Blue_Opossum

Morning of September 16, 2017. Saturday.

Reading time: 3 min 34 sec. Readability score: 75.



My dream atypically begins in liminal space of the type that is usually an end marker, which a parking lot represents. The main characters other than myself are Ray Romano from “Everybody Loves Raymond” though his wife is Jane Wyatt as from the much older television show “Father Knows Best.“ Ray, Jane, their fictional daughter (who seems like a young version of Zsuzsanna, though my dream self does not recognize her as such), and I are in a dark blue pickup truck. I am in the cab, but I later ride in the back with their daughter.

An additional recurring dream state indicator (other than the parking lot) is the pickup truck itself (due to the play on “bed”). The first situation relates to an appointment made by her parents (I assume with no choice in the matter), because of a government agency coming to take their daughter to place her in a group home for specialized foster care. When other men arrive, parking at a distance from the truck, I take out a small cylindrical rod with a button on one end. I push it, and it transforms into a large pistol. I shoot at the car. After my third shot, it explodes dramatically and consumes four or five unoccupied cars near it.

An unknown man on the opposite side of the truck looks on in a puzzled manner. He does not leave the area of his car. He stands behind its open driver’s side door. So as I do not get found with a gun on me, I press a button on the gun’s handle, and it changes back into the small rod.

I ride in the back with their daughter. I tell Ray to drive down a particular road. Curiously, there are automatically operating French doors set up across part of it. (They are not a part of a building.) We go through these doors. I explain to their daughter about her need to grow up in a family environment with her real parents instead of by the government, which often results in cognitive dissonance through half-attained brainwashing. We talk for a long time, though I do not recall every detail. I agree with her that while some parents are not capable of viably raising children, that does not mean the government should have all children under their observation or utilize profiling based on race or cultural background.

I am aware of owning an expansive organization and area of land in which people live as they want as long as there is no crime. We arrive there, and the family makes plans for their living arrangements.

Before the three new people move into their new home, I talk about the confirmation of their state of health. The daughter says I am not a doctor. “Yes, I am,” I confidently reply.

I press a button on my device, and it transforms into an unusual machine. Parts grow out as a result of nanite activity. It resembles an oversized embossing label maker. The girl kneels down, and I look at the top of the device as I hold it directly over her head. It has scanned her entire body for any health issues and reports (by the print that appears on the surface of the top) that there are no concerns. I have Jane kneel as well. The device does not display any potential problems. Ray seems to have a cholesterol issue, but I will address that later.

An unfamiliar young black man is present. He seems to know me well. I ask him how his friends and family are. They are well. I go into a large room that has an ambiguous outdoors area on one side (a commonly recurring dream distortion that is impossible to resolve consciously). There are others in the room. One male is hunting for food. He shoots at a strange figure that runs behind trees and to the left. “Was that the Tasmanian Devil?” I ask cheerfully (though it looked more like a bizarre cartoon rabbit with human legs and wearing track shorts).

I feel a change in my level of consciousness, so I go down a flight of steps to vivify my dream. (This is even though I am not lucid. However, long-term knowledge of reactive representation often carries over into the dream state).

I am in a featureless field (a dream setting that represents an "empty” area of waking space). I decide to fly but not that far above the ground. I fly stomach down and use my arms to gain speed by pushing down against the ground to propel myself forward. I enjoy this more and more. I feel it will make me stronger in the arms while not tiring the rest of my body. I am aware of Leonard S (my pinhead friend from King Street). He is standing near a storefront that comes into view to my left. I am also aware of an older unknown male whom I feel may benefit from flying in the way I am as I consider he may need to strengthen his heart muscles in a less stressful way. (He seems about seventy years old.) I continue to fly this way. When I wake, my right hand is pushing down on the mattress though I am only partly on my stomach by way of my left side.

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