Chapter 1
The bird semblance in my dreams, as a result of my instinctual, liminal, or lucid management of vestibular cortex arousal, is estimated to have occurred at least 10,000 times in my dreaming history. The dynamics of this process determine the specifics of my waking transition, including whether it is a soft awakening (with little or no myoclonus) or inclusive of either positive or negative myoclonus. The myoclonic factor is not a result of a medical condition but occurs spontaneously as a result of my attempt to modulate the dream state and control the dynamics of my vestibular cortex. It is crucial to understand that this type of dream content is random compensation as a result of the physiological response of dreaming, which is neither symbolism in the conventional sense nor the result of waking-life status. I will share summaries of some of my favorite dreaming experiences in this book.
Age 8. Lucid, sleeping on my back. Late-night dream. In the morning in my Cubitis home’s backyard, I raise my fist to the cloudless blue sky and shout at several Florida buzzards that I am not afraid of them. One swoops down, and I run into our carport. Lower back myoclonus occurs, as I quickly sit down on a chair, as the beak jabs the small of my back as I attempt to crush the bird against the chair. (The bird now seems half of its original size.) The somatosensory response was so vivid, I could feel an imaginary lump under the small of my back for about three minutes after waking, and I thought I had rolled onto my cat, though there was nothing there. Eventually, the sensation of there being a lump faded.
Important note: Even though I had no fear of Florida buzzards in waking life, and would often play in my backyard when I saw them circling over neighboring farms, I perceived them as potentially threatening in my childhood dreams.
Age 15. Lucid. Late morning dream. I see a rare (fictitious) species of grouse grazing freely in the backyard of the Cubitis home, about seven birds (and although somewhat quail-like, they most resemble spruce grouse). They can control human beings and seem to possess human sentience. Warily watching them for a few minutes, I spontaneously fall to the ground onto my side onto one of them (lower back myoclonus simultaneously occurs), possibly crushing it. The other grouse look on, and I sense I may be “doomed” and seem to have a paralyzed body. (The emotion does not correlate with any waking-life experience. Additionally, physicality in the dream state is imagination, and this is not like my usual sleep paralysis, which is blissful and without any imagery.)
I included the above dream here for comparison to the previous. In the first, I am deliberately trying to crush my pursuer. In this instance, the implication is that it is accidental, though it is ultimately the result of compensating for the same physiological process.
Age 56. Lucid, sleeping lightly on my right side. In an unlit featureless room that ambiguously models where I am sleeping, I gaze at the blue sky through a closed sash window. A white-tailed kite (bird) is flying directly towards the window. The bird changes into a white kite (toy), but the window shatters inward with simultaneous lower back myoclonus before the kite strikes it. (This experience is atypical, as there is nothing behind me in my dream.)
I included this dream here to show it is the same fundamental process (even after forty years) as my previous two dreams. However, in this instance, timing and dynamics are highly ambiguous, which sometimes happens when anticipating and attempting to modulate myoclonus in my highest level of lucidity.
Age 10. Lucid. Late-night dream. I walk out onto the carport of the Cubitis house late at night, and the entire house seems to be high in the sky, inside a tornado (probably influence from “The Wizard of Oz”). There is a deep sense of peace regardless of debris blowing in the wind beyond the carport. Despite the probable associations with a Florida buzzard and the animated Woggle-Birds from “Jack and the Beanstalk” (1967), seen earlier that night, a bird that most resembles an African hawk-eagle flies to the edge of the carport adjacent to what would otherwise be the backyard. The bird is as tall as me and wears a crown. It has the essence of a guardian that will help me in any way I may need it. (I do not recall waking from this dream.)
Age 10. Lucid. Late morning dream. I am flying high in the blue sky with a Florida buzzard flying on my left, though it ignores me. It swoops down into a hamlet with a sense of awe and as a potential threat. The mood changes to cheerfulness and hilarity after the bird suddenly becomes their king. People carry the human-sized bird that is now sitting in a palanquin, down the front steps of the DeSoto county courthouse as an orchestral version of “Pomp and Circumstance (Graduation Song)” plays moderately fast. There is a ticker-tape parade with people cheering, and I laugh myself awake with light abdominal myoclonus.
Age 11. Liminal. Early-morning dream. While watching a lunar eclipse at night in the front yard of my Cubitis home, I see the moon transform into a giant crow. It soon becomes too fat to fly, and after soaring for a short time, it crashes through our roof into the walk-in closet (where I keep my school clothes) of the southwest bedroom after I teleport there. It is nearly as long as the closet’s width and seems puzzled and now looks like a sketchy cartoon (possibly influenced by “Heckle and Jeckle”).
My above dream’s outcome is the result of my dream state thoughts transitioning from the dream state narrative and the typical vestibular system correlation (and its anticipation and expectation) of falling associations to the emerging awareness that I needed to wake up to get ready for school.
