Blue_Opossum

Morning of November 14, 2015. Saturday.

I am not sure of the setting. There is a generic one-storey house I think, with a front porch. In this first part of my dream, I am outside on a bed and looking at the front of the house from the right of it. There are large tree branches coming out of the house from an area that had seemingly been a vent (above the porch) as well as from a couple windows. The tree probably takes up a lot of space inside the house but I do not go in. (The later room setting does not seem like a part of this house, though it is possible it is implied to be - there is no tree visible at that point though.) There is also a tree just outside the house. I get the impression of one of our cats (Franco) moving in the branches of both trees.



I am recording something important on a cassette recorder feature (while lying on my side on my bed outside the house), some sort of singing or chanting from an unknown source. The voices are feminine and possibly related to spiritual growth or empowerment. I have slight difficulty (but not that annoying as I do not become angry) with the portable stereo’s cassette player relative to the record and play buttons, which must both be pressed at the same time with the same speed and pressure. There is a “pause” button between “record” and “play”, “record” being the last in the row and it is a bit problematic (counter-intuitive) to use as such. This is not a typical cassette player design (of the few different layouts I have used in real life), yet the highly illogical nature of the layout does not trigger lucidity. I accidentally press rewind a couple times, but it does not matter as long as I eventually record the sounds, since they apparently repeat anyway (though I am not sure how long they will continue). During this time there is something about interesting magazines (relating to either science-fiction or satire or both) coming out of nowhere, possibly based on particular sound patterns. This makes me more optimistic and cheerful for whatever reason.

Later, after being with my wife for a time, my dream shifts to me seemingly being a teenager again, possibly around sixteen. I am in a room with my mother though cannot be certain of the setting’s location (as it seems only vaguely reminiscent of the southwest room in Cubitis though also vaguely reminds me of a motel room my family stayed in on our way to Florida when I was six years old and she was surprised by an unlikely tarantula on the wall). There are a few large green spiny caterpillars crawling about (mostly on the wall), a couple much longer than they would be in reality. These are supposedly the most venomous in the world and are called “Slaughterhead” caterpillars (of which I have absolutely no memory of ever having heard this term before). (In real life, it was “puss caterpillars” or wooly slugs we had to put up with - also called “saddle socks” by a few locals but that name cannot be found on the Internet and is possibly wrong as one local ridiculously called oleander caterpillars “centipedes" and warned my mother about them - my father had been stung by a puss caterpillar by accidentally putting his forearm down on one on a table in June 1978, but amazingly rode out the pain and did not want to go to the hospital.)

After a time, there is a caterpillar on me, near my shoulder. My mother bravely takes it off without being stung (as if she was used to doing this - though she did check me for ticks when we lived in Chipmunk Coulee). Later, one crawls on her and she takes it off. Another one, nearly a foot long, is crawling on her side, but my dream shifts to where my gaze is fixed on beaded curtains. (There is also a point where I study my mother’s facial profile and contemplate her being very old. I find it slightly disconcerting but not that emotional - with no memory she died in 2002).



I stare at the beaded curtain and notice that most of the beads are either the number three or the number four (each bead in the shape of the number I think, as the depth perception is fairly discernible), seemingly arranged randomly. I very clearly see each (of many) number three and number four figures (all identical in size - no distortion in any number or feature) in each long vertical beaded string of about a dozen hanging down across a part of the room (seemingly not in a doorway but as a room divider). (Although there are various styles of number beads in real life, I am vaguely puzzled over this feature.)

Morning of September 15, 1973. Saturday.

Dream #: 2,462-02. Reading time: 40 sec.



I am in the living room in Cubitis, at the table in the center of the room. My mother is sitting on the north end, typing a letter to an older relative. My father is working on wall paneling.

A bowl of cereal (with milk) somehow quickly comes down from the ceiling (or through it somehow, although there is no sign of a hole or “portal”). It falls and spills over the tiled floor. My mother expresses annoyance over the disruption of her writing by the inexplicable event. She seems to momentarily but silently blame me. I am also surprised and cannot understand how it happened. It appeared to be falling “from nowhere,” as if in mid-fall just below the ceiling.

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Following are scenes (where I am incorporeal) of moving through several doorways in the ceiling of our house. It seems mazelike. (This is imaginary, as our real ceiling space was not high enough to stand upright. There were no doorways, either.)

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dream type: something coming down

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Morning of May 16, 1971. Sunday.

Reading time: 1 min 42 sec. Readability score: 59.



In my dream, it seems to be early morning, about an hour before dawn. My mother and I are standing between two of the buildings at my elementary school, near the inward corner of one. We are the only people in the area. I am unsure why we are here, though I consider may relate to completing information in my school records. I am aware that it is the weekend and that school will not be in session today. We are looking toward the south.

I see a church about three blocks away. (In reality, the school building would be blocking such a view.) I can see its belfry in the semidarkness.

A big yellow bolt of lightning comes down from the sky, on the right of the tall church belfry. (It has an unrealistic appearance, as if from a cartoon.) It strikes it near the top, and flames begin to consume the tower.

My mother glares down at me as if I had caused the event by way of pyrokinesis and the ability to control the weather and guide lightning. Her silent accusation increases my focus and the vividness of my dream. (The presence of fire increases the awareness of my conscious self identity.)

“It’s not my fault,” I say, somewhat hesitantly (with a hint of self-doubt), and I remain unsure if my mother believes me.

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The school setting is relevant to relearning one’s way back to the conscious self identity as in waking life. (This correlates with the subliminal desire to ignite the conscious self awareness for lucidity.) My mother is present by my side as the witness (RAS mediation), as she is the one who usually woke me during early childhood and my school years. The lightning is neural energy that increases awareness in the waking process of which also sometimes serves as a lucidity trigger by liminal intent. The belfry serves as an emerging consciousness representation (rising above the dream), and fire is consciousness.

Ultimately, this dream is an augmented factor of the “lighting a candle” metaphor to establish lucidity and dream state awareness. Dream control and lucidity are not dependent on each other contrary to popular misconception.

I believe that I have coherently explained every factor of this dream and its causes and meaning as the emerging consciousness initiation and non-lucid dream control. There was also influence from the Nancy Sinatra song “Lightning’s Girl.” That developed into associations with dream control, as I had imagined controlling lightning as relevant to the song (though this was a childhood misunderstanding as to what the song meant).

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Night of October 30, 1970. Friday.



There is a knock at the front door of my Cubitis home seemingly at night, which may be a trick-or-treater regardless of the possible later time (and the implied in-dream date may be a day later). My mother answers (I may have been doing something earlier in my dream but I do not recall that part). It is an allover short-haired orange monster standing there in our carport (but otherwise has all the anatomical form of a human). However, it soon turns out to be my older brother Jim, holding the full-head mask in the bend of his left arm like a helmet after removing it (and I also have a vague idea that it actually is a motorcycle helmet, though he did not have a motorcycle in real life until much later). He seems happy and optimistic. (I had not seen him for some time in real life, since living at North Monroe Street.) In real life, he was jovial and never “monster-like” in any way in my perspective, though he was overweight most of his life.

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This rather short dream had two precognitive layers. You might find it strange that saying a visitor showing up on Halloween after my dream was precognitive. However, this really was the first and only time we ever had a trick-or-treater (and it was after dark) while living in Cubitis for nearly ten years - and my mother answered the door. Not only that, it was an older and stockier teenager (high school student) who neither my mother nor myself knew the identify of, but he was wearing a homemade paper mask and not a costume of any kind. It seemed a bit eerie (and of the same slightly anxious mood as the door was answered while I had been in the same location as in my dream). The second facet was that my older brother Jim came to visit us later, which was the first and only time he had been in Cubitis. We did not know at the time that he would be visiting as such.

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