I'm in a kind of store where Aussie guys are selling headbands. The guys are all wearing bush hats - canvas or leather. Amazingly, they are all also sporting ridiculous false moustaches, all the more preposterous because they are visibly suspended by pieces of elastic, so they bob up and down instead of sticking to the upper lips. I josh with the guys for a while. They are surprised when I reveal that I was born in Melbourne, because my accent sounds more British than Australian.
I examine the headbands. The designs are quite unusual, mostly Aboriginal. I recognize that there may be Dreaming codes on some of these. I am drawn to one whose design is in blue and silver, my favorite colors. It occures to me that if worn as an eyeshade instead of a sweatband, something like this might be an excellent visioning tool.
I merely have to think of this, and I am doing the vision thing, inside the dream. I seem to have acquired a primal GPS internal tracking system, combined with full night vision and heat-seeking sensors. Anything I wish to see, across space or time, appears as a target on a horizon. The path to it is indicated by lines of red electric light, moving from my observation point to the target. The lines are always at the vertical. Where a change in the approach is required, they pulse and move sideways, without turning, to reappear to the right or left. I understand that sometimes this reflects a necessary movement between parallel event tracks.
I know I am seeing the way that ancient Aboriginal shamans or "spirit men" saw, and am eager to apply this new/paleolithic technology.
I woke in high excitement from this dream on Thursday morning.
Lazing in bed around dawn today, I resolved to go back inside the dreamscape and try to learn more.
Slipping easily into lucid dreaming, I found myself drawn to a gathering in an immense Victorian hall. There were women as well as men in the room, laughing at me over their preposterous, bobbing false mustaches. It became clear to me that to be received into their midst, I needed a similar facial accessory. I chose a heavy mustache worthy of Bismarck or Kitchener. This met with lively approval.
Now my clothing needed attention. I was fitted for a dark blue frock coat with brass buttons, of the kind (I thought) that the manager of a Victorian train station or shipyard might sport. But wait. With the white man's frock coat came some Aboriginal regalia, especially a necklace fashioned from walrus tusk.
Now my appearance had been revised to the satisfaction of my hosts, their false mustaches vanished and they welcomed me into their midst. They gave me to understand that they operate in many places and times simultaneously. Why the false moustaches, disguises that surely could fool nobody? Were they, perhaps, to mock the roles that people play, and the way they try to mask themselves?
I was given no clear answer, at least not one that I retained when I surfaced later from deeper levels of this dream expedition. I was permitted to experiment with using the Aboriginal headband as a blindfold - or what I am inclined to call a vision band - and found myself tracking events that may play out in July. I'll remain silent on those until we see whether the preview is confirmed.