Black Prison Dream
Black Prison Dream from Dean Noble on Vimeo.
Dream: April 2nd, Thursday, 2009
Prison riot. Three black prisoners are directed to this room. With tinted glass on one side. The other side a wall. On the other side of the glass wall of the prisoners, outside of the room they are in, there is a larger gymnasium room measuring 50 feet x 50 feet. There is a prison riot going on. The room measures 20 feet x 5 feet. The three black prisoners are sleeping in sleeping bags. Then someone comes and says, "It is your turn." Then one of the black prisoners has to lean against a wall, sitting down on an invisible chair, in other words, no chair. Below him is a long shard of glass. He must not sit down, or get impaled by the glass. After some time, the guy who came into the room says to another black prisoner, "It's your turn." Then one of the black prisoners replaces the other, as if on sentinel duty.
Then a coach comes into the room and disperses the entire thing. At the same time, the riot outside the room completely stopped and the room was cleared of any people.
He said that an athlete must get the maximum rest and to not exert themselves nor do anything too strenuous. He then looked at the athletes and said, "What have you been doing with yourselves?" When he saw that they had to do that excercise with sitting above the glass, he realized that they indeed had been exerting themselves! And that is when I woke up, laughing in my sleep. Hilarious!
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Dreams April 20, 21, 2009
Dreams April 20, 21, 2009 from Dean Noble on Vimeo.
Sitting with a group of people, young people in early twenties like field trip leaders or else young Police academy cadets in training. A couple of guys a couple of girl, they wore sweat shirts, shorts and caps. We were all sitting on a carpeted floor in an airport, then teleport to a bus going up Granville and Broadyway in Vancouver, heading South, the bus just behind the lights at the Northern intersection of Granville and Broadway. I saw, at the airport, "Most towns I travelled to were pretty nice. Vancouver, you are coasting along normally, and then unpleasant surprise." I continue on, on the bus along Granville, as the bus is going uphill, "But even this town, Dawson Creek, I want to leave because when I am here, I think of committing suicide."
Looking out the window, a bearded guy next to me, the janitor Paul, says, "See that?" I see at least one lighted mountain hill with lights. Bear mountain, I thought. "Anyways, there is a road that runs to the mountain and then goes right, West, that way, to the coast. Then there is another road going East to the centre of Canada. This was in the 1800s before paved roads." he said.
In a roomful of people, against a wall is a slightly fat girl with brown hair. I go to her and hug her. She says, "Since we like each other so much, why don't we go upstairs?" She is leading the way, holding my hand. We turn left, through the crowd. Then left again, going up a dark set of stairs as there is a wall between the stairs, and the hazy morning lit crowd of people with brown mahogany wooden floors.
A large room with a couch and a television on a stand in the centre of the room. Three college kids are there, lounging about.
Me and her go into a room to the left, door open. On the opposite wall of the door is a window in the centre, a mattress on the floor to the right of the window. Me and her lie down there. This mattress is lying width wise. Then we teleport to another mattress across the room, against the wall that the door is, lying lengthwise. There is a knock on the door. An old woman appears. She has a round 'afro' looking, but not type round wispy old people's hairdo. I moved so fast that she did not think that just a split second ago, me and the girl were together.
Then I am in a room. I see someone I knew before. Juan B. But he looks older now, more distinguished. Before, he was a baby fat, blubbery kind of guy.
Then teleport to a beach, this guy Juan is across from me, sitting on a low wooden platform. I am sitting on a wooden platform too. Then there appears his brother Jose to my right, and he is looking older, more distinguished. I knew them 20 years ago when they were in their twenties, they are now in their forties.
Then some girls in bikinis, at a distance, run over. I see that there is going to be much more than one girl to one guy, more like a lot of girls to one guy. I am sitting on a bench at the same beach, ie teleport to a bench a short distance away, on the same beach. That slightly fat girl with brown hair from before is sitting with me, and I am thinking, "Even though I am with this fat girl, I would still like to try some of the thin young girls that are coming over now."
I start walking towards them. A lady asks if I want something to drink, alcohol. I turn around and see a bunch of wine bottles and plastic cups half full of red wine. I say, "Sure, actually come to think of it, no, because I am drunk enough already."
I go to sit on the shore line of the beach, with the waves lapping at my feet. There is a crowd of people. To my left is a group of college students, mostly women, a couple of adults. Then to my right were a bunch of children. They were joking, asking riddles. I knew that they knew that I was a famous director, I remember thinking in that moment, in the midst of the dream, "I know they don't expect me to act out any of my films any more than George Lucas at an amusement park or a beach would be expected to act out scenes from STAR WARS."
Dream Monday April 20, 2009
At a shop looking at something. In the same bin, just over were some ping pong balls. Then teleport away to a mall department store where there are three boxes next to each other. To the right was an escalator. In the middle box was, "Christmas presents for ages 15 to 21 years old." I pull out a present. There is a cellophane wrapped package with a label '40' written on it. In the center is a Santa on a copper coloured lid.
Note: Notice that Jennifer Love Hewitt on the Ghost Whiperer never, ever quotes the ghosts verbatim. That is because this is signifies that she only ever receives a strong telepathic impulse from the ghosts. A ghost would say, "I think about her all the time, she is always in my thoughts, my essence, through this timeless wandering through eternity." "What did he say?" the petitioner asks. Then Jennifer Love Hewitt says, "He misses you."
The Word was God. And the Word was with God. I like to think that this means the difference between telepathy and the spoken word. In a way, telepathy is more exact than the spoken word, but also in a way, telepathy is much less exact than the spoken word, which was perhaps why the spoken word, ie this dimension was created by God. Who else created it?
Telepathy is God's language.
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Dream April 23, 2009 from Dean Noble on Vimeo.
At a poetry store, or something. A mother and daughter reading poetry. When it is over, one poem presents itself as a blue and white stocking, another one a red stocking.
Hastings St. An apartment high up above Hastings Street has a ledge and open window. Two people from the now closed Save-On Meats, including the short old guy Louie who owned the store and a fat female employee, walked on the ledge, moving past the open window open to the outside, even though it thinned their path for a bit, and went to the walk in fridge in the room to the left, next to the room I was in. I asked them if they were afraid of heights. They said that they had to do this all the time and was used to it.
I find some ecstacy pills, looking like flat watch batteries, on a sidewallk. I put it in a small white paper bag. There is a Thai child next to me. I say, take these and maybe you can sell them for money for yourself, don't eat them. He goes off and disappears. A second later, he comes back with three tall Thai guys. "Where did you get that ecstacy? Why did you give it to the child?"
At a Church. Strange formed pews, some at perpendicular angles to each other, rather than the usual parallel to each other. My cousin, I am not going to say her name here, because I don't want to send out any signals indicating that I may want to contact her again, because I really don't. Incidentally, I don't really believe that these so called cousins are actually related to me.
Anyways, what's her name tells me to sit over there, at the pews. I sit, and then get mad. "I don't see her very often and now she is giving me orders telling me where to sit?!" I get mad. I am getting out of here!
As I approach the double doors to leave the Church, the sidewalk of Hasting Street just outside, I look in my plastic bag to see that I have all my things. I know the dream will soon be over, and soon, I will be back in Dawson Creek, back in reallife space, rather than the dreamspace I am in now. I was aware of all this at the back of my mind, you see.
Then turn right, walk down the street. I see my friend Mark Roy. He died in May, 2003. In the dream, he is wearing a thin sporty windbreaker jacket, cut up into three large flourescent colour swathes; white, pastel reddish purple, and pastel blue. Mark walks with me, intimating that he wants to do drugs with me just like old times. I remember thinking in my mind that, too bad I don't do still have the bag of ecstacy, because I could get Mark to trade that for some crack, then no, I don't really want to be smoking crack, and I don't exactly want to be talking with Mark, either.
So I start flapping my arms and flying up, remembering that I am pretty good when it comes to flying and astral projection.
Mark says, "That's right, Just start flack, flacking away." Although I think he said, "Yeah, that's right, just start flapping away."
Why do I see Mark the junkie's ghost all the time in my dreams? Yeah, just start flapping away! is something that Mark WOULD say.
Sigh, like people at a restaurant talking about you while you are there, I have had so many ghosts in dreams talk about me in particular my activity of astral flying, that is moving my arms that I am almost nauseated by it. In one dream, a Chinese man smiles and points up, telling me telepathically, without words, to not give up but keep trying to float up. In another dream, a recent dream, a Chinese guy says, about me, "He is swimming, as I am moving my arms in a breaststroke like a green leatherback sea turtle. And as you know, in this dreams Mark says, "Yeah, that's right, just keep flap flapping away." as I move my arms to alight and take flight away from there.
The first dream I had of Mark was in the summer of 2003, a couple of months after he died. I was in Thailand at the time. Mark was at the Royal Bank on Main and Hastings;
Me: Mark, you are alive. And you look well. That means you haven't died.
Mark: That's right.
Me: That means the trip to the hospital wasn't real and I can see you and again like before.
Mark: No......
In another dream, me and Mark, shooting cocaine, sitting at a table.
In another dream, angry in life, angry after death, Mark and I are in a room. There is a mattress on the floor next to an open doorway.
Angry Mark says, "It's under the quilt!!!"
I look and find a white plastic tube about seven inches in circumference and telescoping in one place. It is liquid cocaine, and then there is a leak and water erupts out.
The way Mark said, "It's over there! It's under the quilt!!!" That's classic Mark. Mark Stanley Roy.
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