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A post to ehe.org discussion list [internal friends]

You guys, this is too embarrassing. I can't believe you're talking about this (feeling this with celebrities). Despite my having recorded many "far out" experiences for the world with no blushing, I have never told anybody about an experience along those lines. I figured everybody would think I was some kind of deranged fan. So I am really laughing now because there is part of me STILL embarrassed to admit it and amazed that anybody else has the courage.

I realize that's what this list is about, sharing experiences that may or may not be understood or accepted by others, but this is one I have yet to see on Rhea's list. Maybe I missed it. Or maybe we are going to force her to push the boundaries of that list. :-) My experience is different to those described yet similar in end- result (the feeling of connection).

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As a child, I lucid dreamed constantly, and often at will. I would fall asleep and then find myself in the dreamscape, and familiar with this situation, I would look around to see things and people and sometimes see if I could figure out in advance what I was (and would be) doing there. It didn't seem unusual to me that sometimes this would be 'real world' places, sometimes 'other world' places, and sometimes 'symbolic world' places (though I wouldn't have had the word to describe the latter).

At a traumatic time in my life, I was about 11 years old I'm guessing and I had one of these dreams. I found myself on a sidewalk, on a corner. The sky was grey and people walking all around were wearing long dark coats and hats like I had seen in movies. (I grew up in California -- I didn't know until a visit to the East coast that people really do this where it's cold.) The buildings immediately around me were taller than any place I had ever been.

I wondered what it was I was doing there. I looked straight ahead of me where a number of people were coming toward me in a crosswalk. As one fellow in a big coat, and his head a bit down reached me, nearly on top of me, he went to step up on the curb and he suddenly looked up -- and SAW me, somehow. It was as if some part of him did not (his body) and some part of him did (his spirit). I was stunned by the impact with his eyes.

The dream changed and I found that he was one of my "good friends in the dream world," of which I had quite a few, but some were closer than others. They were persons that I knew but only in dreams. I'd just never seen his body before. (I figured this was normal, of course, like lucid dreaming and OBEs and such, and I was nearly an adult before I realized this stuff was considered unusual by everybody else.)

Throughout the next year or so, usually when I was most traumatized by my environment, he would come to me in a dream, and we would talk for a long time, and I would feel a lot better. He was like a warm bath after a hard day; my brother on some deep level.

Well, after that time I don't remember dreaming him, and I never thought of this again (until).

**

In junior and high school I spent about 99% of my time on room restriction, so for the sake of pop-culture you could say I was living in a cave. I wasn't "up" on modern movies, music, fashions etc. I lived in science fiction and the songs and poems I wrote. I did have ideas, thanks to the radio, but little detail (e.g. I would hear songs, and kids talk about stuff, but not have the album or know what the artist looked like).

I became an adult. One day in my early 20's I decided to buy myself a cassette or two, and I went into a record store late at night. There was almost nobody in there. I walked in the doorway and down a row.

I rounded a corner to look on another row, and looked straight at a really big display, a photograph.

I just froze. It was the guy in my dreams. He was older now. But it wasn't his face I recognized anyway. It was his eyes. And it wasn't what they LOOKED like. It was what I felt in them, recognized in them, connected to within them on the spot, even with a photo. Spontaneously I remembered the first dream where I saw him, and some after that. My mouth went dry, and my body kind of froze in place, and I barely breathed.

Finally I moved toward the display. I was having an internal dialogue.
"It's IMPOSSIBLE!" I told myself.
"It's him," another part said quietly. "This is him. You knew he was real *somewhere.* Is there some law against your dream-friends being musicians?"
"No, it can't be! This is so STUPID!" the other part of me said.
"I know it has got to be him," the other part responded.
"But that dream, my god, that was so long ago! How could it be him? How could I dream someone I never met?"
"It's him. Just look at him. I can feel it clearly. It's him."

And then I became aware of an odd feeling around me. I slowly turned and looked. The two people working in the store, and the only other person there, were staring open mouthed at me. I realized I'd been so completely out of it I'd been having this entire conversation with myself out LOUD! I realized they must think I was on drugs or something. I was SO embarrassed.

I turned back to the display. The name STING was across the top and it was advertising an album called "Dream of the Blue Turtles."

So I bought the cassette and left. I don't know what I expected. I found it nice but rather depressive. Although, his sax man was such a delight to me that it did eventually open me up to many aspects and types of music I hadn't known before.

My sense of 'knowing' remained, and later when I bought my first CD player, I bought all the CDs he had made with a group called the Police and later on his own.

Over the years, I've watched his career and music grow and change. I never understood the hype around him really, and find most of it amusing; he is not remotely my type, I don't find him particularly attractive, and while I really enjoy his music, I find some of it to be depressing and/or seriously "overproduced." So it's not like I have any major connection with him in my external life.

I nearly went to a concert of his once, but I was so humored and repulsed by the advertising for it ("The power! The mystery of the man!" I was like, Oh, give me a break!) that I didn't. Still, there was that internal something.

I feel about him like a sister must feel who is proud of her brother, and watches him go out into the world and do what he will with his life. Not making any judgement; accepting whatever it is.

I connected to a great deal of his lyrics, and I think had I found his albums when I was a teenager, my life might actually have been different; he was the first person I felt I related to, a validation I could really have used back then.

In later years when I read interviews with him and found he had interests in things I also did (Jungian analysis for example), it seemed right; I figured if we ever met we would be friends.

But, the astonishment of the discovery and the energy of it faded. I haven't even bought his last two albums. No big deal. I don't have any particular draw to him anymore except some musical respect and some understanding that we are alike in some ways and on some level, at least at one time, were "internal friends" in some way.

[end]

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