Morning of October 30, 2018. Tuesday. Dream #: 18,943-03. Reading time: 2 min 38 sec. Readability score: 62. My dream renders a mixed-up combination of a pawn shop from America, a bookstore from Nundah (Australia), and a tackle shop from America. It seems to be late afternoon. I am on my own, with little conscious self memory (even though Zsuzsanna and I frequented the Nundah bookstore years ago). There is a backstory, and false memory, about how I had traded several packs of long bookbinding screws (at least four inches in length) for credit or to trade, though I do not recall all of the details. There are two unfamiliar female cashiers present who are in their twenties. (The bookbinding screws relate to my big stamp album binders from when I lived in Florida, though there are likely associations with similar screws I used for putting the swing set together after Christmas.) I am carrying a winter jacket (though mostly slung over my left shoulder). As such, I try not to appear suspicious, as I also have items I had brought into this store. I consider that they might think I am taking them from their store and trying to hide them under my jacket. (This is a literal bed space strand, as subliminal awareness of the bed sheet pulling around my left shoulder.) They seem puzzled (and express disbelief) when I infer how I had traded items previously. The shelves that had packs of bookbinding screws are now all empty. For some reason, they are to do with fishing tackle, but my dream self does not reflect upon this error. The owner is at the back of his store, but I do not approach his counter. (I perceive him as the owner of the pawn shop in La Crosse, though there are also associations with the owner of the Nundah bookstore.) One of the women asks me if I want to buy one of the bigger bass plugs, but I respond that they are too big for the type of fishing I do (which includes striped bass and smallmouth bass for which I prefer small jigs and spoons). I then walk to the opposite side of the store. I see that they are selling magazines and comic books, though there are only a few different titles on the wooden display shelves. I see two Casper comic books next to each other. There are a few copies of each, vertically stacked. One is $4.53, and the other is $5.64. I decide to buy them, but I am not sure if I have enough money. An unknown chubby man of about twenty (who works in the store) picks one up to look through. I tell him that I had hundreds of Casper comic books collected over thirty years and that they were usually different. I add that sometimes there were reprints in digests and suggest their size by forming a small square with my hands. I tell him about those digest stories being “backed up” in the way I would describe how I back up my dream documentation online and on more than one drive. As I walk to the checkout counter on the opposite side of the store, he calls out, saying something about “sending backup.” The reference seems humorous or business-related rather than inferring police activity. I reach into my wallet and see that I have solely an American twenty-dollar note, which will suffice, even though I consider the prices on the comic book covers will be more when changing to the Australian amount. I pay the cashier, and as I get my change, I deliberately, though liminally, reset the scenario and leave without paying. When the emerging consciousness simulacrum (the chubby male) was talking about “sending backup,” it became a comically sarcastic reference to me subliminally resetting my dream to deliberately manipulate the function of RAS (reticular activating system) as the preconscious simulacrum in the second instance by “erasing” the cashier’s presence. I have utilized this sort of dream control and subliminal, liminal, and lucid manipulation since early childhood.
Morning of March 24, 2018. Saturday. I find myself on my own in the middle of a shopping excursion. The shopping mall is of an unfamiliar layout. I wander around for a time until I am more focused on my dream’s dynamics. Although I am not lucid, there is still a vaguely discernible summoning factor as with the majority of my dreams. I remember that I am married and have children, but no other conscious threads are present such as knowledge of my age or location. I am thinking of getting a tackle box, mostly for our sons for when they go fishing. I go to a lower shelf and pick one up and decide I will get it. Even though I perceive it as a tackle box, its appearance is that of a white Styrofoam egg carton. I consider that its design is as such to keep individual fishing lures from getting entangled by their hooks. From here, I look at a display wall featuring various types of fishing tackle. I consider getting one of my favorite and useful types from years ago; a yellow jig. A couple are near the bottom. I study the many other types, virtually every kind of fishing tackle I have ever used, including various plug lures and spoons. I absentmindedly carry the tackle box and jigs out of the store to the parking lot without paying, though I realize I will pay for everything I get after shopping longer. I put the items into the back seat of a car, from the left side. In attempting to go back into the mall, there is now an unfamiliar male painting the foyer. It is a darker cyan, and the entire walls, ceiling, and floor appear to be covered and still wet. (Of course, my dream self does not question this impossible sudden event.) The coat of paint has somewhat of a folded appearance, like the wrinkles and minor folds of a bed sheet. The painter, in blue bib overalls, is on a step ladder and remains cheerful. I am somewhat annoyed by this challenge. I attempt to go in, but I soon consider that I am now partly covered in paint when getting halfway to the opposite door. I subliminally reset my dream and I am again back outside the store (as I was prior to the previous event), wondering how I can enter. I notice that there is now an additional foyer to the left of the first one, which two unfamiliar females walk through to go into the store, so I use this one. I start thinking about getting some snacks for my family. Eventually, I approach a large table in the center of one store, which apparently is a bakery. There are several large butterfly cookies (about the size of my hand) with multicolored frosting of mostly yellow, cyan, pink, and blue. Each is wrapped in cellophane. First, I see what I think is the price of 95 cents on a very small label. I then notice that the price on a larger label is two dollars. I pick up two to purchase but begin to wake at this point. Return flight waking symbolism (RFWS) has occurred in at least one dream per sleeping period for over fifty years, but sometimes there are multiple diverse flight symbols in several different dreams in a shorter sleeping period. Their specific nature seems directly correlated with both my subliminally discerned level of unconsciousness and vestibular system dynamics. However, in this case, the autosymbolism seems a fairly obvious rendering of “butterflies in the stomach” in subliminal anticipation of RAS modulation (in the sometimes unexpected or jolting transition of dream self to conscious self). Because the butterflies were a static feature as cookies however, the waking was softer than usual. The imagery was also beautiful and even reassuring.
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