Internal Dialogue

This is an effort to recapitulate another very different aspect of knowledge that will serve for future accounts of how dreams work. 

Internal dialogue is the continuous "telling ourselves" through reason. By this I am referring to everything that our mind dictates to us, everything it tells us, everything it makes us think all of the time. Deliberately thinking about materials, persons, events, past or future situations in a forceful torrent of thoughts. It affects reality in order to adjust our way of thinking, and it places us in a constant state of struggle, boredom, unsatisfaction or confusion with "the world", as the world becomes nothing more than a pile of predesigned ideas. 

It is said that sorcerers of ancient times lived in a constant state of inner silence. This they achieved through practice, and they practiced from the moment they were little children. In reality, they did not need even oral dialogue, which is why they were able to experience other realities and other worlds. Their senses and all of their perceptual sensations were awake. Stopping internal dialogue is primordial to sorcery. 

So how do we stop inner dialogue?

A newborn baby lacks inner dialogue and thus possesses more energy, a higher capacity for consciousness, perception and intuition. In this manner children can see other worlds and realities. We, as adults and with great amounts of internal dialogue, say to children that these worlds are apparently merely a part of their "imagination", but these worlds are as real as an apple when you're eating it. 

Inner dialogue is deeply embedded in western customs. They teach us to create day after day an internal stream of thought that contains ideas that are not our own. Don't do this. Get away from that. Do this. That doesn't exist. What did you do? Who were you talking to? Etc. All of these things are part of the saturation in our minds. Ever since we were little we are made to be dependent upon these ideas, thoughts and memories, to the point of it becoming a subconscious repetitive mechanism. 

We spend our lives talking to ourselves about how something is the way it is because we've been taught to do so, ever trying to return to some place that will not return, and trying to live things that we are not yet living. For example: the memory of an ex-girlfriend, a family member that has been dead for years, what you'll be wearing for a party tomorrow, what you'll be eating today, what you're going to buy at the supermarket later, how to earn somebody's trust, how to buy a house or a car, who may or may not be thinking about you, why isn't she talking to you, etc. It is a system that has been passed down generation after generation ever since the conquest and becomes ever more degenerative. All of this tension makes us spend far too much energy, which makes us see the world of "concepts" and "objects" as limited and squared within our senses and our perception, thus atrophying our reason for being, our consciousness of being, stopping the infinite variety of choices and replacing them with the same old choices over and over again until at the end we achieve nothing or, when we believe we have achieved something, we are unsatisfied with everything. 

When we finally manage to stop inner dialogue, then we see the world differently. The veil we had over our eyes regarded as divine decree suddenly vanishes, and new and truly extraordinary facets of ourselves come to light. 

So how do we stop inner dialogue?

It is said that the way of vanquishing our inner dialogue is by using the same method by which we were taught to talk to ourselves. We were taught in a compulsive and sustained manner, and that is how we must stop it: in a compulsive and sustained manner. 

There may be other ways, such as placing our attention unto an object without blinking until our mind turns blank. Our eyes might hurt a bit at the beginning while we educate our vision in order to "see" rather than just to look. But a large amount of practice and initiative is required to do this. Other methods are to listen to the sounds of the world, paying attention only to every perceptible sound around you. Another is to look at all the objects within your field of vision, walking around without fixing your sight in one place or the other, thus being able to consciously contemplate 180 degrees of vision. 

What's important is that we do this even if it is just for ten seconds. In this way we start "accruing", accumulating or "saving" these moments of silence. 

Through internal dialogue we achieve "equilibrium", which is to say, we get stuck in this reality. We fix our point of perception into a single spot, and this allows us to perceive only what our ego considers "reasonable and logical", only what's "verifiable". Moving this point of perception is one of the greatest achievements a warrior can make. The techniques, the theory, the method; these are all within reach of everybody, but achievements will only arrive for those who put them in practice. 

Stop your internal dialogue and truly listen to yourself.

The Start of a Journey

            Through my limited number of years I have come across a certain body of knowledge on which I feel I am most well-versed on. Not because I have read many books on the subject, mind you, although I certainly have done my fair share of research, but because I have experienced this knowledge first-hand and, through sustained practice, have developed a certain schematic mastery of it. By this I refer to, of course, the knowledge of the lucid manipulation of dreams as a means of transporting consciousness into other realities. Many a social scientist may stumble upon this text and regard all of my words as the simpleminded mumblings of a religious zealot, and perhaps they may be right in their appraisal. As of today, I no longer have a measuring stick for madness, and the line between soberness and delirium has become blurred. But, believe you me, I am not by any means joking when I say that consciousness is incredibly more complex than what your wildest fantasies may procure. This knowledge was not passed unto me, I was merely pointed in its direction, and something which is not me and therefore not related in any way to my ego aided my path and opened the gates. I now find myself writing these words, hoping that they may be of use to somebody else. I believe knowledge is useless when it is caged within the individual, and it can only serve a purpose when it is shared to the public. So I make my contribution, little as it may be, to the growth of human consciousness.

            I now find myself with the problem of how and when to start this voyage, and I think that, as with every voyage, it must have a reasonable beginning.

            I remember the first lucid dream I ever had. I remember it vividly. I was young, perhaps thirteen or fourteen. My step-brother had been visiting my house for about a week. We got along fairly well, mainly because even though he was several years older than me, we shared the same passion for videogames and comic books. The dream took place a couple of days after he had left. I dreamt I was in my house, and that my step-brother was calling me to go with him. “This cannot be”, I thought. “My step-brother left two days ago”. This is what offset the dream. I knew my brother had left two days ago, and yet he was there, calling me. Did he come back? I can’t be, I would’ve known, my father would’ve told me. Then I saw his blurred image in the hallway outside my bedroom. He wasn’t himself. This was a dream. The realization that I was in a dream blew me away. I had certainly dreamed before, but I had never been conscious of being in a dream. I became elated, excited, this was a new experience, I couldn’t contain myself. I went out of the house as in a fit and started looking around; everything seemed normal enough. Then came the idea that if this was a dream, then perhaps I could manipulate what happens. Being the over-stimulated child that I was, I desired action, and so I focused all my attention on a single thing: an explosion. I didn’t need much effort, I simply thought about it and there it was. Bang! Everything shuddered. Fire and smoke over the neighborhood, as if a missile had just hit one of the houses. This is it. This is my dream. I am God. I can do anything.

            Of course I went to town immediately. Not walking, mind you, but flying at high speeds. When I got there, I wanted more action. There were monsters, horrible lizards prowling about the buildings of the small town I grew up in, the townsfolk were screaming and running scared, and I their flying savior. With my newfound powers I flew around town making lizards explode left and right, no compassion, and what’s more: I was laughing! This was such a joyous experience! I was completely filled with joy and happiness as I flew around blowing up buildings and lizards! It was absolute chaos, the chaos within the mind of a child. But it did not last long. You see, current experience has taught me something: what we commonly call lucid dreaming is way more than a subjective experience. These worlds one inhabits while in a dream are more than mere projections of the unconscious mind. They are veritable worlds, inhabited by beings of a different nature than that of humans. And, of course, these beings do not like it when there are children flying around and blowing up buildings and such. And so I woke.

            These dreams repeated themselves over and over. Some contradicting situation would make me realize that I was in a dream and I would instantly start flying and blowing things up, and I would wake up after the first or second explosion. As the years passed and puberty hit, there was the added spice of sex. Of course, a geeky teenage boy who wasn’t very good at sports but preferred computer games finds himself the God of reality and procures the object of his desire. That was the routine with dreams for a while. Flight, bombs, sex.

            And then it stopped. I can’t say when it stopped, it simply did. These dreams of action and excitement were replaced with another kind of dream that stayed with me for years. I would find myself just flying. The views were of different colors, but always foggy. Sometimes a foggy blue mountainside, I would just fly and fly for hours. Sometimes a dusty desert. Sometimes my hometown, but clouded in a bright-yellow mist. Sometimes a dark cloudy city. Sometimes simply flying over a green highway. These dreams lasted for what seemed like a very long time, and when I was in them, I was overcome with a very neutral feeling. I was not excited or stimulated. I was concentrated, for lack of a better word. I thoroughly enjoyed the sensation of flying, the cold breeze filled with raindrops hitting against my arms and legs and face. Sometimes I could focus on the direction I wanted to go. Left or right, or up, but never down. I could never land.

            And then, these dreams stopped too. For many years I could not remember my dreams. For many years I was involved in the tangles of life, University and work, social relationships, the passing of teenagerhood into adulthood. Until I met a certain character.

            I will not, out of respect for him, reveal his identity. For now I can only say that him and his cohorts became very dear friends to me, and that it was through their influence that my dreaming practices were revived.

            I had met this group of people through my step-brother. Not the one I mentioned before, mind you, this one was on my mother’s side. We had gone to several night clubs and parties together, until one night I was invited by them to one particular party. It took place on the rooftop of a building in the center of Madrid, the people organizing the party had rented the top-floor of an office building for the weekend just to throw their little artistic gathering. The poster certainly seemed strange and offered very little information on what the whole gathering was about. I was instantly curious, and I loved hanging out with this particular group of people, as it seemed every time we were together was crazier than the last. As soon as we got to the place we were greeted by a dark-skinned man dressed in a purple tuxedo, complete with top-hat and round shades. The man seemed like a performer of sorts, and said not a word to us. We paid him for the tickets and he pointed us towards the elevator. While we waited he gave us a small toy, a sort of mini-basketball game, with a little basketball and hoop. You pulled a small plastic lever and as you let it go it would push the little basketball up, and you had to aim for the hoop. It seemed impossible, since it was so small and honestly not very well made. But each of us managed to score two or three times. And as we did, the elevator arrived.

            We went to the top floor. We were greeted with a toy piano, colored pink and with stickers on it. We immediately started playing with it. I believe, for the sake of clarity, I was accompanied in this instance by two of the aforementioned certain characters. A girl to whom I will refer as ‘Sparks’ and a man to whom I will refer as ‘Noid’. Sparks and Noid were a loving couple, had been living together for some years. Noid was a great pianist, and while playing with the toy piano, Sparks immediately asked him to play Spain’s national anthem on it. The sound of the anthem being played on an off-tune pink toy keyboard was almost too much to bear, we couldn’t stop laughing.

            After that, suffice it to say that it was an incredibly strange and fun evening. There were flamenco-singing firemen, scary poets on a dark hallway, sensual stories in red dim-light, a delirious man throwing food on top of another man’s head, and just general tomfoolery. But there was one important event that evening. While out on the terrace, I was having a cigarette with Noid, and for some reason we started talking about dreams. I recounted to him what I have previously written on the nature of my early lucid dreaming experiences, and he seemed to understand it immediately. He told me that those dreams were no joke, that some people have a particular energetic disposition for those sorts of things and that I was perhaps one of them. He said that he too had had similar experiences, and what’s more, he had even managed to control them. He talked to me about his own dreams and practices.

            I will relate these practices at another time. The memory of these events weighs heavy on my heart.