Blue_Opossum

Morning of October 6, 2018. Saturday.

Dream #: 18,919-01. Reading time: 1 min 45 sec. Readability score: 63.



Entering the usual (projected in this stage) vestibular system correlation phase (always based on the subliminal, liminal, or lucid anticipation of the process rather than anything to do with waking life), I find myself back in Cubitis in the early afternoon, in the front yard. I am watching airplanes flying south in the blue sky above. It goes on for seemingly a long time. (Although this is a common dream situation, having been so for over fifty years, it does not have the same essence or mood as my watching the sky before dawn dreams. Those carry more of a deep, blissful nostalgia and happiness, with a false memory of otherworldly activity occurring at about two to three in the morning.)

There are others with me, though they are unfamiliar people. Everyone in this dream is cheerful. My conscious self identity does not exist in this space. Even the neighbors to the immediate south are unknown and unfamiliar. There are no thoughts of the real history with the real-life neighbors of 1968-1978.

At times, I consider that I could cause an airplane to crash (though I am not viably lucid) by anticipating it, though I do not focus on human fatality here. Sometimes one of the planes flies close to the ground in the distance, but there are no explosions. Eventually, I see that a Cessna is in the driveway of the neighbor immediately to the south as if it had been there all along. I point this out to one of the other people in the front yard.

My dream wavers into an indoor setting, where the Cessna is now indoors, in the neighbor’s living room. It is behind the couch (and is not much longer than it) in about the center of the room, though it does not have wings. The owner had called it “fake” even though it is not. He and his wife sit inside the airplane and watch television. The plane faces west.

Eventually, the man cheerfully talks about having a snake around somewhere, which he put in the room on purpose. I am not concerned and do not see a snake anywhere, though slowly wake at this point.

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Since childhood, I have understood the vestibular system correlation avatar to be a specific form of RAS personification (the waking process linked to the reticular formation in REM sleep). Once again, this is validated, as the core RAS manifestation (in all primates, not just human beings) is a snake. It is almost as if the preconscious is playing with me by talking about having put a snake somewhere in the room with the wingless airplane.

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Morning of October 17, 2017. Tuesday.



My wife Zsuzsanna and our family as we appear now are living in the Cubitis house. There is a gentle rain. I am aware that our oldest son will be returning from his job (same job as in real life despite the erroneous 1978 setting of Florida rather than here in Australia). I contemplate if one of us should go and get him so that he will not get wet walking back in the rain. Zsuzsanna says that she will when the time comes.

I am in the living room with Zsuzsanna. I look out the windows into the Cubitis backyard (it seems to be late morning but still raining) and notice a row of tall purple larkspurs that are close to the windows, under the awnings, and parallel to the entire east side of the house. They are not yet in full bloom. I think about asking Zsuzsanna when she planted them (perhaps very early on the previous morning), as I do not recall when she could have done this, which puzzles me slightly as I consider how wonderfully industrious and sedulous she is.

In an area near the center of the large backyard are a few weeds where there is otherwise mostly short grass, but I also see about three or four potato plants in a couple random spots. It is raining, so I will pull out the weeds later. There is a vivid sense of love and peace.

Zsuzsanna tells me that our oldest son will probably be off work about an hour early, as people do not usually shop there when it is raining. (This turned out to be prescient curiously enough, and it has not happened in this way before. I fail to see why people would stay home from shopping just because it is raining, but I guess I forgot that some people are “depressed” by rainy weather, whereas I am not.)

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I have been a devoted dream journalist all my life (and I even married my literal dream girl) and yet have never held any interest or belief in “interpretation”, mainly because my dreams, other than literally prescient threads, naturally decode themselves prior to fully waking, revealing their origins and manner of synthesis, but also because my dreams have held the same basic components and patterns, especially variations of waking symbolism and the same RAS triggers (such as emergent alertness to real environmental noise) since early childhood.

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Look closely at the threads that are accurate and those that have no basis for accuracy.

My personified subconscious (dream self) is aware that I am happily married to Zsuzsanna, yet we are living in a house in America (Florida), where Zsuzsanna (and our children) have never been and I have not been since 1978 when I was only seventeen. (Zsuzsanna and our children have always lived in Australia.) This is not even the house in Wisconsin I was living in years before Zsuzsanna and I first began writing to each other.

My dream self is aware that it is raining in real life at our present location (and in fact, this dream began within seconds of falling asleep again) and (again, as in the above paragraph) I am in a different house in my dream, also aware that it is raining, yet without the awareness of where I am in time and space (and how interesting is that?).

I am aware that our oldest son has a job and even the exact location of where he works, and yet again, there is no conflict between the impossible contrast of living in Cubitis (an isolated rural area through which only a small highway intersected) and in an urban area in a different country. (My dream self usually does not find the implication of either bilocation or mixed-up composites, which are very common in my dreams, as unusual in any way.)

I am aware that there are weeds in our backyard in real life (it has been raining continuously for a few days), yet (again) this is rendered into the backyard of an incorrect setting.

Despite the otherwise fictional nature of this scenario, there are a few real-life factors, and even a typical thread of prescience (which I have always experienced on a day-to-day basis, yet do not always go into detail about as my entries are often already very long).

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Morning of September 17, 2016. Saturday.



I am with my wife Zsuzsanna looking at a smoother version of Google Maps that is almost like watching clear film footage. The view is being shown as if driving down Highway Seventeen (now called Cubitis Avenue). I show her where Harold M lives, going south at first, although the orange grove is gone. I see the new fence near where I used to live.

After a time, I am on the scene without giving my transition much notice. I appear to be just south of my old home, but it seems to be gone. In fact, the entire area seems empty except for one shed closer to the highway. The area seems shaped somewhat like an elongated right triangle. I tell someone else how “my house is gone”. However, a short time later, I notice it is actually there, though appears to be some sort of greeting card store with the entrance to the south (rather than west). Although this puzzles me, I have a interest in continuing north to see how things have changed.

I somehow end up at an unfamiliar travel agency in a tall building, near a long counter on the north end of a small room that also features a tall postcard rack, though I am not really interested in a brochure someone gives me. I am now trying to find my way out of the building. I try to go through a doorway, but it seems it is not actually a doorway because it is too narrow for anyone to go through and is more like an open corner of two truncated walls with a narrow glass and metal window. I ask an older businessman how to get out of the building and he points to a flight of steps just to my left. I soon see that one can go either up or down from here. The steps going down appear to lead to an enclosed parking area. I try going up but decide it is probably going to be too steep. I decide to use the front entrance, where I should have left through in the first place.

I soon end up in a similar situation in what seems like a restaurant. This time I decide to go down a flight of stairs but I do it by sitting down and then sliding down on my backside. There is an unfamiliar woman with her young daughter and they also use the stairs but the woman seems confused about where she is going. “Get back here,” she says to her daughter, because the bottom of the stairs opens out into an enclosed street, which I then follow into an outside area. Even though using a flight of stairs in a dream shifts my consciousness in a more perceptible way, I do not become lucid.

I go past an automobile repair shop and filling station. There are four young men, perhaps only about nineteen or twenty years of age, who are working on a car. I think one of them is Brenda W’s younger brother Albert. I then realize that would be ridiculous since he would be around fifty years old by now. Still, he and the others seem cheerful and happy to see me even though I am probably a total stranger to these four. I then decide that I will actually look for Brenda.

“Do you know where Brenda lives?” I ask, giving her full name. They nod happily and say they will show me. Along the way, I notice it now seems late at night. Apparently she still lives in the same house she has all her life. I follow them northward. After a time, instead of four mechanics, they transform into mimes, even being dressed differently with no discernible changing-of-clothes event. I do not really regard this absurd change. They circle around me while making exaggerated up-and-down wing motions with their arms as if they were birds (which in fact is a tertiary dream sign due to the movie and cartoon gag of the circling of birds around the head of someone who has been knocked unconscious, though I do not catch this very obvious clue). They also pretend to be scuba divers and competitive swimmers as we continue along. Eventually, they all hold out their hands close to me as if expecting me to give them coins for their performances.

When we reach Brenda’s driveway when it now seems to be late morning after being late at night moments before, I give one of them fifty cents; two shiny American quarters. He tells me to follow the path to house number eight. They go on their way as I very soon see a metal screen door with the number eight written on it in black with a felt pen. I also see the numbers nine and ten written on the door with a felt pen, but those numbers have a diagonal line (which slopes down to the left) through them (to invalidate their previous implied usage as the house number it seems.

I see Brenda through the window of the screen door. She is sitting in an armchair. To my right, I curiously see, through a row of windows, a row of open bags of cement, gravel, and sand sitting inside the house but I do not think it to be that unusual. They are vertically propped up against the windows on my side so that I mostly only see the tops.

“You can just keep going on to the next house,” she says in her Southern accent and with undisguised sarcasm. She seems younger than she would actually be; about forty. Still, she slowly recognizes me and as she opens the door as I am still standing on the outside steps, I tell her how I am married to a wonderful woman and have five children. This is strange because I still do not have an iota of lucidity. I tell her that I am sorry for not telling her more about things when we were younger. We embrace, but it is not sexual in any way, more as a simple acknowledgement and preconsciousness to waking consciousness transition in liminal space.

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Brenda was usually a verified “stand-in” for my soulmate (Zsuzsanna) regardless of our real-life relationship. She sometimes formed half of a composite when my “mystery girl” was not more clearly defined as Zsuzsanna (before I met her). This dream seems unusual (especially after all this time) as she mostly seems to represent herself as well as my preconscious personification where she only appeared as such in my childhood dreams, and one dream of 1991 just prior to finding out my “mystery girl” (Zsuzsanna) was actually a real person with appearance, unlikely accent, birth date, birth location, and every single nuance (including unlikely mixed ethnicity) being the same since seen in dreams from earliest memory.

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I am slightly puzzled over the bags of cement. They appear near windows and may be a dream sign due to their resemblance to the shape of a pillow (thus could be a play on my pillow being subliminally perceived as being too hard or not of “perfect” comfort). However, gravel, cement, and dry sand sometimes represent low-level dehydration. It could be a mix of both, though I was atypically thirsty when I woke.

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Morning of August 17, 2016. Wednesday.



My wife Zsuzsanna and I seem to be much younger, perhaps both in our twenties, seemingly about the same age. My dream starts (or at least becomes viably discernible) at a point where we are walking out from the Cubitis carport (a common induction point in my childhood and teenage years) about an hour or two before dawn.

We are headed out to the highway area just beyond the big front yard (the original Highway Seventeen) for some reason. I notice that the area is different. Instead of a culvert, the land is elevated about eight feet above the highway (which is an intriguing variation I had never dreamt of before). I notice a few wastebaskets just off the highway, of various sizes and colors, which I consider as belonging to neighbors. I also get the impression that people sometimes sit in the area on the wayside below as an act of socialization.

Zsuzsanna goes north to the area near where Harold’s orange grove started. There is an unusual large light-colored tree growing through a recess (or circular “notch”) in the embankment with its west side open (and facing the highway). Most of the branches (at least those in view) look as if they had been cut off about a foot or so from the trunk. Some of the exposed roots seem to be nearly at the height of the embankment (extending into the recess only) even though the trunk also properly extends from the ground below just off the highway. I do not question this highly unlikely and illogical feature. There is no traffic on the highway during the length of my dream.

After a short time, even though I have no lucidity, I will a television to appear. It is a widescreen television similar to our real one and it faces the house. I tell Zsuzsanna to “watch this” as I manipulate its placement without touching it, using telekinesis to slide it a bit more north. (At no point is anything discernible or considered to be more north of the tree.) There is a sense of puzzlement where I consider that the embankment may have a slope from the ground level below that is horizontally deeper in near the bottom, and if this is the case, there may be people there though unseen, though this does not seem to be the case after a time. I cause the television to float in the air a few times, just past the edge of the embankment, as I contemplate what to do with it.

I eventually start moving my hands in both a vertically and horizontally increasing span (moving my arms about slowly in an arc) as if indicating that the television is getting larger both in its width and height. This actually works and I am amused as I cheerfully ask Zsuzsanna “how is this?” It becomes very large, nearly as big as a movie theater screen (though with the black surface of a television), several times its original size. The detail seems flawless in how it slides and becomes larger, vaguely reminiscent of shutters opening (though not directly rendered as such, though I do get an association of parts of it flopping out from the side as it evenly grows larger though not as if by original design). My dream becomes more and more vivid as I go closer to the tree and the edge of the embankment and I sit down to the left of the tree (south side). It is the only tree visible in the area.

Zsuzsanna starts climbing the tree, but only near embankment height, and she mostly only circles around it, sitting on a truncated (seemingly evenly sawed-off) branch a couple times, while facing the tree. Still, I am concerned that she could slip or fall and I tell her to be careful as I would not want anything to happen. I then use telekinesis to start causing dirt to fill in the recess that the tree is adjacent to, but decide to stop after a short time even though the completion would cause the area to be more stable to walk on (though this is not really logical as in reality there would still be less dirt overall in the area, although there is a sense that I may be creating it as I also mentally move it). Zsuzsanna seems very happy and deriving pleasure from moving about the tree’s circumference (while staying mostly at the embankment height, going neither up or down). I feel a sensual attraction to her as she sits on the truncated branch facing the tree, the scene being somewhat erotic.

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Since 1968, Highway Seventeen (the original name as the stretch is now called Northeast Cubitis Avenue), when featuring as the main setting of a dream (especially in the final segment) causes an absolutely amazing heightened sense of clarity and extremely clear “realistic” detail and vividness. I suspect at least two possible reasons for this. A highway often seems symbolic of the strongest link between dream self and more discernible increasingly active consciousness. I also spent a lot of time (during a period of about eight years) waiting on the wayside for the school bus (as well as getting off there in the afternoon), and so these two factors also can combine to validate this as an augmented liminal space and “arriving home” (waking up) scenario. The fact that I non-lucidly create and manipulate the television (which usually represents a dream within a dream though in contrast also a link to the external real environment) seems to be a very intriguing non-lucid practice of dream manipulation (though many dreams throughout my life, I as my dream-self have also manipulated non-lucidly solely by pretense and nearly subliminal expectation, though this does not always work, as with my recent “Robot Help” dream as an example). Additionally, the television expanding and growing larger is also analogous to my dream becoming more vivid.

Morning of July 25, 2016. Monday.



I have befriended, as a coworker, Terry O'Quinn (as John Locke on “Lost”). We are volcanologists working in an apparently isolated area, though there is no impending threat at first. Eventually however, I develop some sort of insight into seeing what is to come, though this is more as a typical pretense in somehow subliminally directing my dream (which happens a lot in non-lucid dreams). There are about six or seven in total working in this setting.

I inform them that they all died - though speaking of events about three days from now. They seem a bit wary of my advice that they should leave. They do not want to scrap the study, but I somehow convince them.

Suddenly, at one point as we are walking, we are all in the Cubitis living room. I gaze cautiously at a small bright orange circle (like a shallow hole possibly revealing orange rather than red lava inside) on the knotty pine wall to the right of the hidden door that was there in real life, somehow linked to a light switch in this otherwise dark room. (This is a sunrise metaphor and waking precursor and seemingly symbolizes a desire to somehow see my deceased parents prior to the new day as both my mother and father used that room during different time periods.) There is a sense of electrical energy rather than volcanic and there is no threat, just a sense of awe and curiosity. The others follow my lead willingly. There is an interesting scene of an earthquake but I inform them that there is still time to escape.

There is a scene where Michael Dawson shows up to drive us to the airport. He looks as if he has been badly burned by being close to the eruption, though it is more like an unrealistic type of “burn” where he is more like a shadow made of ash. It is an unusual effect but he seems perfectly fine and is even cheerful.

At a later point I am looking at Terry O'Quinn through the window of a commercial jet airliner that is flying high in the sky (and it seems I somehow phased through the wall of the aircraft I had just been in to do this). He notices me and there is the idea that I am his guardian angel or even his idea of God. He is aware of me and acknowledges my presence in a somewhat cautious but respectful manner.

Finally, there is a bizarre scene where I am looking at the front halves of the heads of all the volcanologists as they are lying on the surface of a table in a medical laboratory. They are slid around almost like dinner plates a couple times. I am trying to work out where the rest of their bodies are though they seem fairly alert and are answering questions and getting examined somehow.

There seems to be a question over how I knew they would have otherwise died. I reveal my ability, which supposedly came from some sort of injection in this same laboratory. A female medical worker seeks to give me another injection to undo my abilities but I cause her to fly backward across the room and against the wall with telekinesis. I am able to fly away as well as to help the volcanologists escape their second possible fate of being lab rats.

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Morning of January 1, 2002. Tuesday.

Dream #: 12,797-05. Reading time: 48 sec.



I am in the northeast corner of the Cubitis living room listening to records on a gramophone of surreal appearance. The scene does not trigger any sense of wrongness. I see it as “mine.”

I am later looking at a map of the Aleutian Islands, though I am unsure of what I am doing. I know what I am looking at has significance. The region is incorrectly above the northwest area of Australia, though I do not see it as incorrect. The world does not have much land. Most of the eastern hemisphere seems mainly small islands. (The scenario has occurred in other dreams.)

While outside, I see an unusual light in the sky. It is eventually clearer. It is a piece of the moon, shaped like a jigsaw puzzle piece. It is returning to the moon like a “spaceship.” I see cracks on the moon’s surface that define the shapes of standard jigsaw puzzle pieces. There is a sense of both peace and puzzlement.

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The main dream state indicator was “The Aleutian Islands,” “Aleutian” sounding somewhat like “illusion” (as a dream state reference). Jigsaw puzzle patterns occur when a dream causes puzzlement in ambiguous liminal space between dreaming and waking.

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Morning of October 2, 1977. Sunday.



Pearl Bailey (who shared my mother’s middle name of Mae) lives a few houses north of me in Cubitis on the same side (east) of Highway Seventeen. She seems to almost be like my mother, or perhaps a “replacement” for my deceased mother, though my mother did not die until 2002 in real life (yet on this same date). She tells me about a pterodactyl seen in the area and from there my dream has Hollywood-movie-like aspects. (In the background, there is some sort of association with “won’t you come home, Pearl Bailey”; and there may also be an association with Beetle Bailey.)

I eventually have a long, dramatic battle with the pterodactyl while flying a helicopter. It also seems it is part of a movie we are filming with a real pterodactyl and a possible real risk to me. I am not defeated and actually enjoy this adventurous dream. (In real life, I had a larger plastic model pterodactyl that I used in a trick outside photograph of my father where it looked “life-sized”. It had an interchangeable wing, one of which was implied to be injured/torn.)

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I have tagged this as precognitive due to the interesting coincidence of a different “Bailey” being listed directly before my mother’s obituary in 2002.

A helicopter (as well as a pterodactyl or pteranodon) is a flight symbol, and as such, signifies a real-time subliminal awareness of being in the dream state (and may or may not have an additional meaning), this being a natural association with the consciousness displacement of falling asleep or waking up. In fact, an astounding twenty percent of the tens of thousands of dreams I have documented and studied over fifty years contain flight symbols as such, often being directly linked to the waking prompt for obvious reasons (almost as obvious as the biological-based falling event, which rarely has an “interpretation” and is often solely the incidental precursor to waking).