Blue_Opossum

Morning of December 12, 2017. Tuesday.



In this dream, there is the transition to water reinduction (water as symbolizing sleep), though my conscious self identity is virtually nonexistent. Even being in the Loomis Street house’s backyard, there is not even the association with my relatives who lived there for years. While in the backyard near the alley (where I have not been in real life since February 1994), there are a number of unfamiliar characters. There is something about going somewhere, another country perhaps, and we start our journey.

The Loomis and Gillette Street area transform into some sort of distorted wharf, which I believe is meant to be with the ocean on the left (even though Wisconsin is nowhere near the ocean in reality). All of the people we meet are dark-skinned and may be Sri Lankan (which I seem to recall being said as such in my dream). They are all males in their twenties, supposedly refugees. It is illegal for us to be there or walk over the wharf to wherever it is we are going. That will apparently not stop us though and our group walks over the long wharf. Still, the other males are very friendly even though they seem slightly confused that we are not like them. I start talking to them in Spanish, “Cuando salga el sol me despertaré”. (“When the sun rises I will wake” - note that I am not viably aware I am dreaming.) I repeat “cuando” several times, as a question. They only shrug and smile.

There is an area where a doorway is too narrow to go through. I do something to where we continue from near the right of it, though it does not make any sense. It seems as if I somehow moved the doorway itself by “sliding” it with my hand.

From here, I am riding in a van, on the front passenger side, on the right (implying America). The driver of this van is riding a motorcycle a car length ahead of the van (which makes no sense at all, but this is how it is experienced).

The port authorities are now following us. Because we had gone through the restricted area that held refugees, we are to be captured and shot, no matter where we decide to go or live. The man on the motorcycle is shot once and splits into several pieces, rolling over the road, the van I am in continuing to apparently drive itself. I do not feel very emotional.

After traveling a long distance, miles away from the Loomis Street house’s backyard, I find myself back on Loomis Street, in the Loomis Street house’s kitchen (likely due to mild hunger in sleep). Of course, this makes no sense either.

I am presumably the last one of my group left. I now have a very vague emergent awareness of relatives having lived on Loomis Street years ago, though no current conscious self identity. An unknown male comes into the kitchen from the south room to shoot me. I decide that this is RAS mediation (even though I am not lucid) and that he is the preconscious factor and thus I shoot him first and then soon wake. I will not tolerate being victimized in my own dream, even when there is no viable thread of current conscious self identity.

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Morning of September 11, 2017. Monday.



I am walking with two unknown males, a situation of which continued from a very long previous dream sequence. I think about robbing a place, but the details are not clear yet. I eventually realize that I am carrying a Glock pistol. Soon, I “realize” that I am a black female of perhaps about twenty-five years old.

It seems late at night. I go into a small trailer park in an open field where a dense forest is to my left. An unknown black female, but of whom is apparently known to the character I presently am, complains about me being there to rob her again (though I do not recall any backstory for this). Other than that, she does not seem alarmed by my gun. She opens a couple drawers in a large chest of drawers in her trailer. There is a bundle of one-hundred-dollar bills in an even stack, partly wrapped in cellophane. There is also a roll of fifty-dollar bills held together with a rubber band. There are also numerous rolls of coins. I tell her to keep some of the money, including the roll of fifties, but she insists that I take all of it. I put everything in two bags. There are several other items besides the American money, including bottles of perfume and shampoo and small items of clothing. I leave the trailer park, walking briskly east. I see a couple others outside of their trailers on my right, one an older black male of about sixty.

Somehow, it is suddenly daylight now, possibly early afternoon. I am with two unknown Caucasian males (though one reminds me vaguely of Don K from the early 1980s). I am seemingly now a male character, though not fully myself and perhaps about twenty years old. We seem to be going west on Sill Street, having gone past Wood Street and possibly Kane Street. I decide to toss my gun on the ground near the intersection near the trunk of a tree so I am not armed if caught (thinking I would be in less trouble). Still, I consider that may not be a good idea as a child might find it. The others and I continue, but eventually turn right to go north. I continue to carry my two bags.

We seem happy until one of the males looks back and sees another male who apparently knows us. It may be that he will cause trouble or at least be annoying if he sees us and catches up with us. The male who recognizes this other male tells us all to go our separate ways. “I have to try to wake him up,” he says in an authoritative tone. He goes across the front lawns of a few houses on the right side of the street and I am still following him, unsure of the situation. He yells with frustration and waves me off, indicating to me not to follow him. The male who had been behind us is apparently sleepwalking. He has long black hair and a long black beard and has on blue jeans but no shoes, socks, or shirt. He starts cheerfully talking to the male that seems to know who he is. “I can’t understand anything you’re saying,” the sleepwalking male is told, “You’re speaking gibberish”.

I continue to go north a short distance, but then turn around to go through a very narrow residential alley back southward. I am slightly concerned that I might annoy people by going through or close to their backyards but I do not see anyone. At the end of the alley are two closed chain-link gates about chest-high, side by side. Each of the two gates is for a different house, which makes no sense, as the alley goes past all houses on the block and the gates are adjacent to the public sidewalk. Before I get to them, I have to climb quickly up over a couple large full garbage bags and some other objects. At first, I think the gates might be locked, but I am able to open them by turning a horizontal L-shaped bolt lock. The detail is very vivid and realistic in appearance (but unlike any setting I had ever seen in real life). The sense of physical momentum and touch is vivid as well.

A few police officers approach me and look in my bags and ask me where I am going. I see that there are a lot of rolls of coins in them. I insist that everything is mine, but they seem condescending. While pretending that I am totally innocent, I am eventually able to get away. One policewoman seems to think I am okay and seems to see me as being victimized by the other officers. However, a chubby male officer seems determined that I will be caught again and found to have robbed someone, or possibly a bank.

I somehow end up going through the second floor of a business building. There are a few times when I fly after getting outside again, but I end up walking again, as my two bags are heavy. I somehow end up back near Sill and Kane and recall how I had deliberately thrown my gun there (at the northeast corner) but I do not see it. It is daylight at this time.

I am now briskly walking south through the north side of La Crosse (except that it looks more like the south side) and it seems to be night once again. I somehow have my gun again without contemplating that I had gotten rid of it. I am the black female character again. I make sure my gun is holstered in the front of my pants and unseen. I am thinking of finding the Loomis Street house to hide out even though that does not make sense as I am supposedly someone else. I vaguely recall that my sister had died but that my brother-in-law may be there (though they had actually moved prior to my sister’s death, though I was living in Australia by that time). I continue to carry the two cloth bags of money and other items, one in each hand. I notice that about eight people are running towards me, though not directly towards me. I think they may have attempted to rob a closed business but none of them are carrying anything. Police cars go by but they curiously do not stop. (The scene of these looters, including their appearance, was very similar to something I did not know about until after this dream and seeing it on the news, so I am considering this part as prescient.)

I cross the street (which may be a distorted version of Loomis Street, though too commercial) to my right and turn right down a very narrow alley with tall commercial buildings on each side. The alley is not wide enough for a car to follow me through and is at least two city blocks long. However, nearing the opening ahead, I see a puff of smoke going past the edge of a building on the left side of the end of the alley at about head level. It is the chubby policeman, who is smoking a cigarette, who had vowed to catch me. I knock him in the head with my heavy bags and knock him over. The police woman, who seems to be on my side, is possibly going to help me escape now.

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The preconscious modelling itself artificially, or mimicking itself, in needing to wake another dream character (instead of me) is about as surreal and unusual as it gets (even stranger than a false awakening where I am writing down or telling someone about my previous dream). The threads of my dream self identity changing a few times (without any focus on that dynamic) is rather odd as well.

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Morning of June 20, 2014. Friday.



In the first part of my dream it seems as if I am in a region where there are several isolated temples. The people who look after these temples and surrounding area (who are possibly the ones who built them) are of a fictional race and culture (though somehow related to Bangladesh) and mostly do not mind our presence in the area. A few other people are there including my wife and children as well as classmates from many years ago, including Steve J and Steve W. There is some sort of upcoming threat, seemingly an expected nuclear attack, and so we have to evacuate the area (to a city to the west).

A bus comes and when we are almost ready to go to the bus, I have an odd in-dream “premonition” that we need to either stay where we are or even all go in the opposite direction than the direction the government claims we will be safer, thus I send my wife and children in the other direction - because now I somehow “know” that the attack is more likely to occur where we are going. Even though almost everyone is getting on the bus to evacuate, I refuse to go. I am chased by a couple people, including Steve J and Steve W as they want to force me onto the bus (for my own good, supposedly) but I manage to escape through a combination of running, leaping, and flying. Eventually, the bus leaves. At one point, a large dog attacks me and I feel its teeth in my hand but then I am able to swing my arm around and lose the dog over a hedge. I end up going to the city anyway after this.

After a short time of a few events and conversations about the supposed war and terrorist threats, some sort of unusual nuclear explosions occur. It is almost like a series of several smaller bombs going off in the sky (all at the same time, almost like fireworks) in an odd matrix-like pattern a little farther to the west, yet it is still seemingly the result of a nuclear missile. I turn away to feel a forceful energy sweep over me and most people are killed by it. However, I and a few others start running as fast as we can away from the shockwave, down the main street and over bridges. The area reminds me of Gillette Street in La Crosse in the eastern area where there are not many man-made features; mostly sparse trees, tall grasses, and wild shrubs.

Eventually, I end up in the area where my wife and children had gone. There is an unusual large building which seems to be part of a resort covering a large area and a very large lake and small island in the direction opposite to where the earlier nuclear event had occurred. There is a point at which I decide to go outside again from one larger room. I try to go down a staircase but the second open area past the doorway to the staircase is too small for me to fully fit in and turn around in the cramped stairwell to go to another floor and then outside (recurring) so I pull myself out with a little difficulty and go out through another area, which leads me to the lake’s shore. I still sense danger, so my wife and I and an unknown girl (and I think a couple others) fly into the air and then fly, with great joy and happy harmonious interactions, easterly to the small isolated island in the center of the lake, which is covered mostly with ice and snow. It is exhilarating and very enjoyable and the most vivid part of my dream.

Later, we seem to be in a different town (smaller than the city where the bomb was dropped). There are more random conversations and uneventful scenes, but then the side of a large apartment building begins to collapse. It turns out that terrorists, for quite some time, had somehow managed to build missile silos in a number of different buildings inside a secret area just inside the outside wall. This seems hard to believe, but everyone is running around now in chaos as the threatening events unfold. I watch the extraordinarily clear detail of the outer brick wall collapsing (but almost as if in slow motion), the revealing of one missile as it is taking off - and I also notice large business buildings farther away partially collapsing with missiles lifting off from hidden areas inside the walls. There are at least six or seven missiles that are now airborne. Oddly, instead of going a fair distance, they actually start exploding fairly close to where we are.

Again, I feel the sweep of the destructive nuclear energy from the explosions, as I and only a few others survive. I am not sure where my wife and children are at this time, though I assume they escaped quickly as before. I eventually sit down in a park-like area on a bench facing west, after running west again and seem to be the only immediate survivor after a time - several bodies lying about, some still on fire - and yet I feel quite healthy and well. The city I ran from was completely destroyed. I look on the bottom of my left foot and notice two numbers that seem to be some sort of organic “computer display” but possibly using some sort of semi-organic or inorganic implant to show the values. One number is twenty-seven and on its right, the number one - both in “portrait” orientation - that is, upright across the narrow area in the middle of my foot. This is some sort of “built-in” display showing my health and vitality (or life energy) or how many minutes (27) I have left to live, perhaps. (J. Boehme supposedly called this number “the death”, though there are other myths about it.). Because my life energy is only at one, it likely will not take much more to destroy me, although I am confident that this could not happen even if it read zero later.

However, there is a transparent plastic bag of blueberry muffins to my left and I then realize I had not eaten for some time, and so, as I start eating, the numbers on the bottom of my foot increase more and more, just as with a character in a video game (of which I have never been much of a fan of even when young).

Morning of June 27, 2013. Thursday.



In my dream, from my orientation and viewpoint, I seemingly remain a normal human being despite what my role is.

I start out being in some sort of makeshift prison or refugee camp. There seem to be only men. The rooms are dirty as if the building had been abandoned long ago, at least for its original purpose, yet used for many years after as it is now seemingly not maintained.

Two men bring a third angry-looking man up to me, a man holding each of the held man’s arms, one on each side of him and with both their hands. I do not like the situation. It is understood that even though I am not a part of the group (as most of them seem either Irish or English), my job is to get them all to safety in another country somehow. Still, that does not explain why this man is angry. Perhaps he does not want to escape with the others, or maybe he is a spy.

There are some odd perceptual changes and scene shifts when I become more annoyed by my location, which seems to be a composite of a very dirty large open bathroom and gymnasium. There is something known about everyone getting out and all going to an area where it will be easier to get to the UK, which is where everyone is escaping to. I am unsure if the UK is their original home, or a place where they will all claim asylum. I am also unsure of what country or city we are in. At times, it seems that I am already in the UK relative to names of areas and later hearing members of the public who speak with a British accent.

The actor Bruce Willis is in the refugee camp, appearing unkempt and desperate. He is not a main character; just a homeless person I see only in the background a couple times.

I seem to be walking on my own later, yet somehow I am “carrying” all the other people from the refugee or prison camp. Not only am I supposedly a large ship, I am a large ship on land, moving fairly fast, yet still fully human of my normal size from my viewpoint, just running along, on my way to freedom, helping many others to get to safety. I stop at the edge of a steep bank of a larger river near a forest. An unfamiliar man and woman of about thirty or more, who appear to be English, point out where I should go (to my right) because that is the general direction of where the “Brit Rivers” are that will eventually lead “us” to freedom, apparently across the ocean, yet the name somehow also seems like a resort or hotel where they had stayed in the past.

From my orientation, it seems I may actually be in Nova Scotia (Canada) and moving north, possibly in Sydney (not in Australia, but the Nova Scotia Sydney - some sort of confusion with the other Sydney, perhaps). It eventually seemingly turns out this refugee or prison camp was in Sydney, Nova Scotia (or somewhere just to the south) for some unknown reason (a vague backstory of England and Nova Scotia at war or dealing with too many refugees), and the plan is to get to the ocean north of Sydney and then swim east from there or, as a ship, to get to the UK. I am a walking human “boat” that is somehow “full of people”, yet again, still normal and human-sized and seemingly on my own.

The most vivid part of my dream starts, with a few dangerous thrills, though I feel wonderful. I jump into the river, vividly feeling the cold water and motions and current - but the current takes me westerly and in the wrong direction - and at times, I barely keep above the surface. Eventually though, I end up going in the right direction. I vividly feel myself moving through the water, again, just barely above the surface at some points, though I am not actually struggling because, after all, I am apparently a boat and just being tossed around like a boat on the rough waves. There is one point when I move swiftly through tunnels a lot like the scene from “The Goonies” (from 1985), which is really thrilling but also a bit worrisome (somewhat claustrophobic and without certainty if it will come to a dead end with no way to get back - a sparsely recurring dream concept). I am then back moving through the ocean on my way to carrying all the escaped prisoners to either their old home or a new one.

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Morning of June 18, 2013. Tuesday.



This was my long dream of walking and sometimes running over a seemingly long distance while being apparently pursued by someone we never see though possibly more like a remotely controlled mobile weapon, though not directly being chased. (I get the impression at times that the weapon or person remains mostly in one place in the distance.) There is a part near the beginning where a friend and I duck down just in time to have a small missile barely miss us. I can feel the wind and the movement as it hits and explodes dramatically a short distance from us. It is so close, there is a feeling that it may have even brushed across my back as I was kneeling down, as there is a sensation of weight having pushed upon me, but there is no pain or injury.

I soon discover that I have some sort of device that is somewhat like a flashlight in design. It shines a bright even light at a fair distance and somehow causes whatever weapon is targeting me to target and fire elsewhere. A lot of the action, near the end, takes place at a maze of boathouses, or a lot of boathouses in a large unlikely cluster of some kind. I think that my flashlight-like device scrambles the weapon’s targeting system by somehow making it seem that I am on the opposite end of the beam from where I am holding the device. I perform the routine many times as we move on to various areas. I am not sure who our enemy is. The weapon mostly fires smaller missiles seemingly from a longer distance. I am not even sure if a person is operating it. It is possibly some sort of programmed and automatic setup, but I am also not sure at this point what it was targeting in the first place. Our body heat maybe? But how would it tell us from others? Some sort of unique detailed thermal signature perhaps, or even DNA.

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This is similar in theme to a number of other dreams (since childhood) where it seems as if my dream self is trying to avoid the sunbeams of the light of day (though consequently, whole consciousness as well). In this case it is as if the light of my dawning awareness is trying to escape the real light of day.