentially, a feedback-extension for channels traversing through the brainstem.
Input to the cerebellum may terminate at one of four nuclei clusters, deep within the structure, but most enervation ends at synaptic connections on the cerebellar cortex, its rind. Information makes it to the cerebellum from both motor and sensory cortical areas, and these data are processed in the cerebellum— apparently—to better recognize and facilitate body positioning. Not only do balance signals arrive in the cerebellum from vestibular projections, but there are also visual and auditory connections sent to the cerebellar mini-brain, all to inform you of a better integrated perception of the body-in-space. All output signals from the cerebellum stem from those deep nuclei, some arriving at the thalamus above, and from there, onto motor and premotor areas, while other pathways project to brainstem nuclei below, affecting output to the spinal cord.
BRAIN STEM. The “Hind Brain”— a 555-million-year patina, and still tickin’. The brain stem consists of the metencephalon and the myelencephalon, or, the pons and the medulla, respectively. The bottom-most region of the brain is called the medulla, and, continuous with the spinal cord, its primary role is to act as a conduit relaying sensory information up to higher regions. Signals arrive at
nuclei within the medulla before being sent along to the thalamus, and from there, on to somatosensory cortex. Neck, throat, face, and tongue muscles, and the heart, also receive input from the medulla. Above the medulla is the pons.
The pons is filled with its pontine nuclei and receives projections from vestibular and auditory cortical regions above, and also from both sensory and motor regions for the face and mouth. The pons is where most of what is called the reticular formation is located, and I suspect—along with the late Jouvet—it may be the depot or bridge to a collection of ancient “behavioral scripts.” In the 1940s researchers discovered that if you stimulated the reticular formation this would awaken sleeping cats and, if it was damaged, “resulted in a state of permanent coma” (LaBerge, 1985, p46). This was among the first evidences of hypnogogic— sleep-inducing—mechanisms originating in specific brain modules.
In 1959, Francois Michel and Michel Jouvet gave us “paradoxical sleep” (PS), referring to a third major brain state to accompany waking and slow wave sleep. This PS coincided with the REM epochs described by Kleitman and company a few years earlier, and the “Michels” highlighted the fact that, from a master control network in the brainstem, during PS cortical activity re-achieves waking-like activation levels—even in motor areas—and simultaneously the skeletal muscular system is actively inhibited from carrying-out these behaviors...hence the term “paradoxical.”
Coinciding with REM sleep, the pons, the lateral geniculate nucleus, and the occipital cortex send ponto-geniculo-occipital bursts—or, PGO waves—to the basal ganglia, which then sends beta waves to the anterior cingulate cortex (ACC) and to the dorsolateral-prefrontal cortex, which are also communicating with each other. Simultaneously, the hippocampus sends theta waves to the ACC. Species- specific PGO patterns have been recorded in animals, and a sort of wave pattern fingerprint has also been found in homozygous (“identical”) twins, measured across several nights (Chouvet, 1983). Heterozygous twins exhibited “totally different” PGO patterns (Jouvet, 1998).
Jouvet proposed that the PGO system may be “an endogenous genetic programming system.” The combination of PGO activity and activation of the hippocampus, together with “fast cortical activity,” might be a sufficient trifecta for forming vivid dreams in the sleeping mind. Jouvet would lesion the motor- inhibiting pathways in cats so their muscular systems were free to move during PS, disclosing their “oneiric behaviour” (e.g., chasing phantom mice around)— integrating, assumedly, both bottom-up genetic influences and also top-down modulation from the cerebral cortex…
Additional free content
from the
F-model of Dreaming:
(From Chapter 11 in The F-Model of Dreaming)
Context can be external, internal, chemical, etc. The state-dependency of memory is why it is difficult to recall dreams while awake— dreaming exists in a partially-overlapping, yet distinct and separate reality-field from that of day-life. However, the life we live in dreams does contain a reality as real as that of the sun- lit world, and it evolves and changes across the night and across one’s life. Freud observed how "a whole series of dreams, continuing over a period of weeks or months, is based upon common ground and must accordingly be interpreted in connection with one another" (1900, p563). And "in the case of two consecutive dreams it can often be observed that one takes as its central point something that is only on the periphery of the other and vice versa, so that interpretations are mutually complementary." Of course, without capturing a record of the dream- life—taken from that liminal position at the transition from dreaming-to-waking— our waking-self would hardly know what its complemental sphere is going through. And for practical reasons, keeping a dream journal is the most efficacious method to get familiar with that self.
THE MAGIC OF JOURNALING. Chapter 8 of P. Garfield’s Creative Dreaming is titled “How to Keep Your Dream Diary” (p204). Funny, I probably started recording my own dreams thanks to that chapter— in large part, anyway...I just realized that. Goes to show: You never know what kind of impact a book or story will have on your future. I may never have had my first big lucid dream if I was not somewhat familiar with my own dream life, a la experience with journaling. May not have gone back to formal studies or experienced everything that happened after. Like Patricia wrote— “Your dream life can provide you with many marvelous gifts: creative products, delightful adventures, increased skill in coping with waking life, and a personal laboratory to develop any project of your choice.” Heck, it can provide some people with a living.
Dream journaling does not need to be complicated. But it is not easy. This should be said right away: You do not have to do “dream work” for long stretches of time to receive huge results, potentially. The effort to record dreams does not really diminish with practice, because your problem will likely switch from not being able to recall much material, to the opposite— recording dreams begins to take up too much time, and may even affect mental stability, as you ponder over all the strange imagery. Imagine writing pages and pages of dream details, first-
thing, every day. And nobody is paying you or patting your back. So know— this dream journaling thing is hard but not something you have to do forever, or for very long at all; a few weeks of diligence should suffice per cycle.
Garfield wrote that Hermann Rorschach—yep, from ink-blot fame—noticed that “it was necessary to lie still when awakening because any quick motor movement like jumping out of bed disrupts memory of the dream” (p206). Garfield added to Hermann’s advice that we can gain additional memory-access by flipping-over to our opposite sleeping side, thus activating memories from when we were dreaming in that position, too. I offer this: DO NOT MAKE ANY MOVEMENTS AT ALL UPON AWAKENING. Do not get out of bed, do not stretch your legs, do not scratch. Do not open your eyelids. Definitely do not roll- over until you have extracted as much memory as you can from your initial waking position. The waking mind, the non-sleeping volitional mind, is for muscle- moving. Dreaming is possible because all skeletal muscles are inhibited during dream episodes, and upon first awakening we can remain in a liminal state for several minutes, one which is neither asleep nor truly awake. Once you so much as consciously move a fiber, or open your eyes, that liminal state is gone. Two things about this liminal dream-memory optimization state: 1., You cannot combine this approach with an alarm-clock that requires turning off (there are those that chime and then quit on their own, though), and 2., Even if you do use a self-terminating alarm, without activating volitional movement it is likely that your conscious ability to hear will remain “off” until you do budge (it is bizarre to experience hearing “turning on,” when for all intents and purposes you have been “awake” for a minute or longer already).
I am not saying that dream material cannot be recalled once the volitional system has become activated, of course. All sorts of triggers can instigate dream recall, even hours after awakening. Although, the longer after-the-fact a memory is, the less likely we may feel confident of the recall accuracy. The message is: The closer a state you are in, to actually being in REM—like right after waking from REM and before moving a muscle—the more accurate and vivid your dream recall will be. However, the very act of intending to record your dreams—and devoting a journal and pen to doing so—goes a long way toward ample recall success. It is typical to wake up in the morning immediately following your final and longest REM period, so Step 1 in journaling is to simply tap into that story and record the details. Step 2 would be channeling your effort into writing down other dreams, from earlier in the night— immediately after they occur. And how? Easy— you already wake-up after each of these. It’s just that, normally, we fall back to sleep within a few moments and are hardly aware of the brief waking.
FIRST: RECORDING YOUR LAST DREAM OF THE MORNING.
Garfield recommended a method of recording dreams on paper in the dark by using fingers as guide rails along note cards, and...anyway, today we have pens with
illuminated writing tips. That’s the way I have gone for decades. Ideally, the light should be red or green because blue light is said to affect sleep hormones (and you may be writing several dreams per night from early in your sleep cycle and not want to affect your natural rhythm)—but really, any color will work. So, devote a journal to your dreams and also a pen, and make these attractive and denote some special significance to you, if possible. I have been using the same style of book for years, always buying a new black-and-white marbled (college-ruled) notebook when the last is filled with dreams. On the cover I write the start date of the first dream entered, and then when the book is complete, I add the final date.
When I am following my own advice, I use the not-moving-anything protocol to draw up as much imagery as I can, usually not requiring more than a few minutes of motionlessness. Then I open my eyes. Stretch. You can write from your bed— in the dark with your penlight, preferably—or wait until you are on your feet or in a chair, but once you begin writing even more material will likely arise into memory from your last dream, and perhaps from several dreams. With practice— and this is tricky stuff—you may be able to learn how to recall dreams from earlier in the night without immediately recording them, instead running through them with eyes closed and then returning to sleep, but this is not recommended when building up dream recall initially. And what to include in the journal entries, exactly?
I, like many dream journalists, write my dreams in the present tense. This seems to increase memory access while writing, initially, and also may activate a more immersive sensation when revisiting dream entries in the future. I also only write actual dream content on right-side pages of my journals, saving the left-pages for commentary. This single practice can make a huge difference in the usefulness of your journaling efforts. I include the date of the morning I woke up from the dream (or whatever part of day it was), and when I am on my game, I include a time- stamp. You would probably not be surprised to find that we don’t have a large collection of dream journals out there with home-sourced dreams (rather than lab mediated) recorded over a span of decades, which include in many instances multiple dreams over single-sleep cycles, with time-of-waking and commentary comparing waking events from recent life. And why do we lack all this, what would be a rich source of information regarding how dreams operate? Work. This stuff requires a lot of work. Who has the energy or inclination?
Listen: Would you like to look into your own journal and read dreams from many years ago? Are you interested in how your waking life and dream life seem to be related, or even, perhaps, independent of one another, in ways? Other than a few memorable dreams that will forever stick to waking memory, dreams are for the most part irrevocably lost from conscious recallability shortly after acting themselves out. To catch a dream is like catching a phantom. As for how to order a dream in words, on paper, do your best to start at the beginning and work toward the end, but as things become mangled and twisted in memory, just get it onto the
paper. For me, it usually begins: “I am somewhere, doing something, the scene and setting is like this, so and so are here.” What is important to you will strike you. If you remember a color, record that. Sounds, words, feelings. When we are familiar with the typical flora and fauna in dreams it may be easier to recall them. We know what the typical themes are already. When you have verified, established categories for events or perceptions, this facilitates a place for memory to hold the material for further inspection.
Here are some rapid-fire bullet points for you to consider when putting together your own dream journaling protocol. You decide the order of importance:
Tell yourself what you intend to do. What you will do. Before falling asleep, determine that you are going to work at this dream journaling until you are satisfied with the results. Whatever happens, it was because of what you did or did not do. Take responsibility for your Now, from moment to moment. That’s a general one...
Keep your dream journal and pen by your bedside. Right there on your night-table. And don’t keep a cluttered surface around the journal. Matter of fact, clean that room. What kind of a bedroom invites the most powerful dreams to unfold for you, those that want you to remember them and be moved by them? Create an inviting, restful space.
If you share sleeping space, that has to be factored in to your journaling efforts. All humans and animals need to be on the same page...order and cleanliness and quiet when lights are out. If a baby is in the picture or if there are offset sleep cycles because of different work schedules between family members, these are complications that need to be addressed or accepted.
For deeper sleep and possibly the best-tuned sleep rhythm, consider not only noise and movement, but also temperature and ambient light. I know people warn of things like blue-light—saying to avoid this for several hours before bed—but I think the biggest improvement in sleep quality may come from maintaining a pitch-black sleeping environment. A deep black-out may require some preparation. Could be worth it. And cool temperatures are usually beneficial for supporting a deep sleep, likely mirroring natural air fluctuations— something we tend to minimize via air conditioning or simply by living behind insulated walls.
If you rarely recall any dreams, ever, maybe for years on end, this is not normal. I mean, it shouldn’t be. I am not saying we need to remember all of our dreams, or even many of them. That is fine. As we get older, we do tend to remember less of our dreaming, and that may reflect a healthy mind. A very active dream life is not always a sign of a well-adjusted mind— especially if you can’t not experience vivid dreams, every night. With that said, the psychotropic drugs/medicines so many people are on, in many cases, do affect sleep cycles and REM sleep quality, as does alcohol and recreational drugs like cannabis— especially cannabis. There are probably exceptions, but my position is that you
should not expect any success with dream work while on a heavy pot-smoking phase.
This one comes from Garfield: Record your dream in the order you recall it having occurred, except, “make note of unique verbal expressions first (poems, names, unusual phrases), regardless of the order, before they are forgotten” (p221). This material fades rapidly and to bring the highest fidelity back into the light of day these fragments require immediate fetching.
Title your dream...after you write the details out. Don’t spend time worrying about a clever title at the start. The title should be a short descriptor that acts like an instant trigger to pull all of the important aspects of the dream into working memory. It may be a central figure or scene, or maybe it’s a strange statement from the dream. Try to sum the dream up with three to five words that will easily summon it later.
NEXT: BECOMING FAMILIAR WITH YOUR DREAM LIFE. Except for the rare bird, and unless one is concomitantly taking drugs that complicate sleep patterns, dream recall will likely improve when sufficient effort is applied. This may require sleeping in a different space—the couch, another bedroom—a few days per week. It may require going to bed earlier so you can wake up before the rest of the household. Whatever your individual obstacles are, you’ll want to find a way to get a hold of your dreams. The more material you collect, the deeper you can go into your own Dream Work, whatever that ends up meaning to you. Remember, you might just open the floodgate. And, you do not have to do this every day, or even every month. If you begin to pay more attention to your dreams and they start to overwhelm you—either through time spent writing them down or because of their content—then back away. It is fine. Strange dreams do not mean you are crazy. They may have messages for you, maybe not. It is up to you how much attention your waking mind spends with dream memories. It looks like many people lead fine lives without ever being concerned about what they dream, so don’t worry about taking breaks.
After your mind realizes you are serious about recording your dreams, it is not unusual to wake up after each REM period across the night. Once in the habit of writing dreams in your journal—even if tired, even if you want to just fall back for a few minutes—you may notice these pre-dawn, early dreams, and manage to write these down as well. I tend not to keep this number up for long (because it gets too demanding), but I have regularly worked myself into periods of journaling where I can record five dreams per night. One of the obvious, little-examined questions in dreaming is: How do dreams change across the night? Relatedly, how do sequential REM-dream epochs incorporate waking material (if at all)? And this: Do dreams from early in the night evolve, like TV episodes, as they grow longer, like inverted shadows stretching toward the morning sun? We need more detailed, lifelong accounts to know.
Additional free content
from the
F-model of Dreaming:
From Chapter 12 of The F-Model of Dreaming:
LUCID DREAM INDUCTION: Qs & CLUES. In the Foreword section to Lucid Dreaming (1985), mind field specialist R.E. Ornstein[1] wrote that “Stephen LaBerge has done something unusual: he has shown that what was once thought to be impossible in the realm of consciousness is in fact possible. He has proven scientifically that people can be fully conscious while remaining asleep and dreaming at the same time.” Lucid Dreaming—LaBerge’s first book detailing his Work with lucidity—begins with a dream report in which the dreamer becomes “perfectly aware it was all a dream,” while inside of the dream, and maintains this perspective without immediately waking up (p1). As the dream report continues, the dreamer—LaBerge, I presume—descended down a flight of stairs and finds himself in “an enormous subterranean vault” (p2). In the distance, the dreamer notices a marble statue, but upon closer inspection the “inanimate statue now appeared unmistakably and ominously alive” (actually, I’ve dreamt that...#me2). Seeing this stone turn alive, LaBerge’s instincts (or whoever’s) told him to “Flee!,” though, being lucid, he recognized these were dream-forms and “cast aside fear and flew not away, but straight up to the apparition.” With this, “as is the way of dreams,” Stephen had become the same size with this foe and was standing eye to eye with it. Rather than reject the image, LaBerge took its hands in his own and embraced it, and as the dream faded, “the genie’s power seemed to flow into me, and I awoke with vibrant energy. I felt like I was ready for anything.”
Freud may have called dreaming the Via Regia, the “royal road to the unconscious,” but LaBerge gave us a fresher rendition with: “In Lucid dreams...the veil of amnesia is lifted, and with the help of memory, lucidity builds a bridge between the two worlds of day and night” (p4). Alright, that’s long for a catch-phrase, but anyway, LaBerge gave us such a sentiment, more so than any other single person. What he and most in his wake did not emphasize was the obvious nature of dreaming, all the difficult aspects of dreaming, and how any efforts to increase dreaming intensity can exacerbate these darker characteristics of the sleeping mind— even though it was there in the first presented account in Lucid Dreaming. Ever since, it is as if lucid dream enthusiasts expect all the glory but are unprepared to face the challenges that may come up along the way. But the promise?
LaBerge wrote of a dreamer who described their experience as an “expanded sense...brought about by the lightning flash of lucidity”— felt as “a sense of freedom ‘as never before,’” and, trying to label the ineffable, said the dream was “filled with such vital animation that ‘the darkness itself seemed alive’” (p10). This is like Neo in The Matrix (1999) realizing he can stop bullets in mid-air with his thoughts. This is Dr. Fuller in The 13th Floor (1999) recognizing that his world— in which he had built a virtual reality Universe program, filled with people—is itself, along with his waking avatar and everyone he knows, a simulation which exists in some other place; he was a ghost in the machine. LaBerge has called lucidity “the ghost in the dream” (p62).
MILD & OTHER -ILDS. LaBerge was “interested in the possibility—first raised by Charles Tart—of communicating from the lucid dream to the outside world, while the dream was happening” (1985, p68). It occurred to LaBerge that, maybe, if he moved his dream-eyes while lucid, his real-eyes would move likewise. In the fall of 1977 LaBerge began working on his dissertation research at Stanford University, his faculty committee consisting of Karl Pribram, Roger Shepard, Vincent Zarcone Jr., and William Dement, but Stephen worked closest with his “de facto principal advisor”— Lynn Nagel (p69). First time in the lab, with Stephen as the sleeping participant and Nagel watching and intervening, the two decided to wake LaBerge “at the beginning of each REM period in order to remind” Stephen “to dream lucidly.” All this did was disrupt REM sleep. The next lab-slot was not available until one month later.
On Friday the 13th, January of 1978—after lots of practice at home—Lynn hooked LaBerge “up and watched the polygraph recording” as he slept (p70). After seven-and-a-half hours in the lab bed, LaBerge had his first successful laboratory lucid dream with affirmation signal while being recorded. Though the initial results were not easy to duplicate in the lab—at first—success rates increased considerably after LaBerge concocted and practiced using his Mnemonic Induction of Lucid Dreams—MILD—method. Installing a polygraph at his home, during the Christmas vacation of 1979, LaBerge “successfully captured another dozen lucid dreams,” as verified by pre-decided eye signaling (p71). Word spread about the work LaBerge and Nagel were doing, and interested people, some with their own expertise in lucidity induction, were brought in for lab recordings. LaBerge and his circle called themselves oneironauts—pronounced “oh-nigh-ro- knots”—a Greek-ish invention meaning “explorers of the inner world of dreams.”
Alike the parallel discoveries made by Darwin and Wallace—the details of which were unbeknownst to each other, at first—Stephen ended up with most of the historical credit for the “eye-signaling” technique, although another researcher also had success with this (and a little earlier, to boot), on the other side of the world. LaBerge acknowledged the work of Keith Hearne and his lucidly-gifted participant, Alan Worsley, as soon as LaBerge became aware of the overlap between their research and his own. As part of the data-gathering for Hearne’s dissertation project in Liverpool, Worsley successfully signaled via EOG during eight lucid dreams, over the course of 45 nights of lab recordings. Hearne, claiming “he wanted to make a few discoveries first,” appears to have “swore to secrecy those few professionals who knew about his work,” and LaBerge went on to be the nucleic source from which most modern lucid dreaming knowledge emanated (p76).
“MILD is based on nothing more complex or esoteric than our ability to remember that there are actions we wish to perform in the future” (p155). Because we cannot write and leave ourselves memos stuck on a mirror in the waking world
and read these later (stuck to the same dream mirror), we must seek other connections to facilitate prospective memory within dreams. Mnemonic devices are memory aids that serve just this purpose; an example could be visualizing yourself as remembering to walk the dog, and then visualizing starting to do the activity when noticing Rover is staring at the front door. Then, when you actually do notice this, the intended action should be more readily triggered. Easy to do, to practice. Easy not to do. As LaBerge said, the simple formula is: “When such-and- such happens, I want to remember to do so-and-so,” or “Next time I’m dreaming, I want to recognize I’m dreaming.” As a four-step plan, the MILD technique involves: 1., Late in the sleep-cycle—near morning, after spontaneously waking from a dream—recall its details and repeat the episode over and over in your mind, memorizing it; 2., Still lying in bed, tell yourself that “next time I’m dreaming, I want to remember to recognize I’m dreaming;” 3., Imagine yourself back in that dream and this time recognizing you are dreaming; and 4., “Repeat steps two and three until you feel your intention is clearly fixed or you fall asleep” (p156). Ever since this formula was presented to the public, MILD has served as the basis for most other lucidity induction techniques, or else, has been used to complement other approaches.
In 1990 we received LaBerge’s follow-up to Lucid Dreaming (1985)— Exploring the World of Lucid Dreaming, co-authored by Howard Rheingold. I received my copy, along with my NovaDreamerTM, in the mail one fine day. Exploring was written as a “self-teaching curriculum” to follow at one’s own pace (p5). “As far as we know,” according to the authors, this was the first detailed manual on lucid dream induction “widely available to the general public” (p6). From the beginning, it was warned: “Like most anything else worth learning, lucid dreaming requires effort.” Unlike LaBerge’s confidence that lucidity should be obtainable for anyone—with correctly directed effort—I am not sure this is so. People vary on all sorts of capacities. And people hold different interests, which lend to motivations, which affect outcomes as well. You don’t know until you try. LaBerge and Rheingold included lucid-promoting activities and exercises in all 12 chapters of Exploring, with an emphasis on cataloging “dreamsigns” from one’s dream-journal entries. There are goal-setting and scheduling methods and relaxation techniques, and in Exploring we are also introduced to the distinction between wake-initiated lucid dreams—WILDs—and dream-initiated lucid dreams—DILDs (p95).
DILDs are the typical oh, this must be a dream! method of lucid dream occurrence. As originally described, “WILDs always happen in association with brief awakenings (sometimes only one or two seconds long) from and immediate return to REM sleep.” As such, based on LaBerge-and-friends’ studies in the 80s, WILDs were not only rare, but were rarely initiated while first going to sleep, and were “most likely to occur in the late morning hours or in afternoon naps.” It was recommended that, in an effort to induce a WILD, one should focus on “the
hypnagogic imagery that accompanies sleep onset,” and at first you may see not- much, and then perhaps flashing lights and even geometric and fractal patterns, and if this can be followed, “gradually more complicated forms appear: faces, people, and finally entire scenes” (p96). A thorough compendium and explanitorium of most induction techniques (many stemming directly from LaBerge’s work— though, there are also novel additions developed by the author), is Daniel Love’s Are You Dreaming?: Exploring Lucid Dreams: A Comprehensive Guide (2013).
FAILURE IN LUCID DREAMS. “As Moers-Messmer pointed out, letters in lucid dreams just won’t hold still. When he tried to focus on words, the letters turned into hieroglyphics” (LaBerge, 1985, p112). LaBerge made it clear that he had himself been able to read in dreams, on occasion, “but these were not lucid dreams, in which the writing was being produced” with waking-like voluntary intention. This text-stability—or lack thereof—is a well-known issue for experienced lucid dreamers, as is the “Light-Switch” phenomenon (coined by Keith Hearne), in which switches rarely work correctly in dreams, or at least, during the first few attempts. It is almost impossible—in my own experience and from what I’ve heard—to have a light-switch (or most devices) to operate correctly on the first go whilst fully lucid in a dream. This extends to all kinds of mechanical and electronic devices— phones, computers, digital clocks, cars, all of it. Even when “awake” in a dream, the Failure Mechanism of the Dream Generating System is alive and well. Warning: Listen to what people say but trust your own experience. Who can say definitively what is and what is not possible in your dream? Some results are largely due to our expectations— we act in ways that force certain outcomes, whether we notice so or not. Some things are just following natural, timeless law, and don’t care what we expect to happen. However, with the reliability of things (like the word-permanence-test and the Light-Switch reality test), I would be very concerned if—in a dream, or what should be a dream—these mechanisms suddenly ceased to be un-reliable. Fortunately, there are other reality tests to differentiate the worlds, and those should work even if the Failure tests did not.
Once a person is pre-lucid—suspecting that a dream is underway—they could test their suspicion by attempting to fly. An easy variant of this, shared by LaBerge, was to hop into the air. If in a dream and you hop up off of the ground, you may stay afloat a little too long. Other means for induction support are audio or light stimulation, sleep-rhythm manipulation (to instigate increased REM sleep density or REM sleep rebound), and chemical “augmentation.” Tactile stimulation is also promising, and “movement during sleep” has the potential to affect dream cognition. Stand firm, and...
ROCK ON. Based on the fact that movement sensations such as spinning around tend to stabilize lucidity in dreams, I suspected that, maybe, movement of the sleeping body may act in a similar fashion, from the other direction, supporting dream lucidity. Looking into this, I found that this premise has been tested. Control participants sleeping in a stationary lab hammock were compared against dreamers who were rocked in a rigged-hammock during their REM periods (Leslie). All participants were awakened 10 minutes after they had entered a REM period and were asked about any recalled sleep mentation/dreaming. The authors reported “there was a pronounced increase in both peak self-reflectiveness and lucidity mentation” scores associated with rocking vs. the stationary condition. Rocking was also incorporated into dreams, “leading to a higher incidence of vestibular imagery and dream bizarreness.”
AUDIO INDUCTION. Collaborating with Lynn Nagel in 1978 at the Stanford Sleep Lab, LaBerge experimented with an audio induction method, whereby Dr. Nagel monitored Stephen’s EEG as he slept, and, when REM was detected, a tape recording would be played with the message (recorded in LaBerge’s own voice): “Stephen, you’re dreaming,” continuing with instructions to remain asleep and recognize a dream was afoot (1985, p161). The first successful audio induction resulted in the pre-recording being incorporated into the dream, followed by LaBerge recognizing the cue for what it was, and then because the speaker volume was too loud as the recording continued to play—Stephen woke up. From there, the protocol was adjusted, and new participants were brought in, and each was asked to record “this is a dream” in their own voices, repeatedly and with short pauses between affirmations. Five to 10 minutes after REM was detected, the recordings were played for participants, and if they recognized the audio as a lucidity cue, they were to signal with eye movements— a pair of left and right gazes. Out of 15 trials with the recorded audio, about half of the participants did not hear the tape until “after they had been awakened by it” (p163). In one-fifth of cases there was audio incorporation in a dream that was followed by lucidity. Two audio playings resulted in no lucidity but were incorporated into a dream, and in another two trials lucidity was achieved, but there was no report of noticing audio incorporation.
NOVADREAMER. LaBerge wrote in Lucid Dreams (1985), “I believe it is only a matter of time before someone perfects and markets an effective lucid- dream induction device; this is currently one of the top priorities of my own research” (p165). LaBerge and his team at the Lucidity Institute did develop a rather nice lucid-dream induction goggle-set. I probably read about it for the first time in my first edition of Garfield’s Creative Dreaming. When I experienced my first spontaneous lucid dream, I knew right then and there upon waking that this
was something worth pursuing. I ordered the NovaDreamer mask and it arrived a few days later in my mailbox.
I was still in the same primed mind-state which had facilitated the first lucid dream only nights earlier, when I read the quick-start instructions, dialed the NovaDreamer to my desired settings, and sat back in an easy chair— fully reclined. It was early afternoon, just a nap. A little later I noticed the NovaDreamer LEDs flashing. The mask has a button on its front, opposite the face-side, which you can press as a reality test. When pressed, this causes the LEDs near your eyes to flash. Except, in dreams, the reality test fails. Electronic devices almost always fail to work as they should, when in dreams. When I pressed the test-button...nothing. I took the mask off and began adventuring in my second lucid dream. At first, many of my earliest lucid dreams were aided by the NovaDreamer.
The Lucidity Institute stopped producing their masks a while back. For years now, an improved version has been “about to ship.” There have been imitations out there, some with interesting upgrades. Having a cue, or a clue, can go a long way when trying to clarify which world you are in. It also behooves us to develop our inner-compass and rely as little as possible on gadgets and contrivances. Learn about your cycles, and your ebbs and flows, and how to maximize your time spent in each field.
DEMON-DREAMS. LaBerge warned us in Lucid Dreams (1985) of the importance of owning our own dreams— to take “responsibility for even the ‘shadow’ elements in one’s own” (p175). He reminded us that even a pioneer lucid dreamer like Frederik van Eeden was forever plagued by dream difficulties. Frederik would have the most perfect lucid dreams, and then these might be followed, in his words, by “demon-dreams,” wherein “he was mocked, harassed, and attacked” by seemingly “intelligent beings of a very low moral order.” Eeden could not accept responsibility for “all the horrors” within these dreams—“it must be someone else”—and it was because of this perspective, or so thought LaBerge, that van Eeden “was never able to free himself from his demon-dreams” (p176).
In contrast to van Eeden’s failure in accepting liability for his own dreams, the other patriarch of pre-LaBergian lucid dreamers—the Marquis de Saint-Denys— faced his monsters. In a recurring dream, the Marquis would be “pursued by abominable monsters” as he fled “through an endless series of rooms,” while having “difficulty opening the doors that divided them,” and soon as he closed one door behind him he could hear the “procession of monsters” open them again, gaining on him (LaBerge, p176). The fourth repeat for this dream played as usual, at first, with the Marquis in fright, and then he “suddenly became aware” of where he was—in a dream—and instead of running, “making a great effort of will,” looked the monsters in their faces and made “a deliberate study of them” (p177). At first, the appearance of these forms was still dreadful, creating “a fairly violent emotional shock,” yet, Saint-Denys stood firm. What began as forms resembling “bristling and grimacing demons which are sculpted on cathedral porches,” became reduced by his attention—“as if by magic”—into “the faded costumes used at street-signs by fancy dress-shops at carnival-time” (p178).
“ADVANCED LUCID DREAMING.” People have become lazy with their words. The meanings have blurred, collapsed, uprooted, and become co-opted by their opposites. What is a “medicine,” and what is a “drug?” It’s no wonder adults confuse, say, symptoms from origins; “soft” and “hard” science-majors graduate today ignorant of the distinction between independent and dependent variables.[2] Parents don’t know negative-reinforcement from punishment. We confuse foods, drugs, medicines; prevention, treatment, “cures.” It all depends...on what? On what the screens say? Just like any overgrown bureaucracy, the medical-complex seems to be in bed with the very dangers it is supposed to regulate. Use your own
senses— what are the results of your actions? What is the interaction of you plus [fill-in-a-behavior]?
Seems to me, from what I can see, there is a great confusion. Many people treat their drug-use like medicine-use and use medicine as if it were a drug. Meaning: Medicines—as framed here—are interventions intended to heal from dis-ease and return one to health/baseline. And a drug is used with the hope it will disrupt cognitive or physical homeostasis. But doesn't it appear that many millions of people take "medicines" with no expectation of ever achieving a glowing health? And depend on their drugs to “get back” to baseline?
A new-classic among lucid dream aficionados is Thomas Yuschak’s Advanced Lucid Dreaming: The Power of Supplements (2006). If you are interested in a chemical approach to induction—once the basics of lucidity have been well- practiced—Yuschak’s book is worth a read. I don’t agree with all of the conclusions contained therein—nor does the author, anymore—and some of the conjectures have proven incorrect (e.g., that Huperzine-A might support lucid induction similarly to Galantamine HBr, being they are both AChE-Inhibitors). Here are a few considerations on pervasive recreational “substances” and their interactions with the Dream Generating System, from my perspective...
MARIJUANA. I told you back in the “FOReWARD” I’d get back to more words on cannabis. In brief— first, if you don’t respond well to a thing, don’t do it, especially if the interaction doesn’t improve with use. Second, be true to your own ethical code—and you better have a good code—but be scared, also, of the penal code. Legality aside (and it basically is today, in many places), I happen to have a strong affection for Mary Jane. For so many of her strains. And we have a deeply cultivated history together. But that’s us. If—and only if—you already enjoy cannabis, then this may be useful to know, though, chances are you already do...
Chronic cannabis use—dusk till dawn all week long—eliminates dream recall, to a large extent, in most people. It may be hard for some people to believe this, but it is very possible for some individuals to lead good, productive lives, even to thrive, as regular partakers of “devil’s weed.” But it is not as common for that same folk to see their night-dreams through the smoke. Is this a problem? Not necessarily. For adults, chronic strong dreaming is probably more problematic and indicative of psychic disturbance than is any typical affect from long-term marijuana use.
The recall-disturbance characteristic of heavy cannabis use may not be apparent to the dabbler. The occasional, randomly-timed puff would be unlikely to elicit any profound recognition of this plant’s dream-perturbing effects. However, after a steady adaptation to nights-on-end of “dreamless-sleep,” the rebound following in the wake of cannabis cessation can be...pronounced. It may not be the first night
of abstinence, but soon, the void of formless slumber shatters apart, and the dream world rushes up and slams against your soles.
When my first—and spontaneous—lucid dream dawned on me, it was during a marijuana sabbatical. I like to take breaks, periodically, from almost everything. This worked towards inducing lucidity, even if I hadn’t asked it to, because, in addition to the REM-rebound effect following chronic cannabis cessation— I really like the green-flowers. For me, my mind sees even the occasional break as a threat (I know, I know...). And what do we dream about? That’s right, things that we need to deal with. Perceived threats. In my heightened dream-state, a couple-hundred moons ago, there was a central image which summed-up what I was dealing with at that time in my life. It kind of just “happened,” but I did make the time and help create the space for my first big lucid dream to appear.
TRYPTO-FAM. Tryptophan is an essential amino acid. It is converted into 5- hydroxytryptophan (5-HTP)—the precursor of serotonin (AKA 5HT)—in the brain. The effects of 5-HTP on sleep were reported since back in 1971 (Wyatt). In all 12 young-adult participants receiving 5-HTP, REM sleep activity increased, improving from 5–53% above baseline, and “Non-REM sleep decreased slightly, apparently compensating for the increased amount of REM sleep.” Although the role of Thanksgiving turkey and its tryptophan content may be over-blamed in its contribution towards the post-thanking coma, it is generally reported that tryptophan and 5-HTP supplements can soften anxiety and moderate stress levels. And in this way, it may help create a sleep-welcoming state. Alone, an anxiolytic effect (anti-anxiety producing) is probably not sufficient for supporting cogent, lucid mental operations, but it can work wonders for washing away worries. Temporarily. However, chemicals such as 5-HTP, taken as dietary supplements, have been used to instigate REM-rebound, and in this way may benefit as complementary adjuncts within a lucid dream induction program.
GALANTAMINE. A variety of lady rats were treated with “moderate doses” of the acetylcholinesterase inhibitor (AChE-I) di-isopropyl-fluorophosphate every few days for nearly 2 weeks (Gnadt, 1985). The rodent participants displayed similar waking and slow wave sleep quantities as controls, yet “increased amounts of REM sleep.” The researchers wrote that the increased REM quantity was “due to increased number of REM sleep episodes and not an increase in the average length of the REM sleep episodes.” The AChE-I better known to dream explorers, however, is called Galantamine. If ever there were a Red Pill for the world of dreams, it would probably contain some Galantamine in it.
Giving retrospective accounts, experienced lucid dreamers (self-declared) responded to an online questionnaire asking about the influence of galantamine on their lucid dreaming (Sparrow, 2016). Participants reported “significantly more vividness” and longer lucid dreams after ingesting galantamine, and less fear, with
fewer threatening figures, violence, and darkness. Of the 14 respondents, all but one agreed with statements like “galantamine lucid dream mental images were crisper” than non-galantamine lucid dreams. Overall, these dreamers felt as though Galantamine increased the stability of their lucid dreams and it eased the “transition into lucidity from waking.”
Choline dietary supplements are often paired with Galantamine Hydrobromide (G-HBr) for lucid induction purposes. As the raw ingredients for acetylcholine (ACh) production, choline supplements are believed to saturate the brain with building blocks for making the cholinergic currency of REM sleep (ACh), ensuring ample reserves for spending during lucidity. In contrast to combining a choline source, say—α-GPC[3]—to G-HBr, when given α-GPC choline alone, in one recent study there was no significant effect found for successful inductions (nor in dream content), compared to participants not given α‐GPC (Kern, 2017). This suggests that augmenting available choline reserves, alone, is not sufficient to nudge induction efforts significantly. What the choline does, in some way (as many claim and I have experienced in my own experiments), is “smooth-out” the harshness of a “heroic cholinergic situation”— which is essentially what we put ourselves into when taking G-HBr. Pairing G-HBr with a choline also helps to temper a possibly “fuzzy” mind, which could accompany the come-down once your metabolism over-swings back towards baseline. Whether this is dependent on how cholines like α‐GPC replenish depleted ACh levels, or if they have a mediating effect directly on synaptic action or axonic transmission, in some way cholines help Galantamine do something special. This combination is not guaranteed to hand lucidity to all who cannot enter, but even if it increased the odds of success by ten or twenty-percent...that is actually huge. And if the idea of “chemical augmentation” scares you? Perhaps we could interest you in “meditation,” instead?
DEEP MEDITATION. “In solitude, whatever one has brought into it grows— also the inner beast. Therefore, solitude is inadvisable for many. Has there been anything filthier on earth so far as desert saints? Around them not only was the devil loose, but also swine” (Nietzsche, p404). Warning taken. I myself, am a proponent of Working in solitude, and also of practicing regular “meditation,” but
of course there are many varieties to such practice, possibly with some methods fitting particular persons better than others. In my opinion, the “listening” and “breathing” exercises we call meditation are truly practices— their benefit is increasingly apparent over time, and initial results may not be obvious until after some proficiency has been attained. Neuroscientist Andrew Newberg and his peers have reported “that long-term practice of meditation produces significant alterations in cerebral blood flow in parts of the brain related to attention, emotion, and some autonomic functions" (Sacks, p248). I suppose, just focusing “real hard,” and regularly, on any one thing, does something similar. If you keep asking, you shall receive— unless you are not paying attention when the “answer” arrives.
Additional free content
from the
F-model of Dreaming:
“The dreamer is like somebody who has
an enormous bank balance and
does not know it,
or who has lost the safe
key.” — M-L von Franz (p38).
DREAM-WORK.
One of the powers of dreams—their ability to trick our critical faculties—is facilitated by so-remarkable-as-to-be-rendered-unremarkable realism. But it is “thanks to their condensed and often exaggerated treatment of a theme,” that dreams may help us “become aware of cognitive distortions and schemas” and thereby may contribute to “cognitive restructuring” (Montenegro, 2009). Whether recognized at the time or not, in dreams we can battle Titanic forces and make it through in one piece, or, we can soar over alien landscapes and converse with sleep-beings. And in dreams, we do. Temenos is “the sacred space set apart either by circumambulation or by drawing a circle,” as described by Jung (von Franz, p82). Temenos is an asylum, a safety-net, “and within it one is asulos,” immune to attack. In dreams, even as the walls cave in, we are protected, alike the forcefield around my Golden Knight avatar. In dreams, we are free to try anything we can imagine to try, and we can rise again from the worst attack or fall, unscratched. However, as long as we do not recognize that we are in a position of incredible power in dreams, we will be blown to and fro by cyclonic winds, forever out of place.
So— how do we map the unmappable? Jung might have answered with: Amplification. This is how we can disambiguate Megaforms. And where does the energy come from for this Amplification? Us. It requires effort. It is not for the lottery scratchers. You have to work for it. And, what is Work? Consider the relationship between currency (money) and work. Money is an extension of praise for hard work. Without hard work, money obtained (though unearned) doesn’t bring with it the feeling of praise— which is what the money represents in the first place. You cannot skip the earned part and keep climbing on to higher levels of appreciating your own Self-worth. You can skip the earn part and be a liar, I suppose. But anyone who has actually been fire-tempered by their own Work will sniff you out.
Abraham Maslow described needs which are universal to each species. Unlike the typical direction of psychology theories, as they tend to focus on pathologies, “his radical approach to psychology" was "the analysis of healthy people...the heretical impulse to find out what is right with us” (Ardrey, p334). “Healthy,” has a price, and a “positive psychology” should not be mistaken for an “easy school” of thought. “Security will be sacrificed for either Stimulation or Identity...Human war, for example, has been the most successful of all our cultural traditions because it satisfies all three basic needs” (p335). Without developing a strong Individuated Self, people are easily led to war, or even into slavery, because: “Rank satisfies identity.” In war time and when the sky is falling, everyone wants reassurance that they still have a place and a purpose. But what about when you disagree with the masses, or, when there is no one around, when you are alone, or when solid ground gives-out? What is your identity when no one is looking...and nobody else can applaud or boo you? What stimulates you when all the basics are met— why haven't you stepped closer to this reality than you have hitherto? To know what our waking dream could be, we only need admit what it is we are most afraid of failing at. The simplest thing...is the hardest thing.
What is dream-Work? Every assemblage of quarks manifests a willful quality, and every group of like-minded lepton and gluon groupons in the soup are all cooperating or competing as they commingle, each to their own nature. The more complicated the forms in this world become, the richer and perhaps less predictable will be their nature and quality. "Man, as the most complete objectification of that will, is in like measure also the most necessitous of all beings: he is through and through concrete willing and needing; he is a concretion of a thousand necessities" (p253). Such a complex creature has to deal with the same truth as all simpler entities: The Cosmos are trying to rip us apart. Therefore, with man— as with all life capable to do so: "Self-maintenance is his first effort" (Schopenhauer, p273). In dreams, the servants who came with us do their maintenance.
“If we pay attention to our dreams, instead of living in a cold, impersonal world of meaningless chance, we may begin to emerge into a world of our own, full of important and secretly ordered events” (Jung, 1964, p221). Von Franz made it clear
though: Our dreams “are not as a rule primarily concerned with our adaptation to outer life.” The order-out-of-chaos that dreaming provides hardly appears as such to the waking mind.
CELLAR-DOOR. “The cellar, one can say, is the basement of the dreamer’s psyche” (Jung, 1964, p176). When that door is ajar “one is ‘open’ to other influences in one’s unconscious shadow side,” and this is when uncanny and alien elements can break in.” M-L von Franz found that “the most frequent way in which archetypal stories originate is through individual experiences of an invasion by some unconscious content, either in a dream or in a waking hallucination— some event or some mass hallucination” occurs and “becomes amplified by any other existing folklore” (von Franz, p24). “Although the inner order refuses to be schematized, we can nevertheless obtain hints of that order by observing that all the different tales circumambulate one and the same content— the Self” (p197).
THE PROCESS OF INDIVIDUATION. M-L von Franz wrote that “the organizing center from which the regulatory effect stems seems to be a sort of ‘nuclear atom’ in our psychic system. One could call it the inventor, organizer, and source of our dreams. Jung called this center the ‘Self’ and described it as the totality of the whole psyche”— distinguishing it from the “ego” (Jung, 1964, p162). The Self was what the Greeks called “man’s inner daimon; in Egypt it was expressed by the concept of the Ba-soul; and the Romans worshiped it as the ‘genius’ native to each individual. In more primitive societies it was often thought of as a protective spirit embodied within an animal or a fetish.”
A PERTURBATION IN THE FIELD. Bucky Fuller said the Vector Equilibrium (VE) "represents the ultimate and perfect condition wherein the movement of energy comes to a state of absolute equilibrium, and therefore absolute stillness and nothingness.” Fuller said this is the zero-phase from which all other forms emerge, as well as all dynamic energy events. When the Field is somehow perturbed, when the “Laws” of physics are called to order, we experience forms.
And which principles these laws should conform to were decided long before we could test their tenacity. “Most of the basic concepts of physics (such as space, time, matter, energy, continuum or field, particle, etc.) were originally intuitive semi-mythological, archetypal ideas of the old Greek philosophers” (Jung, 1964, p380). Leucippus and Democritus came up with the “atom,” the Stoics gave us tonos—the “life-giving ‘tension’” that “supports and moves all things...a semi- mythological germ of our modern concept of energy.” These are all the fluxing energy waves disturbing Bucky’s zero-phase vector-field matrix. Have we been discovering what is out there, or have we been unearthing our own role as part of
nature? Werner Heisenberg said that when we examine the natural universe, instead of discovering disconnected objects “man encounters himself” (p381).
MANDALA EFFECT. Von Franz explained that “Jung used the Hindu word mandala (magic circle) to designate” the Self or “the Great Man,” a quartered- circle (or circley-square) “which is symbolic of the ‘nuclear atom’ of the human psyche—whose essence we do not know” (Jung, 1964, p230). Round represents wholeness (and a boundary between Self and not) and “quadrangular formation represents realization of this in consciousness,” as in the Cartesian earth-bound- categorization-schemes we impose on the chaos from out-there (234). In myth we see the roundness in his famous knightly table, “which itself is an image derived from the table of the Last Supper” (pre-DaVinci). In Christian paintings the Holy Ghost is usually depicted “by a fiery wheel” (p248).
“A number of medieval cities were founded on the ground plan of a mandala and were surrounded by an approximately circular wall. In such a city, as in Rome, two main arteries divided it into ‘quarters’ and led to the four gates. The church or cathedral stood at the point of intersection” (Jung, 1964, p272). And though the cross has become prominent, “Up to the Carolingian times, the equilateral or Greek cross was the usual form,” directly implying the mandala design (p273).
JUNG-JITSU. When Carl Gustav was a boy, he was viewed as awkward, an outsider. He was bullied. (How many great minds were forged with the help of high-school ostracization?) When puberty struck, the young Jung sprouted up, and faster than the other kids did. With his trademark hyper-passion, and no inclination to play the victim, a tall Jung had no reason to back down from aggressors. He seemed fond of a memory—retold in his books and interviews—of one such rumble...
Carl, although now craftier than the other kids and also physically bigger, they still came at him— some things just have to be learned the hard way. Rather than take these little thugs on one at a time, Jung got a hold of one boy’s ankles. Next thing this boy knew, he was spinning through the air—extended from a nucleus shaped like Carl—and filling the role of a human baton. Swinging the one boy, a whole gang was wiped out in one revolution. Brutal. Awesome. True? I’d do it. But it’s an epic short story, regardless. When I told this to my wife, she said, “Oh, that’s Jung Jitsu.” (We’re both fight fans.) I like to think of this sort of imagery when everything is set up around you, and with one swing everything gets knocked into place. (In reality, if you see a clean Jung Jitsu maneuver—pulled-off successfully—it may appear like wild survival in action, but chances are what you’d be looking at is the end result of a long-prepared for and practiced performance.)
ACTUALLY. The psychology systems which matured and propagated forth from the will of Freud were based on deficiencies, pathologies, and psychic conflict. As much as we can learn from a broken mind, I was always more interested in learning how a decent mind can rise to ever greater heights. My interest was predated by, among others, Abraham Maslow—best remembered for his Hierarchy of Needs—who believed that humans have innate goals, and that the preponderance of psychopathologies result when our basic needs are not satisfied (1962). When our basic goals—our “inner-nature”—are suppressed, a person “gets sick sometimes in obvious ways, sometimes in subtle,” and if this blocked objective leads to behaviors that “we call evil,” this is, according to Maslow, likely a “reaction to frustration” and not evidence for humans being essentially bad (or good) (p3).
The greatest gift you can give the world is to be an example. Better yet, be an exemplar— the prototype of possibility. “We can now reject, as a localism, the almost universal mistake that the interests of the individual and of society are of a necessity mutually exclusive and antagonistic” (Maslow, p150). Man does not learn how to become human. Man is not merely “molded...the role of the environment is ultimately to permit him or help him to actualize his own potentialities, not its potentialities. The environment does not give him potentialities and capacities; he has them in inchoate or embryonic form, just as exactly as he has embryonic arms and legs” (p152). As such, the world “permits, or fosters, or encourages or helps what exists in embryo to become real and actual...the culture is sun and food and water: It is not the seed.”
Maslow’s Self-actualized person, simply put, has developed an inner-culture that is consistently capable of exploiting their full potential. Knowing and coming to terms with one’s drives may be the only road to unlocking all of that energy we have trapped under the repressed recesses of the mind. Carl Rogers preferred to call such a soul a “fully functioning person,” others have labeled them as a “genuinely sane person” (Hayakawa).
Maslow generalized the characteristics of what he called Self-Actualized people, claiming they were endowed with a “superior perception of reality,” and “increased autonomy, and resistance to enculturation,” while enjoying a “higher frequency of peak experiences” (p24-25). In a half-serious way, Maslow compared the Self-actualized person to “a self-accepting and insightful neurotic...accepting the human situation” and “being amused by the ‘shortcomings’ of human nature instead of trying to deny them” (p109). “Evolved personalities”—the Actualized— operate from what Maslow called B-cognition: “B” for Being. B-cognition is an ability to apprehend the “intrinsic structure and dynamics, and presently existing potentialities of something or someone or everything” (p110). (Bucky Fuller used to refer to himself as Guinea Pig B, viewing himself as his own experimental subject— surely employing in that role something akin to this B-cognition.) B- cognition is in contrast to the default state of humanity, D-cognition: deficiency- need-motivation. It is important not to miss Maslow’s attempt to frame B- and D- cognitions as supporting one another (although, he repeated frequently that most people do not operate from a place of B-cognitive ability). Yet, “it is only when the cognition shifts over to D-cognition that action, decision, judgment, punishment, condemnation, planning for the future becomes possible” (p111). This means that the struggle and the sweat and tears are a “‘necessary’ epiphenomena of self-actualization. It means that self-actualization involves both contemplation and action necessarily.”
Maslow framed humans as being goal-oriented, from the get-go, rather than merely reactive to circumstance (this is similar to B. Disraeli’s line: “Man is not the creature of circumstances, circumstances are the creatures of men”). “Self- actualizing people,” according to Abraham, “have come to a high level of maturation, health, and self-fulfillment, have so much to teach us that they seem almost like a different breed of human” (p67).
Maslow wrote that people live constantly “trying to get there rather than being there” (p69). The “peak-experiences,” AKA “the mystic, or oceanic, or nature experience, the aesthetic perception, the creative moment,” all involve Being cognition, a “fascination or complete absorption...the figure becomes all figure andtheground,ineffect,disappears”(p70). Itis“asifthepercepthadbecomefor the moment the whole being.” The peak-experience is described as “self- validating...an end in itself” (p74). How can we experience the mind-state of a Self-actualized person?
Maslow wrote that “any person” immersed in a peak-experience temporarily takes on “many of the characteristics” which he had “found in self-actualized individuals” (p91). Among the signs of “peaking:” the person is “fully functioning,” and “feels more intelligent, more perceptive, wittier, stronger...at his best, at concert pitch” (p99). And this is important: When in peak-mode, the glorious abilities are “not only felt subjectively but can be seen by the observer.” Even peeking in, the person in flow “looks more trustworthy, more reliable, more
dependable, a better bet” (p101). “Now there is no waste; the totality of the capacities can be used for action,” and when in this flow, one “becomes like a river without dams” (p100). When peaking we feel, “more than at other times, to be the responsible, active, creating center” of our perceptions and behaviors. Master of one’s fate. Good to know, because peak-experiences are not only self-validating whilst occurring, they are valuable just ‘cause. We may also desire...
“THE AFTEREFFECTS OF PEAK-EXPERIENCES” (Maslow, p95). “If a man could pass through Paradise in a dream, and have a flower presented to him as a pledge that his soul had really been there, and if he found that flower in his hand when he awoke—Ay! and what then?” (Schneider, p477). Do you think you are ready for that? Something like this would change everything for you.
Seemingly trapped within “the physical and psychological tensions and perseverations of incompleteness” (Maslow, p105), mankind’s “normal” state of affairs is to scurry about in a never-ending effort to stick a finger in every hole in every dyke to stall the inevitable: The dam will burst, eventually. Maslow told of a “puzzling finding that many people report their peak-experience as if they were somehow akin to (beautiful) death, as if the most poignant living had a paradoxical something of eager or willing dying in it, too” (p105). First thought is of some relation here to Freud’s “death-wish,” or death-drive, the eternal counter-weight to the will-to-live. After more reflection, it appears that Maslow is giving a purposeful, useful function to this apparently inherent “death” drive, embedded within our being en masse and also within the peak-experience. The purpose of this, perhaps, has more to do with a yearning to be challenged near our threshold of capabilities than it has to do with an actual desire to disappear into oblivion. Working at the edge between what is possible and what would rip us apart, is so attractive, maybe, because of the promises embedded in challenging victories. Not knowing if we will win, but feeling ready to give it a go, is thrilling. We want the trial, the battle. We want an informed gamble. We would really like to, eventually, dominate or feel competent and connected to this whole gamut.
Play the Game of games and win, knowing that losing is horrible, and yet, not participating is the worst of all things (hint: there is only one way to win, and not playing guarantees you don’t find it). Buddha taught in his Four Noble Truths that, first of all, life is dukkham, typically translated as suffering, or more elemental, simply as “pain.” Supposedly, this pain is felt when a sentient being tries to hold onto transient phenomena as if these should be eternal. Don’t fret, Truths two and three—samudayo and nirodho—tell us where this pain comes from, and the Fourth Truth, magga, is the path to cessation of suffering. In effect, magga is the Tao, the Way, the road of salvation.
I’m not sure that the fundamental aspect of our nature is “pain.” And I think the whole “cessation from suffering” bit would have been constructed differently had it not been for the Buddha’s enculturated belief in samsara—the “wheel of life”
with its seven kingdoms—and supposition that this harsh reality cannot be evaded even by way of “regular” death.
Is life another window, or a cellar-door, into an after-aether of what’s come before? Maybe. But perhaps that is a trap, a snare, and the urgency we should feel—because of the impending Nothing—is suppressed by hopes and wishes for an existence we have not fully earned. Tick-tock, can you hear it? Is this a “simulation,” or is this Hell now and later, or is Heaven awaiting with vindication, or does something else better paint our picture? What if the pain was the salvation? Not in some horror-show pain, a mutilation imposed by an external force like the Jigsaw Killer or a Hitler or Jack the Ripper. Not in a self-flagellated attack-on- one’s-guilt kind of pain. I’m talking about the “good” hurt; I’m talking about something like the difference between maximum muscle-growth-triggering reps, from those jerking motions which tear ligament from bone. The pain of intentional sacrifice activates our superordinate goals, which target all of our will and resources into a singular, indomitable focus. What’s that? But, but, life is so heavy. So hard!
How do you solve a problem, a quandary that eludes all allusions to solution? Maslow pointed out: “One way of solving a problem is to be amused by it” (p106). By countering the healthy fear that a grand task or obstacle presents to us—by viewing it as a game, or as a level in a game—we access more creative insight. When angry and scared we become overly engrossed in myopic, and often unimportant, side-events. What we would prefer is to have a strong grasp on the realities of our environment, including the dangers, while simultaneously maintaining an almost dream-like hyper-connectivity among the contents in our mental catalogue. In a psychologically ill person, such waking hyper-connectivity may be contraindicated because the person is full of incompatible motivations, perhaps in relation to both the outer-world and to “themselves.” If all of these contradictory directives activated at once, we would have a mess. However, the person with a clear perception of both the opinions of others and a well-integrated image of who they Really are can benefit greatly by the hyper-connective flow of peaking. And every time you get a peek in, you are reminded that all that “pain” stuff is what is really temporary. So, let the muses move you.
By being amused, rather than horrified or indifferent to the challenges we will face (or turn our back to), we can be both inquisitive as a child-scientist (Piaget’s term for children’s natural approach to thought), and realistic as a war-forged soldier. We can “be at the same time Don Quixote and Sancho Panza” (Maslow, p106). Richard Feynman told of how he learned to reconnect with his passion.
Physics had begun to disgust Feynman a little, and he thought of how he used to “enjoy doing physics...to play with it” (p173). When there was no undue importance placed on the objective, Feynman would become obsessed in finding answers to puzzles— what was key was “whether it was interesting and amusing for me to play with.” For instance, Feynman was in a cafeteria at Cornell once and
saw a guy playing around and tossing a plate up into the air. Noticing a ratio- relationship between “the red medallion of Cornell on the plate going around” and the wobbling-action, Feynman got to calculating the rotational motion, and through a chain of transformations came to a formula which explained the phenomenon in terms of particle motion. When telling a friend what he found, he was met with: “Feynman, that’s pretty interesting, but what’s the importance of it? Why are you doing it?” (p174). Richard said: “Hah! There’s no importance whatsoever. I’m just doing it for the fun of it.” Not discouraged by the world’s reactions, Feynman went on working with these wobble equations. He considered what the theory of relativity, the Dirac Equation, and quantum electrodynamics would say about the particles. “I was ‘playing’—working, really—with the same problem that I loved so much,” the one he had begun working on before his days at Los Alamos. “It was effortless. It was easy to play with these things. It was like uncorking a bottle: Everything flowed out effortlessly.” Although it appeared as if there was no real importance for this work, it was fulfilling in itself, in its pursuit. And ultimately, “the diagrams and the whole business” that got Feynman the Nobel prize “came from that piddling around with the wobbling plate.” An amused and curious mind not only looks for the Good Life, but also acts as a torch, illuminating the path ahead. Do you want to know the world?
BRING A LIGHT. Oliver Sacks wrote: "Autobiographical memories are not isolated—they are embedded in the context of an entire life, given a broad and deep context and perspective—and they can be revised in relation to different contexts and perspectives" (2012, p242). Far less mutable than regular memories, though, are those which are burned-in during traumatic life events, PTS-Daemons scorched into mind for replay "in all their fearfulness and horror, all their sensorimotor vividness and concreteness," seemingly "preserved in a different form of memory, isolated and unintegrated" (p243). A primary focus of psychotherapy is to expose the macabre, shadowy world of these frozen memories to "the light of full consciousness, to reintegrate them with autobiographic memory." Dark and automatic replays can run the show, each with their own conflicting agenda. Or, you can work to get everything bright and willing in the same direction.
WAKING DREAM WORK. Sacks wrote about a "hypnopompic state of heightened musical sensibility," which he noticed almost any time he was woken by radio alarm clock (p213). Sacks felt delighted by any music he heard immediately upon waking, with the capability, for instance, to hear every instrument in a Mozart quintet even though his "normal musical memory and imagery" were admittedly not very strong.
Spoken language and visual imagery tend to mutate and morph rapidly in dreams, but it has long been noticed that music is typically unaltered in dreams,
maintaining fidelity regardless of what is happening in the dream environment (Massey). Music overrides or subordinates words if the two are combined. It may be that regular language is so impoverished in dreams while music maintains a robust integrity because of the right-brain dominance during REM.
GUILT. Autoscopy comes from an Old Greek word meaning “watcher,” and in autoscopic conditions a person has the experience that they are perceiving the environment from outside of their body. Heautoscopy is “an extremely rare form of autoscopy” in which a person interacts with their “double...occasionally amiable but more often hostile" (Sacks, p265). Not only are you seeing the world as if from outside of your body, and as from another body— but that body is threatening your original body, except...“there may be deep bewilderment as to who is the 'original' and who is the 'double.'" Edgar Allan Poe's The Story of William Wilson (1839) is an example of another doppelgänger, this one as the projection of an intolerably guilty conscience.
There was a boy whose name rhymes with William Wilson. His parents were “weak in body and mind,” and although they had as busy minds as he did, his grew so powerful that they were unable to manage him, even from an early age. The boy-who-rhymed-with-William became the ruling voice in his house and would try to rule over his fellow schoolchildren. One day he meets someone in school who dresses like him and even had the same birthday, and this boy was actually named William Wilson. The only difference was that this copy-cat had a quiet voice, and he alone was unwilling to be ruled-over by rhymes-with-Will. This William seemed to care about Rhymes-With, but the more he tried to guide him to do the right things, the more irked and resentful he became. As the years went on, their paths remained parallel, William always admonishing the other for cheating someone or doing some wrong, until, Rhymes-With grabs W.W. one night— “Always you again!” Will is dragged into a room, the door is shut, and Rhymes- With slams him against a wall. And stabs a blade into his heart. Hearing someone at the door he rushes to makes sure it’s secure, but when he turns around and looks into the room all he sees is “a large mirror—a looking glass—or so it seemed...now stood where it had not been before,” and the boy was covered in his own blood. The dying boy tells himself: “In my death—see by this face, which is your own, how wholly, how completely, you have killed—yourself!”
From a Cognitive Behavioral perspective—the school of psychotherapy seemingly most removed from psychoanalysis—it is assumed that if a person’s actions in their “dreams are not in keeping with their schemas, they may experience dissonance or awake feeling guilty about what they ‘did’ in the dream” (Rosner, p79). But what if the schemas in dreaming—the typical flora and fauna—are not in accord with civilized life as we know it? Does this automatically add to our shame?
Guilt is a heavy bag of bricks, and it’s not so easy to drop the sack, not when we inherit other people’s guilt or yoke on our own— even before we are cognitively developed enough to appreciate the nuances and complexities of life. Your guilty conscience can tear you apart—stab you in the heart, even—or, it can serve as a compass, a needle pointing away from what not to do. Yes, we have all done wrong— even in our own eyes. The question is: Have we learned to do better, and are we doing it? How about in our dream worlds; are we being stand-up rulers over our dominions, or are we dictating mediocre and dishonorable short terror- story territories?
WE ALREADY KNOW HOW IT ENDS. IT IS NOT OVER YET. After Feynman left Los Alamos and began teaching at Cornell in New York, he would sit in restaurants and look out the window at all of the buildings, and people, constructing bridges or roads, and he would think to himself “they’re crazy, they just don’t understand. Why are they making new things? It’s so useless?” (p136). Just like Feynman realized when pondering on this decades later, “it’s been useless” for a long time now and thank the Almighty for that. Dag nabit! Stop crying out there. Stop running from every challenge. And play more! Take responsibility for your own dream. I am not the first to say it, but it’s like most of these guys out there have never taken a good punch on the chin. Kick to the ribs. I’m not talking anything debilitating, just saying, we are killing ourselves trying to Nerf our children. The way we try to bubble-wrap ourselves. The way we give up and give in so quick. This dream, so it tells me, has been cycling for billions of years. Maybe you can add even more zeros onto that. Do you really think none of this matters?
One day, Feynman gets back to his teaching gig and stops at the Dean’s office, to drop something off on his way to class. Seeing that Feynman had a black eye, the Dean joked: “Oh, Mr. Feynman! Don’t tell me you got that walking into a door?” No, “Not at all. I got it in a fight in the men’s room of a bar in Buffalo” (p179). Feynman then went to give his lecture to his class. “When I was ready to start, I lifted my head and looked straight at them, and said what I always said before I began my lecture—but this time, in a tougher voice: ‘Any questions?’”
“In therapy the problem is always the whole person, never the symptoms alone.” — Jung (1963, p117)
In 1971, Aaron Beck published Cognitive Patterns in Dreams and Daydreams in a psychoanalytic journal, a rarely cited article from a man who would develop the antipodal approach to psychoanalysis— Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). Beck had inherited from mentors a quantitative approach to studying manifest
dream content, and unlike most analysts who used singular case studies to draw general insights, Beck became “proficient in large-sample experimental science” (Rosner, p10).
In 1967 Beck had re-examined the data from a large 1962 NIMH project, and decided that the initial results didn’t support the psychoanalytic “hostility hypothesis,” as had been claimed (Rosner, p14). The hostility hypothesis held that depressed people dream about hurting themselves because their hostility has been “inverted”— they “wish to suffer.” Masochists of the night. To the contrary, Beck felt that the manifest thematic content was absent of any such wishes. He came to believe that “wishes” could not be empirically validated, and, they didn’t appear to be there, anyway. This led to a domino collapse of drive theory and then defense mechanisms in Beck’s mind, so he went his own way, and after 1971 did not focus much on dreaming. However, his students would eventually spiral back around to dreams, out of necessity.
Rather than interpret the secret meaning of patients’ dreams or attempt to unearth hidden memories, Beck developed a method whereby his clients would identify “automatic thoughts,” or cognitive distortions, which they felt were maladaptive to their goals. Then, with the therapist’s help they would come up with strategies to objectively test these beliefs— against the mirror of reality. Clients were encouraged to reinterpret their beliefs based on the results of this testing, taking safe baby-steps along the way. Using this process, they may form new “theories.” The idea was to poke—carefully—at the fabric. Beck called this “reality testing.” From a Beckian perspective, a therapist might be "less interested in the dream images as in challenging the faulty assumptions embedded within them” (Rosner, p185). Reality testing remains a core principle in Cognitive- Behavioral therapies.
In Cognitive Patterns, Beck said that dreams were the cousins of automatic thoughts, both part of the “irrational thoughts” clan. The pressures of waking reality might “put the irrational content of waking fantasies...in check,” but in dreams “external input is withdrawn,” and so these become visible in a “kind of biopsy of the patient’s psychological processes” (Rosner, p16). Still, Beck saw no psychic function in dreams and disavowed classical interpretation. In his cognitive view, dream material is unique to the dreamer, so any symbolic system saying an image universally means this or that is faulty. Regardless of Beck’s conclusions on dreaming, as therapists dealing with real people in the real world, his heirs noticed that, with no training in dream-issues, they were desperately inadequate in dealing with any that would—and did—arise.
Therapists have noted that quality is consistently and significantly higher-rated “in dream interpretation sessions than in regular therapist sessions” (Hill, 1993; Rosner, p34). This can make the client-therapist relationship feel warmer, which can facilitate trust and honesty in sessions, creating a virtuous loop. Cognitive therapists rate themselves as “very likely to work on dreams when clients presented
troubling dreams” as long as said client did not also have a diagnosed condition such as PTSD, feeling inadequate to safely deal with dreams when the stakes appeared high (because they lacked the appropriate training). Maybe we all feel this inadequacy, to some extent.
Arthur Freeman and Beverly White recommended a number of guidelines for working with dreams from the cognitive perspective. “The dream needs to be understood in thematic rather than symbolic terms” (Rosner, p79). Also, “The dream is a product of, and responsibility of, the dreamer;” and “Dream content and images are amenable to the same cognitive restructuring as are automatic thoughts.” When working from this approach, the intent of the therapist—or shaman or guide—is to help the dreamer to “develop skill at restructuring” maladaptive or distressing dream content into “more functional and adaptive images,” treating the relationship to dreaming like a “pilot in a simulator” (p80). Freeman and White also recommended trying to pull a moral lesson from troubling dreams or identify typical patterns of behavior (which will likely occur again and could then be addressed).
Image rehearsal therapy (IRT) was developed by cognitive therapist Barry Krakow primarily as a treatment for chronic nightmares, but the idea has always been around. Krakow wondered if the success he saw with clients when using an IRT approach was, in part, the result of dreamers reconnecting “with the natural human capacity to change imagery in the mind’s eye, beyond any specific changes in the content within the new dreams.” Maybe one in twelve people suffer from chronic nightmares (Neilsen, 2000), but whenever Krakow would ask these rare birds where they learned whatever coping techniques they may have for dealing with their nightmares, the response would almost always be “my mother or father,” or whomever, “‘told me to change my dream by’ (fill in the blank)” (Rosner, p94).
IRT is simply a conscious restructuring of previous dream narratives, with the intent to have new scripts to follow—on the ready—should a similar dream occur again. Before applying IRT to nightmares, it is important to first learn how to activate “the imagery system in a specific way to take control” of one’s nightmares (p96). As a four-part plan, IRT looks like this: 1., Choose a somewhat disturbing dream, but one that is not too overwhelming (baby steps); 2., Make whatever changes to this nightmare you wish; 3., Practice the changes whenever you’d like, for a few minutes every day; and 4., Work with one dream at a time, perhaps no more than one per week (remember the Fifth Rule in Fight Club [1999]— “One fight at a time, fellas”).
Krakow did not see in PTS-Dreams any semblance to the weaving-in function championed by Hartmann (1999b). Post-traumatic nightmares “are sometimes more grisly” than the waking events they echo, and rather than act as an opportunity for diffusing negative experiences—by thatching these dark memories into our totality—the repetitive dreams that follow trauma (sometimes for life) may
“constitute a form of ‘retraumatization’ that clearly serves no useful purpose” (Rosner, p100). It is up to us to repurpose our darker daemons into illuminating angels.
LISTENING TO YOURSELF. Experiential psychotherapist Eugene Gendlin concentrated his work on the idea of focusing, described by him as “a method of methods” (Rosner, p138). Focusing is a way to get in touch with “a special kind of internal bodily awareness...The body carries a sense of some situation, problem, or aspect of one’s life, felt as a whole complexity, a multiplicity implicit in a single sense” (p139). By interacting and working with dream symbols and images the “felt experience” can be shifted around, and even resolved, in the case of negative dream residue. The dreamer needs to access their “inner therapist,” and learn to lean into the messy uncomfortable parts. And learn to wait there for a while.
Gendlin came up with a multi-step process for focusing. First, clear a space. Sort out the problems actively vying for conscious attention, anything pulling on your strings lately. If the peanut gallery won’t quiet down, just have them remain in the back and close a curtain on them for the time being, knowing they will be waiting for you later. Create some distance from all those worries you cannot deal with at this moment, maybe write them down on a list and put the list in another room (don’t worry little worry, I won’t forget you). Next, get a “felt sense” of how the body feels when thinking about a specific dream (or any issue, actually.) Some people “do not know the body as an internal authority; they look for meaning ‘outside,’” and it is important to forget about what you think you are supposed to feel and actually tune-in to what is really being experienced in the body (p140). The aim when identifying the felt sense is not to melt away into relaxation—if relaxed too deeply “the body no longer ‘talks back’” (p141). Stay alert and listen, feel. Once space has been made and a felt sense has been achieved, there is the asking of questions phase, always including: “What comes to you in relation to the dream?” (p149). Other possible open-ended questions used by Gendlin include: “What does it remind you of? Where have you been in a place like that? What place felt like that?” Gendlin recommended working with dream characters by stepping into their different roles. How would you act as this or that character? “How would you stand or sit? Don’t decide. Let your body do it of its own accord. Exaggerate it. Wait and see what words or moves comes from the body feel.” Ask questions about symbols and analogies: “‘What is that kind of thing anyway?’ What is it used for? Say the obvious...Then substitute that into the story of the dream” (p151). Consider developmental dimensions, such as “What childhood memory might come in relation to the dream” or “In your childhood, what had this feel-quality from the dream” (p154).
All of the questions used with focusing are intended to help explore a felt sense of how the body experiences previously ignored corners, noticing where there may be trapped or stagnant energy and where energy seems to flow from or move when
light is shined there. Exercising “Bias Control” is Gendlin’s answer to habitual thinking when working with one’s dream material: “‘Bias is understood as the way someone would react usually. Bias Control consists of considering an interpretation opposite to one’s usual ways of thinking” (p154). This can lead to discovering new areas of growth, recognizing things once assumed abhorrent or that you were indifferent to as useful, or, worst-case, as just another one of those things we all have to deal with on occasion.
The Hill Model of Dream Interpretation. Clara Hill blended “humanistic/experiential, gestalt, psychoanalytic, cognitive, and behavioral theories” into her own Cognitive-Experiential Model for working with dreams (Rosner, p161). Psycho-therapeutic work is intended to “access existing cognitive schemas and reorganize them to make them more adaptive and functional” (p162). Hill’s model is a three-parter: Exploration, Insight, and Action. Write down or recall a dream “in the first-person present tense” as if it were happening right now, because this increases a feeling of immersion (p163). Then, consider the dream from different angles and on different levels. “The dream can be understood in terms of waking life” concerns, or “the dream can be interpreted in terms of parts of the self,” such as characters or locations or events acting as analogies for parts of your own psychology or your health, or your situations. Other possible sources of insight can come from considering the dream “as an experience in and of itself” or “in terms of spiritual issues” or as metaphors for interpersonal relationships (p169).
Hill found that in therapy her clients reported significantly greater insight gains from thinking about associations between dream elements and waking life than frommerelydescribingtheirdreams,thoughshe acknowledgedthat“itisdoubtful that the ‘true’ meaning ever is attained,” instead, “it is more appropriate to think about the value of the dream interpretation,” whether it “sparks an ‘aha,’ provides a sense of newness and satisfaction” (p170). Once insight is attained, the purpose of stage-three in Hill’s model is to develop action plans. What changes would you like to make, specifically?
“I had always been impressed by the fact
that there are a surprising number of individuals
who never use their minds if they can avoid it,
and an equal number who do use their minds,
but in an amazingly stupid way.” — Jung (1964, p48)
PRIMARY vs. SECONDARY PROCESSES. First-order drives are Freud’s “id and libidinal drives”—the primary processes—and the Second-order refers to the “reality-testing functions of the ego” (Rosner, p184). Beck re-forged Freud’s primary drives into a primitive-irrational “mode of interpreting stimuli,” and the secondary process into a “secondary” mode capable of mature and rational interpretive abilities (Beck, 1970). “The goal is to reshape the cognitive mechanism that evaluates irrational and primitive thoughts, rather than to change the mechanism that generates automatic thoughts in the first place” (Rosner, p185). It’s all in the interpretation. Then again, the interpretation relies on the quality of the story— itself determined by who’s orating. And who’s listening…
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