Blue_Opossum

Morning of May 15, 2021. Saturday.

Dream #: 19,871-02. Optimized 2 minute read.




Note; The waking-life model is red. For the image, I made it the same as the predominant color in my dream (though there were other colors). The additional optional outer wing piece is for a torn wing feature.

My dream begins with me sitting near a river, though the water lowers over time. (This attribute has remained the same for this dream type for over 50 years. One influence is from isolation tank films I saw as a child, though it also naturally corresponds with melatonin mediation and ultradian rhythm.) Typical indoor-outdoor ambiguity (impossible to discern as such in waking life) is predominant at some points, though there is more morphing of the setting than usual. The locational inferences are unknown. I have recall of my real-life identity to the extent of where I recall I have three sons.

I think of creating a portal so that my sons can see a living pterodactyl through it. We do not intend to go through the portal but to watch different events through it.

A somatosensory phase response (a natural, predictable shift to attention on using my hands toward resolving REM atonia) becomes predominant, and there is a spontaneous flight-related association with the Aurora Pterodactyl model kit from the early 1970s. I had one when I was a boy. In this instance, the process curiously mixes with finding gold coins (also somatosensory summoning), but only as a supraliminal influence. (I do not think about panning for gold in my dream, only recovering all the pieces of a plastic pterodactyl model.)

After my sons watch a living pterodactyl through the portal (a precursor to managing the vestibular phasing of dreaming) for a few minutes, I begin finding many different sizes and colors of pieces from various fictitious versions of what is otherwise the same Aurora pterodactyl model kit.

Many parts are smaller than the waking-life kit, but there are no larger versions. I see little cyan plastic wings, but also green, blue, and other colors. There are more outer wing parts than other features. I also notice some small wing connectors; rectangular prisms. I become fascinated by their variety and study their random arrangement for several minutes. However, there is no dream segment where parts of a complete model are collected and assembled.

---

Revealing dream content causation:

I continue to be fascinated by how the same processes and phasing responses (often in the same order throughout my sleep cycle) result in so many unique and engaging narratives.

This dream’s narrative is a result of my typical familiar lifelong metacognitive status and its management:

Water induction corresponds with beginning my navigation of REM sleep and is usually the first process depending on my dream’s time.

Vestibular system ambiguity (vestibular cortex phasing response) is from being in REM sleep and links to my metacognitive pursuit of mind-body reconnectivity, often with flight associations. In this instance, however, the phasing curve favors my metacognitive focus on REM atonia (physical immobility in sleep).

As is often the case, my dream focuses on managing the virtual division between dreaming and attaining wakefulness. Here, it results in a “portal” (rather than the more mundane summoning of a door) and the mental and physical duality of dreaming that is absent in real life.

---

Morning of December 10, 2019. Tuesday.

Dream #: 19,349-02. Reading time (optimized): 3 min.



My mother and I were to get off the bus in Northside La Crosse in the afternoon. There is a distraction, and we remain en route to Southside La Crosse. My mother is annoyed (though this is illogical, as she seems more aware than I am in this dream and should have been aware of an upcoming bus stop).

My non-lucid dream has robbed me of my identity, which is typical. There is no recall of my mother dying in 2002 and no recall of any factor in my life since the 1980s, and yet my dream self feels perhaps 40 years old. Ultimately, this is not deliberate in a specific sense, but a result of incidental synaptic gating. However, synaptic gating works in a way to avoid a valid waking-life recall until the final gating factor with full consciousness. My non-lucid dreams are also the opposite of waking-life correlation (unless prescient or transpersonal). The trip from Northside La Crosse to Southside La Crosse would be typical in real life, as we already lived in Northside La Crosse, so my dream’s situation is ridiculous, that is, the direct opposite of the truth.

My dream’s induction is all about imaginary proprioception. When I try to get off the bus from its right, even though other passengers get off (including my mother), I only see a small opening, about two-thirds the size needed. This event is the wall mediation factor (that occurs throughout every sleep cycle). It indicates that I cannot move my physical body as I sleep (and although my waking orientation is usually to the right as I sleep on my left side, there is an additional factor here, explained later). I complain to the driver that I cannot get off the bus (either move my real body or yet correlate my imaginary dream body with my dream self’s perception). Another opening appears to the left of the first, about where real bus doors would be in America. It is more like a door, but irregular, still not big enough for me to get off the bus. I become slightly more dream-cognizant and teleport to where my mother is standing, near a group of people. We are at the post office (potential for enigmatic space or liminal space communication).

I start complaining about having lost my bag of books (cognitive arousal). I consider someone else might have taken them. My mother informs me that they are near where she is standing. Although I pick them up, this focus vanishes in the next scene.

We have to go back to Northside La Crosse, our original destination. I decide to go in a particular direction (that is fictitious). I instinctually summon water reinduction (virtual melatonin mediation). A beautiful river is on our right as we walk along a narrow road as my dream vivifies. We reach an area where we need to go up a slope. (This feature stems from the summoning of imaginary proprioception and vestibular system correlation that occurs in all longer dreams at one point or another, though I often use a staircase.) My dreaming experience vivifies again, just on the threshold of lucidity. However, I consider my mother will not be able to ascend the slope, so my cognizance (and imaginary physicality) decreases.

We somehow end up back near the La Crosse post office. A bus goes by, stopping briefly at an intersection (RAS autosymbolism of synaptic gating). This time, the doors are on the left and appear correct (big enough to get on and off the bus). I call out to my mother, “This is how buses should be.” (Why did I say this? Because with the synaptic gating event, I attain a subliminal recall that only buses in Australia look like this. However, I am still not aware of my true identity or the recall I live in Australia in real life.)

In the final scene, my mother boards a bus, saying it is the one we should take (back to Northside La Crosse), though I have my doubts. When we are on the bus, all I see are male and female students (all wearing the same uniforms as in an Australian school) from about sixth to eighth grades. I am uncertain if this is where we should be. This final synaptic gating event implies increasing cognizance (students going to school). Even though the students are Australian, I am not conscious until the last process. In hot weather, achieving consciousness (from the dream state) is more sluggish, validated by neuroscience.

---

Night of March 27, 2018. Tuesday.



As I enter the usual water induction stage, seeing the glimmer of the surface of the virtual water, the essence of sleep, the absence of emotion, the physical release of muscle tension, I notice the setting seems to be near sunset, though there is enough light to see by. It is a beautiful scene of a river. I am not yet “in” my dream, as I have not decided whether to enter here or wait for the next scene to render.

Still, I mentally say “boat” and nothing more, and my voice sounds much younger in my head.

I suddenly find myself standing near the bow of a skiff, moving slowly along. I notice a number of cypress knees ahead (which represent dynamics of my muscles that are not fully relaxed), though they do not pose any sort of threat or challenge. (Who wants to be “challenged” in the dream state anyway? - RAS modulation would come soon enough.) It is a beautiful and peaceful scene. In fact, I decide to let my lucidity go at this time and allow myself to enter deeper into sleep.

Throughout my life, I have read a number of articles about lucid dreaming, none of which have made any sense to me, but then, most of what is written about dreams makes little or no sense at all, and I have focused on the nature of my dreams all my life (and it not only has never been problematic, but I married my literal dream girl, my dreams having given me hundreds of specific clues about her identity, which proved to be correct, and some dreams have healed me in ways which no one would believe).

Many such articles imply how a person “practices” or attempts to lucid dream. This makes no sense to me, as since earliest memory, it was a natural state of which I did not have to practice or try to do (though I sometimes “set up” dreams, but I have mostly gotten to where I do not even need to do that due to the nature of in-dream auto-scripting). The summoning factor also exists in liminal dream control (dream control without lucidity). This is when the conscious self is aware of the dream state without the dream self being viably lucid (a specific type of synaptic gating), though still commanding the dream’s content at some points, even the RAS mediation of the waking transition to a certain extent (though biological factors and subliminal environmental concerns such as an unknown noise always take priority).

Apparently, some people ask themselves on and off all day if they are dreaming, which supposedly helps them to recognize when they are dreaming, though in my view would likely corrupt the function of RAS mediation and modulation (reticular activating system), arguably one of the most important parts of the brain, so why tamper with its very purpose? This is something I have never done or needed to (though reading nonsense in so-called dream dictionaries or dream interpretation books causes me to wonder what is going on with people in the world, and I joked about this on Twitter recently). The practice does not even make any sense as this is neither how auto-scripting nor autosymbolism works (or even subliminal conscious identity for that matter) in the dream state itself.

Conducting “reality tests”, including continuously asking myself if I am dreaming, as the personified subconscious is not the conscious self, makes zero sense. Additionally, dreams are not usually symbolic of waking life as many people claim; they are autosymbolic renderings of concurrent unconsciousness thought processes, for example, if one has to go to the bathroom now, or check the source of a noise now, it is happening now, not eight hours earlier but now, yet for some reason many people cannot seem to grasp this simple idea at all. They take a biological waking alert factor (RAS modulation) like a snake and try to pretend it has waking life relevance (which would only be true in rare cases, such as literal prescience or a literal residual carryover). This is not what such REM thought processes were created for. They are not “recordings” or even viable (active) memories (which also is why regressive hypnosis was exposed as a total misconception years ago).

Fully understanding autosymbolism and the nature of the dream state is enough to sustain apex lucidity on thought alone. The one and only factor of the dream state is RAS mediation, not “subconscious this” or “subconscious that”.

---

Morning of October 7, 2008. Tuesday.



I am standing near a river in late morning. A mist begins to grow and rise from the river. Later, it seems more like early evening.

Eventually, the mist is elsewhere with an undetermined orange light within it, implied to be like a miniature sun. Zsuzsanna is present at one point and some of the light within the mist shines through and augments her beauty. (I am unsure if the setting is implied to be indoors or outdoors, a common ambiguous factor of the dream state.)

---

My dream begins with the common water induction (water being autosymbolism for entering the dream state, occurring as such at least once in every normal sleeping period for over fifty years). The mist symbolizes the essence of the dream state itself, which obscures the orb of light (conscious self identity). This is very similar to many previous dreams of which utilize the same autosymbolism, typical RAS mediation of which is similar to many dreams I have had about something being wrong with the sun, which is biological autosymbolism for my conscious self identity being incomplete while in the dream state.

---

(The first two episodes of the fourth season of “Supernatural” aired the night before, included here for personal date-tracking purposes only.)

---

Morning of December 5, 2017. Tuesday.



I become aware of being in a scenario where a small nuclear missile is being carried on a vehicle that is apparently going west (based on my subliminal impression of how I am oriented while sleeping in our bed). I am somehow in charge of the situation and of the missile. It is only about five feet long. There are a few other (unknown) people with me.

We approach a wide river that runs north to south. At this point, I start to become wary about being near a nuclear missile. My awareness and contemplation of the scenario is not realistic. I decide to throw the missile into a river, where there are additional unknown people near, and I know it may eventually go off, but I consider that I will have time to outrun it.

Despite the size of the missile, I somehow fling it with one hand to the opposite side of the river. There is no explosion, but I expect one to come eventually. I and the others start running the opposite direction (east). I am aware of the minutes counting down.

Although we are running across an outdoor landscape, there are identical low-set tables that we reach every twenty seconds or so. I suddenly have an infinite supply of decks of playing cards, whereby I then toss several cards to each side of me where there are always about three or four random unfamiliar males present to grab the cards. This has something to do with survival, as I am aware that some of the cards can be traded for food. This event repeats a number of times. Just prior to waking, I turn to see the mushroom cloud emerging from the horizon and realize that I am now safe and that about three minutes and twenty-seven seconds had passed from the time it landed in the river.

---

This dream is a typical attempt at subliminal reinduction. The missile can otherwise be viewed as a flight symbol (RAS and inner ear dynamics relating to the waking prompt), though I throw it into the river as water symbolizes sleep (and potential dream state deepening and sustaining in this case; symbolism I have experienced on a day to day basis and understood for over fifty years).

The playing card scenario is a bit odd, though it, along with the missile, likely relates to continuously hearing about the North Korea threat, almost as if it was like some sort of deranged poker game between two so-called leaders while the rest of the world looks on in passive bewilderment.

---

Morning of August 24, 2017. Thursday.



My dream begins with the most common form of dream state induction; the presence of water, in this case, an unknown river. (This is based on circadian biology and the glymphatic system, whereby at least one dream per night for over fifty years has featured water, not including the numerous water-based hypnagogic dream sequences, which number in the hundreds each sleeping period.)

I am standing and looking out over this unfamiliar river in seemingly late morning. There is a wooden bridge present, but it does not go all the way across the river. A helicopter flies in from my right and drops off a young version of my wife Zsuzsanna. My dream self is not fully aware of her identity, though I am uncertain of my dream self’s implied age. Zsuzsanna is on the outside of the two-tiered wooden railing, on my right and facing to the left in profile, appearing to do some work on it by tightening the bolts. I think about helping, but I am unsure how to get to where she presently is, as the walkway now seems fully underwater. This seems somewhat unusual, as I vaguely puzzle over why a railing would be fixed when the walkway itself is underwater. Another section of the bridge, which includes a ladder, is also submerged.

Time passes, and Dean Norris, the actor, appears. I do not see him as a celebrity but as a bystander, though possibly associated with the repair of the bridge.

Somehow, though this would certainly not be possible in real life (or even consciously resolvable in method), I lift a large section of the walkway up from the water, the farthest edge towards me, while I am still standing on the riverbank, though squatting slightly at one point. It seems more like a square platform constructed of small logs, the orientation of the logs parallel to the river bank.

An alligator, its head oriented opposite from the riverbank, surprises me by swimming out from under where the section was (yet there is a vague awareness of instinctual dream control suggesting that I created the alligator, and this is further evidenced by the alligator not being perceived as a danger or being the coalescence-based waking prompt). I am wary at first, but it does not attack or show much aggression. Instead, it swims back down under the surface. I tell Dean that there are other alligators in the river, though farther away from where we are. He does not comment.

“My father built this bridge,” I say to him, somewhat absentmindedly.

“Your dad built this bridge?” he replies without emotion.

“…and he built a lot of utility buildings,” I add.

I rethink what I had just said. Although I know that my father built a lot of park utility buildings, bathrooms, and rest stop shelters, I am unsure if he was involved in the building of this bridge as it was first constructed and that he may have only worked on it years after it was built. I consider that he may have been a part of a team of builders, but I then consider if the bridge had first been built in the 1800s (though I really have no knowledge of when it was built). If so, I consider if Dean was puzzled by my comment, but we do not talk much after this. I consider if Dean will bring in men in speedboats to cull the alligators, but this is not certain.

---

Ordinarily, a bridge symbolizes the progression from dreaming to waking (as well as possibly representing the biological construction of a new memory or neural pathway) though sometimes seemingly represents a potentially prescient timeline. There seem to be two preconscious factors here (Dean and the alligator), both atypically passive (though this may be due to instinctual dream control). However, the dynamics are a bit curious, as Dean may be coalesced into the interconsciousness.

Submerged walkways are otherwise common in my dreams (and have been since early childhood) as a natural result of circadian biology and water symbolizing the dynamics of sleep in real time. A helicopter is a common symbol in my dreams that is linked to Merkaba energies and gamma brain waves in a similar way as a tornado often is, though it typically relates to “return flight” waking symbolism (though here it may relate to Zsuzsanna being in the waking stage while I remain asleep, seemingly validated by her arriving by helicopter, being on the outside of the railing and tightening it - becoming more aware in her emergent consciousness and outside of my ephemeral dream self incarnation).

I am not certain as to why the preconscious so often appears as a celebrity (sometimes recognized as themselves, sometimes recognized only as a fictional character they have played, sometimes as an ordinary person with no celebrity association as in this dream - there seems to be no determining factor as to why this is other than concurrent threads of available memory). It may be due to the transpersonal element or how the preconscious is completely different from the conscious self identity (though this seems deliberate to subliminally begin to initiate dream state realization in how neither the dream self nor conscious self is anything at all like the preconscious - which often creates conflict or emotional augmentation of enough energy to trigger waking).

---

Morning of July 13, 2016. Wednesday.



The first segment relates to my wife Zsuzsanna and our family as we are now though living in a house that seems like a variation of the Loomis Street house. One difference is that there is an additional porch door on its south end, closest to the internal wall. It had apparently been unused for longer periods by other tenants and was even nailed shut. In fact, there is a point at which I remove the nails and we use it for a time. Eventually, our landlord appears and, even though we had been using the door recently, makes the claim “this door has never been opened”. I find his ignorance typical of people but amusing. He appears to be here to make repairs.

Soon, there is this idea that I am leaving for an undetermined amount of time. Zsuzsanna had asked me at least twice if there was a nude man sleeping in the middle of the street (dream sign). I am not sure at first as it may just be an animal that had been run over. It seems to be late afternoon. Everyone is sad to see me leave. I leave with no additional belongings or items. A car pulls up (from the north if assuming Loomis Street) and an unknown teenage girl is the driver. (This is one of those many times when I somehow know that I am creating the events in my dream, in this case summoning the driver “out of nowhere”, but I am not at all aware that I am dreaming.) Before I ride off in the car (the driver’s side being on the left even though I have lived in Australia since 1994), Zsuzsanna asks me again about a possible nude man sleeping in the middle of the street but I am still not sure.

The dark-haired girl is dressed somewhat formally in black slacks and a light-colored sleeveless top. I do not learn her name at any point. Her demeanor is somewhat formal though still cheerful. I notice that the unusual imagery in the middle of the street is actually an animatronics display of two beavers as in an implied scene from one of the “Chronicles of Narnia” movies. This seems curious to me as it may be a hazard for vehicles to have to drive around. Ahead, as we go south, we notice other animatronics displays, most of which are large but most are on each side of the street. One, on the left, is somewhat like a small Nativity scene. This all seems like some sort of temporary publicity stunt as well as a holiday-related event.

A shift occurs and it is now late at night. I am now walking with the unknown female in an unfamiliar alley though it is an illogical setting as one alley leads into an additional perpendicular alley with a high light-colored wooden fence on the opposite side. An unknown man approaches us with a knife to rob us. Even though I am not lucid, I say “You have no knife” and his knife vanishes. He appears to be very puzzled and somewhat concerned. For a short time I think of making him vanish as well but instead, I create a revolver in my right hand and aim it at him. I then think that this might make the girl think that I am a violent person so I cause my gun to vanish. The man runs off into the night.

I am now returning to my family. It has been two years since I had seen them (though Zsuzsanna appears about twenty years younger and our children appear about three years younger). I hug her in the doorway. We are going to travel to a new home. Many people are going to help us, though most of them are in their fifties to seventies. The journey will be difficult since we have to wade through a river in the coldest part of the year. In fact, someone asks me why I want to go there at this time but I do not have an answer for them. Still, I am not sure how Zsuzsanna and our children get through as I only see several older people making the journey. I am with them but somehow not fully in my body. I do not seem as stressed as they are by the conditions of the environment. One older male’s outer flesh had come off from his right side and I can see his ribs and lungs. He keeps wading through the cold water with the others. I think perhaps he may die, yet he continues. I feel a bit guilty about his condition.

We all end up on the porch of my family’s new home. Oddly, it just seems like another version of the Loomis Street house (in seeming location and orientation) that we had left. It seems an older unknown male is letting us live there for as long as we want. The male who had a large strip of his flesh come off seems to be okay now. Many antiques and knickknacks are visible, including some sort of smaller cylindrical objects with a forest painted in one smaller circular area on the side and which may be candle holders. I remark about the house probably having been built in the 1700s. I see that the brick wall on my right is very crooked, with the bricks at various depths from the wall’s implied center (almost as if something very strong had tried to push out from the other side) but this does not seem problematic in any way. There seems to be some sort of machine attached to the ceiling. I can see two small rectangular buttons close to each other longways, one red, one yellow, the red one on the left as I look up. Someone activates it with a switch on the wall for a short time and a few are wary of it as it is fairly large and hanging over their heads. It is connected to some sort of pulley and is part of a device to carry parts for production from one area to another but has been unused since perhaps the 1800s.

I look out through the doorway and discover that there is now an additional porch that is illogically linked to the front of this porch. It is a bit bigger and mostly glass and metal rather than brick. There is a series of French doors all the way across the front. I clearly see writing that is printed in large letters (at least six rows) from ceiling to floor. It says “To Lulu” on each left door and “To me” on each right door (and there are probably four sets of two) so that the writing is close near the middle of where each pair of doors open. The writing is on bars that go across what is otherwise glass to where I can see outside to the street.

I go back into the other smaller porch and comment on how the house was built for, and dedicated to, a girl named Lulu. I start repeating “To Lulu, to me, to Lulu, to me” over and over. (Lulu is the name of a singer who sang “To Sir with Love”, which I heard a lot as a child and young adult and which I also performed as an instrumental on both accordions and keyboards. However, there is also a song called “Don’t Bring Lulu” which I also performed, though I assume it means the singer as Paula Abdul was referenced in one of my last dreams.)

Morning of October 16, 2015. Friday.



In my dream, my wife Zsuzsanna and I are living back on Stadcor Street in Brisbane. Our family is mostly as it is now. For some reason, my wife’s younger brother George stops by and hangs around for a long time, becoming more and more annoying. Sonny is with him, but not as annoying. Zsuzsanna is also annoyed, mostly by George as well. (In real life, we have rarely seen him).

There reaches a point where I seem to have had enough of his loud imposing nature and patronization and cause the blade of a steak knife (not the handle, just the blade) to fly through the air and lodge in his left shoulder (I am not lucid). Sonny, I do not mind at all. However, they soon leave together.

From here, I go outside and have the familiar sense of being in control and making my dream at one level, though still not lucid in any way. As I watch the truck, I am also aware of a nearby cliff (although there are certainly no cliffs near the area in reality). I get the sense that he is going to turn and drive straight off the cliff and I feel a sense of pleasant expectation. My dream is very vivid at this point with realistic imagery, sound, and distance perception.

Indeed, he turns, going faster, and drives straight off the cliff on purpose, and as he does, I sense a gasping from numerous people as the truck falls to the ground below. Somehow, I am then seeing a view from ground level near the foot of the cliff, where there is a river (as if I am standing on the water’s surface). The truck is supposedly now underwater. My wife’s younger sister Judy and numerous other people immediately rush into the knee-deep water (though unrealistically, the truck cannot be seen) from being on the sidewalks above just seconds previously (typical illogical dream shift).

Judy is the closest to where the truck apparently hit and sank and it looks like she may try to find them or try to rescue them, but my dream starts to fade from here.

Looking at this dream closely, it appears to be another variation of the waking process metaphor. Oddly, one of my last waking-metaphor dreams also involved George driving around mountains near cliffs, except that we were actual passengers in that case - though we went back to find our real sleeping selves; that is, our real physical bodies before any potential of him driving off a cliff.

The river is the dreaming process (and there is also a light mist above it in this case, although misty rivers sometimes appear at the beginning of apex-lucidity dreams in addition to the pop culture association “Tomorrow Never Knows” by The Beatles) and although the water was getting lower (a sign of waking), an aspect of the dreamer (driver) could no longer be seen. The scene with the knife blade was already “cutting off” the connection of dreaming or dream communication (as I did not “have a handle” on my “imposing” unconscious state or potential lucidity - an oh-so-obvious dream play).

I am not sure why George is sometimes seemingly a facet of my non-lucid dream-self lately (not that often, just every now and then - and assuming it is not a subtle telepathic link as with my wife). One of the only other consistent “drivers” as such has been my brother-in-law Bob. This is curious in that both people have very low intelligence in real life and in the case of Bob, he cannot read (though the ability to read certainly does not denote intelligence or intellect). This may be some sort of play on the non-lucid dream-self lacking critical thinking skills or clearer awareness, perhaps even relating to failed borderline lucidity or even “hidden” lucidity. Since childhood, I have found it curious how I have often been aware of a part of me making my dream as it unfolds, and yet not being lucid in any way. This is especially curious as I have not read about other people with such experiences or particular recall and is one of many reasons why I no longer believe that the so-called subconscious exists; only various levels of mind; within and external (and beyond) - as well as Universal Mind (or non-local mind).

The final scene loosely relates to having just seen “The Red House” (from 1947) with regard to the last scene where Edward G. Robinson as Pete Morgan deliberately crashes and drives into the river under the ice house. Note also the play on “knife blade” and “shoulder blade”.

Morning of September 12, 2014. Friday.



I am seemingly disembodied and hovering over an unusual scene of a mostly featureless landscape, perhaps about twenty feet up. Downward and to my left is a wide and winding river. Down and to my right is a black male of about thirty or less and seated on the mostly sandy ground. He seems very cheerful in watching the river’s flow. After a short time, I notice that the water takes on an unusual property, as if it is “more than water”. It almost seems to be a living consciousness on at least the surface of the river as if certain water droplets form one mirror-like and darker material that is “faster” and more “solid” (but still liquid) in a molecular sense. In a sense, it is as if I am seeing “compressed time”, that is, what the river’s surface looks like in totality over about ten minutes or so as perceived in a moment. The time I am in is normal, but the river has pockets of “compressed time” on its surface and also seems “alive” somehow (but in a higher sense that is “more than alive”), like a superior entity.

Morning of July 12, 2014. Saturday.



At one point in this longer but fairly vague dream, I am flying over an area in an unknown region which may be some type of large zoo. There are several smaller rivers in a mostly parallel continuity, seemingly towards the south. Oddly, the whole landscape seems to be inside a very large building with a very high ceiling, and with similar features to that above a stage. I notice several lionesses and cubs near and in the shallow rivers and for a time, now and then, am concerned about flying too low but this does not happen and there does not seem to be much danger anyway.

I eventually end up at a bookstore where there is a sale outside with one small table with several wells (recesses) in which the base of the book stacks start from. There are also some underneath, I think in a cardboard box. My wife and at least our two youngest sons are there. My dream seems to “reset” to a similar scenario at least once, which involves something about buying three books really cheap, I think something like a dollar each, but that does not seem real to me for some reason and actually causes my dream to lose cohesion because of its “lack of realism” regarding the cheaper prices (regardless of the fill-a-bag sales we went to years ago).

As with most dreams, this one had a more insignificant layer that was precognitive (though doubly precognitive, based on two unrelated sections).

Morning of November 23, 2013. Saturday.

Dream #: 17,141-02. Reading time: 2 min 42 sec.



I am in the Stadcor Street house, though unaware it is a place where we had lived. The house has boxes and furniture in all the rooms, but there is water everywhere that covers much of it. It seems as if there a river within the house. I try to get through one area from the lounge room to the kitchen and sometimes go lower or under the shoulder-high water to pull myself back up while using boxes or furniture to stabilize my position. An old unknown male on a raft drifts by, seemingly annoyed by my presence.

Later, I am outside with Zsuzsanna near a big (fictitious) garage. The area is inhabited by people who are like composites of pilgrims and hillbillies with a colonial mentality. They are xenophobes. A man who reminds me of VonHelton, a conspiracy theorist on YouTube, is present. I was supposed to give him something from the house, but I had forgotten what it was.

“What does an injun and a gypsy hope to find here?” he loudly inquires, waving his arms around. He has a long white scraggly beard and reminds me of the personas from “Bugs Bunny: Hillbilly Hare.” There is a big table where there are old one-of-a-kind books. One of the people near the table seems friendly. Another man looks at me and tells me to be careful with the “one-of-a-kind” books, and I stare him down while telling him that I am “one-of-a-kind.” However, it also seems that similar “one-of-a-kind” books are underwater back in the house.

Time passes, and I seem to be Zsuzsanna, but my voice seems to be mine. No one notices. I am looking through books on family names. There is an ancestor on Zsuzsanna’s mother’s side named either Mark Davids or David Marks, but it seems unlikely in my dream (in real life, it is “Marks,” anglicized from the original name). The book I am looking through as Zsuzsanna while speaking to other people at the table has the names in proximity. One features in a comic-strip-like section (though with real photographs) as a Czechoslovakian pirate chasing another man who ends up neck-high in a river near mossy rocks. (There is a “Czech Pirate Party” - “Pirate Parties were established in many European countries as a protest against the restriction of the civil rights by lobby groups.” There may be influence from the news “Hundreds of rampaging neo-Nazis attempt pogrom against Romani people in Ostrava.”)

I continue to read (as Zsuzsanna) information on her father’s people and the genocide that is still an issue. (In real life, he had escaped to Australia). There is a connection to the word “pogrom” and the name “Ostrava” and other terms, some fictitious, the main word being “Sym,” which supposedly means a pogrom against the “gypsies” (Romani). It could be a play on “Sim.” It seems to be “Sxm” at times. (There was a “precognitive” thread here, though likely telepathic for lack of a better word. Toby had posted “Sxm” on Facebook right after I started writing this entry - his own new shortened form of the name of a radio station he had never posted about before.)

I become aware my youngest son is here. I open a book and in the back, between the back cover and the last page, is a big praying mantis preserved much like a leaf, its wings (somewhat semi-circular) spread out. It is nearly the size of the page. It floats in the air for a short time before drifting back down onto the page, as if from a subtle life-force, perhaps from suspended animation. It is the most vivid part of my dream. My son watches with mild interest but does not speak. I am thinking, as Zsuzsanna, that I should “find my husband.”

---

I have added another “precognitive” facet even though the matching dream content of another poster had an older date. It was posted right after mine (so I am adding the “dream journal synchronicity” tag). Ashzepplin’s online dream journal (dream id 189743) no longer exists.

---

Morning of October 1, 1967. Sunday.



I am on my own, possibly in late morning, in a drifting canoe, going southward over a river (the Hillsborough River) in a swamp in Florida that looks like a part of Lettuce Lake Park.

On the banks of the river are very tall cypress trees. There seem to be continuous tall vertically stretched faces of which are superimposed against the trees, but are likely not meant to be the trees themselves, more like a ghostly presence or a strange optical illusion, similar to a funhouse mirror effect.

A few of the faces seem wary of my presence, even though I am a young child, with mouths open, though there is no certainty at some points that they are aware of me. There is a bluish green hue on everything at times. The closely clustered faces, as well as being stretched from ground to treetop and very narrow in appearance, also seem to waver very slowly at times, or have a bend near the middle of the face. They are both male and female, mostly all adults. They are only to my right, near the bank of the river. The faces otherwise do not move much. Despite the eerie imagery, I feel no fear, especially as a few of the faces seem afraid of my presence at times.

---

Variations of this dream, both lucid and non-lucid, occurred a number of times from earliest memory. The causes behind this dream are fully known. It developed over the autosymbolic rendering of “drifting into sleep” (spoken mainly by my mother in real life when she was describing my status when I was resting in bed) and mixing the association with drifting in a canoe into a recognized form of dream state induction, which of course has no waking life relevance due to it being a factor of the dream state itself. It is still a major factor of my dreams, water being autosymbolic of the essence of sleep. This dream’s setting was an area my family and I visited in real life when I was very young.

---

Morning of July 17, 1977. Sunday.



Disney’s cartoon ducks Huey, Dewey, and Louie are all on one unicycle. Each one is on the shoulders of the previous. The duck sitting on the actual unicycle and steering it ends up going off the road after going over a bridge, and landing in the river. The other two blame him.

“This is not my fault,” he says. “It’s a frame-up!”

“What’s a frame?” asks another.

“It’s something that holds a picture.”

“What’s a pitcher?”

“Something that holds wateh (water)!”

“What’s Wateh?”

“Something we’re up to our necks to in!”

---

Although this short “adventure” was not much for precognition, it does remind me of a story I heard from someone else later in real life whom had recently also came to Australia. He said he had gone into a restaurant and said “water”. The person behind the counter acted as if they did not understand even when he repeated it. Finally, he said, he slapped his hand down, very loudly and “clearly” saying “WAH-TAH!” and then they understood. I viewed this dream as if floating in front of the scene, which is three-dimensional even though it is like a cartoon.

---

Morning of April 10, 1977. Sunday.



This was a rather long dream which lasted until late morning. There seemed to be at least two “resets”. One of the main characters in my dream is Roosevelt I (but more adult-like) who is a friend and a classmate. There is a girl with him who may be an adult version of Tina L. The main theme of my dream is that a boat disappeared. It was a small motor yacht with a cabin though Roosevelt and Tina mostly stand atop the cabin. This disappearance had happened, supposedly, a few years prior, I believe - I am not fully certain of my dream’s backstory (possibly because of the “resets”). What had happened was that, when the first boat was going around the winding curve of a river, with each bank covered with very tall trees and other plants so that you could not see through to the other side of the river bend, it never arrived on the other side and was never seen again at the time. There were a few witnesses to this event.

Experiments are conducted in the region that relate to the river’s water and its currents. Roosevelt is doing most of the research. Later, he and Tina are going rather fast down the river. Suddenly, another boat comes around the bend and almost hits them as it is on a direct collision course. At this point, I am fully in my dream and it is very vivid. Although I am on the boat with Roosevelt, I seem to be a non-character. There is no accident, only a sense of awe at the boat returning with the people not seeming to have aged. This turns out to have been the boat that had supposedly vanished years previously. Apparently, there is some sort of time barrier whereby, under certain undetermined conditions, anything that travels through it at “just the right time or speed” shifts into a parallel universe of sorts, or so it seems. Interestingly, in my dream, the events do not seem that much like science-fiction.

Morning of November 5, 1970. Thursday.

Dream #: 1,417-01. Optimized 2 min 15 sec read.

Using as simple a writing style as I can (using several types of readability software and dream causation maps), this entry looks at an early childhood dream. It had high but passive metacognition and autosymbolic concurrence with dream state awareness and seemed quite long despite its simple theme.

My dream’s location is an isolated river adjacent to woodlands, with a boat ramp on one bank. I remain on the side with the boat ramp in the early morning. It is most reminiscent of Lettuce Lake, a section of Peace River (in Florida), I had frequented in waking life.

Wayne, a chubby Floridian male schoolmate, is present in my dream’s final segment, though I had been in the area for some time before his arrival. The water lowers over time, revealing additional anchors.

There was a storm from the north (though my dream self does not arrive or have physicality until after it occurs). It caused several valuable anchors to wash up over the boat ramp and riverbank. Some are ancient, and some are modern. They have various designs and are made of different materials, though most are metal.

I think of collecting these anchors as a treasure, but Wayne arrives and claims they are his, inferring the “finders keepers losers weepers” cliché, even though I was in the area before him. “I found it,” he says, approaching one of the anchors I had been studying before he arrived.

Later, I am the only one at the location, but I eventually accept it is all imaginary, and I wake for the day.

---

From early childhood, in many dreams, there is a dream character who serves as a precursor (or catalyst) to wakefulness as my metacognitive navigation of the dream state reaches its conclusion, primarily from the varying levels of mental and physical duality that only the dream state manifests. (It does not mean the character “represents” me in any way, as it is mainly to differentiate between the fictions of dreaming, sans enigmatic space, and the stability of viable wakefulness and its genuine memory serving as an “anchor.”) I have used many names for this predictable process over the years. Perhaps the “sleep-wake monitor (or mediator)” is one of the better names, as it represents the activity of RAS (Reticular Activating System) and its supraliminal navigation that mediates sleep-wake transitions.

Water lowering over time, as I approach wakefulness, has occurred in thousands of dreams since childhood. (I do not even include the otherwise predictable process in many online entries.) This attribute correlates with acknowledging water bodies as REM sleep and has an association with ultradian rhythm. As I wake, the dynamics of sleep lower and fade. I used to view it as somewhat of a tidal analogy. Even so, I have found that moon phases in real life appear with a different phasing pattern in dreams.

Finally, the anchors are this dream’s representation of my metacognitive awareness of REM atonia. Chains also correspond with such recognition. (An anchor is also otherwise found on the end of a chain, though not in this dream.)

To clarify what this dream “means,” it corresponds with the same phasing responses as many of my dreams.

Wayne claims “I found it” as a preconscious pathway to viable conscious thinking above the imaginary dream self. This function also increases my metacognitive awareness of dreaming. It is not a factor resulting from waking life.

---