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 October 24, 2015. Saturday.



I am seemingly about sixteen years old again and back in Florida in my backyard in Cubitis. My mother (July 14, 1916-October 2, 2002) is in our house, in our living room. I am looking east at a rather narrow diagonal trail of black smoke that otherwise resembles the pattern of a contrail (though is touching the ground). Additionally, there is a thicker column of smoke rising up near a farmhouse, though the farmhouse itself appears to be mostly undamaged.

About three times, I try to get my mother’s attention as she is sitting near the open windows in the south area of the living room. I want her to understand that a missile came down in the distance. I drawl the word rather loudly, pronouncing it MISS-sigh-ul. Still, I am not sure of the circumstances as I do not recall seeing it hit, though I do expect another one soon, yet this does not occur at any point. I do not feel threatened or in danger; I just want to inform people of what is going on. I wait for signs of explosions in the distance.

Instead, a young male figure in black who is wearing a top hat walks from the area and eventually becomes more visible and discernible as he approaches our backyard. He is reminiscent of a young David Cassidy (but with the essence of a “dark magician”). He has a slightly menacing appearance. A narrow perfectly vertical tall column of black smoke rises from his top hat as he approaches (possibly a play on chimney pot hat or stove pipe hat).

Soon, the situation changes. I am in a mostly empty room (seemingly partly modeled after my father’s original room in Cubitis - but this is only a subtle impression) where there are two annoying male human heads attached to a long mostly horizontal stream of dark gray smoke. They seem aggressive and dominating. The faces are approaching me but I easily knock them back mentally (and with a hand motion) and “flatten” them. At one point, each is like a long series of two-dimensional cutouts of faces (somewhat caterpillar-like) that are thrown back onto the wall by my will, each expressing a slightly different visage of worried surprise.

Later, my dream becomes even more surreal. There are some sort of possibly alien beings (though they look human) attempting to control everyone in a town. However, I am able to mentally cause these threatening beings to hallucinate and perceive things in ways that cause them to fail in their intended conquest (including scampering chipmunks and menacing low-flying kites). This happens twice (possibly one is a dream “reset”). They do become aware of what I am doing but act as if they are curious about my ability rather than annoyed or angered. They leave with no success of even one attempt to conquer even one person.

Finally, a “bad” or demon-like male (though mostly of normal human appearance) is easily thrown out of an underground chamber by a slight focus of my will and “replaced” by a (unknown) dark-haired young girl with leather “letter X” patterns in her apparel (over chest, legs, and arms, somewhat shoelace-like). She is followed through the doorway to my right by small iridescent butterflies, some sort of abstract “creatures” crawling on the wall (which look like paired human fingers moving along somewhat beetle-like) and other small, bizarre, and surreal but living forms. I am aware of other benevolent entities coming to “take control” of all apparently negative realms, which then creates a youthful and pleasant energy everywhere. (More and more, I notice how dreams seem to color a person’s mood and level of energy.)

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Morning of September 19, 2015. Saturday.



I am searching for particular versions of a song that seems to be very important. I seem to be searching for information on it as well as supposedly rare recordings. It is the song “Liebestraum”, which I vaguely hear in the background at many points (as if of a dream within a dream). I am not sure why I need all of the rare copies of this music. I hear a beautiful slower orchestral version as well as other versions.

At one point, I start to think about how it is seemingly in waltz time, which surprises me somewhat in my absentminded reflections. Later, an unknown elderly lady tells me that my pronunciation of “Liebestraum” is incorrect and that it is pronounced like “life a soul”, which I do not question or in fact, even associate with English words for whatever reason. I am also curious about what “Liebestraum” means, though finding the actual music seems a lot more important than the title.

I manage to find a few less rare recordings of the music. I visit a library-like setting. I reflect on how the various chord-like structures flow throughout the music, seeming perfect in their transitions.

At one point, there is something about a militant group pretending to be passive and understanding of another group. It seems relevant to perhaps the late 1700s. It seems they pretend to be victims of a war or at least with fake injuries. I think they have the goal to infiltrate the other group eventually, but the concept is not fully clear. One (unknown) male has bandaged arms and the kind group carries him in a stretcher back to their location. However, there is not drama or personal threat at any point.

I do not remember hearing or playing “Liebestraum” in over thirty years (at least of which I remember). It means “Love Dream”, which I did not seem to know at all in my dream. I know that I did not know the meaning when I played it as a child.

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Morning of October 17, 2015. Saturday.



I am in an unknown room that does not have many discernible features other than perhaps a table and chair.

An unknown person is present on my left, seemingly male, but I do not look at them directly at any point. I get the impression that they may be in their late twenties.

I notice what I first take to be a couple palm tree silhouettes on the wall near a sash window. I think it may be some sort of wallpaper design or painting. Soon however, it seems to move slightly. I realize that it is the shadow of an oversized thistle or two. I consider what would happen if I blow on it, with the idea of how seeds would appear to float out from the plant.

I blow, and what I first think to be small bird silhouettes are moving to the right from out of the area where the seeds would otherwise be. Looking more closely, I see that it is an army of small black spiders that I must have disturbed. I move back out of slight wariness, but perhaps I was wrong about what I saw.

I blow again farther to the left, and it does appear that thistle seeds, or rather, their silhouettes, are moving along the wall. “Well, how about that?” I say, but some of them somehow crash into the light bulb and make it sizzle and flicker. The light bulb is hanging down from a cord just above head level and has a pull chain.

After a time, I no longer see the floating seed silhouettes or the silhouette of the plant on the wall but I do then see what seems to be an oversized thistle plant outside about ten feet away or more. There is a strange eerie feeling, almost like fear, but not fully. Something seems “off” about the whole adventure.

Of course, the light sizzling and flickering represents real-time neural activity changing slightly in the dream state. This dream was vaguely lucid, but not fully.

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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 October 19, 2015. Monday.



In my dream, there is a hidden tab in my Internet browser. The hidden tab is behind another tab near the center of the sequence of tabs across the top. I wonder if there have always been hidden tabs as such. What could they be?

I barely see the left edge of the previously undiscovered tab, but there is enough there to sort of “pull” it out to the left (using the mouse) from the visible tab (which is for the dream journal website).

I see enough of the tab to see that the title is “ambiance”. It opens to an image only (rather than an implied website). It is a view from the sky, though from a distance, of a radio tower. The contrast is so light, it is fairly pale.

For some reason, I think of Godzilla as approaching (from my perspective in the foreground). I do not see Godzilla but I do ponder his eventual appearance on other pages, though this never actually happens.

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A lot of VSTs for music production have settings related to ambient music, which is what at least partly influenced the appearance of the word.

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This dream is autosymbolic of the typical thinking skills correlation with the radio tower being the emergent consciousness factor (as autosymbolism for communication between the isolated fictitious ephemeral dream self and the real conscious self identity as in waking life). The association with Godzilla is liminal awareness of the RAS modulation factor, but which is not initiated (likely due to my liminal awareness and my advanced knowledge of the dream state). The view from the sky is a static association with the otherwise usual vestibular system correlation. In many past dreams that were a result of liminal dream control, Godzilla had featured, typically in a faux chase scenario for entertainment purposes.

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Morning of October 12, 2015. Monday.



In my dream, I had been reading an article and make a note of the names Ken Curtis and Amanda Blake (the names of which stand out and do not become distorted as is often the case with words changing when looking back again at what you have read previously). Over time, my dream shifts into a scenario relating to filming a television show.

In the episode, apparently of “Gunsmoke”, Miss Kitty (who looks like Amanda Blake at this point) is kidnapped by horse thieves. Along the way, she keeps giving them important advice on which direction to go and when to feed the horses. She does not seem to be in any real danger. She seems very concerned that the horses are well-treated and healthy.

Later, I realize that I am Ken Curtis (though look like myself, though younger, perhaps around thirty-five) and my wife Zsuzsanna is Amanda Blake (though also looks like herself at this point). An unknown female “recognizes” us and understands that they or we are the “most famous people ever”. This is even in regards to my dream’s false back story where the two celebrities apparently were only in a few episodes of a television show rather than their actual lifelong careers. I am not exactly sure of how the nature of “our” fame came about.

Also, as Ken Curtis, I can heal people that just come into the same room. One person is grateful for how I healed their back problems.

From here, people come to see us now and then, but not much else happens. I suppose what is even more amusing is that any thought of Matt Dillon (James Arness) is completely nonexistent. I have absolutely no memory of him in my dream at any point and he never appears in any way, even though he was actually the star of “Gunsmoke”. Now this is what I call true selective memory in the dream state and wonder how it is even possible. Before I fell asleep, I was absentmindedly focused on dreams from 1966 up until now, though kind of shifting randomly all over the place.

This is also intriguing because, in both cases, no two people could be so different from us. In both cases, at least the characters they played are nearly the opposite in every way to how we are.

My sister Marilyn did meet Ken Curtis in real life years ago though, when he had his makeup on and such and gave her an autographed photograph as his Festus character.

Ken Curtis: July 2, 1916-April 28, 1991

Amanda Blake: February 20, 1929-August 16, 1989

Morning of October 10, 2015. Saturday.



This is a set of three shorter dreams in which one shifted into the other with only partial wakefulness.

The first involves being at an unknown location near a river bank. My wife Zsuzsanna and I are watching alligators swim through the water every now and then, just under the surface. A few other people are walking around. The alligators do not really seem threatening. Eventually I notice how a few of them look very different from normal alligators, though mostly around the head. I point out that it seems someone is apparently doing strange experiments with dinosaur DNA or possibly even living dinosaurs and alligators, as each alligator seems to have minor features from a known dinosaur, one having a head somewhat like a Tyrannosaurus, the other like a Styracosaurus, though flatter and more alligator-like. I even manage to pull the Styracosaurus alligator out of the water and partly onto the bank so that I can show people what I mean.

After a partial awakening and back into sleep, my wife and children and I are back on Barolin Street, except that all of the houses north of ours (as in reality) are gone and the area is replaced by a large field of mostly short grass and which is bordered by a fence adjacent to the sidewalk. Only a few other people are around farther to the north.

An unnaturally large Tyrannosaurus, probably about twice as large as any real one ever was, is walking about in the field as if being kept there by the small fence, which is only about the height of an average human waist. I see another Tyrannosaurus nearby, about three lots beyond the first one. In the back of my mind, I sense a part of myself contemplating how I will change my dream from an uneventful one into one where we are chased by the dinosaurs. (This vague awareness of making my dream in real time which also occurs with clearer awareness in indescribable abstract dreams has occurred since early childhood, though there is no hint of lucidity otherwise.)

The Tyrannosaurus moves his head down, leaning forward, and smashes down the tiny fence with his head, as if the tiny fence was somehow keeping him in the field when all he needed to do was just step over it without even noticing. I find this scene somewhat comedic, pondering the seeming low intelligence of the creature. I tell everyone that we need to go back to our house, as the dinosaur is now loose. It is soon moving very fast in our direction though the other one seems to be considering which direction to go (as there are more unknown people to the north). We go onto our porch, though the door to the main entrance and hallway is locked. From here, I non-lucidly manipulate my dream by rewinding it, pausing it, and jumping about in terms of sections of previous events.

In my next dream, we are inside the Barolin Street house, in the living room, I think. I am near the center of the room sitting on the floor. For some reason, I am practicing my firing of projectiles, which are actually finger bones from my hand. I somehow pop them out from my skeletal hand and fire them across the room (with a force that carries them to the wall, a few hitting a desk). I do this at least twelve times with all twelve of the phalanges of my right hand (not counting my thumb). I somehow continue with my left hand (not realizing it would not be possible as my right fingers are all gone). Looking down at my own skeleton, I see that I must have also already used some of my ribs at an earlier date. It is no problem, as I will eventually probably snap all my bones back into place later on.

(This may have something to do with the difficulty we had in snapping together the life-sized Billy Bones model kit a few months ago.)

Morning of October 7, 2015. Wednesday.



I am in the living room in Cubitis, seated at a large wooden table in the southwest corner. My computer is set up in a similar way as with my desk in real life. My wife Zsuzsanna and our children also live here (though in real life, they have never been to America), thus my dream self is at least partly aware of my current conscious self identity. It seems to be morning.

Our pet chicken (fictional, though my father raised chickens in Cubitis until we moved in 1978) is sitting on the table to the left of my computer keyboard. It seems to be an Araucana or Ameraucana hen. My sense of touch is enhanced. I vividly feel weight and motion as I try to make sure that the hen does not hurt herself by quickly jumping or flapping her wings.

Our black-and-white cat (Franco) eventually emerges from the hallway. He jumps up on the table and bites into the back of the hen. This alarms me because I know he will probably kill it. I try to push him back and I whack my hand over the animals, but our chicken is taken to the floor by our cat.

I get the odd impression that I may have accidentally detached either the hen’s head or the cat’s in an attempt to separate them, or possibly both are severely injured. I am not sure what to do, as our two pets may both be lost. I get the impression that a griffin will be the result of this situation though possibly weak until fed, as it is lying on its side, looking a bit fatigued.

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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) Griffin vs. Grandfather Clock, (2) R Brand, (3) Malfunctioning Griffin Game, (4) The Temple and the Tomb

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Morning of October 7, 2015. Wednesday.



Walking in an unknown town, my wife Zsuzsanna and I go into an unfamiliar grocery store. The store’s entrance is directly adjacent to the public sidewalk and city street. Firstly, I am looking at jars of pickles that I contemplate buying for Zsuzsanna. The lid somehow comes off one jar when I tip it to try to find the label. There does not seem to be one and I get the impression it is from an individual who sells wholesale to the store. Two pickles fall to the floor. I consider buying the jar out of a vague sense of responsibility to the store owner, as no one else would buy the jar if they knew, but I instead put the pickles back and pretend that nothing happened. Instead of a shelf, the large pickle jars, about five of them, are in a wooden display as in the vegetables section. Each pickle is about as high as the jar, about five to a jar, arranged vertically.

I start pushing a shopping cart through the aisles of the store. An unknown girl who works there is standing in one aisle, the last aisle on one side of the store and the most distant from the entrance. We talk for a short time as I soon realize that instead of shelves, the sides of the aisle feature random pieces of plywood nailed up, all similar in size, some yellowish and some white, at least one piece looking like it was borrowed from a sign. Looking around, I do not see any shelves or areas with any food and become annoyed.

Zsuzsanna and I leave the store without buying anything. A few unfamiliar people, seemingly homeless, start following us. They are friendly but somewhat sickly looking. A female of perhaps fifty asks me if I can help her. I put my hand near her forehead, though not touching it, moving my hand about as if to “detect” anything that might be wrong with her.

She starts to faint, though I push her back so that she does not fall in my direction. After a short time, I tell her that she needs more Vitamin A. I tell her that she needs to start eating tomatoes to become healthier and fix whatever problems she may have. She seems very happy after I tell her this. A friendly cheerful male smiles upon hearing my suggestion and then adds to our conversation by talking about lentils, which is what he thought I had been talking about (rather than tomatoes). I am annoyed but I decide not to correct him as that might make him feel embarrassed by his inattentiveness. Zsuzsanna and I walk to a larger grocery store without them following us as I begin to wake.

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• Why jars of pickles? It seems to be phallic symbolism and a feature being in water is a real-time indicator of being asleep. I may be subliminally contemplating sexuality, which is otherwise inactive in this particular dream segment.
• Why do two pickles fall to the floor? Either superfluous redundancy or an association with two adult males living in our house; our oldest son and me.
• Where is the preconscious factor? I could not find it until I realized that looking at the jar of pickles made me think of Vlasic Pickles, and the mascot is a cartoon stork (flight symbol that “drops a baby from its beak”; subliminal anticipation of the hypnopompic mechanism)
• Why does the unfamiliar homeless female begin to faint? Because she is The Sleeper in this particular dream; a real-time indicator of being asleep.
• Why tomatoes? Tomatoes are associated with the color red and red represents waking priority. It is curious that my dream self (personified subconscious) subliminally initialized it rather than the preconscious.
• Why lentils? Lentils can look like the lens of the human eye, which is possibly a subliminal REM indicator.
• Why vitamin A? This may be a literal factor in the unfamiliar female being symbolic of Zsuzsanna, a possible precognitive thread of when Zsuzsanna is older and may need more vitamin A (though through normal food, not vitamin pills, which many consider dangerous).
• Is there any additional real influence? The unknown empty grocery store area with the plywood nailed up is based on the closure of a small local grocery store in August 2014. It had a similar unusual mood and there were areas of the store eventually blocked in a similar unlikely way while it was still open to the public. Also, Zsuzsanna remains on my left throughout this dream, the same orientation that we are in bed at the time.

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Morning of October 3, 2015. Saturday.



I seem to be younger and living with my parents again, though I do not feel that much like a child in my dream. (I am not sure where we are living. It seems vaguely like the Stadcor Street house where my wife Zsuzsanna and I lived years ago with our two oldest children.) My mother is also present and is concerned about my father.

My father (deceased February 14, 1979) is home early from his work in construction. He has his shirt off and is in pain because of a large creature wrapped around his abdomen as well as being partly inside his stomach. Apparently, it is some sort of very large tapeworm or parasite but actually looks like a sea snake. It is wrapped around at least three times in horizontal layers and there is a section that goes inside his abdomen. He sits on the bed and seems in distress. He appears as he did perhaps in 1960 (or even the late 1950s before I was born).

I start to contemplate why he waited so long to consider having it removed. Now it would be more difficult than ever to have it removed due to its large size. I think about how they would have to put the creature to sleep before removing all of it. The imagery is very clear and continues for at least (seemingly) fifteen minutes. It does not seem it will be fatal, though it does seem to be painful and devitalizing to put up with such a problem. I consider how my father could have gotten around and done his work with that creature there all the time. Apparently, it has only started to worsen recently, as it has gotten bigger.

At one point, the creature’s head seems to be disconnected but is somehow still alive and clamped on, though I still get the impression that it will soon die from having its head detached.

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Although a snake typically biologically symbolizes the raw RAS waking trigger (likely the case with all primates), it depends on the dream. In this case, it is a rendering of my own intestinal discomfort, of which a snake has represented since early childhood. My father has been validated to represent my waking life status as me being a father in a number of cases (including in prescient dreams most often related to health), more so only as I have gotten older. Due to their shape and coiling, snakes have direct associations with the human intestine (and bowel discomfort and cramps - as well as quite obvious associations with human waste, which both I and another boy dreamt specifically of in childhood), which is even more obvious in this dream, as the creature was almost the same as an “external intestine” in its appearance. However, this is certainly not always the case. (For example, in one dream, a snake served as a frayed electrical cord warning and in a more recent dream, served as a warning to have our electricity off when it began to rain inside our house after the roof was torn off. In another case it was validated to symbolize a human umbilical cord.)

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Edited for clarity on Tuesday, 2 January 2018.

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Morning of September 27, 2015. Sunday.



I am walking around in the dark in an unusual version of our old apartment on Duffy Street, the layout of which seems doubled somehow. I hear Zsuzsanna saying something about some sort of noise and I am not sure what is going on. My awareness of my walking in the dark is quite vivid and accurate. Eventually however, I reach a door, which seems to be the back door from the garage area that goes out into the shared courtyard. When I go out, I note nothing unexpected (even though it is completely fictional).

There is a miniature railway running through the courtyard, adjacent to the back of our apartment building. Behind the other apartment is an older male (of perhaps about sixty) on a miniature locomotive. I recognize that there is a miniature locomotive on my side parked farther back on the small railroad tracks on our side (though I have no memory of having used it recently). There are also a few items around it, possibly chairs and a container of some sort.

There are two sets of tracks running parallel behind our area, becoming one between our apartment and the unknown male’s, with the outermost track arcing towards our building and joining his one track. Thus, when he rides the locomotive towards our area, he turns onto the other track rather than being close to the back of our apartment, but still goes into our part of the courtyard. It is quite vivid and interesting and again, it does not come to mind that this is a completely fictional setup.

My wife Zsuzsanna and our youngest son come out from our back door to see what is going on. The man seems to be in the process of moving a large box or something to the other side of the building just past our side, where apparently the street runs perpendicular to the edge of the tracks (and where the tracks just stop or are truncated). It may be very early in the morning before sunrise, or still fairly late at night. There is enough light to see all the interesting detail, I assume from street lights and lights that shine into the courtyard from the back of the building.

The male on the locomotive seems to be coordinating an effort with a younger male (of about thirty at the most) on the street to our left, to move at least one large box that was apparently put near the outer track earlier. The younger male is straddling a miniature Formula One racing car and sort of going back and forth (backwards and forwards) along the street without turning, seemingly on foot power alone (though the car is possibly also moving with a motor of some kind). He seems to be doing this due to other traffic on the street now and then, to narrowly avoid being hit by the normal cars.

Unfortunately, he seems to somehow get blocked off at one point (from normal cars in both directions, I think) as we are watching and somehow gets knocked backwards off his toy Formula One car and pulled away in the other direction (possibly from something sticking out the side of the bed of a passing pickup truck), somehow causing his left foot (which is somehow torn off near the bottom of the car) to remain near the car, shoe and all, as he screams in surprise and ends up lying on his back (being dragged a short distance) in the opposite direction of our apartment. There is blood, but not a lot. I push my youngest son back towards the back door as he starts to move more out towards the courtyard, as I do not want him to see the bizarre accident. Zsuzsanna holds his shoulders so he does not run off.

I get the impression that the younger male could have turned off to the right into the courtyard, but that the box they were going to move was in the way.

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People who believe in “dream interpretation” in the way the term is often used seem to wholly lack the understanding of biologically premonitory hypnopompia, which I have experienced once or twice, every day, for over fifty years, though I still find the thousands of unique resultant dreams as fascinating. In this case, my dream transitioned to align with a spontaneous jab in my ankle to “explain”, by irrelevant fiction, what the “cause” was, projecting it onto a different dream character. Such physical effects are involuntary and based on unconscious dynamics and to assign “interpretation” is pointless. This is unfortunate, because some dreams also have incredible levels of prescience. For example, I married my “dream girl” over a lifetime of very specific clues about her, including everything from her birthplace to her birthday to her name and exact appearance, even the unlikely mixed Hungarian and Australian accent. What is not literal prescience is more likely to be restricted to the dynamics of dreaming and waking, not that hard to grasp in my experience. The train for example, represents the emergent consciousness, and the pattern of increasing neural activity in the waking stage. What is even more obvious is the link to the pickup truck bed as being part of the accident scene, and the play on “bed”, as my foot being near the end of our bed as I am sleeping.

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Morning of September 26, 2015. Saturday.



In my dream, I am focused on my childhood dream girl scenario. Though I now know her in reality as my beautiful wife Zsuzsanna, my long-term memory is not accessible (which in fact is typical in many dream types). I am perhaps about twenty-five years old.

I look to her right and notice we are probably either in an isolated forest or possibly a park. My attention becomes focused on what looks like writing superimposed on the largest tree in the foreground, each letter perhaps about the size of a leaf. I become semi-lucid yet distracted by the idea of “learning” something in a dream state by reading it, which is usually futile.

Just under that tree in the foreground, I see a brighter light, which I am aware is my conscious mind at one level, like a potential portal to waking from the present scenario. This intrigues me. However, the landscape “under” and beyond the tree seems slightly miniature. I am not sure if I can “fit” under the sky if I choose to walk in that direction. I may bump my head on the sun and possibly burn some of my hair off.

The “writing” on the tree becomes more annoying as I “realize” that I am not looking at letters of the alphabet even though I am. For a time, I think I am looking at horseshoes that somehow got thrown into the tree over time by enthusiastic horseshoe players. However, I eventually become aware that I am in fact looking at “letters”, but mostly only “C” and “U” in a random sequence. I reflect that this may be some sort of binary code and consider trying to “interpret” or decode it.

Strangely enough, my dream-self does not even become aware of the play on “CU” (as in “see you”) at any point even though I am quite lucid prior to fading. I decide to move forward to wake. The ray of sunlight reminds me vaguely of a yellow number two pencil from my school days, held up diagonally, writing intricate “shadow writing” over the path ahead.

Morning of September 25, 2015. Friday.



This is dream five of six relating to clearer dreams of this date.

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An unfamiliar cat had been injured, possibly by being hit by a car, though the injuries are not extensive. I am able to heal the cat with the miraculous healing abilities of the dream state (with non-lucid dream control, my dream self not aware of it being a dream).

The cat’s presence is vivid, with clear perceptions of purring and movement, including my enhanced sense of touch when I pet it. The cat lies near the center of our bed as I move my hands about above its body and mentally affirm its health and well-being. (This bed is presumably in our present home as my dream’s setting yet is in the wrong location by association, seemingly where the narrow wall between the south side of the kitchen and the small hallway to the back door is, though my dreams have never rendered the exact same setting, of which are typically unique new composites.)

My wife Zsuzsanna brings in another unfamiliar cat. This cat seems to have died from possibly being hit by a car, as at least one back leg (possibly both) is missing and there is blood. Still, I move my hands about and above it and it apparently comes back to life. It moves slightly and purrs and meows. I can see it breathing. It does not seem fully aware, so I continue with my healing affirmations.

Soon, at least one back leg grows back, the bone expanding firstly. However, the bone continues to grow until it becomes a miniature elk horn. This is unexpected. I am concerned about how the cat will get around. Another miniature elk horn grows from where the other back leg would otherwise be. I am not sure what to do or how to continue, yet I do not want to end the animal’s life even though it is in such a strange condition at this point. I can resurrect dead animals in this dream, but in this case, the essence of other animals that have died become a part of it, as I assume that an elk had been hit and killed by the same car that had killed this cat. It may also grow wings, though still will not be able to walk or roost properly. I am unsure what to do, though I become vaguely aware that I am dreaming. It remains somewhat misshapen as my dream fades.

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Key points:

• Although some healing dreams relate to actual healing energies and a more viable focus or intent, they also sometimes result from simply achieving more awareness of the physical body in the waking transition.
• Resurrection has occurred in many past dreams since early childhood and in some cases, is based on becoming more aware of my real physical body’s breathing in contrast to my fictitious dream self’s body, therefore, in many cases, it is a simple factor of the emergent consciousness.
• Cats are associated with higher liminal space (between dreaming and waking) for a number of reasons, including the idea they “always land on their feet” (waking transition inner ear dynamics, that is, linked to the falling sensation that commonly occurs with waking and is purely biological). I associate cats with being most active at night and linked more to circadian rhythms symbolism of the dream state. They sit on a fence, the division between dreaming and waking. They are said to be “guardians” of the “underworld” (dream state analogy).
• In this case, the antlers (growing from where the cat’s legs would otherwise be) seem to be a metaphor for expanding neural energies (in real time in growing more aware in the waking transition), which are required to wake and use the physical body to walk, especially as the common preconscious embodiment is not otherwise present in this dream. This is easily proven by looking at a human anatomy chart to see the imagery is the same as from my dream. The dream state indicator of the bed (usually just the subliminal awareness of being asleep) additionally validates the overall meaning as does Zsuzsanna’s presence near the bed (as we sleep together).
• Interestingly, this dream also had the typical prescient layer (as the majority of my dreams have had since earliest memory, in fact, the main reason I developed an interest in recording them). One of our cats in real life, Franco (though which did not look like the cat in this dream) somehow injured his back leg and was not able to walk normally again, having damaged the muscles and nerves (which curiously did not seem to bother him as he got around as fast as ever, though I have never seen this happen to any other cat I have had in my lifetime.) Thus, even when a dream can be metaphorically analogous to the dream state itself and fully explained as such, some of the dynamics may still be literally precognitive, as I have found out thousands of times since early childhood.

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Morning of September 24, 2015. Thursday.




Firstly in my dream, I seem to be living in the Stadcor Street house in Brisbane, but it eventually transforms into a much larger structure that seems partly embedded in a mountain, as there are rooms that are like caves later on. Prior to the shifting setting change, there is a young male that appears to have some sort of medical problem. He claims to have a toothache that is supposedly related to a headache even though the “headache” (the source being near the top of his head and related to a protruding blood vein) is somehow in his jaw. The male reminds me of a younger version of my wife’s brother George (Gyorgy). I ask him if I can help in any way, but he seems more annoyed by the present living arrangements than his continuous pain and potential nearing demise.

There are two other people in the house who may be younger versions of two of our children (oldest son and daughter). At one point, I teach some Russian, but it is mainly only two rows of audio-based prompts on a computer screen and primarily relates to pronouns, including variations of “I” and “me”; “ya”, “menya”, and “mne”. Over time, I become aware of there being more people around.

There is seemingly a nuclear explosion in the distance, but very loud in my dream’s immediate setting. When I look out, however, it looks quite odd, like narrow clustered columns of pink and orange smoke rising high into the sky in the distance, right on the horizon (from an unknown city). This seems to mean that modern society, for the most part, no longer exists. I notice our home seems to be isolated and within a composite of desert and meadow, with no signs of any other buildings. However, I still hear several dogs barking at the distant explosion, which almost seems to be a good sign.

We now live in an unusual composite of large cave and house, though with a layout somewhat like a shopping mall, with a public court and an additional adjoining building or group of buildings. Someone (unknown) says that the monster can now leave - which relates to the nuclear event somehow or the fact that there are not many people left in the world for it to terrorize. A door is opened somewhere in the cave-building that had kept the monster trapped, and the front door to outside is also opened. The “monster” leaves on its own accord after randomly wandering through various rooms to find its way out. It looks like an ordinary warthog as it passively walks out the main entrance. There is no threat or drama or concern of any kind at all at this point.

Later, I go to another building (part of the same settlement) and wander through the halls. I warily notice an unusual lump and weight pulling down the skin of my left forearm as well as minor burns and scabs. I realize I have something inside my arm. I carefully shuffle the hard object forward and out through the scar on my wrist (from my accident as a toddler) and it is a rectangular piece of thin metal, almost as wide as my wrist. Another similar object comes out after, which is like partly reflective glass of a similar size and shape (possibly part of a small mirror). The sensations and progressive movement are extraordinary “realistic” (though possibly more like pushing something under a shirt sleeve out through the cuff as I do not feel much pain). I feel my arm to make sure no other objects are in it. I “realize” that this probably happened when I was sleeping on a bed full of junk and the objects somehow got into my arm without me noticing until now (which is of course, a false memory as I do not sleep on a bed full of metallic junk, sharp objects, and wires as implied).



I go back and give the objects (and a few other bits of junk I found in the building) to the leader of the settlement (who seems to be actor Clancy Brown). At this point I tell him how the objects perhaps grew inside me somehow with regard to chemicals in the air, perhaps. He seems only mildly interested in the event but still wants everything I have. As we walk through a doorway back into the building (no longer with cave features) I had been staying in, I see two fancy car keys lying on the floor just inside the doorway with some apparently discarded documents. They have an atypical appearance; other than somewhat floral regarding the shape on one end, very slightly paperclip-like in part of the form only. I consider that if I pick them up and keep them for myself, the leader might not like it when he finds out, so I point them out saying, “look at those keys”. The leader says, rather egotistically, “I’ll just take these keys”. His behavior brings mild amusement. He then asks me what year they are from as if that is important and I say “1961” but then consider that “1961” might actually be a serial number unrelated to the date (though do not mention this). (The imagery is curious, as the number looks the same right-side-up as it does upside-down.)

In the final scene, I am sitting in a hall with several others of various ages. One (unknown) teenage girl in the opposite corner (opposite an implied perpendicular continuation of the hall) starts complaining about everything in a pessimistic and defeatist rant, and, even though there are only about a hundred people left on the planet, I tell her that I do not want to listen to her “f–ked up fantasies” (in the sense that they are negative and of no use, including trivial gossip and pointless opinions of others in the hall). From here, I feel cheerful and completely optimistic and ignore her otherwise depressing prattle, especially as I get the impression there will be a self-sustaining community expanding soon.