Indian Dinner Party, Christ Consciousness, Criminal Genius

  • I've been admitted to Stanford University, along with hundreds of other people I know. I'm excited that I made it, but a little puzzled that everyone else did too. We're all hanging around on orientation day. I pass the time by entering an on-campus guitar store with my friend Adam. I browse the all-acoustic merchandise. Nearby, a dream character who I "remembered" from high school is sitting on the concrete wall that borders the broad lawn, tearing shit up on an electric hollow body guitar, color is vanilla bean cream.

  • I'm at a dinner party in the high-rise apartment of some Indian friends of mine. It seems my entire family and group of friends are in attendance as well. I have a little adventure trying to find the toilet, and hear a little drama from the hostess, Shalini Ghosh, who has given away most of her favorite possessions as party favors. After the party, I say goodbye to her, my dad, my sister, et al. As I walk out into the parking lot on the roof of this high-rise, I feel that I'm close to waking up. I decide I want to stay in the dream and make it more lucid. I utilize two lucid dreaming techniques: dream spinning and looking at my hand as I wiggle my fingers. With arms outstretched to the sides I spin round and round, keeping my balance but not getting dizzy at all. Then I stop and look at my hand. I notice for the first time that I am missing the end of my pinky finger (a condition I have in waking life). I have always wondered if it is missing during dreams and now I know. Now that I am fully lucid, I decide to have another dream.

  • Without ever leaving the parking lot, a carnival springs up around me, along with many dinner tables and hundreds of people. The roof is now a penthouse garden party. All sorts of people are running around, talking, drinking, and having a good time. I decide it's time for some miracles. I fly over to the tables and land near some friends. I grab a glass of wine and throw it at the feet of a nearby girl wearing a long white gown. The red wine splashes all over her and she's cut badly by a flying glass shard, something I didn't intend to do. I run over and with one wave of my hand, remove all the wine. One more wave and the cut foams over like hydrogen peroxide. One final wave and the foam disappears leaving clean, healthy skin. I stand up, a job well-done, and a young man walks over to me. He says, "I have a friend who was seriously injured recently. Tell me his condition." He is testing my telepathic powers. I say, "He is a complete vegetable in a coma; every couple of hours his brain dies and they've inserted a wire into the back of his head to automatically jolt him alive again." He's impressed. "Can you help him?" I smile, who am I, Jesus Christ?. "Easily." For some reason I choose to do something more elaborate that a wave of my hand. I fly off the balcony, over the city, and see a huge spherical sculpture very similar to The Machine from the movie, Contact. My plan is to use that sculpture to focus my energy into a huge healing machine. I will heal everyone on Earth. As I fly down towards the sculpture, however, I'm in the same place but a new dream.

  • The sculpture is completely transfigured. Now it looks like a big white sickle from the Soviet flag. I am no longer in my body, just an omniscient observer (like a movie camera) watching the new main character: the insane, rich, criminal genius that owns the sculpture. He is dying and as a last stab at the planet that gave birth to him, he's built a huge nuclear Doomsday device (the sculpture) that will destroy the entire world. He sits on the balcony of his adjacent mansion, smoking a pipe and surveying the bustling city below. He and his butler walk down a ramp and into the control room of the sculpture. I watch as he smiles and presses the big red button. Dream ends.