Blue_Opossum

Morning of May 10, 2020. Sunday.

Dream #: 19,501-03. Reading time (optimized): 2 min.



My dream self lacks any waking-life references (and as usual, there is no recall of the present state of the world), though I become interested in a couple of big books with ambiguous content in an unknown but mostly undefined setting. I treat them as mine.

The first section of the books seems to feature summaries of dream content, the second, various comic strips (“Blondie” being the one I focus on more), and the third seeming like the Yellow Pages of a phone book. I read a “Blondie” comic strip at the top of a left-hand page, atypically of only two panels, the second panel featuring a winter scene in a city. There is a scene that briefly seems to be in a “real” setting when I am looking at the front of the residence where Dagwood and Blondie live. I consider meeting Dagwood and going to parts of his house that no one (including the Bumsteads) had ever seen. (In a previous dream, I was at a party with Dagwood, his boss Mr. Dithers, and Blondie, and they appeared mainly as in the comic strip.)

Imaginary somatosensory cortex dynamics initiate but link to a static form of the vestibular cortex model (in contrast to “Fun with Rockets and Alien Spaceships” from May 1) and no dynamic foundation of myoclonus (waking start or falling trigger).

As a result, I find myself with an old Greek coin, the one that features the Owl of Athena (a flight reference for my dream’s waking transition as always occurs with this mode of dreaming). (One of the last static versions of this process was a sketchy drawing of a crow appearing in a mirror in “Sophie the Ghost” from May 3.) Even so, the coin is about three times bigger than an American quarter and possibly hollow.

Although the coin is too big to be real, I briefly consider it genuine and valuable. I plan to show it to this dream’s unseen sleep-wake manager (an unknown male), but before I reach him, I see “Athens” to the lower right of the owl relief in uppercase. I read it clearly, and it does not change over time. I consider the coin cannot be genuine because of “Athens” being in English. I wake upon realizing this.

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This dream stems from childhood dreaming practices in which I tried to hold onto a summoned coin to awake with it (and of course, it never worked, although I sometimes woke while pinching my pillowcase). The process (and its absentminded expectation by way of the virtuous circle effect of dreaming practices) has occurred in thousands of my dreams, sometimes with a static link to myoclonus associations as here.

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I will include another example from 2017 when I sat at a table with Les Gold (of “Hardcore Pawn”), and we were discussing a fictitious 1970 limited edition American quarter that featured the outline of Jonathan Livingston Seagull. We talked of how the coin was unpopular, with similar notoriety as the American Susan B. Anthony Dollar.

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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.

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Morning of September 19, 2017. Tuesday.



In the first part of my dream, in the first non-lucid segment, I am in a typical scenario where I am in a bookstore (or what is firstly perceived as one) and looking at various comic books and graphic novels. This goes on for a long time as I gather a stack together to keep. The books are unfamiliar, thus new to me, though some are implied to be older (as far back as the 1970s).

At this stage, the personified preconscious is present as a younger unfamiliar male. Curiously, he is painting, as if there was also an art studio here. It is not much bigger than A4 size and lying on the table that I am sitting at eventually. It seems to be a landscape with flowers in the foreground.

I tell him how I had painted, with a paint-by-number kit when I was a boy, two skulls. I explain how they were two singular portraits of skeletal pirates, shown from about the chest up. (This is based on a real-life event and thus atypically, is a real memory.) He said he had never heard of them. “Oh, they were quite popular,” I reply. I then go on to describe how my older brother Earl had started a very large paint-by-number of the Mona Lisa, but had never finished. (This was also a real event, from the early 1970s.)

Eventually, I decide to walk out of what now seems like a second-hand store. I have a stack of graphic novels and comic books at least a foot high. However, it seems confused with the free bookstore, where (in real life) there is no one present other than the patrons and one is trusted to trade books of equal value on their own. A cashier, an older unfamiliar female, stops me by asking what I am doing. She is at a counter to my right. Apparently, I have to pay for the books, possibly a lot of money, which I do not have on me, which I tell her. I also protest in that I tell her I had left food on a previous visit. It does not seem to matter to her. I still apparently have to pay for these books now.

I take out my wallet and the contents of my right pants pocket and see that I have only coins, which I place on the counter, which has now suddenly shifted to the opposite side of the room and farther back from the entrance of the store - a subliminally willed (non-lucid dream control) attempt at reinduction, that is, I had consciously but subliminally willed the counter back from my dream’s implied exit point as well as shifting it from the right to the left, as right is more typical of waking symbolism orientation. (The checkout of a store symbolizes a specific level of emergent consciousness as a common liminal space end marker in my dreams, fully understood as such since I was very young. This does not mean every dream ends shortly after a checkout is rendered, but it does indicate a precursor to an expected shift in consciousness, not necessarily full wakefulness, though that is often the case).

The preconscious factors had transmuted from the artist (which symbolizes potential lucidity, though my non-lucid dream self does not realize this) to the elderly female cashier, though an unfamiliar male with a beard joins her on her right (the same orientation Zsuzsanna and I are presently sleeping in). The other male looks at my coins. Three of them are unusual in that they are mostly featureless other than having an embossed circle on them. “These are tally-hoes,” he says. This seems to mean that they may not be coins for buying something but possibly for use with public transport, or perhaps of little value. (Of course, “Tally-ho”, here an absentminded association with tallying up the total price as in “tally whole cost”, is here also a codeword for the waking transition analogous as the dream self hunting for the fox, which represents the precursor to coalescence back into conscious self identity and critical thinking skills or cleverness which the dream self does not typically possess.)

From here, my mode of non-lucid dream control increments. I decide to leave the store with the books anyway, by teleporting and phasing through the entrance door without opening it (another form of subliminal reinduction, that is, even though I do not know I am dreaming, I deliberately manipulate it, a very common state of in-dream awareness for me).

Still, they are heavy to carry, but I do not mind that much. It seems to be late at night. I notice that the moon is of an unusual appearance as a number of unusual clouds encircle it. The moon imagery is within the blue sky even though the rest of the sky is dark. Understanding that this image of the nighttime sky is absurd, I now become fully lucid and I decide to actively change and sustain my dream.

The first act I perform is to joyfully throw my books onto the ground, as there is no sense in carrying them (or to be weighed down by them) in the dream state. I feel physically lighter and very happy to realize I am dreaming due to lifelong understanding of taking full conscious self advantage of this state. I enter apex lucidity and decide to create a park and have a sustained and augmented sexual encounter with Zsuzsanna. After this, I will it again. Parts of my body are “buzzing” with pleasure and our climaxes are extended (probably due to the Tetris effect from so many real-life events). However, I eventually shift into a different form of lucidity, where my dream is so realistic, that my dream self starts to question if my real physical body is somehow walking around (which of course is a ridiculous thought, but this has happened in past lucid dreams of a higher and sustained form), so I decide to initiate waking to find that I (that is, my sleeping physical body) had not moved at all. Still, there is something about the bliss, freedom, and even perceived safety of apex lucidity that is hard to describe.

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Morning of February 18, 2016. Thursday.



In my dream, I seem to be in an area that is loosely modeled after my Cubitis home (where I have not lived since 1978, yet my dream self sees it as my present home), at least regarding the large backyard and the railroad tracks behind it (to the east) but there are differences. It seems to be late at night and yet there are short time periods where I can clearly see the covers of books. On at least two occasions, I also notice unknown trucks parked in what would be the backyard.

I go near the railroad tracks and notice a shallow cardboard box filled with old How and Why Wonder Books that appears to have been put out by an unknown neighbor farther south, but the majority do not look like any of the ones I had in real life as a boy. However, “Coins and Currency”, which is one I did have, is near the top, but the cover is very worn. There are other books in the box in addition to the How and Why Wonder Books, including magazines and comic books. I think about taking them, as they had been discarded. Still, it is an unusual place to put presumed rubbish, as there is no pick up there (or rather, never was in real life) other than for the train to collect and take to the dump as my dream self reasons. A lifelong dream-related focus of a train taking large amounts of possibly valuable refuse to a landfill (or sometimes a warehouse where it is apparently sorted), usually northward, is a curious recurring theme.

I am on the railroad tracks for a time (remaining on the west side of them) but I am aware that a train is approaching from the south. I feel the vibrations and expect it to be carrying a lot of printed materials to a landfill, which enhances my curiosity about possibly attaining interesting books. Oddly, it turns out to be one boxcar moving down the track (with no discernible method of locomotion). It passes me, but when it starts to go through a tunnel (not a real-life feature) on the opposite side of our backyard, to the north, it somehow gets jammed in. I am somehow able to move it back out, as it seems very light. It falls off the railroad tracks directly into the living room of the house, which establishes consciously unresolvable ambiguity as to whether I am in an outdoor or indoor setting. (In real life, there was considerable distance from the railroad tracks to the house.)

I see various books inside the boxcar, which now seems only about half the size it had been previously. It is not only very light but starts to bend slightly, like thin aluminum. I notice a “Tom and Jerry” storybook with perhaps one small black and white drawing per page. I also notice two Nancy and Sluggo comic strip collections in book form. There are still a number of other books inside the boxcar as I tip it upside-down, some of the contents spilling onto the living room floor.

Two unknown men eventually appear and it seems as if they had been moving the boxcar down the tracks even though they were not seen until this point. They seem puzzled about the details concerning the wreck. They are not angry and seem friendly as I tell them that I hope to keep what I want from the boxcar. I even offer to pay for the contents (only because they showed up and I do not want to be seen as a thief) and the man to my right gives me a puzzled look as if there would be no need. (In the last stage, there is a vague sense of bilocation when the Cubitis living room is associated with the kitchen of our present home and the vague awareness of my real physical body in bed to my right, though there is also a vague awareness of one step leading up to it between the kitchen and where our bed is, a step or staircase symbolizing an increase of neural activity to eventually establish wakeful consciousness.)

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This dream seems to have been at least partly influenced by having reviewed and written about a childhood dream from 1967 (“Battle atop Boxes on a Boxcar”).

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A train is typically relevant to the dynamics of the dream state, not waking life. Here, it can be validated that I had threads of instinctual dreaming (unaware of being in a dream but still with influence and control). This is why my dream self was able to stop the boxcar (subliminally willing it to become stuck in the tunnel) and attain full control of it despite the size and weight. The preconscious and my emergent consciousness show up in the last scene as potential waking initiators, which is also unrelated to waking life as it is a common dream state component in case I indulge in a dream for too long (in which case the preconscious would become aggressive or more dominant, as waking up is a biological necessity).

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Resupplemented and minimally expanded on Thursday, 17 August 2017, due to seeing no evidence of public understanding of dreams or the dream state.

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Morning of November 19, 2015. Thursday.



Notas: Cinco libros, todo sobre una nueva versión de la película de 1962 - “Cinco semanas en globo”, con el actor Johnny Depp.

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I am at my sister’s house yet again (on Loomis Street). This sometimes triggers apex lucidity (especially in the situations where she and Bob are leaving the house as here and appearing as if it is the 1970s), though not in this case. I become more aware and focused on the setting as my sister Marilyn and her husband are going out (possibly to a restaurant). It seems to be early in the evening (near sunset).

There is a certain level of expectancy regarding semi-lucidity (as if I am “testing” the setting though not fully aware yet that the setting is of a dream). I keep seeing a teenage version of my wife Zsuzsanna to the north, the left side of the house when looking out at the small front sidewalk perpendicular to the street. Strangely, I know who she is on some levels, though not on others. Still, we hug each other and begin to converse.

After a short time though, I lose focus (possibly due to a noise in my real environment). Eventually, there is an elderly male in the same general area. He seems argumentative. I tell him that he is not invited into the house and that I will “break his head” if he insists on following me.

Eventually, I am looking at five books on the couch, at least three of them paperbacks and each in one of at least three different Languages (English, Russian or possibly Bulgarian Cyrillic, and Spanish - though one also seems Italian - “5 settimane in pallone”). If Russian, it is ambiguous, as the first word would translate as “pet” (only if anglicized) and only “five” if Bulgarian. (Otherwise, I get a strange impression of a movie about a dog, a rooster, a cat, and a few other animals traveling around the world in a balloon as a parody to “The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly” theme - with the rooster crowing, followed by the cat’s “meow meow meow”, then the dogs barking rhythmically in the background; “WOOF, woof woof, WOOF, woof woof.)

Even so, the books are also all apparently different in the story itself (one being almost like an episode of "Gunsmoke” or perhaps more so “Wild Wild West”), even though all are a supposed novelization of a remake of “Five Weeks in a Balloon”, starring Johnny Depp. However, one (unknown?) actor on one cover looks like he is only pretending to be Johnny Depp in a copycat version of the remake. I have a very strange feeling of enjoyment in anticipation of reading all the books, even expecting completely different stories or plot developments in each. However, my dream fades before I am able to read much.

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I sincerely doubt if Johnny Depp will be in a remake of “Five Weeks in a Balloon”. If so, you read it here first.

Morning of July 1, 2015. Wednesday.



Notes: Ever since I was young, I found out (at least for me) that a fulfilling session of intimacy always brought me into the state of blissful sleep paralysis. In fact, sometimes this changeover was so immediate and primarily passive, I sometimes did not move into my long-acknowledged self-as-dream-maker role. I would almost always start to hear loud hypnagogic audio before the beginning of sleep paralysis (though not directly related to the state in my experience - though everyone seems different).

Imagine my immense surprise as I got older, when people wrote of hypnagogia as being a problematic “condition” (often regarding some sort of “disorder”) and almost always wrote of sleep paralysis as mostly a negative experience of “shadow people” or a dark presence (a load of nonsense in my case - I discovered that the shadow was my conscious mind becoming less-defined as I was then more into the dream state - the opposite of what most people seem to believe). No one could be more baffled than I am over the things I have seen in typical dream literature (especially idiotic “interpreter” sites), none of which has resonated with me throughout my life.

I mention this in somewhat of a prologue here, as I entered the first dreamscape this time at a passive level. (My first dream of the night is almost always vivid and lucid as I remain in a “carryover” self-as-dream-maker state. I do not usually document such dreams online, especially as they are often very similar and mostly without any plot or theme.) After fulfilling intimacy, I almost immediately heard an imaginary sound pulse as I remained on my back for a time (though I do not typically sleep all night on my back). It was three loud knocks (seemingly on a fictional “dream floor” I was lying on - or rather, a typical state of perceptual bilocation in this state), moving from my right to my left; that is, first knock on my right, second knock right “above” me, and third knock on my left. It does not surprise me at all that there is an actual superstition related to this. Of course, I do not buy it any more than the “shadow people” story. Save that for the people who believe in “dream dictionaries” and the syndicated Wishing Well newspaper feature.

In my dream, I and my family are living in a large unfamiliar house (though it also seems like a composite in afterthought - one which includes the Loomis Street house and my old Cubitis home). I am involved in sorting things out; mostly a large number of paperback books. For some reason, I have glued at least three paperback books to the otherwise featureless wall covering their back cover with glue and pressing them up. They remain just above my head, though the third one (farthest right) is slightly lower. They are all the same title but different editions. I clearly see the differences on each cover. Two of the covers show the heads and upper shoulders of two ship captains (one with a thick beard, one without) on each in a diagonal layout, but one cover of those two has an embossed tessellated flame design over mostly blue while the other cover is flat (though with otherwise mostly the same imagery), which distinguishes it from the other edition. The other book (first one from my left) looks of an older style of painted cover art (perhaps late 1960s) in mostly darker greens, blues, and grays, and displays a warship and a submarine underneath. I no longer recall the title, though. I know it had “captain and the” in it, possibly “The Submarine Captain and the Warship Captain”.

For several minutes, I think about what I am doing, wondering if the books will just eventually fall off the wall, the glue not being strong enough to hold over time. This does not happen though and I go into a dream within a dream - though only for a short time before returning to my main dream setting. In this one, I am at a book store seeking a particular edition of this title, asking if they have the “thirteenth edition” (my wife was born on a Friday the thirteenth - though I do not link this association in-dream), but then I realize that the book store owner may not have a clue which edition is which, especially in a secondhand store. I will likely have to do everything on my own, as usual. This is a rather strange reflection, as I have the mind of a passionate book collector in-dream, something I have never been in reality and could not care less about having several copies of the same title in different paperback editions. Even so, I am puzzled over my actions in both layers of my dream, though mainly the “why” of gluing the books on the wall in the first place. I cannot quite work out why I am doing this - especially in my vague concern about the longevity of the setup.

I am thinking that we should turn our house into a bookstore, though mostly using the porch for patrons. I think that I will mention this to Zsuzsanna and we can start running our bookstore as soon as possible.

I notice a young girl lying on the couch (opposite the wall where the books are glued). My youngest son is also there but slightly older than in reality. I sit down near them and “remember” that the girl is my daughter, though for some reason I cannot remember her name at all. I am thinking it may be something like Rebecca. I am vividly aware of small grains of sand on the couch, which has been opened out into a single bed that reminds me clearly of my couch/bed in Cubitis for a time (of the kind of couch where the back just drops down in contrast to the one we now have in reality that opens out into a larger bed from a compartment underneath). Even the texture and color looks like the one I had as a teen (for about two years or so).

Feeling quite strange over not remembering my own daughter’s name I begin to develop an idea on how to get it without being seen as uncaring. I ask her “What is it you like to be called?”. She calmly answers with “Belly”. Oddly enough, this fictional nickname is somewhat an unlikely form of my real daughter’s name (Isabelle) and strikes me as such (“returning” my memory) that my dream is fractured and I very slowly wake. However, I would hope that this is not the name she will use any more than “Izzy” (which I also do not personally care for that much, no offense to the Izzys of the world).

Morning of April 9, 2015. Thursday.



Not much occurs in this dream. My family and I are living back on Gellibrand Street in Clayfield (Brisbane area) where we have not been in years.

In my dream, the main rooms of the apartment (first bedroom, second bedroom, and kitchen) are duplicated (all but the porch, which remains in the middle) and mirrored so that there are seven rooms. This makes the additional kitchen the main entrance, I think. I do not really consider this oddity of layout. I am in the process of going through things to see if the house can be arranged better. The large sliding door cupboard we have (originally designed for an office and very heavy) is near the doorway of the original kitchen. I notice that over half of the books are large telephone books from different years. About half of those are for Sarasota, Florida and the other half for Brisbane (Australia) suburbs. I am a bit annoyed about the space they are taking up and plan on getting rid of them, but I do not focus on doing so at the time.

There is also something about finding crossword puzzles for my second-youngest son, but that idea does not really seem that feasible as I look at a few different ones, as I seem to realize that solving crosswords is not really educational (relative to critical thinking skills) and in fact, rather pointless, though not as pointless as the “find a word” puzzles (and all their variations of titular names), which I also notice now and then in some magazines, which are not even puzzles and where you just look at words within random letter patterns and circle them. I mostly just look around at random books and magazines. Some of the writing is rather sparse on some pages and not quite discernible.

One book I pick up has a comic-strip-like sequence of small photographs near the top of the page, mostly only of the back halves of various breeds of dogs (but from the side, all facing to the left). I continue to think about what books we can sell or give away (or just throw out). Perhaps it is a play on “Dog Tales (tails)”. I had just seen a rather odd section of a television show in real life (Dr. Harry), where it showed a large dog jumping up and humping someone’s leg and the commentary was something about the dog not being playful, but intending to show dominance (probably one of the strangest and more “Captain Obvious” things I have seen on that show).

Another book actually seems to be a virtual baby in two-dimensional form (though about several months old), though probably at 2:1 scale relative to the imagery on the pages. How the baby is - relating to its status, mood, or health, depends on what pages you turn in what order, I think - am not sure if there is an index or table of contents relative to this. There are several pages that just show the stomach which may represent various stages of breathing or to signify weight. The book does not make noise and seems to be on glossy paper (probably only about forty pages in all). Perhaps it is a play on “The Baby Book” (in this case, the baby being the book).

There are other unusual books with unusual features but I do not recall everything. Some of this may relate to reading about Charlton comic books recently, which were once so cheaply made, that the pages were all different sizes and with different page edges (such as straight or sawtooth-shaped edges, often mixed from page to page) as well as being of different thicknesses, sometimes almost like cloth.

Morning of March 29, 2015. Sunday.



I am walking up a very long and steep flight of stairs (both by my choice and my seeming simultaneous creation of it by way of non-lucid dream control). Others, including a wealthy old lady, are ahead of me. This flight of steps is so steep and high, I get a strong impression that I will not be able to go down them comfortably. (This is mainly due to the fact that I am facing the solid structure of the stairs as I am ascending them but when walking down the steps, I will be facing open space, which might cause me to feel ungrounded.)

I decide that instead of using the stairs on my way out after I do whatever it is that I have to do, I will teleport from the second floor of the building down to ground level (though this never occurs by the end of my dream).

I notice that, as I am climbing the stairs, the building I am in is like a huge cathedral. Eventually, I find myself in a large L-shaped area that has numerous bookshelves along all walls. Apparently, it is a book sale, displaying both new and old and worn secondhand books. My wife Zsuzsanna eventually appears and looks over different sections.

A young Japanese male seems to be responsible for most of the book sale, regardless of how large an area it seems to be in (at least one city block). At first, I talk to him about the books in broken Japanese but eventually I decide to implement a translator where I can speak English and it will automatically be translated into Japanese. This translator even forms a holographic matrix around my head to display the correct lip positions for each word and syllable, so that it also looks correct. It is as if I am actually speaking Japanese to anyone watching me. My translator works both ways. I hear the Japanese male speaking English even though I know he is speaking Japanese. His voice is loud and clear.

I look over a set of small but thick softcover books on a low shelf that seem to be in a series and are mainly about mythical monsters, though one has a triceratops on the cover. At first, I notice only book number four, but eventually find all of them and decide to buy them. I carry them around with me to another section closer to where Zsuzsanna is.

I pick up a large hardcover book from a top shelf and notice that the writing is very small and sideways on some pages, which seems to relate to statistics, old census reports, or other government records. I see that the front covers (though not the back covers) are missing from most of the books in this particular section including the one I am holding, which is also damaged in that the spine is at a slanted angle. Even though most of these books are in English, it seems that they may have been printed in Japan. I do get a lot of various information from the young male but cannot remember all the details, as there are a lot of different books I look at and talk about.

I find a large book in the area where Zsuzsanna is looking around. It seems to be someone’s dream journal in the form of a novel. It is about a man and his wife and young daughter traveling over an isolated desert region in a station wagon. I read one entry about a drive over a particular stretch of hard, cracked ground and what was seen, the dream journal being from the perspective of the male, who is the driver. I decide to get that one as well.

Eventually, Zsuzsanna and I are ready to leave. She has a large canvas carry bag full of books. Mine is smaller than a backpack. In order for us to pay, the young Japanese male has to put on a blindfold and determine the price by weight alone as he stands near the section we stopped at. I do not question this. The total cost is fifty dollars. As I go to pay, I see that there is about two hundred dollars in fifties and a few twenties in my wallet. For the third time in this dream, I implement an idea that seems to prove that a part of me knows I am making my dream. Even though I have enough money to pay for the books, I mentally create an additional fifty dollar note on the other side of the twenties.

From here, my dream fades. However, as it does, I begin to notice additional bills of odd amounts, such as a thirty-four dollar bill, a seventy-dollar bill, and several other fictional values.

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Morning of December 8, 2014. Monday.



I believe it is in the morning, possibly about nine o'clock. I am not sure of the location. There is a chair full of textbooks, notebooks, papers, and possibly other printed materials. I seem to be seated at least five feet away from this other chair.

Over time, fully convinced I am awake, I start to try to will a folded piece of paper on the top of the stack to move. There is a sense of control and “connection” somehow, though it is very slight. The piece of paper actually slides to the left and flies across the room to land on the floor. My mother makes an appearance a couple of times, and strangely enough, this seems normal to me (she died years ago, in fact).

Even though my telekinesis dreams are so vivid and lifelike otherwise, I rarely get the hint or idea that I am dreaming. In fact, I usually wake from such dreams with a sense of disappointment (as well as feeling slightly foolish). This, and being able to hover and fly about in a fetal position, is a very common in-dream ability. The hovering, however, sometimes triggers vivid lucidity.

I am contemplating the nature of my seemingly new ability and try several more times after putting the folded paper back. It works each time, and the paper slides and flies to the left of the room in the same way. At one point, I have a vague idea that the event might have been caused by the wind, but this is not the case. I am able to perform telekinesis a few more times.

Finally, I decide to try it on something else. I look at the dining room table and notice a few clothes scattered over it. There is an empty cola can sitting near the edge. I will the can to slide towards me and fall off the table but then fly into my hand (as is common in such dreams). However, I soon wake and wonder how I did not detect it was a dream.

Morning of August 30, 2014. Saturday.



An earlier part of my dream seems to reflect a typical “finding books” dream where various books (including magazines) have been discarded near smaller stores and I look for items of interest. At one point, though, I am in an area late at night near an alley while a few other (unknown) people are around. My wife is with me. There is something about either going home or possibly to another location we may be temporarily living at and leaving with two heavy seemingly cloth or burlap bags of which I am not sure of the contents - possibly generic personal belongs or the results of scavenging - but the bags are quite heavy. I have the idea that I will just fly to where we need to go.

I tell my wife to get onto my back as I hold a bag on each side. Each bag almost reaches the ground when held up by each hand. The other people watch as I then fly into the sky effortlessly and with a sense of freedom. This becomes the typical recurring scene of flying over the streets of the city late at night, though I am not sure of the location. Though I had felt the heavier weight while still on the ground, once I focus on the flight, it is as if everything is primarily weightless. It is a very long, enjoyable flight.

There is another section where I am with a younger version of my wife and another unknown female. We seem to all be on the bottom bunk of a bunk bed though not much happens other than my wife seeming to read from an (unknown) book which I think is about geography and possibly with aspects of politics.

Eventually, there is a strange developing plot regarding the usage of kidnapped people taken to an island to be slaves. I remember the ride in the airplane, and how most of us soon escape. We run down a long straight dirt road (with higher weeds on each side) to a more open area near a lake. It seems like one or two persons drown while trying to stay unseen, but this is not certain. We hide behind the reeds near water’s edge as the kidnappers, being a large military group, search the other side of the lake. I do not seem to be bothered much as I am not afraid, but perhaps not directly focused on the potential danger of being caught again.

Eventually, others and I watch the long line of soldiers going back fairly swiftly to the area we all escaped from because of unknown aircraft being detected and approaching the island. The direction they are going is to my left as we hide in the weeds though I am not sure of compass direction. Airplanes fly over the buildings in the distance but only partly (at first) seem to be related to an attempted rescue. Someone asks me “Did you see that?” when bombs start to fall and destroy all of their buildings and eventually all of those involved with the kidnappings - however, there seems to be a caution or wariness regarding the group that seemingly is there to rescue us (they may perhaps not even know about the implemented slavery) and so we stay in the weeds as the scene loses cohesion.

There is one more switch to a different section where a (unknown) girl is talking about Abraham Lincoln while standing outside in an unknown area (though possibly implied to be near the house I presently live in). She is reading lines from a book and continuously saying (after each and every phrase) “Lincoln lied abut that” (with an unemotional matter-of-fact increasing emphasis on “that” each time). This gets to be a bit monotonous. Finally, she said “Lincoln smiled…”, followed yet again by “Lincoln lied about that” (implying that he was not smiling even though he was, which does not make that much sense at this point).

Morning of August 26, 1997. Tuesday.



I dreamt of a skeleton that was buried in Cubitis (where I have not lived since 1978). The identity of the skeleton remains unknown. A strong wind blows dirt from it as I watch. Eventually, instead of a skeleton, it turns out to be edges of many interesting magazines and books. (Human remains becoming something else over time, or having been something else even when there does seem to be a real change, has been a sparsely recurring dream event.)

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Because skeletons, ghosts, and similar concepts relate to unfocused conscious awareness within a dream when books define a clearer conscious focus (though I do not become lucid), such a dream symbolizes increasing neural activity towards waking. Wind represents the passage of time.

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Morning of March 23, 1974. Saturday.



I am either (originally implied to be) resting or “sleeping” within my dream, with my bed being fully in the southwest corner of my Cubitis bedroom, aligned along the south wall near the one jalousie window, though my head to the east, lying on my right side at first.

After a time, I hear someone say my name from above (but seemingly close to my head), the dream becoming more vivid, followed by “Claude…here are some books” with a loving and intimate intonation. It is my “mystery girl”, but I am not sure where she is, perhaps in another dimension oriented above my bed, with the portal being part of the ceiling itself, though the ceiling does not look any different. Several large old books fall somewhat in slow motion (or somehow held back from falling more heavily as if perhaps by levitation) onto my bed. There is a very clear and strong sensation of weight shifting by the books landing on my bed. For a short time, I consider that the girl will join me, but I do not see her anywhere at any time. There is a vivid sense of antiquity as well as a feeling that these books are also one-of-a-kind. They mostly seem somewhat encyclopedic, some relating to the paranormal or perhaps spiritual rituals. I am somehow somewhat aware that the writing in one book reminds me somewhat of plant roots (which is a recurring concept) even though I do not seem to be looking inside any of the books. This event seems to be happening in the morning. Sunlight is filling my room and I feel a sense of true love from somewhere unknown.

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I am disappointed that they are not there after I wake up, as if I have residual consideration that items from my dreams can materialize in reality with the right focus.