Blue_Opossum

Morning of May 13, 2017. Saturday.



I am sometimes walking, sometimes slowly flying, over an overpass in an unknown region. This of course is typical waking symbolism of the same type I have often had since early childhood but this event includes a subliminal attempt at re-induction.

An unknown male is present, but only walking to my right. As I hover near the peak of the overpass, a pickup truck approaches with an unknown male driver. I somehow know that he is in danger. (This is actually pretense, as the “danger” equates to waking from my dream and my temporary current dream self no longer existing, even though I am not actively lucid at any point. There is something about the nature of waking symbolism that the dream self somehow indirectly recognizes, but that is likely because of a thread of subliminal conscious self presence, as it is the conscious self that creates many dream events for the otherwise clueless dream self).

As the truck is close to me, I somehow pull the man out and push the truck over the side of the overpass. It rotates as it falls, lands upside-down, and explodes directly under the overpass (though the explosion is of no threat to us). The man is thankful to me, even though I caused the event, yet stopped the waking prompt by doing this (as technically an explosion often serves as a waking prompt, sometimes caused by a real noise in the environment, but this was out of the range of perceived danger).

In another scene, my attention shifts to the corruption of government. I am in some sort of large office. There are at least nine unfamiliar people, apparently all corrupt government officials. Still, some of them seem cheerful and not really that threatening. They had been sitting around a large rectangular office table discussing documents from a few different files.

An unknown male talks to me from my right as we are standing near one end of the table. A couple other people stand, indulging in conversation between themselves. Soon, an unfamiliar female approaches me. She does not really seem aggressive. She talks about a file and a DVD, and starts to hand them to me. Somehow, her arm automatically jumps up so that the DVD cuts halfway through her neck, killing her. No one seems to notice this event at all. The male continues to cheerfully talk. The “dead” female continues to stand, glowing slightly, then fading to gray, eyes remaining open. There is not a single drop of blood. I am not directly responsible, but this may not had happened had I not been standing there. No one notices. They go about their business.

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Morning of December 29, 2013. Sunday.



Unfortunately, relating to my sister, this dream turned out to be precisely precognitive - in several different ways regarding other aspects as well.

For some reason that has no real-life logic or associations whatsoever, my family and I seem to be driving through the middle of Texas, USA (possibly Austin at one point but towards Abilene) with an unknown male (relative?) Although it seems to be near the center of the state eventually, there is a fictional place where Texas and three other states join perfectly in the middle - which makes such little sense, I wonder why I did not see the erroneous “logic” right away - how can a state have a place in the middle of its large area (miles and miles from any border) where it is the intersection of four states? Ridiculous. At one point, there is a huge dome-like structure of ice that covers seemingly the entire region (but perhaps represents where the fictional state borders connect), but is not that high in the air. Near the center is a five-pointed-star-shaped opening to the sky, it seems. There is another area where a similar structure, or set of structures made of ice are seen. Ice and snow everywhere in Texas (as in the far north), four joining borders in the center of a larger needfully borderless region. Weird and entirely without sense. Oh well.

The other dream is quite moody and serious. It seems my sister is in the state of dying, but also seems like an entirely different person for much of the time in terms of appearance. She is still alive as of this writing, but has had a lot of health-related problems over the years, many related to smoking and being overweight. At one point, she looks like a taller Caucasian woman (possibly English) of about seventy or more, with light hair and a longer and more angular face than my sister ever had. My wife and I are at her home. It seems like the house will be ours at one point (inherited, apparently), which makes no sense, as my sister rented that place and no longer lives there (Loomis Street). I start thinking about planning to move all of our possessions to the USA somehow. At one point, I am wondering what had happened to my brother-in-law. However, there is an even stranger distortion. My sister, in my dream, is seemingly married to my wife’s step father even though he would be much younger (although in real life, this parallels my wife’s “disturbed” mother - who went after him when he was a younger teenager and when she was fairly old and not only did not get arrested, but two of her children are his - the things she has gotten away with in her lifetime are beyond what most people could imagine - although it is possible this dream relates to her present circumstances in some way, but I have not seen her in years, thankfully).

At one point I see him leaning over her as she is on her back on a mattress on the floor near the doorway to the kitchen (almost fully to the northwest corner, but with a bit of space at the implied foot of the mattress). It first seems that she has died and I feel a strange sadness. However, she is only in the stage of wanting/waiting to die. At one point, when I am near them, I tell both of them that they are not who they are supposed to be and that I do not know them - and almost become a bit more semi-lucid than I had been to that point, but not fully aware. I notice that she has strange marks all over her stomach and arms - seemingly stretch marks from rapid weight lost (at first). However, they actually look more like some sort of smaller and large number of reddish bird-beak-shaped scars (sideways bird-beak-like, yet sort of like compressed, symmetrically paired “W” shapes) that are slightly more fleshy or raised in the center, much like a livestock brand in which the skin has since become more loose. The wrinkled wounds seem to mean something else relating to her illness or advanced age but still seem to have something to do with weight-loss or the body “shrinking” somehow.

Curiously enough, they remind me of a dream of way back when I was a younger teenager - “The Butterfly People” - about a group of people - a family - who had butterfly-shaped welts all over their bodies. They lived in caves and seemed somewhat dangerous to other (“normal”) people and possibly somewhat cannibal-like. My dream had nothing to do with butterflies, really.

At a later point, she is sitting up on the end of the mattress closest to the kitchen doorway. I do not see the other male. At this point, she looks a little more like my sister again, but fairly thin. I am concerned but she seems resigned to her circumstances and seems to want no sympathy at all regarding the “wearing out” of her body and health (and actually seems angry at the potential of recovery or living longer). “I am waiting to go to Hell,” she states seriously, and confidently, with an angry tone relating to her body “expiring” and implying that she, as a conscious being, will still continue to exist (possibly forever) in such a place - but obviously does not seem keen on the idea - although it is not quite at all sure what “Hell” would be like (or maybe she is talking symbolically, unsure, but she does seem to think her existence will continue somehow - apparently ALL people go to Hell when they die as a “natural order” of things - still being trapped within the dynamics of their last physical illness - or maybe it is a connection to those commonly deemed “insane” Jack Chick Christian comics I had the misfortune to read years ago, which were weirder and more unrealistic than the horror comics of the day) - assuming she is even referring to one of the various Christian theories (none of which I remotely believe in). This is rather odd, as it is very unlike me to have Christian mythology in dreams in a more “serious” way (usually “devils” and such are associated with the comic book character “Hot Stuff” and little more, although medieval dragons have always been an “enemy”, but now only appear as cartoon-like rough sketches, usually with broken or incomplete lines). This is not a nightmarish scenario, just a bit unsettling and very vivid in terms of environmental focus and detail. However, not much drama happens after this and it actually does seem to carry and odd awareness of an old Jack Chick tract I read on the school bus as a boy - and wondered how human beings could actually believe in such things.

From here, though, I end up in a tulpa-based dream of primarily a happy mood, moving towards bliss and sensual ecstasy, in an unfamiliar area with several other younger people, mostly Japanese. It is a smaller building with an arced roof of an unknown purpose - almost like a very small aircraft hanger. I am aware that a dinosaur, a tyrannosaurus, is just outside and could easily put his head down and through the open end of the hall-like structure (and even quickly eat me), but does not. I am not concerned at all. In fact, I actually contemplate creating a drama by willing the dinosaur to cause trouble or to damage the building (even to chase me around a bit), but that thought does not fully materialize, so to speak. The big dinosaur just walks around outside and causes no trouble. I am not lucid, yet I still seem to have an amazing focus over elaborate thought-control and related detail at this point. I hold a version of my wife close and intimately and we speak of getting married soon as if we only met that week. It seems very harmonious and personal even though there are others standing around in the building. No one else seems concerned about the large dinosaur just outside the large entrance. It almost seems like a “left-over” from someone else’s dream that had not fully unfolded.

Morning of February 14, 1982. Sunday.



This is one of those “riding around in a car while relatives look for something” dreams, more common when I was much younger. I am with my brother-in-law Bob though at another point seem to be with someone else who is driving (possibly brother-in-law Mel and my sister Carol). I am in the back seat on the right side for the most part and my dream wavers between being alert and feeling a bit “off”.

There is a strong focus on finding a “bird cemetery” that takes up exactly one city block, or so it seems. However, over time, I get a very eerie feeling that something is not quite right. Time does not seem to pass normally as if I am living within some sort of looped or repeating situation. It does not come to my awareness at all that there are no bird cemeteries as such, and such an idea does not even seem strange to me in-dream. In fact, I get the impression that most bird cemeteries are probably a little bigger than many human cemeteries. At one point, it seems we pass the same bird cemetery several times (even though we do not make any turns, it seems) but do not stop because, for some reason, it is not the right one (the one we apparently are actually going to stop and visit). I see more and more bird cemeteries that seem similar or are somehow the “same” one and begin to recognize that there are hardly any other landmarks or areas with normal buildings (so that perhaps the “same” one-block bird cemetery is to be seen for three blocks in a row, that is, three instances of it). My uncomfortable awareness that I am stuck in some sort of “loop” remains until I wake as well as some sort of other unnamed but eerie association I cannot quite put words to (though my dream is too emotionless otherwise to be nightmarish).

This dream possibly came from (or was influenced by) the line “the mockingbird still singing o'er her grave”, as I get a vague impression that many of the birds are probably mockingbirds, shrikes, and starlings - this in turn possibly layered with the otherwise unrelated novel title “To Kill a Mockingbird”.

Update (July 2, 2015): I should probably add in this online entry that when I was very young, I very much thought that the line “the mockingbird still singing o'er her grave” was about the ghost of a mockingbird singing over her own grave. This is probably important regarding this particular dream’s distortion, as it was also a song my father sang (and he died on the fourteenth of February in 1979).

Night of March 15, 1974. Friday.



Flashback to real life. He was thirteen. I was thirteen. Walking from the southwest exit of the school I was surprised by his attack upon me, knocking my books from my arm but not touching me directly. “You’re evil,” he said, “How do you know so much about what’s going to happen?" He seemed so angry and I had no clue what he was referring to other than the fact that certain classmates seemed suspicious of me for no particular reason (likely due to my ethnicity and little else, though many thought I was Asian). We were about the same size. He was born in Queens, New York but came to this small isolated town a couple years before. I never knew this. Until 2014. He was a Catholic. Another thing I never knew until now.

I was totally confused by his unexpected behavior. He had rarely even spoken to me before that day and I did not recall ever seeing him angry before or even that annoyed by anything. I was the last classmate he ever spoke to. I did not know until later. The calmer and friendlier I remained, the angrier and more out of control he got but we did not actually fight or make physical contact at all. He remained standing about four feet away at the closest, facing the entrance of the school, seeming nervous and hesitant. He did not move as I picked up my textbooks and notebooks. I did not have a clue. "Get'im, M,” said another classmate walking by on his way to the bus stop at the end of this school day.

I caught myself absentmindedly giggling as one would laugh at a lunatic on a television show…and of course, this made him even more angry, his breathing more and more coarse, almost as if he had been running for a long time. Eventually, he walked off westerly on his own and off the school grounds, never looking back. Two girls, to my right, the only others around, leaning against the outer wall of the school perpendicular to where I was, gave me an amused look, one whispering to the other and the other shaking their head and looking back at me.

This…made…no…sense. At all. How could a thirteen-year-old boy act so angry? And why?

My dream. It was lucid and almost overpowering. Susan R kept “pushing” at me mentally. “Are you thinking about me?" She kept saying. "Don’t think about M. Think only about me. Please." The imagery was somewhat kaleidoscopic. Her head, her essence, almost seemed like it was on a Ferris wheel. "Please. Are you thinking about me? You must only think about me." It went on for about two hours. I felt dizzy and strange for a time and felt like I was replaying "The Chrysalids” in my mind later on, and actually slept on the living room floor near my door that night and for some reason felt as if all my energy was gone. I was not angry or upset. I was just very puzzled. My mother did not wake me. I had slept there a few times before during a bad storm.

Night of March 16, 1974. Saturday.

In my dream, Susan walks up to me with her arms crossed over her chest. There was a knee-high mist everywhere. “M’s gone…” she informs me. She lowers her head and cohesion is lost.

Night of March 19, 1974. Tuesday.

In reality, I did not return to school on Monday, but on Tuesday due to a mild illness. That was when I learned that M had died suddenly on Saturday; no explanation. I learned this when I asked Roosevelt where he was when I noticed he was not at his desk, only asking because of the previous week’s events - otherwise I probably would not have regarded his empty seat. “He died,” he said sadly. Nothing was said of him after…ever. I did see his photo in a frame in the bank where his mother worked.

A thirteen-year-old should not have so much hate and anger and then just die without cause. This event, for many years, made me even more passive in my communication with people. I thought about it way too much and of course, it took over a year to put it farther back in my mind. Although it was not that often, when people seemed angry with me for no reason, I felt relaxed and calm. In fact, in the back of my mind, I decided that if I were to become angry or aggressive, I could just die suddenly. I have grown out of this way of thinking over the years, but I still do not hold anger very long. It is as if I had been conditioned. In fact, I have learned that even when I “sound” angry (including in writing), I am not, as if people cannot “read” me correctly.

In my dream of this night, I was at my middle school in the homeroom classroom. It is seemingly after hours. I am the only one around, it seems. The room is of an eerie semidarkness.

My attention is brought to two shadowy figures under a large table (almost as if they are indulging in a game of hide-and-seek). They are seated on their knees and clasping hands in silhouette - which I believe is imagery borrowed from a version of “The Newlywed Game”. It is very strange. I sense the female on the left is the “mystery girl” yet I also contemplate it is Susan. The one on the right is “me”. I am watching myself - like an older future version (or perhaps “revision”) of “me”. This seems to be some sort of eerie occult ritual even though it is just a silhouette of two people at the beginning of marriage, perhaps.

A disembodied voice comes through the doorway. “It is alright that M died because his family killed horses!" The voice declares this ominously. A suffocating horse writhes and dies in the classroom directly in front of me, its eyes bulging. A disturbing sound emanates from that area of the room.

I wake in terror…and a year later, I was more at ease.

Night of March 16, 1975. Sunday.

M appears in my room. There is a pale glow all around him. He seems happy. He says things are okay now.