Blue_Opossum

Morning of April 5, 2020. Sunday.

Dream #: 19,466-02. Reading time (optimized): 2 min.



This dream is a typical somatosensory-based summoning dream. My waking-life identity is only partially extant (as I am vaguely aware of Zsuzsanna being nearby) but becomes more emergent with the final event. I remain on the porch of the Loomis Street house. (A porch is the result of precursory liminality defining the transition from dream state awareness to the beginning of the waking process.) Generally, I summon eggs from the palm of my hand (trying to force imaginary somatosensory dynamics to vivify my dreaming experience and its tactile illusions) at the beginning of a dream. In contrast, I sometimes focus on summoning coins near the end of a dreaming experience (or the end of my sleep cycle) as they correlate with cognizance (numbers and counting). Despite this being a lifelong lucid practice, it also occurs with precursory liminality as here.

I vividly feel two eggs come into existence in my cupped right hand, but they soon crack apart, and I see a green yolk (influence from “Green Eggs and Ham”), finding it amusing. I summon more eggs. There is a purple one and another with a blue yolk. I am eventually aware that my brother-in-law Bob is nearby.

At one point, I notice a beautiful bas-relief overhead. It is over a quarter of a sphere. I reach up to touch it. It is the artistic rendering of a puppy (with some other details such as a leafy scroll), and I erroneously associate it with the Rose Street inn. (I use to live above it until 1967 but get it confused with the Loomis Street house in this dream.)

Through a porch window, to the north, I notice the house that was on the corner is not there. Instead, there is a lot of digging (and I see at least one bulldozer) going on near a couple of piles of dirt. I talk about this with others. Also, over the sidewalk, there are two upright doorways (about six feet apart) with no door. (This “portal” feature is a traditional dream state exit point, more common in childhood dreams. The digging would be an association with having emerged from slow-wave sleep, especially as I presently live in a corner house though I do not recall where I live in my dream.)

My sister-in-law Cindy is in the last scene. I summon a miniature balloon poodle that grows to full size. Other balloon animals arise from out of nowhere (growing over time), including an elephant. The last two balloons arise. One is an orange giraffe. The other is a yellow life-size representation of my middle son (yet I vaguely consider it is Bart Simpson at first). He is facing away from me, towards Cindy. I begin to wake as I tell her who he is.

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This dream’s typical compartmentalized false memories are quite ambiguous. (For example, despite not remembering Bob and Cindy had died or what country I live in, I still recall my middle son, though he is nothing like Bart Simpson’s fictitious persona.)

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Morning of April 16, 2018. Monday.



(When water induction subsides and my non-lucid dream self is left wandering in liminal space, subliminally attempting to gather threads of my conscious self identity in the waking transition.)

My dream starts out on a public beach, yet at no point am I aware of the ocean. Apparently, Zsuzsanna and our children as they appear now are present, but I am eventually most aware of our youngest son being nearby.

I come to understand that many children had lost their toys in the long stretch of beach sand. Here and there, I dig and I find mostly Lego; a lot of small bricks and a large one at times. I know that our youngest son will want some of them. There are also other parts found from older Lego kits, including plastic Lego figures. The sensation of digging with my hands is very realistic and vivid.

(When my non-lucid dream self is still wandering about in liminal space and reaches an autosymbolic form relating to neural gating and the subliminal enigma of being between sleeping and waking.)

I eventually reach a small square area on the beach that looks like some sort of ambiguous utility structure. It is somewhat like a small transformer station. Inside, on the ground, though there are a couple very small concrete partial floor sections, there are a few Lego platforms that have simple maze features and look as if they were designed to make a miniature maze by putting the platforms together as well as add separate smaller features over the connected platforms. These other pieces are mostly flat, but with sparse raised patterns (though raised less that a quarter of an inch) that imply part of a simple maze. I consider that our youngest son might enjoy them and I take them to put aside as well. I have a large plastic bag to put all the pieces in.

(When atypical neural gating closes off more of my conscious self identity after being at this structure, the maze implying the potential return to dreamless sleep in this case, as I have not yet begun waking ascension.)

Without paying any attention to the change of setting, I am soon digging in the wooden floor, though which is still somewhat like digging in beach sand, of the hall of the second storey of the King Street boarding house (where I have not lived since 1990), rendered as having a searchable essence as in a number of other recent dreams. At this point, even though my current conscious self identity was mostly extant at the beginning of my dream, I am now slipping back into a reversed timeline, where I do not realize I am in the “wrong” setting - and my current conscious self’s memory is now far less viable. Instead of Lego, which is autosymbolism for gathering and constructing my thoughts and identity, and to remember I have a young son, I lose that focus entirely and am now finding stones of an interesting appearance.

Leonard S comes up to see me, though remains at the opposite end of the hall. He seems cheerful and is going to get some additional stones from downstairs. Meanwhile, the King Street landlady comes up to see what is going on and seems somewhat annoyed. She remains standing at the opposite end of the hall from me as well.

(When my dream again subliminally focuses on the waking goal, and fails to initiate conscious self identity.)

Eventually, I find a large magnetic object near a fictional window on my end of the hall. (In real life, there was not a window in this location, my dream falsely implying the end of that area of the house, but the door to Leonard’s room as well as a smaller hall perpendicularly leading to the right and the left open to a staircase to the downstairs area.) It is not a stone but some sort of unusual ovular (though irregular) magnetic object with at least three large flat magnets arranged around its surface. They are somewhat like oversized refrigerator magnets. Each magnet features a scene from “101 Dalmatians” from 1961. One magnet features dalmatians, including Pongo and Perdita, the others, the human cartoon characters Roger and Anita.

A similar object is nearby. I consider that the objects are meant to be placed together. However, when I touch them together all the flat magnets fall off from each. I start talking about this event to an unfamiliar cheerful male who is now suddenly sitting in the window. I try it again, after placing the magnets back on, but they fall off again. I am trying to understand if this is “right” or not, but the unlikely scene and erroneous magnetism does not trigger lucid awareness.

The personified preconscious atypically takes on the essence of reinduction (as with the personified unconscious but of which is most often female) and sits in a low-set window rather than standing by or within a doorway, its usual habitat. The magnets did not continue to stick when the two objects were joined, being autosymbolic of the failure of the conscious self to fully initiate (the window otherwise implying the potential exit point for this dream).

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To summarize dream specifics: Water (no longer present in this atypical dream sequence) subsiding from liminal space as the very common (since early childhood) tidal analogy of waking autosymbolism. Seeking to gather current waking life identity. Small transformer station as autosymbolism for RAS (Reticular Activating System). My dream self finds curiosity in the maze-like neural gating potential of the dream state and becomes distracted. Trading one liminal space for another (beach to hall). Personification of neural gating at dream’s outcome, which very atypically represents reinduction rather than waking.

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Morning of August 4, 2017. Friday.



I am not of my conscious self, though there are a few threads in which I am aware of a few facets of my identity. I am not sure of my implied age; perhaps it is only about twenty. Mostly, I am only aware of my mother. My mother has recently died. However, I think I can talk with her by initiating some sort of will.

The scene is distorted and my memory is askew. My mother is in the baby cot of our present address, though the baby cot unrealistically accommodates her full height. I do not see it as my present address (even though it is) as I have no discernible memory of my conscious self’s present living location. I speak to her, trying to will her eyes to open, on thought alone. It seems to work at times, but is she really okay with this act, or is she angry at me for “waking” her? Holding her eyes open by my mental will alone eventually seems a bit strange.

I go into a room that might be considered to be my room in Cubitis, last seen in 1978, although I have no memory or viable association with Cubits and the room is different anyway. I realize that keeping my mother’s remains in the box from the Barnabas Collins “Dark Shadows” board game is proving to be problematic. I do not even consider that, realistically, my mother would never have fit in this little pretend coffin of cardboard. By way of a false memory, I know that other people are known to keep the bodies of the deceased around their house. It is not unusual; it is a tradition, and yet, a part of my mother’s remains have leaked from the bottom of the box, like acid from an old battery, reminding me of my Kenner Easy-Show movie projector being ruined by leaking batteries so that I could no longer repeatedly watch the same short Thor and Flintstones cartoons on my Cubitis bedroom’s south wall. (My mother had told me to throw out my movie projector, which had been a combined birthday and Christmas gift from my older sister Carol, and to not touch the leaking batteries that had ruined it.)

The gore may be toxic and I am concerned that I had better not eat or touch my face or mouth until I wash my hands, so that no decaying syrupy gore poisons me. I spend a very long time washing and rinsing my hands under the bathtub faucet. The light is bright and I am actually in our present home, though I am not my conscious self and I have no clue to my real life status. I still have to find a place for the Barnabas Collins cardboard container with the plastic lid, which contains my mother’s remains, even though it is just a little box. I have to bury it somewhere. It is in too poor a condition to keep in the open now.

There is some sort of temporary offset dream, where I find myself living on Barolin Street. Two unfamiliar men seem to think that I have taken their truck. They come in through the back way without even knocking. Apparently, the truck was at the front of my house. I certainly did not steal it. I was not even aware of it. These imposers annoy me. They come back a second time as if I had put it back and taken it again. I certainly had not taken it and tell them so. I do not even know what it looks like.

I have to take care of my mother’s remains in the little Barnabas Collins “Dark Shadows” coffin. Her whole body somehow fits in there, with room to spare. She is on her back in this toy coffin from a board game that I had not seen in real life for many years. I decide to bury it inside a set of concrete steps in the Loomis Street backyard, which is also somehow the Cubitis front yard at the same time. The small set of steps does not go anywhere in particular.

For seemingly a long time, as long as it took me to wash my hands, I dig with my hands in the sand. I feel the sand flowing through my fingers. I do not question how a step in a set of concrete steps could be or become sand, but this is where I will bury the toy coffin.

I dig and dig with my hands, and the oblong hole keeps filling back up, not being quite deep enough for burial. Still, I persist with confidence.

The concrete steps have somehow separated, and have transformed into, or have always been, small cardboard boxes of mostly paperback Gothic novels. The area of the ground I had been digging in looks untouched, and it is now normal soil. Will this work out?

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Morning of April 13, 2016. Wednesday.

Dream #: 18,013-03. Reading time (optimized): 2 min 15 sec.



As in real life, there is machinery and noise at the corner where they are removing a big tree stump. However, at one point in my dream, it seems to be occurring earlier, before sunrise. I go into the front (computer) room as well as onto our front porch. Somehow, the machinery is causing vibrations that alter everything in the neighborhood by causing dirt to vanish from deep in the ground throughout the location, causing the topsoil to collapse, of which I get a strong impression, which creates an unusual but vivid physical awareness of the whole setting and its changes.

Our home shakes and vibrates. I am vividly aware of large sections of dirt falling from the underside of our house. I think this may eventually interfere with the plumbing or electrical system. It does not occur to me that this is an invalid concept as there is no dirt on the underside of our house (as it is on stumps with the ground over two feet below it).

My concern about our house changes in an offset dream of about the same clarity. I decide that, since they are removing a stump from a public area, I should remove the buried stump from our backyard near the fictitious southwest space and west fence. My dream’s setting of our whole yard (though most everything else in our neighborhood, including our house, stays of the same orientation otherwise) looks nothing like our yard other than if the external layout is mirrored from north to south and from that, flipped east to west, yet with the real-life stump otherwise near the southeast corner (though not of the same appearance as the tree stump in my dream) rotated ninety degrees west.

It does not take much effort at all to dig a little bit and pull out the large tree stump solely with my bare hands, interestingly enough, though this impossibility does not dawn on me at all. I carry it around to our front yard and also see that I have found a sign buried near the stump. I bring it out to the council workers who are mostly sitting on the curb or working across the street. One man, while sitting on our curb, looks at the sign (which is about two by three feet but very light wood) and seems puzzled.

“I did this one,” he says, referring to the white sign which has his signature under a filled-in work number from several years ago. It turns out to be a warning to not touch the buried stump (despite the sign being underground as well) due to it being highly toxic. (I do not question why the city council would bury a toxic tree stump from elsewhere, such as a park, in someone’s yard.) This exchange causes me to feel foolish in having removed the stump but also to question why they are removing tree stumps from public places while burying poisoned ones in people’s yards.

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Update (July 2020): My dream was partly telepathic, but ironically, the information I was picking up from someone turned out to be incorrect. After this dream, a taxi driver told me the city council would be removing all the trees on our street (which has not happened). He oddly assumed that the new posts around the trees were for poisoning them when they were mostly to hold reflectors.

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Morning of May 19, 2015. Tuesday.



Scenes in dreams like the following, related to digging through something like a couch, the floor, or a mattress, have not been that uncommon throughout my life since childhood but are usually fairly different in detail. Also, finding stuff in our house that had been left behind by any previous tenants or landlord (not necessarily requiring any digging in every case) is also recurring - though again, with different details, including previously “hidden” rooms or furniture we somehow had not noticed before. In addition to the fair amount of time spent in-dream looking for and finding things, there is often a mild sense of disappointment as well as having wasted time in some cases upon waking; a mood I usually do not acquire from a dream. In fact, as a child, when I did not know any better, I had a habit of holding onto the last item I found steadfastly in a futile attempt to wake up with it and have it in reality, though obviously, that never worked. I sometimes woke gripping my pillow or the sheet; other times just making a fist.

This dream has the recurring “couch filled with dirt” situation. My wife and I are in our present home on W Street and at one point I develop a vague curiosity about what may have been left behind by any previous tenants. It does not make all that much sense due to the fact that the couch, of the type that becomes a bed by the back dropping down (rather than the type we have in reality that folds out into a larger bed from under the seat) - and of the kind I had in Florida as a teenager for a time - is apparently our furniture in my dream (and thus moved here from a previous house regarding any in-dream back story, rendering my dream’s situation invalid). I start by ripping back the material near one end and digging through the dark dirt filling. At some points, I am able to go around the edges near the floor and find more items. Apparently, unlike in reality, there are no cushions; just “dirt bedding” within that goes all the way down to the floor.

What I find is typical of my in-dream “treasure hunts”. I find a few old random paperback novels; some science-fiction, some romance, and even a western or two (all unfamiliar). I find a couple board games that likely have missing tokens. There are some old magazines, larger documents that look like order blanks from A4-sized catalogs, but not any comic books that I can see. Being buried in rich soil for however long has not ruined anything, it seems. I eventually notice what may be some of our own paperback books (and some other items) close to the wall but behind the couch and stacked loosely on the floor, but am not exactly sure where our books end and the previously hidden items begin at one point since the dirt had become looser and some items came out from the back of the couch.

At one point, I find a longer mostly yellow commercial cardboard container (about one and a half feet by four inches high by eight inches wide) that apparently contains something related to sexuality or the enhancement thereof, though there are no graphic images on the box, just a few printed images of smooth paintings of the backs of a pair of female hands. For a short time, I think that I would probably not want something that belonged to someone else in this case, though the box turns out to be empty other than having two smaller additional featureless gray empty cardboard boxes inside. I am not sure what was in it - possibly only perfume containers or massage oils of some sort.

Eventually, after sorting out mostly the paperbacks into stacks, I also find a number of children’s cardboard frame tray puzzles farther down but do not see the pieces at first (just the shallow cardboard trays). I do eventually find most of the pieces in another area when almost all of the dirt has been moved and I am down to the surface of the wooden floor. One puzzle seems to just utilize a large piece with a drawing of a person’s head that fits in the frame tray (which has minor details of the shoulders and neck, etc.), though others are more complex and “realistic” in nature and including pieces shaped like stars, apples, houses, etc. I notice that some of the pieces have been ruined by someone’s attempt to pull the different layers apart (as younger children sometimes tend to do), some with thin parts of the layers or strips still attached and a couple missing the imagery ply. I decide to keep them to sort out later (for our children) to see which ones are still complete and undamaged.

After a long exploration and setting aside newly found items, I am somewhat frustrated over having reached the wooden floor via the couch, wondering if I should keep going with my quest, though which would require pulling up the planks to get to anything underneath them (which does not make any sense as in reality our house is up on posts and you can actually see through the floorboards to the ground below). I am also puzzled over what had happened to all the dirt since the couch seems somewhat “hollow” at this point (at least on one end) and I do not see any piles of dirt nearby. I do start to smooth over what dirt is left at the other end in the attempt to make the couch “solid” and evenly surfaced as it was, so that it is properly comfortable again. (This is somewhat illogical as the upholstery I had ripped and damaged in my quest would still need to be repaired.)

Finally, I seem to be able to look down under the house and beyond (towards the back of our house) and under a different room; some sort of odd viewpoint that would not be possible in reality (though which may otherwise imply some sort of open space between the lower part of the wall in the next room and the floor, similar to the setup way back on Rose Street as a young child). I see that there are a very large number of small wooden containers under the house in a (fictional) enclosed storage area, each filled with a very large number of vertically arranged seed packets, which I am aware are likely mostly edible plants including carrots, celery, lettuce, strawberry plants, and so on. I start to consider planting them everywhere and anywhere, as there are so many, we are bound to get something edible over time, and for a long time, as there seem to be thousands of packets. I wake up feeling slightly annoyed at having wasted time finding everything.

Morning of December 17, 2014. Wednesday.



This was a longer dream, but not much happens other than the typical aspects of this recurring dream type (imposing strangers).

In this case, we are living in a fictionally-rendered version of the area my sister’s house would have been on Loomis Street. It is a bit like our present house, but rotated and in a different part of the block (to “take the place” of the real house there). I am not sure what country is implied regardless of it being mostly like Loomis Street in overall layout. Instead of having a next-door neighbor to the (implied) north (as would have been the case in reality), the closest house is of the next lot down. However, we may also be responsible for the land in the additional lot next to us, which is mostly empty. Oddly, there is no fence in that direction (which of course is very unrealistic to people with experience as parents). As with another recent dream, the opposite direction to where the main in-dream focus is is not defined at all.

The other house seems to be some sort of halfway house for both homeless juveniles (who had committed crimes) and mentally-challenged orphans. There are a few points in my dream where they just seem to be standing around staring at our house (from various areas on the front stairs as well as from a couple different windows) when I happen to look up a few different times - as I had been working in the yard.

A friendly mentally-challenged young male (who reminds me of a younger version of the pinhead I knew from King Street) actually comes into our yard and mows the lawn in back. However, after a time, he also starts digging in the center of the yard for no apparent reason. This is a bit annoying but I do not say anything or show any anger at any point in my dream.

Morning of April 21, 2013. Sunday.



It seems my non-lucid dreams recently are in a trend where they play out like a “cry wolf” scenario. My volcano dream reported last is a good example (which utilized transformations of one feature into another) and there was even an additional humorous implied “cry wolf” plot twist where the actual (potentially dangerous) mudslide could have been the rock tumbler breaking, but no one responded (although there was no negativity or fear).

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In this new dream, I am with friends from different time periods, including school days (possibly because I now interact with them somewhat in a limited way on Facebook).

We are climbing a fairly steep hill, but I do not have any difficulty in doing so. However, I do have concern about how high I am relative to stable standing areas (wondering about the nature of their solidity and possible eroded areas). I also feel that I am getting into better shape (and losing a bit of weight to increase my life span) by doing this.

As we climb fairly high (with no equipment) near a lesser-used park area, I notice a human hand and partial arm sticking out from the ground near some tree roots about ten feet above us, on the diagonal slant to the north. Even though it has probably been there at least several years, it is neither bony nor decayed in any way.

I rapidly descend the steep hill with little effort and go off to a park station to call out about “human remains” (in almost the same way I waved and shouted “volcano”, followed later by “mudslide”, in one of my last dreams). They had not been found for some time, I guess, because that is an area that is not used as much by the public.

When I get back (via easier access from another area to the east, where there is a steep road that can be reached by jeep), my friends had uncovered the rest of the “human remains”, which turn out to be a mannequin in fairly new condition. (However, in my dream, the park ranger refers to it as a “doll-man” instead of a mannequin.)

Taking a closer look at this one again, and the elevated hillside setting (meaning closer to conscious self identity), the “human remains” which turned out to be a mannequin could be a distorted subliminal conscious awareness of my real physical body (as dolls and mannequins typically represent the inactive conscious self in real time).

The usual precognitive element was to a lesser degree in this dream. I had today noted that my oldest daughter’s newer report included the artist John Dollman (late 1800s), and there was also a doll in the reviewed painting. It was about the unknown dangers and concerns of immigration and travel.

Morning of December 25, 2009. Friday.



I am in the backyard of our present address. Although there is not that much of a focus on this morning being Christmas (especially as my dream self is only rarely aware of what year it is, let alone the date), I see Christmas ornaments protruding about a quarter up from where there is only dirt in the far backyard. Most of them are spherical and of one color, though I find more detailed ones when I dig more. I consider that it is an unusual place to store ornaments as such, as they will require cleaning each year.

Eventually, I also start to discover and uncover a few gold and silver coins as I dig (though remaining uncertain of the value or country of origin), some of which have a few holes in them, as if eroded. At this point, there is ambiguity. It now seems I am digging in dirt beneath the floorboards of our lounge room (though this occurs ambiguously, while I still perceive myself as being outside). (In reality however, this would not be possible, as our house is suspended above the ground on stumps.)

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Morning of August 23, 1987. Sunday.



I am with Leonard S on a fishing trip at Pettibone Park, across the bridge from where we live on the south-side of La Crosse and where we often fish in real life. I believe it is late morning. There is an idea that the authorities might soon be here to “investigate” our fishing methods even though we are not doing anything wrong. After a short time, a helicopter appears in the sky overhead. Soon, it seems to have some difficulty staying up. It ends up moving down onto the ground at an angle, close to the riverbank, so that the rotor blades hit the ground and then seem to become like some sort of digging machine as dirt flies up - and the helicopter goes farther into the ground almost like it was designed to (and the rotor blades do not break, they just keep turning and digging, pulling the helicopter deeper into the ground).

From here, for some reason, my dream then only focuses on Leonard’s profile which takes on a rather odd insect-like appearance and his eyes seem to project visible dashes (a series of short “lines”) in the air, moving out horizontally from them in an old-fashioned-comic-strip-like indication of where he is looking (as if he is extremely puzzled by the helicopter’s “slow-motion” accident unfolding before him). He is still supposedly completely human. My dream becomes vague and partly abstract at this point.

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Leonard in this case stands for my dream self and temporary waking self hybrid (present in many dream types but not all). He is very puzzled over why the waking mechanism failed as a result of the association with sleeping longer (including anticipation of the return to slow-wave sleep), the short lines that project from his eyes create a virtual highway (or an implied linear pathway), a highway (or in fact any implied pathway) being a conduit for either deeper induction or the waking transition.

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