Mutual Dreaming Part 1 – A Dream of Happiness

ObservatoryEdit

Dream Journal – Catherine NakamuraENTRY 49DATE: 11/08/88

I am on a small sphere that hangs in the velvet darkness of space, the stars around a sprinkling of pinpricks.

But I am small too.

I don’t know the names of the worlds that I visit in my dreams. I’ve never known. But I do know that I’ve been to many different places.

The surface of the sphere is green and blue and the wind blows through the blue and makes the green ebb and flow as if it were the shore.

I look around with purpose yet without purpose. It’s a recurring theme that I both know and don’t know where I am and why I should be there.

And then I see it.

A dome on the horizon, an upturned teacup in the green.

I see it and I’m there.

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When I travel in my dreams it’s either a journey that takes years or the blink of an eye. I never know which it’ll be until after the fact.

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The dome is an observatory. Inside is an enormous telescope clad in gold and a tall woman who is not.

“Hello,” I say. “I am the Dreamer.”

“I am the Watcher,” she says. “I maintain the Ways.”

“Are you real, Watcher?”

“I think I was, once. I’ve been here so long now that it’s hard to be certain. Did you bring something for me?”

I rummage through my pockets and pull out a bright green hummingbird. Its tiny heart flutters in my hand.

She takes the bird from me and in to her outstretched palms.

“Think of this bird as your happiness, Dreamer,” she says. “Don’t hold on to it so tight that you squeeze the life from it.”

She lifts her hands and the hummingbird flies up and out of the observatory, into the blue and green.

“Let it soar,” says the Watcher, smiling. “Let it soar.”

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There is literally a stack of these in the files, dated over the course of three months, all written by different people and all detailing the same dream. Further entries from the study can be found here – C.R.

Mutual Dreaming Part 2 – ‘Can You Read the Stars?’

TallTrees

Dream Journal – Eric Neubaum – ENTRY 71 – DATE 01/11/88

I am in the forest that the large and the wild trees call home. Their branches reach up to caress the underbellies of enormous white clouds, fluffy like the storybooks.

Rusted train tracks lead away into a clearing and in the clearing there is a wooden carriage so covered in moss it looks to have been born there.

A man sits in one of the doorways, the biggest person I’ve ever set eyes on. I see him and then I’m next to him. He holds a fishing rod and the line leads into a swaying patch of morning-light.

‘Hello,’ he says. ‘My name is Mouse.’

It’s a tiny name for such a giant man.

‘Hello, Mouse,’ I say. ‘I am the Dreamer.’

A blue fish jumps out of the grass, its scales flashing metallic.

‘Mouse, can you read the stars?’

‘I could, once. Now I’m not so sure,’ says the giant man with the tiny name. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘What are they? The stars, I mean.’

‘Once, people believed them to be the souls of the dead, transported up there to shine down upon us forever. Now people say they are giant balls of gas, burning up in space.’

The line grows taut and Mouse pulls back on the rod. A large and whiskered fish the colour of burnished gold pops out of the morning-light. Fooled by the lure and caught on the hook, it dances helplessly in the sunshine.

‘Who knows what people might think tomorrow,’ says Mouse, a giant man with a tiny name.

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This is another one from the dream study. According to the data, out of the six-hundred and fifty people who took part in the study, seventeen of them had this exact dream on the exact same date. Prior entries from the study can be found here and the next one here – C.R.