Blue_Opossum

Morning of November 14, 2018. Wednesday.

Dream #: 18,958-02. Reading time (optimized): 3 min. Readability score: 58.



In a previous dream including my conscious self’s identity and to some extent in real life, I had been building a more extensive paradigm understructure for my online dream journal as a way to make it more idiot-proof, despite there being virtually no evidence that mainstream humanity has any understanding of the induction, dreaming, and waking processes. I had been focusing on “personifications of” while branching into more specific factors of vestibular system correlation, nexus simulacrums, and melatonin mediation. During this time, my dream self loses most of its present waking life identity while still holding a subliminal awareness of concurrent physicality and a minimal degree of lucid dream state awareness to where only a sliver of my conscious self’s identity remains extant; just enough to deliberately enter the role of another denizen to experiment with the dream space.

The backstory of an upcoming wedding comes to the forefront. It is a transpersonal thread adjacent to the virtual foreshore. There is the sighting of an unknown groom of about twenty-five in my incorporeal glimpse. I possess the body of a man who is about eighty years old to sustain his role in attaining a sacred stick from a secret area for the unknown young groom (who remains in another part of town), maintaining faith that any other sentient presence in the dream space will not detect me as an imposter. The interconsciousness borrows pieces of a setting that I had not lived in real life for years, making sure it is incorrect in design so that it is not mistaken for having waking life relevance or the fallacy of symbolism that the unintelligent pursue. I am at an erroneous version of the Stadcor Street house in Brisbane. This version of the house has an enclosed wooden back porch, which expands over the area that the utility room was in real life (though the utility room was at ground level). Another male, unknown, about the age of the man whose body I possess, is with me, remaining on my left (dream attention orientation, as I sleep on my left side). I do not see the house as a place of significance, and my dream self only vaguely realizes that it is an illusory model of a place I had once lived. There is little of my conscious self identity that remains extant.

We are to meet with a man who is over a hundred years old, known only as General. Another man who is about a hundred years old arrives first. The four of us briefly appraise each other. I marvel at how wrinkled their faces are. I nod to General, addressing him solely and lightly with “General.” He does not seem to suspect I am not the old man. I feel comfortable in my fictitious role. He had stepped from a back room of the house, perhaps the kitchen in assuming that this fake house was somewhat like the original. The other man had come in from outside. My dream self’s attention does not focus on the porch setting as the nexus within liminal space; that virtual bridge which I had entered thousands of times in previous dreams since early childhood. Despite “General” being a military association with the preconscious and interconsciousness simulacra, I do not anticipate dominance by their presence. We go out into the backyard. It seems to be late morning. I am holding a large irregular stick in my left hand.

We all have walking sticks, but the groom’s sacred stick is just beyond the backyard in a cluster of trees. In reality, this would have been our neighbor’s backyard, which was divided from ours by a small fence.

As I am walking, the other end of my stick, still being used with my left hand, somehow gets stuck between two small cages (the bottom of one and the top of the other). I am not sure if they contain any animals. A big cloth is covering them. It takes me a few minutes to pull it out. The man who had been with me, the first one, seems slightly annoyed and moves to help me, but the stick is already out.

Liminal awareness had established that I was sleeping on my left arm in an uncomfortable position, which became a factor of my dream’s scenario, altering its potential. My dream self absentmindedly points this out, with the stick, where my essence is, beneath the cloth (bed sheet) and asleep, my waking self “caged” within the virtual lattice of physicality.

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Morning of April 2, 2018. Monday.



This dream renders a unique setting as always, a setting that has never featured in this specific way in any previous dream, which is a process to prevent associations with waking life to prevent false memory. In this case, it is primarily the Stadcor Street house in Brisbane (where we have not lived in years). However, upon seeing Zsuzsanna in the final segment, it is like the northeast room of the King Street mansion, where I have not been since the 1990s (and where Zsuzsanna has never been, never having been to America). Even so, it is on the opposite side of where the Stadcor Street bedroom actually was in respect to my dream’s layout. Additionally, my current conscious self identity is only partly extant.

I go to look in the backyard for some reason. It seems to be late morning. I am aware that an unusual wind from the east (my right in my dream’s view) has brought a lot of fine white sand into our backyard. There are many shallow recesses in the yard that contain this fine white sand. I start to consider how unusual a feature this is. I study the area for several minutes. Looking off to my left, just beyond the driveway, I see a low embankment. Two very large turnip plants are growing. Only one has a visible turnip slightly above the ground. I consider if I should pull them up, as they seem fully grown, but I start to focus on the main backyard again.

I notice an area of ground to my left where I realize the whiteness of the sand in that part of the yard may be caused by sunbeams. The area has a silvery glow. Still, the other areas really do contain the unusual fine sand. I decide to go into the house to tell Zsuzsanna about it and to describe the unusual wind that brought the sand into our backyard.

When in the bedroom, I see Zsuzsanna sitting on the bed, facing me as I stand nearby. The closet of the northeast King Street mansion bedroom is visible near the end of the bed (though I am uncertain of whether it is the head or foot of the bed). As I stand, looking into the closet, I notice a very large slug crawling slowly up the wall. Its view is partly blocked for a time. I watch its optical and sensory tentacles move about. I continue to gaze at it as I also pull a snail from my right arm that had somehow also gotten stuck on my shirt sleeve, somehow making the shirt sleeve also stick to me. This event is distorted, as the shirt seems to have been hanging on a hook on the wall, with me not wearing it at the time and yet somehow also wearing it at the same time (a typical dream event that is impossible to resolve in conscious afterthought).

There is a brief offset dream where I go back to the backyard and discover that the ground is now only with normal-colored dirt in the recesses. I am somewhat puzzled. I consider how short a time period that the event must have taken place for no traces of the other sand to remain.

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This is a sustained dream segment that is otherwise based on water lowering waking symbolism from an earlier dream. A short time ago, I happened to read the following: “Dreaming of sand may represent the border between the conscious (beach/land) and unconscious (ocean/water) minds.” I found this astounding because it is extremely rare to read anything about dreams from any public source that has an iota of truth on any level. However, it is more about the liminal space between dream self and conscious self, unrelated to waking life itself.

This dream mostly centers around sleep recognition waking symbolism, which is somewhat of a misnomer as the inference is literal, not symbolic, and based on a subliminal realization that I am actually in bed and asleep. Obviously, the bed confirms this. Additionally, the turnips are autosymbolism for Zsuzsanna and I sleeping. Additionally, the snail and the slug are associated with moving slowly, a play on being sluggish or asleep. The confusion with the shirt relates to the fact that I am not dressed when I sleep.

Once again, this dream had a prescient thread as many of my dreams do at one point or another (sometimes covering many years in advance which is inherently unfathomable), which is sometimes very frustrating as it often serves no useful purpose other than to convince me that most human minds work in a completely different way than mine. Another poster on the Dreamscloud website had posted an image of a slug (the image repeated three times) just before I was finishing this entry, despite the recognized autosymbolism of a slug representing vague threads of my conscious self identity (in being mostly inactive) in REM sleep.

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Morning of August 18, 2017. Friday.



I seem to be in bed with Zsuzsanna. However, our bed seems to be in the backyard of our present home with our heads oriented south (with the same left and right orientation as we are sleeping in reality). It is full daylight out. Still, there is an odd sense of bilocation of which is not defined in the usual way.

A boy of about ten years old comes into our backyard a few times from our neighbor’s backyard. He is unknown and unfamiliar, though implied to be the neighbor’s son (though this “neighbor” is also an unknown character). I display a bit of anger and aggression and he goes back each time, somehow going over the fence, though it seems somewhat like the old metal fence that was not very high. He has a somewhat condescending nature.

My awareness shifts and my dream changes orientation. Now our bed is in the Loomis Street living room, our heads west, opposite the front entrance. Once again, the boy is imposing by coming in through the front door, which may have been left open. I do not express much anger.

His father, an unknown chubby male of about thirty and with red hair, also comes in through the door as if he had been uncertain as to where his son had gotten off to. I nod and I do not express any anger at the imposition of either, almost as if their ridiculous intrusions do not matter at this point. The other man seems friendly and calm.

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Nothing relevant to waking life (on a personal level) is to be found here; just the usual dreaming and waking symbolism, here rendered as doorway waking symbolism, though in many cases, a distorted rendering of the emergent consciousness, mixed in with dynamics of the preconscious (sometimes as a “monster”) remains within a doorway rather than viably using a door or doorway.

I can only guess that these two unknown characters were related to unconsciously perceiving (remote viewing) random unknown people in the area as I was sleeping, the boy linked into the transpersonal stream via the preconscious while his father linked to the emergent consciousness, a dynamic that has often occurred in past dreams. The fence is a clue, as a fence symbolizes a division in levels of consciousness within the dream state and of course our being in bed is simply an indicator of being in the dream state.

It has remained obvious through tens of thousands of dreams for over fifty years, that the transpersonal preconscious stream integrates found personas that are the least like the conscious self identity, for that is the only real way, excluding willing coalescence, that the dream self attains enough emotion (through aggravation, conflict, or other emotions) to come out of the dream state under many conditions. Otherwise, the “ripples” of neural energy are unlikely to increase and the dreamer would remain in the dream. Waking and waking prompts are a biological necessity, yet most of humanity does not even come close to grasping the simplest concepts concerning dreams or their purpose or meaning.

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