Blue_Opossum

Morning of October 17, 2017. Tuesday.



My wife Zsuzsanna and our family as we appear now are living in the Cubitis house. There is a gentle rain. I am aware that our oldest son will be returning from his job (same job as in real life despite the erroneous 1978 setting of Florida rather than here in Australia). I contemplate if one of us should go and get him so that he will not get wet walking back in the rain. Zsuzsanna says that she will when the time comes.

I am in the living room with Zsuzsanna. I look out the windows into the Cubitis backyard (it seems to be late morning but still raining) and notice a row of tall purple larkspurs that are close to the windows, under the awnings, and parallel to the entire east side of the house. They are not yet in full bloom. I think about asking Zsuzsanna when she planted them (perhaps very early on the previous morning), as I do not recall when she could have done this, which puzzles me slightly as I consider how wonderfully industrious and sedulous she is.

In an area near the center of the large backyard are a few weeds where there is otherwise mostly short grass, but I also see about three or four potato plants in a couple random spots. It is raining, so I will pull out the weeds later. There is a vivid sense of love and peace.

Zsuzsanna tells me that our oldest son will probably be off work about an hour early, as people do not usually shop there when it is raining. (This turned out to be prescient curiously enough, and it has not happened in this way before. I fail to see why people would stay home from shopping just because it is raining, but I guess I forgot that some people are “depressed” by rainy weather, whereas I am not.)

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I have been a devoted dream journalist all my life (and I even married my literal dream girl) and yet have never held any interest or belief in “interpretation”, mainly because my dreams, other than literally prescient threads, naturally decode themselves prior to fully waking, revealing their origins and manner of synthesis, but also because my dreams have held the same basic components and patterns, especially variations of waking symbolism and the same RAS triggers (such as emergent alertness to real environmental noise) since early childhood.

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Look closely at the threads that are accurate and those that have no basis for accuracy.

My personified subconscious (dream self) is aware that I am happily married to Zsuzsanna, yet we are living in a house in America (Florida), where Zsuzsanna (and our children) have never been and I have not been since 1978 when I was only seventeen. (Zsuzsanna and our children have always lived in Australia.) This is not even the house in Wisconsin I was living in years before Zsuzsanna and I first began writing to each other.

My dream self is aware that it is raining in real life at our present location (and in fact, this dream began within seconds of falling asleep again) and (again, as in the above paragraph) I am in a different house in my dream, also aware that it is raining, yet without the awareness of where I am in time and space (and how interesting is that?).

I am aware that our oldest son has a job and even the exact location of where he works, and yet again, there is no conflict between the impossible contrast of living in Cubitis (an isolated rural area through which only a small highway intersected) and in an urban area in a different country. (My dream self usually does not find the implication of either bilocation or mixed-up composites, which are very common in my dreams, as unusual in any way.)

I am aware that there are weeds in our backyard in real life (it has been raining continuously for a few days), yet (again) this is rendered into the backyard of an incorrect setting.

Despite the otherwise fictional nature of this scenario, there are a few real-life factors, and even a typical thread of prescience (which I have always experienced on a day-to-day basis, yet do not always go into detail about as my entries are often already very long).

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Morning of May 18, 2017. Thursday.



In the backyard of our present address, a garden is present in an area near the southeast corner, closest to the fence on the east side. There is an area of ground that is about half an oval (the flat half to the fence). In this garden, which is about three feet long, are a number of moonflowers (tropical white morning-glories). I view them at night and there is an unusual spotlight effect on them (though this does not seem wrong or unlikely to me).

I look out during the next morning (with no real sense of much time passing relative to dream time) and there is no garden, not even the oval-shaped area of ground. I “realize” that they are only visible at night under certain conditions (even though they are technically called morning-glories).

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Morning of August 18, 2016. Thursday.



In the first part of one scene, I am at our present home and near our front door. It seems we have at least one (unknown) female visitor but she is talking with my wife Zsuzsanna in the dining room (which we use as the main bedroom). For some reason, our front door is open and I am looking outside while standing in the doorway. It seems to be early afternoon.

I am eating some delicious snacks of a strong bittersweet flavor, eating at least a dozen of them without paying much attention to their appearance. They go down my throat, each being swallowed whole. Finally, upon looking at them, I notice that they are like miniature shish kebabs, though the implied stick is also edible and sweet. On the end of each is a large and shiny red carpenter ant head with black mandibles. This gives me pause even though I had been enjoying these snacks (and I briefly vaguely wonder if eating their heads as such could be dangerous). I realize that the ant head goes down first, and I had been properly consuming them as such, but now, as I think about it more clearly, I am not so sure I will continue to eat them, at least for now.

In another sequence, I am looking over at (old neighbor in Cubitis) Harold’s orange grove area (even though the house I am observing this from seems to be a minor variation of our present home). It seems to be late morning. The weeds are very high, nearly at chest level. I feel slightly guilty for not having mowed the area (which has no orange trees in this scene) yet do not even consider that his area is not my responsibility anyway. Soon however, two of his workers come over and start cleaning the area. They are dressed like sheiks (even though I sense one is East Indian and had worked as a cab driver recently). I still feel slightly guilty at their difficulty in trimming the plants. However, it soon is seen that what I first thought were weeds are two beautiful trapezoidal sections of tall flowering plants, forming two somewhat large hedge-like features. It now seems to be an amazing regrowth of what was intended years ago to be as beautiful as it is now. Still, the unknown male continues to work at it, cutting small sections at the bottom. He brings his gardening shears near the top but the areas near the blossoms are impossible to cut for whatever reason - in fact, it almost breaks his shears. He stops and studies the tops of the plants. He then informs Harold’s wife (who instead appears as Diane K for an unknown reason) and tells her that the plants are producing fruit, which seem very valuable. This does not seem to matter as Diane tells him that everything must be cut down as that is what Harold had said, though she seems upset about it and refers to him as a “posturing curmudgeon”. I feel very annoyed that the fruit will be wasted as well as soon missing out on the beauty of the red and white prolific flowers.

Eventually, the setting changes very illogically. I am still seemingly at our present address, but the roof seems to be missing and the orientation still partly reflects Cubitis. Looking to the north, I see what resembles the Rose Street building. It seems to be nighttime though still somehow light enough to see at a distance. On the roof is “Diane” (still apparently playing the role of Harold’s wife) though she now seems to be Karen’s mother instead. I wonder if she sees me and recognizes me. She does not wave or make any indication as such. My two youngest sons are in the house, more to the north. The house seems to be open to outside on that end. I am still aware of her annoyance at Harold having the plants cut down, but when I look out, I notice two smaller beautiful hedge-like areas and it now seems daytime again.

Turning about, the setting shifts yet again and it is now late at night again. I now “understand” even after having gazed at the shorter hedge-like flower sections in his yard, there are now only two mats in that spot (which somehow now is a much smaller area) with shorter grass growing in parts in a somewhat random pattern. I also see light-colored sand in random patches, mostly on the mats, which is also somehow the remains of flowers. This is in the area of the kitchen on his side as apparently we share the residence. I view the scene from our (my family’s) side of the kitchen. I do not question the plants having been growing out of the wooden floor and also growing from the mats. The kitchen is fully enclosed and no part of the house is fully open to outside as it was minutes ago.

Soon, I need to use the bathroom and it is late afternoon again. I go into a (fictional) room (which would be implied to be between our two son’s rooms in layout) where it looks as if the toilet had somehow been slid across the floor and turned perpendicularly to where it had been. There is a decorated Christmas tree to its left and the room looks more like a lounge room overall. Looking down, I see there is hardly any water in the bowl and there is also a transparent plastic wrapper in it. I decide to use the “other” toilet.

The other toilet is in our actual lounge room and faces east though is in a corner (northwest) that is implied to be our bathroom. At first, it seems fine (and it also is now a few hours earlier than it was moments ago), though I eventually realize the curtains are open on two sides and I hear the rest of my family returning home from their outing. I am annoyed (in realizing how open the “bathroom” is) but get up to close the two curtain sections. Still, I then see there is nothing there at all, the area being completely open on two sides with no curtains after all (implied entry point and the right side) and the time shifts to where it is even earlier (close to morning), so I decide to wake up and use our real bathroom (though it is not that common for a dream to be based on needing to get up and use the bathroom), which I immediately recall is not problematic as the ones in my dream had been.

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It is curious how many bizarre scene shifts and impossible time shifts there were and I did not question any of them, especially the house not having a roof and being completely open on one side or time jumping backwards a couple times, though both aspects are quite common in dreams.

Morning of September 11, 2015. Friday.



In my dream, I had been making love to Zsuzsanna in a semi-lucid state and suddenly feel a bit more perceptive than usual in such a situation. She looks beautiful and goddess-like. I tell her that I “brought her here” as an experiment and for her to look around the setting (even though she has already been present in many dreams about Cubitis as well as La Crosse). Outside, I see a beautiful garden and layout. There are unrealistically large coleus blumei everywhere (instead of all the huge prickly pears and ugly caterpillar-infested red canna lilies that were eventually practically everywhere in reality prior to my family’s move back to Wisconsin), some in large plant pots placed in perfect lines along the shed and parts of the backyard. The beauty of the imagery is astounding.

There is a strange “division” of time. Even though I am my present self on one level, “my” house is otherwise empty (other than my own manipulation of the setting and “preserving” of how it was before) and supposedly in the distant past. Lisa’s old house immediately to the south, however, is still technically “cursed” and empty, and the outside covered with several layers of mold and old vines, parts of the front porch blocked up with concrete blocks (and mostly as it presently looks now in real life). I want to look in the house, but my wife does not like the idea. However, my motive is pure and to confirm that the house is in complete ruin and unfit for a human being to even be within several feet of. I do not even care that people apparently cannot enter and leave with their sanity intact. I feel good about the idea of an empty ruined house covered with mold and vines next to “my” in-dream home. It makes me feel alive and happy and with an enhanced sense of privacy.

Somehow though, we end up in town. I seem to be on my own for a time. I do not recognize anyone (even though they are around my age or older). I am in what seems to be a small store. An older male is seated on a chair near the entrance. Even though I do not know anyone in the immediate setting, I ask him if he remembers me. He has no idea who I am. I tell him that I will travel back into the past, meet him and be his friend for a few months, and then come back to the present and ask him if he remembers me then. He seems to agree to this odd concept and arrangement, but it still does not work. He then does not even remember what I had asked him the first time around (before I went to the past). I become annoyed and leave.

I eventually find myself in a tavern. There are quite a few people sitting on bar stools. One of them looks like a very old version of Lisa, perhaps about seventy (which makes no sense as she is younger than me). Her parents look like young teenage versions of themselves even though they are still her “real” parents. Her “mother” says that she has to come home and her “father” does not even want to look at her, though just tells her to come back home while even blocking his face with his right arm for a short time. Not many want to look, apparently, because her face is extraordinarily distorted. I notice that her mouth looks quite bizarre, her teeth two times longer than they should be and metallic as well as being at various random angles. I do not question either the “impossible mouth” or the teenage parents of a very old lady (even though I had been semi-lucid at the beginning of my dream).

Eventually, I am distracted by the behavior of the “parents”, and decide to heal a few people in the area. I go outside and see the same male I had talked with earlier. From here, miniature clouds of soft blue fire float and waver upward into the air from my hands and this is supposed to be “restoring” elements of the town and people somehow. The male seems to become a bit younger (or at least healthier in overall appearance) and more cheerful.

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Morning of August 25, 2015. Tuesday.



Notes:

It always gives me an extraordinary sense of fulfillment when I get a continuous flow of insight and am able to more fully decode certain patterns in dreams over a lifetime since earliest memory. I am very grateful for the technology that has allowed me to do this; that is, type faster and with continuous editing potential (rather than writing and correcting and rewriting and correcting when I was little), put documents all together in one place, and have a listing and potential day to day timeline of my lifetime from around age four (with sparse family references and records since my birth date in 1960) as well as having access to resources that are able to validate and enhance so many of my earlier records. Not only will I be able to, in about ten years (only an optimistic estimate of course), bring all of my dream records and notes together as I want them, I will also have the ability to do extensive searches with a fair amount of precision. This dream, as odd and unlikely as it seems (even to me at first - I did not expect the flashes of realization when working with it), gave me the required focus somehow to unravel a small and isolated set of dream metaphors and associations going back to 1968 as well as relating to the path to my beautiful soulmate. There are too many layers to get into in this entry (and one would have to understand hundreds of summarized pages of my personal back story to “get” any of it anyway). I can only loosely touch upon some of it. Obviously, there are still limitations to my personal symbols and metaphors being fully decoded. This is mainly because some symbolic associations are rather sparse and fairly rare even at my present age. Still, I feel very happy today with another new breakthrough.

Sewing Machine Bulldozer:

I am mournfully back as I was when I was in my twenties and working for the Onalaska Street Department (not that I was sad at that time - it is just that something seems to be “missing” somehow in-dream). My job at this time was picking up large pieces of eroded embankment (on a fairly difficult inclination) and placing them on the roadside - placing them directly in front of the bulldozer. This was very difficult work and not many could do it for very long. Over time, I begin to be annoyed and tired over why I am even doing this. (It does not dawn on me that I am no longer this age, and do not even live in America anymore.) I am concerned about the speed of the other workers. The bulldozer even bumps me a few times, though not in any harmful way. I grow impatient and realize that I may have missed pieces a far distance back and think that the stretch will have to be worked over again. I do some of the work incorrectly, that is, I bend over to pick up a heavy piece instead of squatting and flinging back. Any sense of weariness of course, is an illusion in-dream. I start to ask myself what I am doing here. Is this where I am supposed to be?

I absentmindedly turn about and put my foot against the blade of the bulldozer. This results in a very strange event. The blade and push frame begin to wobble and very small “plates” fall off the front (reminding me vaguely of “Bathtub with Grill” from June 26, 2015). The exhaust pipe stack begins to move up and down like a “giant” sewing machine needle. It is almost like the tension building up in a cartoon (but not cartoon-like in any way). When I look down, I see that the bulldozer’s blade has actually transformed into an oversized antique sewing machine’s treadle (with floral scroll design), though at an angle and somewhat elevated. My leg is automatically working it to create (and actually sew together, apparently) some sort of clothing within the bulldozer’s cab. It is some sort of gossamer white lacy material flowing out from the side. Around this time there is a very strange mechanical sound behind me and when I dare look, it is a downward rolling “wave” suggesting a ghostly staircase. Soon, it is a luminescent staircase (recurring feature mostly from early 1991 to early 1994). My wife (as she was when we first made contact) in a glowing wedding dress and some sort of oversized tiara (somewhat like a crown) is standing there with a bouquet of flowers. I can see a blue layer of light just under her skin. “I’m not going to be late, am I?” I ask. “I never intended to be la…” (My dream is swept away.)

Connections:

Bulldozer history: I have found some links I did not really fully put together before. “The Dead One” dream (February 13, 1971, age ten - that is, first version of it) had a bulldozer run over Brenda W when I was taking flowers to her late at night on the eve of Valentine’s Day (so that only her hand is seen emerged from the soil and I feel a terrible sense of loss), yet she was resurrected (not in a zombie sense) near the end of my dream, yet “I could not yet have her”. (There were several dreams where she was resurrected, none of them relevant to any zombie lore - more in a divine “ascension” sense.) Brenda was the fully confirmed “stand-in” for my wife-to-be and also appeared in composite forms (such as “The Bad Witch” from March 18, 1978, which had a recurrence on March 23rd - the same date I got my first letter from my wife-to-be in 1991). Other layers - my sister died on February 13th (though the 14th from my perspective at one point in Australia as we are about a day ahead) and my father also died on the 14th of February. I have often associated the bulldozer with mortality and loss as such. Thus, there is very odd synchronicity with only a 1 in 365 chance it would be relevant as such - though it is - and all through my life extremely unlikely synchronicity continued with almost every event and association.

The origins of this (that is, the very seed) may or may not be related to the tree I used to spend time near at primary school. One of my friends used to take palmetto sticks and push sand off the concrete bench, chanting “bulldozer bulldozer”. This was the “same” bench that Brenda was seated in most versions of “Bridge Over a Prehistoric World” (though she also appeared in distorted composites associated with the “dream girl” or “mystery girl” as I preferred).

At any rate, from here, I made somewhat of a breakthrough in one very early version of the “divine staircase”. However, the features are quite different. It turns out to be my “Rocket Science” dream from July 2, 1976. This is not the first version of the implied “soulmate staircase” by any stretch. One of the oldest appears in “The Ghost Marriage” dream from October 16, 1971. I am linking only to the “Rocket Science” dream because of a few odd parallels. Firstly, the white sheet of paper that makes the “staircase” is like a miniature implication of the one in this latest dream (which I never even began to note before for whatever absentminded reason) as well as the commonly recurring ones as already mentioned above. It moved exactly the same way; that is, like a diagonal wave that suggested a complete “pure” or “divine” staircase (phantom or not).

Aside from that, there is also the shared “whirligig” element and the strange “impossible” technology, the “whirligig” obviously being a Merkaba form, but I am not sure what the sewing machine needle and fictional helicopter rotary design “pumping” relates to (well, on a spiritual level that is - some sort of spiritual “motor” or cosmic mechanism perhaps). As most of this had already come about in 1994, it is more like a decoding breakthrough than anything relevant to what may come.

Morning of June 3, 2015. Wednesday.



Once again my non-lucid dream state effortlessly and totally jumbles up otherwise familiar places into impossible composites and sudden switches. Again, I have to say, whatever mechanism so easily creates temporary extensive amnesia and loss of critical thinking skills and complete dissolution of intelligence is worthy of finding as much about as possible, especially because I know there is always something else “behind the curtain” which may not be viably associated or discovered until many years later (such as the fact my extraordinarily beautiful partner in life was always “with me” long before I met her of which we both still have endless proof in considerable and layered detail).

In this dream, I am first at my (deceased in real life) sister’s house on Loomis Street in Wisconsin. I am in the laundry room near the back door and notice several rubbish bins near the alley. My brother-in-law appears, though he is ready to leave to go somewhere in his car, possibly with my sister, though I do not see her or focus on her to any extent. They may be going out to gamble, shop, or (seemingly more likely) visit relatives concerning an upcoming funeral. There is a point at which I become aware of how unbearably hot it is; that the human race will probably only exist for another year due to the heat, but for some reason, it does not become a major in-dream choice of concern. Instead, I focus on a table near the entrance to the shed. On the table, which is somewhat like a cart with a shallow well as the top, are several large old books (of mostly red and blue featureless cloth covers) as well as at least two large photograph albums which are similar to H. E. Harris Statesman stamp albums in outer appearance. I get the impression that these books will all be thrown out although I am not sure why. I contemplate taking at least the albums though for no particular reason other than it surprises me that someone would get rid of so many photographs representing several generations of family. I seem to have an in-dream false memory of this man (who I never actually see). My dream’s back story does not seem to fully imply that he is residing in the shed, though I do not question why someone would have their belongings gathered and ready to discard in someone else’s backyard.

From this point things go a bit “off” regarding typical confusion of locations and features. I notice that my sister’s neighbor (Thomas N) immediately to the south has his gate open (though in real life the fence had no gate or access into the neighbor’s yard). This fictional gate is just off the northwest corner of his house (in back). Now, to add to the confusion, instead of Wisconsin, I am now in Florida, though it is “still” the same place, though actually now the front yard in Cubitis. Even more confusing, in Cubitis, there was never a fence between our house and the neighbor’s house in reality. It was all open and expansive and neither my family or the neighbors ever even defined any boundaries as such (in fact, in reality, our water pump was seemingly in our neighbor’s front yard or at least on the undefined perimeter). However, my clueless dream-self has a bit of concern over how the “gate was left open”, implying that the father of the girl next door had gone out and left it open - which somehow seems to connect to the earlier ambiguous scene about the books near the shed in Wisconsin. It seems important that I inform my mother that the gate was left open.

Over the (fictional) wooden fence, in the front yard near the highway (the old Highway Seventeen), I see a funeral carriage facing outward from their yard and to the west. I can see all the colorful flowers (a few arrangements in black vases which of course would just fall over when the carriage began to move) mostly arranged on the top of the funeral carriage, but I do not see a horse or the coachman at this particular point. I get the impressions that the family, or perhaps the funeral director, had forgotten about it, abandoned it for some reason, or left it behind upon the family moving to another location and “cancelling” the ongoing funeral due to the preference of a more organized move regarding the general order of their possessions (or the order in which they empty their house to move to their new home). There is no sense of eeriness; just a slight focus on why it was apparently left there for now.

I go to my mother (I seem about fifteen years old) who is seated near the windows in the living room that face the backyard, and report to her that not only had the gate (into our front yard) been left open but that the neighbors had moved and now the house was empty (which does not make that much sense as I still think about the girl’s father wandering around in an unknown area - which somehow gives me concern). I do not mention the funeral carriage at any point. Now we are in the backyard and I tell her again how the house is now empty. (Apparently, the wooden fence is now instantly gone). She seems confused about my belief and says that they had not moved and that the house is still obviously being lived in and points out details to back up that supposed fact. In fact, I can see details of the living room through a rear window (which does not exist in reality), including a television that is facing me through the window as well as an armchair and a table. Still, I argue with her and insist no one is living there (probably denial of elements of the past and the hopeless “idiot” I was at the time in real life).

From here, my dream takes another strange turn. The Cubitis home is now occupied by my family (wife and children) as we are now. There is also a (fictional of course) stream running through the property, probably under or through the house and flowing east to west through the middle of our yard. My wife and youngest son are in the front yard near this stream on the north side of it in about the center of the yard. An extraordinarily beautiful dark-haired girl (with a vivid goddess-like presence) shows up and seems to “tower” over me at one point. What I do not realize is that it is a much younger version of my wife though her hair is as my wife’s hair is now. I had always thought my wife Zsuzsanna Gabrielle was the most beautiful female I had ever seen yet here is this “new” girl causing me confusion (even though again, it actually is my wife, although at one point there seems to be a muddled set of female characters for a short time - the neighbor girl lying on her side in the back of a station wagon as she appeared in the early 1970s, a teenage version of my wife in addition to the twenty-old version, the present version of my wife, and a woman that vaguely reminds me of the old recovering-alcoholic secretary from my first factory job though who I was not attracted to in any way - which is probably an absentminded pointless play on the Paul Anka song “Diana”). I decide to throw myself into the stream (which is only about four inches deep) to see which version of my wife decides to notice or “save me from drowning”, though the dream becomes too abstract beyond that - though I still get the impression the two came to where I was lying in the stream at about the same time (that is, the present version and the twenty-year-old version, though their hair appearance is switched).

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Morning of November 21, 2009. Saturday.

Dream #: 15,678-02. Reading time (optimized): 30 sec.



I am near an apartment building, possibly an American condominium yet it is south of us on Barolin Street in Australia. The entrance to one man’s apartment on the ground floor is near the back. There is a cascade of flowers (falling from “nowhere”) that comes down a few feet from that door near one corner of the building. It seems to indicate a haunting, though there is no fear, only a sense of eeriness as well as an unearthly beauty. I believe it may relate to the death of a younger unknown female, perhaps a teenager who was possibly killed by someone in the apartment building. There is an anticipation of a pending investigation. The flowers may be small violets (with separate petals falling at times).

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Morning of September 13, 2003. Saturday.



It is Zsuzsanna’s birthday and I am buying her red roses and white lilies with rolls of American quarters. (This is illogical as it should be Australian coins.)

While at the checkout (where at least one unfamiliar female cashier is present), I am somewhat absentminded and I am not certain which coins on the counter have already been given to the cashier (personified preconscious) and which are still mine to use.

I check to see if I have dropped any quarters and I notice I am barefoot. I think about mentally willing my shoes to appear, which works for a short time. (I am only subliminally lucid, otherwise unaware I am dreaming, yet taking my will to manifest for granted. This is more likely to occur at a certain level of liminal space as there are a number of different levels of unconsciousness and dream state perception.)

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Being barefoot in a dream is usually just a subliminal carryover memory of having fallen asleep (as I do not wear shoes or socks to bed). Just because a person is unconscious or semiconscious does not mean they always lose all perception of the status of their physical body or totally forget that they have fallen asleep. To “interpret” being barefoot, or any other type of dream state indicator, despite the setting, is to ridiculously overthink it and lose focus of what a dream actually is (a thought process in real time while one does not have viable faculties).

Being at the checkout is a very familiar form of waking symbolism. A checkout typically symbolizes the end marker of the dream state (or at least a shift in the level of unconsciousness or extent of reticular activating system activity).

I have noticed that coins are more likely to appear in a more vivid state of awareness than notes. This has something to do with the nature of coalescence and neural energy (in real time). A gathering or cascade of coins would symbolize emergent consciousness.

The rest, Zsuzsanna’s birthday and the flowers, are of course literal associations. Love is present regardless of the depth of unconsciousness and occasional loss of personal identity or conscious self validity.

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