Morning of December 12, 2017. Tuesday. In this dream, there is the transition to water reinduction (water as symbolizing sleep), though my conscious self identity is virtually nonexistent. Even being in the Loomis Street house’s backyard, there is not even the association with my relatives who lived there for years. While in the backyard near the alley (where I have not been in real life since February 1994), there are a number of unfamiliar characters. There is something about going somewhere, another country perhaps, and we start our journey. The Loomis and Gillette Street area transform into some sort of distorted wharf, which I believe is meant to be with the ocean on the left (even though Wisconsin is nowhere near the ocean in reality). All of the people we meet are dark-skinned and may be Sri Lankan (which I seem to recall being said as such in my dream). They are all males in their twenties, supposedly refugees. It is illegal for us to be there or walk over the wharf to wherever it is we are going. That will apparently not stop us though and our group walks over the long wharf. Still, the other males are very friendly even though they seem slightly confused that we are not like them. I start talking to them in Spanish, “Cuando salga el sol me despertaré”. (“When the sun rises I will wake” - note that I am not viably aware I am dreaming.) I repeat “cuando” several times, as a question. They only shrug and smile. There is an area where a doorway is too narrow to go through. I do something to where we continue from near the right of it, though it does not make any sense. It seems as if I somehow moved the doorway itself by “sliding” it with my hand. From here, I am riding in a van, on the front passenger side, on the right (implying America). The driver of this van is riding a motorcycle a car length ahead of the van (which makes no sense at all, but this is how it is experienced). The port authorities are now following us. Because we had gone through the restricted area that held refugees, we are to be captured and shot, no matter where we decide to go or live. The man on the motorcycle is shot once and splits into several pieces, rolling over the road, the van I am in continuing to apparently drive itself. I do not feel very emotional. After traveling a long distance, miles away from the Loomis Street house’s backyard, I find myself back on Loomis Street, in the Loomis Street house’s kitchen (likely due to mild hunger in sleep). Of course, this makes no sense either. I am presumably the last one of my group left. I now have a very vague emergent awareness of relatives having lived on Loomis Street years ago, though no current conscious self identity. An unknown male comes into the kitchen from the south room to shoot me. I decide that this is RAS mediation (even though I am not lucid) and that he is the preconscious factor and thus I shoot him first and then soon wake. I will not tolerate being victimized in my own dream, even when there is no viable thread of current conscious self identity.
Morning of October 7, 2017. Saturday. Dream #: 18,555-02. Reading time: 2 min 20 sec. Before my dream, in waking life, I repeated an affirmation, “I invite the infinite healing power of Universal Mind into all areas of our bodies” (alternating with “my body”). Consider how a car is an extension of the imaginary physicality of the dream state and how “power” becomes “powder” (which has occurred with previous dreams). Another alteration is how my dreaming experience transformed my headphones (used for affirmations) into an intoxicating clamshell. After entering the dream state, I allow my conscious awareness to fade for the affirmation to predominate. The affirmation seems to become a string attached to the front bumper of a Matchbox car. (I sometimes use an imaginary rope to pull myself into or out of the dream state.) The Matchbox car is a 1930s convertible. At times, I mentally cause it to become a full-sized automobile. I rapidly drive in an unknown big city while there is a focus on possibly being stopped for speeding. However, the police are always going in the opposite direction. Later, I shrink the car to its Matchbox size and carry it to a wharf. The wharf is at the side of a road where a ladder leads down to a small platform adjacent to a commercial building. An unknown black man is here as well as Zsuzsanna. An unfamiliar woman asks if she can borrow my Matchbox car to sail across the ocean. I cause it to become large enough for her to fit in it, but I place it on a raft. I realize it may not be stable enough, so I tell her I do not think it is a reliable way to travel. Curiously, my hand seems to be as big as the raft as I test its buoyancy and how much weight it can hold. I stand on the side of the road, and the man wants to borrow my car. I whistle for it, and it arrives as a Matchbox car from the other side of town but grows to full size. He gives me a roll of one-dollar notes. When he returns, I feel I should give him something. I hand him the handwritten affirmation (without realizing what it is) that had been in my wallet. I give him some other documents that feature unusual writing and symbols. I enter a cave with the essence of a room in a house. A tunnel, like a long hallway, leads to its entrance. I whistle for my Matchbox car and notice the end of the string near the mouth of my cave. I pull my Matchbox car into the cave using the string. I see an opening in the cave wall to the left of the entrance. I find several ancient artifacts and fossils. One is a ritual clamshell that generates an intoxicating “healing powder” that cavemen used. I slap the clamshell against my ears to become intoxicated, feeling bliss, and comfort. As I am sitting on the cave’s floor, a shadowy caveman figure approaches, though he is more like an ancient ape with a manlike essence. He briefly touches me on the shoulder and knee and has a positive presence. He is like a benevolent spirit or an ancient ghost who goes to another part of the cave. Steve Johnson (a classmate from years ago), and at least three other people, walk through the hallway into my cave. I tell them about the artifacts and “healing powder” and ask if they would like to improve their minds and bodies with it.
Updated 06-15-2020 at 06:50 PM by 1390
Night of July 4, 1968. Thursday. (The image on the left is me on that day. The other is my wife in January of 1989 before we made real-life contact.) Across the ocean “to the other side” (excluding Mexico) is in my thoughts and a real-life concept comes into play. Many children probably notice this, but in real life, when you are on a wharf looking down, and with the water flowing under you past the pillars and such, it sometimes “feels” like you are on a merry-go-round even though, of course, you are not moving (for example, it “feels” like it is the dock that is “moving” while the waves only react to that imagined movement of the dock - focusing on this idea enhances the false perception of movement almost - in my case - to the point of getting motion sickness). Looking down, I separate myself from the land and the shore - it is a strange sense of freedom. Of course when the sun sets (a bit “too quickly” - but time moves at various speeds in dreams, as well as jumping through events completely), the fireworks are, on some levels, like the energies of a carnival when the time “rushes” to that point. Being near the more dynamic ocean seems much more grand than the La Crosse carnivals I had been to not that long prior, where they have the little boat rides in a pool-like structure that is not much bigger than a few bathtubs in volume. This did not leave much impression on my dreams, it seems. This is “my” carousel. I am the only one on it - a “giant carousel” of conquest of a sort - better than a battleship. I can somehow travel to the “other side” of the ocean (technically the Gulf of Mexico - but I will just fly over Mexico or “try to” as in another - much later - dream where I was probably considering that it was “just in the way”). (Of course, in reality, that would have been Port Kembla where my wife was to be born several weeks from that particular day - but is only partly related to all the other facets that “self-built” themselves on many levels). I am not nervous about the ocean. There had been the earlier dreams about the two fighting sea monsters (actual prehistoric animals - but over-sized in the dream) preventing the completion of my sailing trip. In that case, I was only on a sailboat and the idea of a “giant” carousel or merry-go-round seemed more workable at this point. Not much happens. I get impressions of valleys and open skies and a sense of welcome solitude. I realize that I will have to cross “unimportant” land to get to open sea and start my “real journey”. In another dream, I am seemingly on some sort of complex (abandoned) battleship or more likely an odd structure near shore. I cannot quite put words to it but it all seems very familiar. Everything is sort of a teal color and there are many different tiers and a sense of antiquity. No one else is around anywhere (even in the whole region, it seems - it is almost like “all people are gone”). Much of the walking area is like a sort of metal grill (also teal) but not all. Some of the doors have vents on them that are somewhat window-like. I wander around but there are no other features other than very sparse aspects of things I have seen in movies with older submarines and such. The parts are almost like a group of random small rooms set at various heights over various metal staircases (not in any logical order), all the same shade of teal. This was a precursor to similar dreams that were populated, so to speak. I may write on those later.
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