DA.
"Alternatively, of course, you might just consider how many dreams you have that were not worthy of remembering and no precognitive and consider that the one or handful of exceptions are merely coincidental."
- I have no problem with that, as a matter of good sense and logic. With one exception.
"The reality of human interaction with and understanding of dreaming is that it has been pseudoscience going back to the dawn of time."
- Agreed.
"Don't dream and you will be psychotic in a matter of days. That has been established. But dreams have no known value in a scientific in the context of using them to in the way that people often try."
- Agreed
"To ascribe value to dreams is no different from ascribing values to getting stoned on acid."
- as a generalisation, probably true.
"The relationship between what one experiences and reality is the stuff from which UFOs and Easter Bunnies are made."
- I wouldn't go that far. We've evolved, survived and over-populated quite well using our experiential interpretation of reality; but not without applying reason, of course.
It was in springtime of 1973. This was the dream:
I was wandering among crowds of people. To my left, at some distance, was the sea. To my right were low hills. Among the hills, people were climbing over and around the remains of walls. The clothing of these people was light, suitable for summer. I left them and walked toward the sea. When I arrived there, I saw, on the beach, a structure resembling a stepped pyramid. Standing in front of this was a dark-skinned soldier in khaki uniform and pith helmet. He stood to attention and held a rifle. I looked out to sea, and as I did so, regiments of black specks appeared on the horizon. These black objects were terrifyingly sinister - an embodiment of ultimate nastiness. Row after row appeared. They were moving quickly, directly toward the coast. They were all of identical menacing shape. The people nearby began running from the beach. - End of dream.
About a year later, my wife and I went to a travel agent in Great Russell Street, London, to book a flight to Malaysia. It was to be a three month holiday. As we reached the agent?s shop, and I had my hand on the door, about to enter, my wife said something like, ?Wouldn?t it be great if we could go by car!? We never entered the shop. I stopped and said that maybe we could, let?s go and think about it. So we walked toward Trafalgar Square, excitedly discussing how we might go about the adventure. With hindsight, the ideas I had for modifying my car were very unrealistic. Furthermore, I was hardly a motor mechanic. Eventually we found an advertisement in Time Out magazine for bus trips to India. That, we decided, was the way to go. On 19 October 1974, we were sitting in a coach, awaiting departure to Dover. Five adventure-filled weeks later, we reach New Delhi. We stayed in India for three weeks while waiting for our ship to Malaysia. In Madras, we visited a tourist office and were given the usual sort of information about places of interest. One of these was on the coast ? a town called Mahabalipuram. We arrived at Mahabalipuram by bus. Leaving the bus, we joined many other people who were meandering toward some nearby low hills, to our right. My wife and I were, no doubt, a little tired and irritable, possibly through so much journeying, camping, sleeping on buses, and not infrequent stomach upsets. For whatever excuse, we began to argue, she insisting that we follow a particular group with their courier, who was giving an interesting account of the archeological site (with it's remains of walls etc.), and I that we should take a look at the beach. Finally, I left her with them, and walked to the beach. There, on the beach, was a temple, in the shape of a stepped pyramid. I was suddenly gripped by remorse and I hurried away from the beach to find my wife. As I approached the road, before the hills, I saw a bus departing. It had only one passenger ? my wife.
A few details: There was no soldier at the temple; there were no black clouds; people didn't run from the beach. These 'symbols' were consistent with the emotions experienced in the actual event.
OK, there was a happy ending to the story, but there?s no need to go on.
Those are the facts. Make of them what you will. I have no axe to grind - other than to establish scientific 'truth' which, as any scientist knows, is always limited.
