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Want to engage your dreams? Start with mugwort and a full bladder

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Want to engage your dreams? Start with mugwort and a full bladder

“Visitation,” 2024, photo-collage and thread

(dama / For The Times)

This story is part of Image’s April issue, “Reverie” — an invitation to lean into the spaces of dreams and fantasy. Enjoy the journey.

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The first Visitation occurs in a dream on the wings of an aircraft transporting me and my mother to San Antonio, because my sister has died. My sister materializes through golden-hued cumulus clouds, beckons with her hand for me to come to her, and so I do. In my palms, she drops an orb of pure golden light before retreating back into cloud.

Visitations, in addition to meaning a gathering of friends and family for the recently deceased, can also be defined as a visit from the deceased. In my Dreaming Life, my sister returns, randomly yet always intensely, to travel here to me within my perceptible life, to tell me things. It is not always so clear what it is that she has traveled so far to tell me.

Instead of holding a visitation, my family chooses to offer two funeral services. A whole grocery store cannot be shut down, so we opt to hold the service over two nights, to allow my deceased sister’s coworkers to come by between their shifts.

Every person — customers, old school friends, neighbors, children of exes — holds on to me to say how my sister had been their angel and inspiration and life’s guiding light. My sister, who died at age 48 of breast cancer, had become an angel through the workings of Death, but she had — as reaffirmed again and again through the tears and sorrows of the receiving line — also been an angel in her Waking Life.

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Visitations occur because those who mourn occupy an unreal space; loss transcends reality or else collapses that once-stable sense of self, space and time.

Visitations occur because those who mourn occupy an unreal space; loss transcends reality or else collapses that once-stable sense of self, space and time. As any of us who have lost know, such deep losses fracture the self. Loss upends our notions of space: The space is now dominated by an insurmountable absence. This absence distorts time or those edges of days or weeks or months that were once so clearly demarcated.

In mourning and grief, it is this very haze of the fracturing of self, space and time that can find, in the practice of Visitation, some temporary bearings within a world upended. To see the familiar faces, to hear the old story, to think about the old song — such remembrances tether us, however frayed and fragile the gossamer of grief, to a world transformed. The world is now distorted: it is a world where someone’s gone missing.

In the world now absent my sister, I cling to each and every Visitation from her as she comes in dreams. I have always had a peculiar interest in the Dreaming Life, and after my sister died, I found that if I wanted to continue some form of communication with her, I would have to be the astronomer and detailed data collector in the observatory of sleep. Only I could keep the lookout; only I could transcribe the fates.

So I began to entangle my Waking Life within the Dreaming Life.

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Everyone suddenly, it seems, wants to lucid dream. I say: First dream, but dream actively. Here are some practices I take to ensure an engagement in my Dream Life:

  • Keep a notebook bedside. Reach for this notebook first thing upon waking, whatever the hour. Even if you can’t recall any dreams, this practice, which can be difficult to establish, will develop into a habit. If you cannot recall the dream fully formed, then record dreamlets — the fragments of dreams.
  • Drink water. The body, of course, is optimal when hydrated, but falling asleep with a full bladder will help you to wake in the middle of the night with a glimmer of a dream. Be sure to discipline yourself to write your dreamlets down before you go to the bathroom and forget. Keep a notebook by the toilet to help you remember.
  • Rest your mind before sleep. Tell yourself that you are going to dream and that you will remember your dreams and that you will write them down. It’s OK if you’re stressing or thinking troubled thoughts before bed. Think what you will, but always firmly believe that you will dream. I recommend reading before bed, as it is an activity that stimulates the mind, imagination, openness to surprise, close attention and interpretation: These are the stuffs of reading your own dreams.
  • Sleep in. We have more opportunities to dream when we are able to sleep in. Give yourself the gift of this at least once a week.
  • Try mugwort in your bedtime tea. After a few weeks of active dreaming, try mugwort tea on the nights when you can sleep and dream more freely. Mugwort is an herb that is easily foraged and induces more vivid dreams. A teaspoon will suffice.
  • Ask yourself what is troubling you. Can you reframe this worry through what your dreams have been showing you?

By paying attention to your dreams and collecting your dreamlets, you will begin to see a way out. You can face the situation, in however a veiled or coded way, in your dreams. You can practice your way out or through or in.

In a dream, I was once an unexpected visitor. I came upon a corridor, white and filled with light, through which my sister glided. I ran after her, but I was stopped by an attendant, in white, who told me that I couldn’t go through the doors but that my sister was there, on the other side, making it beautiful for me.

And so who’s to say that in this life, we are not merely visiting? If the dreams of unborn babes are the dreams of practicing at living, for what then is this Waking Life preparing us?

In one dream, my sister wants to go to Brazil. We’re on a highway in San Antonio. We’re going fast around all the cloverleafs and overpasses. We take curves dangerously fast. I tell her that I’m happy to go with her, but does she know the way? Yes, she replies. She says she goes all the time. She knows the way. In the dream, we never get there, but we’re so happy to be free, to just do it, to go wherever, whenever with a sister.

In dreaming, it’s not so easy as paying attention to merely one dream. One dream taken out of your map of dreaming is merely a piece, a clue, a hint toward a totality. One dream is one spot of paint viewed up close on an otherwise vast masterpiece — you won’t know what it is you’re seeing until you’ve amassed enough, connected the dots, done the good work of a detective.

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I am a writer who gains through fragments, rarely composing a full essay in one go. I prefer instead to accumulate the bits and pieces, stitch them up, allow happenstance and discovery to arrange the pieces, determine the binding. I like to begin in chaos and have that chaos propel its own focus or refractured brilliance.

My Dreaming Life is no different: I see dreams as fragments of a greater masterpiece. So I jot down my dreams.

My Dreaming Life is no different: I see dreams as fragments of a greater masterpiece. So I jot down my dreams. These dreamlets, these glimmers of a seemingly real and lived experience, eventually pull toward their narratives, eventually show me my struggles and push me on toward a way out in such a way that I can solve the problem in the Dream World while simultaneously tackling a very real-world problem. The two are not inseparable.

I collect the glimmers and connect the dots. My sleuth side sees dreams as not a mere escape from the logic or hardships or realities of the day but rather a world in the making. The dreams enable me to prepare for the next life as it navigates me, night after night, from one realm to the next and back again.

My sister and I entered the scary exhibit at a wax museum on one of the outings we last took together. She was afraid of what might appear. I held her hand and led the way. I knew it would be one of the last times I would hold her hand. My sister, who had always gone first in my fear of dark hallways, was now being led by my hand.

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Except, in Waking Life, that is in reality, my sister is the one who goes first into the fear of the dark, into the dream of Death, of which I have always held a tight fear.

If I am to see what there is to see in the ongoing series of Visitation dreams from my deceased sister, then I would have to conclude that she is truly there, on the other side, making it beautiful for me.

Jenny Boully is a Guggenheim Fellow whose books, including “Betwixt-and-Between,” employ dreams alongside real-life entanglements. She has two books forthcoming from Graywolf Press. In addition to teaching at Bennington College, she offers private dream writing guidance.

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Bet on Anything, Everywhere, All at Once : Up First from NPR

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Bet on Anything, Everywhere, All at Once : Up First from NPR

Online prediction market platforms allow people to place bets on wide-ranging subjects such as sports, finance, politics and currents events.

Photo Illustration by Scott Olson/Getty Images


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Photo Illustration by Scott Olson/Getty Images

The rise of prediction markets means you can now bet on just about anything, right from your phone. Apps like Kalshi and Polymarket have grown exponentially in President Trump’s second term, as his administration has rolled back regulations designed to keep the industry in check. Billions of dollars have flooded in, and users are placing bets on everything from whether it will rain in Seattle today to whether the US will take over control of Greenland. Who’s winning big on these apps? And who is losing? NPR correspondent Bobby Allyn joins The Sunday Story to explain how these markets came to be and where they are going.

This episode was produced by Andrew Mambo. It was edited by Liana Simstrom and Brett Neely. Fact-checking by Barclay Walsh and Susie Cummings. It was engineered by Robert Rodriguez. 

We’d love to hear from you. Send us an email at TheSundayStory@npr.org.

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Listen to Up First on Apple Podcasts and Spotify.

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A secret-ish Japanese-style listening lounge just opened inside the Hollywood Palladium

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A secret-ish Japanese-style listening lounge just opened inside the Hollywood Palladium

Now you can pair your big show with dinner and a more intimate listening experience. The Hollywood Palladium, an Art Deco music venue graced by performers like Frank Sinatra, Richard Pryor, Jimi Hendrix, Lady Gaga and Jay-Z since 1940, has debuted a swanky lounge known as Vinyl Room.

Inspired by 1970s Japanese high-fidelity (hi-fi for short) listening rooms and operated by entertainment company Live Nation, it’s a space where concertgoers can have dinner, grab drinks and catch a vinyl DJ set before, during or after their ticketed event in the same venue.

With a name like Vinyl Room, you can expect to see vinyl records everywhere.

“You’re in [for] a whole night of music,” says Geni Lincoln, president of the California region for Live Nation, adding that her team put “so much thought” into the sound and design of the space, which was in development for more than two years.

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“I’ve been coming to the Palladium since I was a teenager, so it’s really special to see,” she says.

Entering Vinyl Room feels like you’re stepping into a secret speakeasy for music lovers, one with iconic music memorabilia, a thoughtful food menu and premium sound quality. Want to check it out? Here are five things to know.

Two people play cards at Vinyl Room.

Everything inside of Vinyl Room is inspired by the sounds and the musicians who’ve played at the Hollywood Palladium since 1940.

1. Vinyl Room is exclusively open to members and concertgoers with an upgraded ticket

Vinyl Room is open only on Hollywood Palladium show nights, starting 90 minutes before doors open, and remains open one hour after the concert. Admission is limited to concertgoers who purchase a ticket upgrade, which starts at $35. Early reservations are recommended.

Vinyl Room also offers annual membership packages, which start at $2,000 and come with various benefits such as complimentary guest passes to Vinyl Room, access to an exclusive menu, valet parking, table reservations inside the lounge, a dedicated private entry, complimentary coat check and concert ticket credits.

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Tip Dunn, also known as DJ tenSpeed, plays music at Vinyl Room.

Tip Dunn, also known as DJ tenSpeed, played records during opening night at Vinyl Room at the Hollywood Palladium.

2. Hi-fi is having a moment in Los Angeles — and Vinyl Room delivers on sound quality

From Common Wave Hi-Fi in Boyle Heights to Slow Jamz Gallery in the Arts District and Gold Line bar in Highland Park, hi-fi — a 1950s term used to describe the high-quality reproduction of sound — venues and experiences have been slowly popping up around L.A. over the last few years. Vinyl Room joins a short list of places where audiophiles can go to listen to music on hi-fi equipment, which many argue is the best way to experience it.

Much like the Hollywood Palladium, which is known for its top-tier sound, Vinyl Room also makes sound a priority. The lounge utilizes hi-fi sound equipment including Master Sounds Clarity-M speakers to ensure that the records sound as crisp as possible. Live DJs spin records on a set of turntables, which helps to create a richer and more analog sound that is closer to the original track than compressed versions such as MP3s.

Vintage concert posters decorate the walls at Vinyl Room.

Ruthie Embry, vice president of architecture and design at Live Nation, says the records and other memorabilia inside the space “connects you directly to the venue’s history the second you walk in the door.”

3. All of the decor ties back to music and the Hollywood Palladium’s rich history

With a name like Vinyl Room, you can expect to see vinyls everywhere. Records line most of the walls and shelves, drinks are served on vinyl-shaped coasters and tables and light fixtures are designed to the theme. There’s even vinyl wallpaper in the photo booth. In one corner of the lounge, you can dig through records under a neon sign that reads, “But have you heard it on vinyl?”

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Ruthie Embry, vice president of architecture and design at Live Nation, says the records and other memorabilia inside the space “connects you directly to the venue’s history the second you walk in the door.”

Some standout items include a Red Hot Chili Peppers show flier, a Hollywood Palladium postcard signed by late musician and host Lawrence Welk and a photo of late singers Bonnie Baker and Orrin Tucker at the venue. Even the bathroom creates a memorable photo moment: The stalls are filled with photos of musicians and an “on air” studio sign lights up when a stall is occupied.

Food served at Vinyl Room in Hollywood.

Vinyl Room’s menu, created by Chef Ryan DeRieux, is inspired by Asian flavors and includes items like the “Vinyl Roll,” which is made with spicy tuna.

4. Don’t worry about dinner plans before or after the show. Vinyl Room has got you covered

Eliminating the need to find a pre- or post-show restaurant, Vinyl Room has a full Asian-inspired menu created by Chef Ryan DeRieux.

Think sushi tots (like crispy tuna but with tater tots instead of rice), tuna poke nachos, chili crunch chicken wings and shiitake tempura burgers. There’s also a mouth-watering 10-ounce American wagyu skirt steak served with shishito peppers, pickles and charred carrots. For dessert, try the taiyaki, a popular fish-shaped Japanese street food, which is served with a delicious passion fruit cream that I wanted to take to go because I liked it so much.

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Cocktails at Vinyl Room

Signature cocktails at Vinyl Room, inspired by popular songs, include the Superfly, Escape (if you like piña coladas) and Smoke on the Water.

5. The craft cocktails aren’t just delicious — they each have a story

Vinyl Room's old-fashioned is made with Nikka Yoichi whisky, which is made in Japan.

Vinyl Room’s old-fashioned is made with Nikka Yoichi whisky, which is made in Japan.

The cocktail program, developed by third-generation bartender Sean Kenyon, is inspired by the songs created by musicians who’ve graced the Hollywood Palladium stage. A nod to the 1970s, the Superfly is a fizzy, citrus-forward play on Curtis Mayfield’s 1972 track and is made with Roku Gin and yuzu and sencha syrup. Other signature drinks include the rum-based Escape (if you like piña coladas) with coconut oolong syrup, pineapple juice and miso, and the tart yet sweet Smoke on the Water, which is reminiscent of Deep Purple’s 1972 song. The bar also offers an espresso martini (called the MT Joy), a signature old-fashioned (made with Nikka Yoichi whisky) and a Japanese whiskey highball (made with Hibiki Harmony whisky). The bar offers a number of non-alcoholic options as well.

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Found: The 19th century silent film that first captured a robot attack

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Found: The 19th century silent film that first captured a robot attack

A screenshot from George Mélière’s Gugusse et l’Automate. The pioneering French filmmaker’s 1897 short, which likely features the first known depiction of a robot on film, was thought lost until it was found among a box of old reels that had belonged to a family in Michigan and restored by the Library of Congress.

The Frisbee Collection/Library of Congress


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The Frisbee Collection/Library of Congress

The Library of Congress has found and restored a long-lost silent film by Georges Méliès.

The famed 19th century French filmmaker is best known for his groundbreaking 1902 science fiction adventure masterpiece Le Voyage dans la Lune (A Trip to the Moon).

The 45-second-long, one-reel short Gugusse et l’AutomateGugusse and the Automaton – was made nearly 130 years ago. But the subject matter still feels timely. The film, which can be viewed on the Library of Congress’ website, depicts a child-sized robot clown who grows to the size of an adult and then attacks a human clown with a stick. The human then decimates the machine with a hammer.

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In an Instagram post, Library of Congress moving image curator Jason Evans Groth said the film represents, “probably the first instance of a robot ever captured in a moving image.” (The word “robot” didn’t appear until 1921, when Czech dramatist Karel Čapek coined it in his science fiction play R.U.R..)

“Today, many of us are worried about AI and robots,” said archivist and filmmaker Rick Prelinger, in an email to NPR. “Well, people were thinking about robots in 1897. Very little is new.”

A long journey

Groth said the film arrived in a box last September from a donor in Michigan, Bill McFarland. “Bill’s great grandfather, William Frisbee, was a person who loved technology,” Groth said. “And in the late 19th century, must have bought a projector and a bunch of films and decided to drive them around in his buggy to share them with folks in Pennsylvania, Ohio, New York.”

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McFarland didn’t know what was on the 10 rusty reels he dropped off at the Library of Congress’ National Audio-Visual Conservation Center in Culpeper, Va. A Library article about the discovery describes the battered, pre-World War I artifacts as having been, “shuttled around from basements to barns to garages,” and that they, “could no longer be safely run through a projector,” owing to their delicate condition. “The nitrate film stock had crumbled to bits on some; other strips were stuck together,” the article said. It was a lab technician in Michigan who suggested McFarland contact the Library of Congress.

“The moment we set our eyes on this box of film, we knew it was something special,” said George Willeman, who heads up the Library’s nitrate film vault, in the article.

Willeman’s team carefully inspected the trove of footage, which also contained another well-known Méliès film, Nouvelles Luttes extravagantes (The Fat and Lean Wrestling Match) and parts of The Burning Stable, an early Thomas Edison work. With the help of an external expert, they identified the reel as having been created by Méliès because it features a star painted on a pedestal in the center of the screen – the logo for Méliès Star Film Company.

A pioneering filmmaker

Méliès was one of the great pioneers of cinema. The scene in which a rocket lands playfully in the eye of Méliès’ anthropomorphic moon in Le Voyage dans la Lune is one of the most famous moments in cinematic history. And he helped to popularize such special effects as multiple exposures and time-lapse photography.

This moment from George Méliès' Le Voyage dans la Lune (A Trip to the Moon) is considered to be one of the most famous in cinematic history.

This moment from George Méliès’ Le Voyage dans la Lune (A Trip to the Moon) is considered to be one of the most famous in cinematic history.

George Méliès/Public Domain

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Presumed lost until the Library of Congress’s discovery, Gugusse et L’Automate loomed large in the imaginations of science fiction and early cinema buffs for more than a century. In their 1977 book Things to Come: An Illustrated History of the Science Fiction Film, authors Douglas Menville and R. Reginald described Gugusse as possibly being, “the first true SF [science fiction] film.”

“While it may seem that no more discoveries remain to be made, that’s not the case,” said Prelinger of the work’s reappearance. “Here’s a genuine discovery from the early days of film that no one anticipated.”

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