In some extended journey around some forested paths in an area, I came across a clearing where there was some sort of amphitheater. My understanding in the moment was that I was a pedestrian who passed by a place where illegal dog fighting was being conducted, and I just kept walking without saying anything with the intention to report it when I got home.
My non-lucid perspective flipped a bit, to where time had elapsed and the report had been made...but I was watching events unfold at the house of the well-meaning reporter who was somehow identified with me. Yet I could flip perspectives to overhear conversations from the people running the illegal dog fighting operation about how to handle getting reported, as apparently the authority to which he made the report was "in on the fighting".
dog fight gangster: "So he reported us? We can just raise an alert, see what goes up like last time. The last time we managed to work it out because it was just the definition of what a Beagle was or not; so we had to stop fighting Beagles to make him happy. This guy might be different and want to shut it all down. We should send a message."
My perspective flipped again. It was some giant elongated box delivery at the house of the person who had reported the dog fight. At first, it's shape and size made me nervous it might be some kind of coffin (a bit like finding a decapitated horse head in one's bed from the Mafia)...because I had an instinct these dog fighters had it in for the reporter.
But the giant box turned out to be mostly empty except for a few odd products. One was in a package looking like some kind of lawn and garden weed killer, called something like "Green Thumbinate". Some Inkjet-like printouts on white typing paper had pictures of dogs on them, and information about the chemical composition of what was in "Green Thumbinate".
There was a woman in the house where the box was received, with whom I was out-of-bodily advising to not open the package. I gave my analysis of the list of ingredients and chemical formulas, and got them to look it up on an Internet-like-thing.
Unexpectedly I shifted to wandering along a street, as a sort of cold homeless person in what seemed to be a bad neighborhood. Becoming lucid and annoyed at my general plight in existence, I just sat down behind a cardboard box to rest. A black man who was not well dressed stopped and looked at me behind the box.
black man: "Brother, you seem like you're having a hard day. Want a cigarette?"
me: "I don't smoke while awake. But eh, why not."
He offered me one and lit it. I tried to smoke it, but it sort of had the effect of filling my mouth with some junk that I had to spit out. Someone came by and claimed the cardboard box was theirs and walked away with it. So I was just sitting there and various people were walking by on this not-very-classy street.
I got up and went inside the establishment I had been sitting outside of. There were a lot of odd-looking avatar people who seemed to take notice of my presence. One was a very rendered computer-graphics-looking black woman who was wearing an interesting outfit. I kind of focused my attention in looking at her.
rendered woman: (slyly) "So...you find me the most interesting?"
me: "Well, you have an interesting look. Kind of rendered, like a computer game character."
rendered woman: "No one knows what you're even doing here."
me: "Really, I don't know anything. What you're talking about is very much over my head. There is no plan; this is a total accident as far as I'm concerned. Can't you give me an explanation of what this place is, how I got here?"
rendered woman: "Any 'explanation' I give you is a bad idea. All I would be doing is piling more frameworks onto you. Frameworks, frameworks, frameworks. That is ALL these are!"
me: "I'm not sure if you are aware of the Zen schools, but if you ask them a yes or no question they introduce the idea of a special third answer called 'mu', which is a request to the asker to consider it as 'un-asking' the question...because responding to a bad question with a misleading answer can be worse than no answer at all."
rendered woman: (thoughtfully) "Well if it pleases you, then yes: I am saying something along those lines. "Please revoke your question in the form you asked it--I refuse to willfully contribute to increasing your ignorance." How's that?"
me: "But usually that's a move you need to make in response to a yes or no question. I didn't constrain your answer, and it seems there are very concrete things that you may or may not know. I asked you to explain how I got here, and what the relationship is to my life while awake...if you know. To me this is very different."
rendered woman: "No...it isn't. There are an infinity of ways to connect any set of dots. Each one is merely a framework, which is what I said in the first place. Focus on building your own...and stop going around asking other people to give you theirs. That has been exactly your problem! Until you 'get' this, then anyone with a random fiction book off the nearest shelf can send you spinning into the universe where that's the Bible."
me: "Well, you mention the Bible. Aren't some frameworks better than others, to the point where you'd want to talk about them instead of saying "you should never give people a framework"?"
rendered woman: "If you want to talk about the Bible, there are many who will talk about it with you. For myself, I find lots of things are more interesting."
me: "For instance?"
rendered woman: "Like very tiny worms."
I recalled maggots from trashcans and horror films, and shuddered a bit.
me: "I can't say I care for small worms."
She seemed to change form into a very large caterpillar shape and towered over me.
me: (nervously) "Okay, if you're like the patron saint of small worms or whatever, I wasn't trying to offend. But small worms have kind of a "eating you when you are dead" thing; it's creepy. Nothing personal, lots of caterpillars are cool. They're on YouTube these days, they have fans."
She shifted back away from the giant menacing worm form.
rendered woman: "I can try to indulge your connective interests, there may be an open port still."
A terminal opened running computer commands at a speed I couldn't quite follow, it was using SFTP and SSH to go through things and seemed to be connecting to my desktop computer.
She showed me a picture of some kind of Barbecue Restaurant on a search, which had been mentioned on a hacker forum in the universe as having a port the authorities didn't know about. We went to the restaurant, and were rebuffed in asking about the port.
bbq hostess: "No, they found out, it was shut down. On the record, I knew nothing about it in the first place. Don't ask about it and tell people on the forum to stop asking."
me: "Doesn't anyone care about...oh, I dunno, Truth?"
bbq hostess: "It's not a big priority."
rendered woman: (to me) "Honestly, this doesn't make any sense in the first place. What is an entity with as much power as you doing here banging your head against a wall...or "there" where you think you are? Why are you trying to connect these domains? What could possibly be in it for you?"
bbq hostess: "The word on the street is this is some kind of large-scale memory erasure project; it's trying to rewrite insane amounts of history."
me: "I prefer 'he'. And why would I go on a project to erase my memory?"
bbq hostess: "It's not your memory you're erasing. It's about undoing something else--a case where someone had a bad husband. Maybe it was Meredith's father. Maybe someone who turned out to be a whore? I don't know, it could reach arbitrarily far back...perhaps even to spiritual Eve herself."
me: "Because it has come up, I want to talk about how 'whore' is not necessarily something to be judged against existentially. For some definitions of whore--I mean. Like physical intimacy with multiple people, what's wrong with that, if everyone is okay with it?""
A short all-white man who looked a bit like a marble statue (or someone who had put white body paint all over their body, and had white hair) ran up to me and bounded in front of me and latched onto the front of me gripping my arms and wrapping his legs around me. He seemed to be doing sexual thrusting motions and bearing down on my face. It was causing a lot of physical discomfort.
me: "I am not sure if this is to respond to me by making a point that sexual experiences can be very physically unpleasant, but people do it anyway for money--and that is a spiritually damaging thing. I wasn't talking about that in either case; I was just talking about a way some people use the word 'whore' as a criticism of the number of people one is intimate with over the course of a lifetime when no money changes hands and it's pleasant for everyone. But PLEASE GET THIS STATUE GUY OFF ME."
Our battle disengaged and I found we'd moved in front of some kind of art gallery display. It was on the wall but inside what seemed to be a large closet with lights illuminating the art. I stepped in to look.
The art was kind of bad but I had a brief discussion with the artist who seemed to be perched on a staircase next to the art. The pieces were small and looked like crossword puzzles or word searches plus glitter.
I returned to the counter of the restaurant.
me: "You act like you know who I am, as if you can say what I'm doing, and you've heard of me before and I have some mission you are vaguely aware of. So what do you call me?"
bbq hostess: "Of course anyone who knows what you call yourself would call you Brian as well. But the linguistic tendencies in this zone are kind of East German in nature. So they might be more emphasis on the 'z'. Like Brizen."
Note
I'm not aware if "Brian" would be pronounced in East Germany as "Brizen", but there is a place in Austria called "Brixen"...which is pronounced "Brycks-Zen".
Since names came up, I remembered in the moment the recent "Free Sandwich for Neo" in which someone had called me Neo.
me: "Regarding naming...I just remembered a dream where someone called me 'Neo' like in the Matrix. It was a few days ago."
rendered woman: "Yes, that would be what you'd be called some places. In that 'framework' your partner would be Trinity. You wouldn't be called that here, they don't have The Matrix story yet. But one of these days...soon...it will be your turn...where you'll have your happy ending. You finally get to meet 'her'."
me: "Well that sounds great, if it ever happens."
rendered woman: "It will. But when it does, I keep having this nagging feeling that the two of you are going to hate each other. Guess we'll see."
me: "I like the whole idea of soulmates and all--or at least meeting someone who's kind of undergone a parallel thing where you can relate to each other. But given all this stuff that happens to me, I feel like really setting the record straight would be good. Like, all the people who think I'm crazy to just kind of put all the evidence in front of them to say 'see, no, I wasn't.' That would be validating."
rendered woman: (angry) "ABSOLUTELY. NOT. GOING. TO. HAPPEN!"
me: "Er... well when you say that, you mean... that I will realize that I've been sort of attacking windmills as per Don Quixote? When I finally see the bigger picture I won't care what they think, because they're not real? Or do you mean something about the process requires not clarifying things? I don't understand why wanting this would be a bad thing."
rendered woman: "Then you've not understood anything at all."