Blue_Opossum

Morning of October 25, 2015. Sunday.



I am looking down into the throat of an extinct volcano. This will be fun to jump into in my lucid awareness. I cannot see that far down, but do not expect to be harmed in any way. (It is fairly common for me to deliberately jump from a higher place to then soar about in my dreams. It is often very exhilarating, especially when there is such realistic momentum.)

I jump, falling stomach down, arms out, though now see a giant spiderweb across the whole cylindrical area below. My dream goes into an odd state where I am somehow vaguely aware of my real physical body. I am not interested in any giant spider shenanigans.

After a short time, the giant spiderweb I land on, on my stomach, turns out to be a thin sheet of glass that is somehow stopping my fall. It is full of spider-web-like cracks. There is a jagged hole where my legs are dangling down just a bit. I then consider that it may actually be ice, not glass. Eventually, I get a subtle impression that it is cellophane, but that would seem unlikely regarding the fact I remain suspended on whatever I am on for a time.

The scene shifts to where I am crawling through a horizontal cylindrical tunnel that is getting smaller and smaller. Some sort of “living rock salt” feature (as perhaps of an actual surreal “throat” of a larger creature) around the whole tunnel may digest me at one point. Obviously I do not want this. I emerge near the top of a high hill but am “stuck” inside the outer area of the tunnel to just below my chest. Perhaps I will just remain here staring out over a small isolated town for however many years or centuries. I do not feel in danger, just mildly annoyed that I cannot move. I will not call for help; just wait until I am fully “back” in my real body. I rest my chin in my hand, trying to hold back my aggravation and very minor embarrassment (though no other person had been around at any point).

Morning of July 16, 2015. Thursday.



There is a residual sound, somewhat like an echo; a layered but pure vocalization that is somewhat nostalgic and defining; a single note that resounds from nowhere in particular, a group of young females vocalizing once, somewhat like the first vocalized note of David Essex’s “For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her” but with a younger chorus. It “hangs” in the air like a simple single statement on life and time, like a little cloud. It is the moment of my consciousness coming into existence for the first time.

Grandfather Clock on the “Captain Kangaroo” set is tipped over and destroyed by a dog-sized griffin of primarily orange coloring. A clock cannot bleed (even a minimally anthropomorphic clock), but the glass flies into my arms and elbows in the semi-dark “Captain Kangaroo” set; the Treasure House. I pull the glass out nonchalantly perhaps reverting back to age two when wounded near-fatally with large pieces of glass cutting into my left wrist. I do not care that much; I am lucid, though I just watch the mayhem with a slight twitching of my sleep paralyzed legs followed by a wave of bliss, like a “splash” that grows more pleasurable and quickly rises from my toes to my stomach. It is macabre but somehow amusing in its surreality.

The griffin scratches and pecks at what remains of larger glass and wood pieces in Grandfather Clock’s “chest”.

“That’s enough,” I say rather loudly to the griffin, getting tired of pulling glass and wood slivers out of my arms (especially elbows) and face. Puzzled by my apparent audacity, the griffin turns its head towards me and transforms into a Doberman Pinscher, becoming a bit thinner, running away with its tail between its legs, and shrinking and becoming a mouse, leaving the Captain’s Treasure House.

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What does it mean to dream of a griffin? At the core level, a griffin is a flight symbol. A flight symbol is rendered in a dream in subliminal anticipation of the hypnopompic waking start. Additionally, a griffin is a mix of unrelated animals, which is likely to be a unique precursor factor of the coalescence of the preconscious and emergent consciousness.

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Some of my other dreams that feature griffins (links): (1) Making a Griffin?, (2) R Brand, (3) Malfunctioning Griffin Game, (4) The Temple and the Tomb

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Flashback to reality: Conversations I do not want with the endlessly annoying locals who use terms they do not know the meaning of and saying little that makes any sense. I push an empty baby stroller to the NightOwl Convenience Store as I always do when needing a couple things heavy enough to warrant aid. The unfamiliar cashier looks worried as I come in, unpredictably shouting “where’s your child?” and then seemingly assumes that I left them home on their own, something that other people apparently do from time to time (though I have no idea why an adult would leave a young child on their own). I guess the concept of “with my wife” is not a realistic scenario in the “minds” of the characters of this region.

As I begin to explain (even though there is no reason to have to explain yourself to a random member of the public) how my daughter is home with my wife, another female interrupts by commenting to the cashier, “he sold his child on the black market…I saw it on eBay”. Even though I am a stranger, she is pointlessly joking (albeit in extremely poor taste) as they continue to make other references that make no sense to me. When one addresses me briefly as I am getting the items I need, I simply look back and nonchalantly say “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

As I leave the store, one of the females tells me to make sure I wrap my child up when I take them out on a cold night so that they do not get windburned. I am not sure if she is joking or serious, though I am so nonplussed by her untimely misuse of the word and previous bizarre commentary (especially in walking on a completely windless warm night without a child in the stroller) that I just look at her for a very short time and utter "no idea” and I go on my way.

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Morning of March 31, 2015. Tuesday.



This was the last dream of about nine of this date but the longest and most meandering one. I am back in time, probably 1984, and in my twenties. However, the setting is somewhat like a composite with at least some features being my room in Cubitis (where I lived from 1968 to 1978). Other features (mostly the front) resemble the house on Loomis Street (Wisconsin) as well as Barolin Street (in Australia). At one point, I look out from the porch and see that it is nighttime. However, I hear some sort of lawn mower or hedge trimmer to my left at a neighbor’s house though I cannot see them anywhere (they are probably at the side of their house). I make some sort of odd comment (to a young male I am not sure of the identity of) about the area looking so clean that it looks like it was vacuumed. My comment is not really valid, though, as there seems to be large loose stalks of dark yellowish dried-up grass everywhere, in front of my residence as well as the houses to the left and to the right. Still, I have a false memory that it had recently been much messier, including with trash strewn about by the locals.

I am in my room and am aware that one page of my dream journal had been tampered with. This is a memory concerning the time when I had large notebooks (over-sized binders), which were stacked on a table, to have most of my dreams documented on notebook paper in handwritten print (though later pages were typed). The page is separate (possibly freshly written) and concerns the summary of one dream, taking up about half the page. Susan R is the one that had tampered with it due to her apparent “playful” jealousy on the nature of my in-dream dream record (though also somewhat sarcastic and mean-spirited). I do not remember this dream from my dream record within my dream at all even though I read the whole entry very clearly (but do not remember having originally written it - and my summary seems more choppy than with some other typical entries of the time). It concerns some sort of meeting with Edna Pearson (a character from “Prisoner: Cell Block H”; a show that I have not thought about at all since 1986 - thus this fascinates me as to how such a memory could surface for no apparent reason without an iota of thought for about thirty years) and there is detail concerning a trip on a train and a chimpanzee. Susan had written “Hello Edna Pearson!” in cursive handwriting larger than my print and something obnoxious about me finding the chimpanzee attractive simply because I dreamt about one. There are a few other short phrases she had written about various parts of the paragraph that are making fun of my dream work as well as some of the metaphorical associations. I am very angry and crumple up the page and complain to her about her jealous prank and tell her to leave and that I do not want to see her again.

After this, an unknown male and I have a conversation. This is something to do with having no more contact with Susan and going on to find the “mystery girl” (wife-to-be). He does not believe me (or in remote viewing or precognition) and so I tell him that I will bet him $1,000.00 that what I say is true. He agrees to a bet, but oddly takes out a one-dollar Australian coin (even though the time period and location is only related to America) to make the bet - and I agree (also taking out an Australian one-dollar coin to place it on the small table between us), though the small amount seems a bit pointless to bother with and I get a vague impression he is being skeptically condescending through this act (though I do not pursue any conflict with him).

I see a girl outside through a front window when I am in a store (part of a larger storefront area) later. There is a chin-up bar station as part of an outdoor fitness route (relevant to La Crosse) that she is working with in front of the store with one other girl and on the adjoining sidewalk. I start to get an impression that this is either the “mystery girl” (with no memory that I married her in reality) or at least my “next” partner in life. She falls at one point and so I go to ask if I can help her. She seems very friendly and cheerful and I then note that either I am lying down or I am extremely short, as she towers way above me, goddess-like, by at least five feet (similar to the “Rollover” dream in 1990 before I made first real contact with my lifelong “mystery girl”/wife). I get the sense of an alien-like presence, but it seems like a composite of my real wife (in the “mystery girl” phase) and some sort of tall multidimensional being, though not bigger, just unrealistically (disproportionately) taller.

I then go to a large shopping mall (of at least two floors) where there is a monorail track on the opposite side, the wide hall of the mall (mostly open along one side in one section) being directly adjoined to the train platform. At this point there is an awareness that I am making my dream (or “my world”) even though there is no lucidity at all. I walk through the very large hall of the shopping mall and note that the monorail train is approaching at the same level and is going to crash near the large rear entrance where the double doors allow access to a flight of stairs and the bottom floor, and it does crash shortly thereafter. It somehow derails (with no seeming cause other than my unjustified belief it will) and plows into the building, likely killing several people. The crash is long and dramatic (almost like slow-motion), with bits of glass continuously flying everywhere for several minutes though I somehow avoid the large pieces. However, my entire left hand is filled with small glass shards and bleeding a bit, which does not concern me that much. During this time, I had attempted to duck behind a corner and walk to the front entrance but for some reason go back again, fully exposed to the flying glass pieces. This is the most focused and vivid part of my dream and the broken glass tinkling sound is almost soothing regardless of the threatening implications.

From here, I go walking through another part of town. Susan R is seated on what reminds me of the front of the Arcadia Post Office and the male I had talked with earlier is with her and seated (about a person distance away) to her right, annoyed upon seeing me again, especially as a blasé accident victim. She seems very annoyed (almost disgusted) and emotionally hurt and is seemingly not going to listen to anything I say. I stroke her hair with a somewhat authoritative dominance and she is very angry at my audacity. At this point, I feel no guilt or passiveness and understand that whatever path I choose (whether or not it is with her) is my right. I lift my left hand and it glows with bright blue light, slowly getting brighter, the glass flying out and any cuts automatically healing (with only a vague concern that the flying glass may endanger others - though it does not). I am watching my hand glowing a brighter blue as I wake, with Blue Pearl events continuing shortly after fully waking.

Morning of September 29, 2007. Saturday.



I am living in a ghetto, in, I believe, an old apartment building on what seems like at least the third or fourth floor or higher. Actually, I am not sure if I live there or not since I do not recognize anything or seem to know a couple people I may or may not be living with. They do not even seem all that aware of me. Mostly, they remain in the kitchen and I mostly stay in the living room area.

The main focus is on the television near the front door, of which something rather strange is happening to it. There are what seem to be holes and cracks in the glass, but which, oddly, actually seem to seal up as others appear elsewhere. There is some sort of concept that seems difficult to relate, like the glass is some sort of link between two different dimensions; “mine”, and other worlds beyond, but which are perhaps random, or changing, and varying in potential, growing stronger, or growing weaker (at random?).

I am somewhat wary; not really afraid; just suspicious of what could result. Some sort of ugly face forms in parts like a jigsaw puzzle (sort of like bits of static forming into three-dimensional solids from more random pieces) automatically sorting itself out over the imagery of an unrelated television show. Out comes some sort of monster, vampire-like (but not a typical “movie vampire”), and mostly colorless. Now I am somewhat concerned, as the creature screams (seemingly in anger at being disturbed?), but I am still not afraid.

Time passes. The creature actually seems afraid to go very far after seeing the city outside the window (it is late at night). He cowers on a sofa and eventually seems to be annoyed by this world and eventually breaks up into bits of “static” (like squarish moths with reflective wings) which flows back into the television. Even though he is like a powerful demon or devil, mankind seems far worse to him than his own essence, and the “monster” is more and more like a sad comic strip character before he goes back to wherever he came from.

Later, there is more activity across the glass of this strange television. I see eyes again, but this time it is a beautiful girl in some sort of dark green Robin-Hood-like outfit (but with more variety in color and ornamentation) that very slowly emerges, head first. She has a bow and a set of arrows and seems to be some sort of elf-like creature and “at one” with the powers of nature but somehow more powerful (both physically and mentally) than any human on Earth - because of that supposed direct link to the forces of nature. I do not think she can “control” nature, but remain in some sort of perfect “frequency” (harmony) with the energy as a whole. I do not think she can speak English or understand it, although she seems to be linked to me somehow (perhaps a more fanciful version of my wife). She seems to reflect more of a sense of personal power than the earlier “monster”, almost as if I subliminally created both but which were “incubated” in this other dimension behind the glass of the television. My dream eventually breaks up into less vivid patterns that I cannot quite remember other than a feeling of deep respect and understanding for beings that “incubate” within the energy of the television somehow, which seems to represent features of the Source (or other levels of consciousness) in this case rather than real-life television, which I do not respect at all. (Of course, the television itself likely represents the dreaming process in indirectly utilizing other levels of mind and perhaps collective consciousness.)

The female elf-like and Robin-Hood-like character is a seemingly neutral character that has sparsely recurred in my dreams since around age sixteen.