Blue_Opossum

Morning of October 13, 2018. Saturday.

Dream #: 18,926-01. Optimized 3 minute read.




Part of my dream’s initial setting has the essence of the Cubitis house’s kitchenette (1978) though its placement in the surroundings is incorrect. It features a 1990s washing machine instead of a stove. (My mother only ever had a wringer washing machine with a cylindrical body when we lived there.) There is an open space to the right (when facing west) leading to a big bedroom with other rooms beyond.

My dream self mistakenly thinks it is Marilyn’s house. (Marilyn is a half-sister on my mother’s side who died in 2014. My dream self does not recall she died, and she appears here as in the late 1960s.)

The washing machine inexplicably slides across the floor, turning at an angle. An invisible force drags it to the bedroom. It stops near a door on the opposite side, near the bed. I find this event fascinating, so I tell Marilyn about it.

I discover the ghost of an unknown boy hiding under the bed after Marilyn informs me. I perceive him as sitting in a Padmasana position (Lotus Pose), although there would not be enough vertical space in a real-world scene.

I find a small radio station control room in the house, though it is mainly featureless. I talk to Jim through its closed window. (Jim is a half-brother on my mother’s side who died in 2008. My dream self does not recall he died. He appears as he did in the 1970s.) He tells me I should never talk about the ghost to anyone outside our home, but I disagree with him, so he seems sad.

I intensely focus on my marriage to Zsuzsanna and our miraculous “coincidences.” I talk about them as if they resulted from a divine force above us. Astoundingly, despite this, my dream self does not attain waking-life recognition.

I return to the bedroom. Marilyn informs me that the ghost boy’s parents, also ghosts, had been hiding in the wardrobe for a long time.

I open the wardrobe to investigate but mainly focus on an unfamiliar stocky man in glasses. He wears a suit. His right eye seems lower than it should be, angled downward. It is also a shorter distance from his left eye than what would be natural.

I hold out my right hand for him to shake. I am sincere and cheerful. He willingly shakes my hand. I place my left hand over his right hand, and tactility increases. I am confident and peaceful as I acknowledge him with a sincere smile as if I am happy to meet him.

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Intelligently understanding dreams:

In actuality, I am asleep in bed, vaguely contemplating mobility because of my status of REM atonia. That is why I imagine a force dragging something to the bed. It is a washing machine to remind me I am undressed while sleeping.

Shaking hands compensates for becoming intuitively aware of somatosensory phasing caused by variations in REM atonia (paralysis while sleeping, which occurs through all dreams throughout the sleep cycle in healthy people). It also acknowledges the waking transition - unification with my real-life awareness. This act, and hugging, are the two fundamental forms of this intuitive process, depending on my willingness to wake up during a specific part of my dream.

The unusual downward eye is an intuitive association with having my eyes closed during sleep. The “boy ghost” in the Lotus Pose under the bed is also a dream state signifier.

There are two main reasons for ghosts appearing in my dreams.

One reason is instinctual awareness of my dream self being an incomplete form of my true conscious self. That includes my lack of real-world mobility corresponding with the false physicality (vestibular-motor phasing) of dreaming. Even if I walk around in a dream, I am not walking with my body in a real-world event. This type of intuitive awareness integrates into various dream narratives. Unlike others, I rarely fear protoconsciousness, either in hypnopompic sleep paralysis or in the dream state proper (and its natural REM paralysis).

The other reason is my deliberate summoning of ghosts, monsters, or haunting scenarios to bring about ASMR, which I learned to do in childhood. However, ASMR, predominant in the bliss of hypnopompic paralysis, is not usually as present in the dream state.

At high levels of lucid dreaming, I have less control of a dream because of conscious bias (excluding hypnagogic and post-hypnagogic dreaming experiences). I know that ghosts, movie monsters, aliens, etc. - do not exist, so summoning such content is futile.

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Morning of June 18, 2018. Monday.



Subliminal awareness of the autosymbolic nature of the waking process begins. My unconscious mind is personified as an unknown female despite the fact my non-lucid dream self does not possess viable access to my unconscious mind at this level of REM sleep. Errors and distortions abound. She is a subliminal thread of my wife Zsuzsanna, of which my non-lucid dream self does not yet possess viable memory of or contact with my current conscious self identity. She has a daughter who literally but subliminally represents our oldest daughter at a younger age.

I am sitting on the floor in a unique erroneous version of the King Street mansion. The house is mirror imaged to its real-life layout, flipped east to west. I am in the downstairs antechamber while the female mostly remains in the living room on the other side of the doorway. She seems annoyed in building a small structure on the floor in about the middle of the living room, mainly from a set of small blocks of different solid colors, mostly blue, yellow, red, and green. They are about the size of baby blocks, but with a feature on all six sides that is like the knobs of a Lego brick, though there are four knobs on each side of each cube in a two by two pattern. A couple times, as the blocks do not fit into each other, stacks of about seven high topple over. There is a row of about eight stacks at various heights. (This is autosymbolism for failure to initiate viable conscious awareness.)

I am puzzled and somewhat annoyed, though not angry, in trying to rebuild the staircase that goes to the second floor (where I had lived in real life though not been since 1990), which supposedly is to be the real staircase. This is an extreme failure of thinking skills as I am solely working with small triangular pieces of wood. The pieces are only about two inches thick. The two stacks I had made this far are only about six inches high in two rows of about eight pieces each. I cannot seem to arrange the pieces in the correct orientation regarding which edge should face upward. I have several together, but they do not display the form of a set of steps. This indicates that my subconscious self is having difficulty in reaching my conscious self identity during the waking process.

Subliminal anticipation of the waking process continues but increases. This is after the subliminal recognition of a staircase being autosymbolism for the waking process despite its miniaturization in a setting that represents the liminal space of the process, the antechamber (what my landlady called a “vestibule” in real life). Vestibular system correlation personifies, which causes my dream to jump to a new setting, though in the same King Street mansion, still mirrored east to west.

I find myself on the second floor. I develop an ambiguous awareness where I start to become partly aware of my married status and erroneously perceive the house, though vaguely, as the Stadcor Street house in Brisbane (where we have not lived in years), though that was only a one-storey house and was nothing like the King Street house. Vestibular system correlation personifies as Glenn, one of our landlords from Stadcor Street. He has never lived in America, but my dream self does not consider this error. I have a vague awareness he is married to my landlady (only vaguely recalled as Zsuzsanna at this point, but this does not trigger the realization of my erroneous associations) even though in reality he had a male partner.

A vague thread of dream state awareness is present at this point, though no threads of viable lucidity. Because of vestibular system correlation personifying as Glenn, who seems very cheerful, I walk through the doorway of the upstairs kitchen, which opens to the porch’s roof. This is from vague recall that a porch can be used to vivify a dream, as it is autosymbolic of a specific level of dream state consciousness of which I had used many times in the past, since early childhood, to vivify my dream or “step into” a more vivid offset dream. This process developed from walking outside by way of the porch’s doorway. Here though, I am somewhat puzzled from being on the roof of the porch, as there is no additional doorway to intensify my dream or trigger viable lucidity (as the option to jump off the roof to fly does not occur to me). Glenn looks up at me from the public sidewalk in front of the house.

“You’ll have to use the catwalk,” he says happily.

I get the impression he had used the so-called catwalk and jumped to the ground from the outer edge of the roof. I study the roof and see a precarious narrow section of wood that is separate from the rest of the roof, which puzzles me. I stand on it, but consider that I cannot get to the rest of the roof (which has some building materials and tools sitting about) even though all I would have to do is step onto it from this supposed catwalk. Even after fifty years, my dream self fails to remember the dream sign of a cat being a “witness” to liminal space and typically near doorways (for the purpose of inducing lucidity in some cases), though the association had been distorted into the word “catwalk” in this case. (No cat is present and my dream self does not think about cats even upon hearing “cat” as part of “catwalk”.) The association with a “cat always landing on its feet” is not present (regarding the vestibular system dynamics of the waking process, which is often a falling sensation, based solely on biology, not “meaning” as “interpreters” falsely propagate).

My dream shifts into a different scenario as a result of considering the nature of the King Street roof (still erroneously associated with the Stadcor Street house) and subliminal anticipation of the falling sensation of the waking process, which does not occur as a result of this shift. Now it is a typical non-lucidly forced “haunting” scenario. I am downstairs again, but this time the setting is an ambiguous composite of the Stadcor Street house and the Cubitis house. I am now more aware of Zsuzsanna as my wife, though it is still not a complete recognition. She still seems to serve the role as landlady.

“How long has…it…been in this house?” I ask her this dramatically, speaking of the haunting, which is mainly nonthreatening. We talk briefly, but I become distracted. I find myself in a dark room with an unknown female. There is talk about ghosts and seeing physical evidence of ghosts in this house. I tell her, “This is the only house I have ever lived in where there is the physical presence of ghosts.” On one level, I know ghosts are not real, but on another level, I have achieved non-lucid dream control and revivification at this point to entertain myself. The old writing desk that Zsuzsanna used to have is present, which results in an increase of thinking skills correlation. Near the opposite side of the desk from where the unknown female is standing, another female slowly appears. It is a ghost. “Can you see her?” I ask the female. She tells me that she cannot see anyone there.

The ghost is a realistic version, as a “real” human, of Velma Dinkley (of the Scooby-Doo franchise), though about twelve years of age. She seems puzzled and very shy and uncertain. “Who are you?” I ask her. “I’m a goddess,” she whispers. I am puzzled and ask her again about five times. Each time, she softly says, “I’m a goddess”. I want to help her come to terms with her death. (This is a vague influence of “Show Yourself” from 2016, seen just prior to sleep, where I expected Travis to hug the ghost of Paul near the end, though he did not). I hug her, place my right hand on the small of her back, and move it up to the middle of her back. As a result, the palm of my hand begins to glow with white light, rays shining into other areas of the room. (I do not recall the association with Zsuzsanna having been born on September 13, though this was exactly one year before “Scooby-Doo” first aired, therefore Velma in this case is a subliminal representation of Zsuzsanna.)

The palm of my right hand continues to glow as I find myself walking south through the Cubitis hallway. I stand in the doorway of the Cubitis southwest bedroom looking into the semidarkness. Several unfamiliar people, both men and women, are sitting on couches that are against the west and north walls. (This is an erroneous setup, as the north wall held the sliding doors of a large closet in reality.) I hold up my right hand and the light spreads into the room somewhat. The others are puzzled. I step through the doorway and wake. (This is a vague association with a security system reading a handprint to allow entry, or, in this case, to exit the dream state.)

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With this entry, I have attempted to explain the dreaming and waking process as best I could for this dream. (This is difficult in a society where most people have no viable understanding of dreams, many still believing in “interpretation” and “symbolism” in the popular sense, neither of which is real.) The bedroom is a literal thread of final recognition that I am dreaming, and so I choose to wake. The light represents attaining consciousness as a willingness to accept daybreak and intelligence of which only the conscious self possesses in waking life.

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Morning of August 20, 2017. Sunday.



I am in the middle room on the east side of the King Street mansion (where I have not been in real life in over twenty years). It is not known if I am living there though, as there is an unknown male in the bed, which is out from the east wall. It seems to be late at night.

I am aware of a supposed haunting, but there is no concern or fear of any kind. In fact, I make sarcastic remarks to the unseen ghost and screech several times. After time passes, the unseen ghost screeches louder than me. The unknown male and I are somewhat amused.

Still, I am trying to get the ghost to show itself. The room has a fictional feature. There is a closet to the left of the door, but this feature would not be possible in real life as there is a hall directly behind that wall. At one point, the landlady looks in to see what is going on.

There are two small wooden shelves near the top of the closet. The ghost seems to be on the top shelf. I see signs of it a few times, but just a little.

Two unknown girls come into the room. One reminds me of Linda Cardellini as Velma from 2002’s “Scooby-Doo” and the other, Annie Potts as Janine Melnitz from 1984’s “Ghostbusters”. Both are to my left, Linda being closer.

I tell them to watch as I bring the ghost out from hiding by commanding it to appear. On the left of the upper closet shelf, a small circle of white material appears. Time passes, and the “ghost” emerges. It looks like a series of small balls covered with a handkerchief as it moves down to the bottom shelf and moves to the right somewhat like a caterpillar in a sort of undulating motion.

Linda makes a comment about it possibly being a “flaw in the film” as if we were watching a movie instead of a real feature in the room. My dream fades from this point.

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Zsuzsanna and I watched “Ghosts of Darkness” (2017) last night, where a main scene involved two men watching a door to a closet and attempting to expel a large demon from an old mansion. This enjoyable comedic dream is all that resulted. There have been a number of other dreams where dream characters talked about dreams or features or events in a dream as if they were movies. I find this very interesting, as it may be a thread of my conscious self expressing this major sentiment about dreams through another dream character, especially as it is usually said near the end of a dream. A movie theater or stage has also been a subliminal dream-state indicator in a number of my dreams.

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Morning of November 18, 2016. Friday.



I non-lucidly become aware of being in the northeast bedroom of the Loomis Street house in La Crosse. (This means that my synaptic gating has held my memory of having fallen asleep, but not held my memory of my current location, thus my dream self accepts this erroneous location as current. In my dream, I have no focus on any relatives who lived here. I had not lived here since February 1994.)

No east window is present, an error my dream self does not regard as incorrect. (This is due to synaptic liminal space gating being closed at this point and also why Zsuzsanna appears in my dream with me but as a younger incorrect rendering. Thus far, there are two literal threads, memory of having fallen asleep and partial recall of Zsuzsanna.)

Over time, I slowly become aware of the evidence of an unthreatening haunting, which firstly only relates to marks appearing on the east wall, though it eventually seems like writing. This supposed ghost seems more like the real Zsuzsanna, though I am not directly aware of this fact in my dream. (This means that factors of my emergent consciousness are becoming active by way of RAS mediation. Threads of recall of who Zsuzsanna really is are becoming more dominant as I grow closer to waking. Well-known lifelong autosymbolism is rendered; “a wall as a liminal space divider”; that is, the precursory synaptic gating between dream self identity and conscious self identity. “Ghost writing” is utilized by way of RAS to augment language and reading skills, which typically do not viably exist in the non-lucid dream state.)

Eventually, I go outside via the Loomis Street house’s back door, though I am then in the backyard of the Stadcor Street house in Brisbane. My dream self does not consider this impossible location change as erroneous or worthy of attention. (Synaptic gating has brought about a focus on a more recent location I had lived, but not my current address or viable conscious self identity.)

There is a shed in the backyard which is similar to the Loomis Street house’s shed although it is also associated with the shed at our present address but mirrored. (A shed is typically autosymbolism for a specific type of memory recall and storage.)

It seems to be early morning at this time. The haunting continues, in two-dimensional dynamics, on the outer wall of the shed that faces the back of the house (west, relative to the Stadcor Street house). The ghost seems to remain contained within the wall, but she communicates with writing and eventually speech. (This means that my emergent consciousness is becoming more active than before to where more viable threads of my physical status of being in bed with Zsuzsanna are extant.)

A few random unknown people are eventually present near the shed. I notice that the ghost now has the power to direct lightning into the television antenna. I say “look at that” and point. Long thin bolts of lightning intriguingly jump about on the antenna. This causes me to feel somewhat wary. I think that the ghost may now become three-dimensional and perhaps even emerge from the television by going through the antenna and into the house. (This is autosymbolism for the waking transition in my dream’s final stage. It indicates subliminal awareness of Zsuzsanna’s neural energy as metaphorically coalescing with mine - I use “metaphorically” for people who cannot accept the existence of telepathy. The antenna is autosymbolism for serotonin receptors as well as synaptic efficacy. This is very similar autosymbolism as in dreams such as “Not my Fault”, a childhood dream from May 1971.)

This type of haunting dream stems from the biological factor of being unconscious, though perception of vestibular system ambiguity is minimal here (as there is no association with flying, falling, or other implied movement). The reason for this dream, along with its meaning, has been validated in its correlation with thousands of occurrences of identical autosymbolism in RAS mediation in dreams since early childhood.

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Morning of July 1, 2016. Friday.



My wife Zsuzsanna and our family as we are now (relative to age and appearance for the most part) are seemingly living back on Stadcor Street in Brisbane. However, our house is eventually implied to be haunted. There are also a number of other people, including a young black male, who are either staying with us or just looking things over as visitors. It seems we may have just moved in within the last few days.

A few different times, termites crawl out from near the top of the walls. There seems to be some sort of demonic or ghostly presence in the “attic” (though there really was not an actual attic as such in real life). The black male spends time looking at the ceiling and I notice some unusual patterns. For example, parts of the ceiling have spiderweb-like cracks in about three different areas as well as real spiderweb a short distance from the ceiling light. At one point, there is a small cylindrical hole where sand or dust rains down from for a short time.

The room shared by our two oldest children when they were younger now seems to possibly serve as a different room, though there is an unfamiliar and unknown young dark-haired female in another room whose room it may be (or may soon be) and I am seemingly checking the room regarding its safety. Instead of a wooden ceiling of planks, it is white tiles and actually seems like my bedroom in Cubitis in some ways (though the ceiling is lower). However, it also seems like some sort of unusual but very subtle composite even though the Cubitis house layout is different from the Stadcor Street house layout, though two bedrooms and the living room (lounge room) are in similar locations with respect to each other's directional orientation.

I reach up through the pushed-aside ceiling tile and find an old paperback children’s book with a yellow cover and a sketchy drawing on a white panel with a black border. I am unsure of the title. I think it may be a story from “365 Bedtime Stories” (owned for years in my childhood) and may refer to “What a Jolly Street” (which I have not thought of in many years). I brush and sweep dust and spiderweb from it with a very realistic focus and sense of awareness and touch. It depicts a cheerful running boy (implied to be running away from the foreground, though at an angle from his right) with a blanket over his shoulders (obvious dream sign though it does not trigger anything - though the cover being yellow is a dawning consciousness and sunrise symbol). I give it to the unknown girl who may be implied to be my (fictional) daughter though as other families may also be living in the house, I remain unsure. I am also aware of my real youngest son at one point during this scenario. I am able to find a few more similar books and find it fascinating and enriching, though almost like a typical faux lucidity where I expect something (without knowing I am dreaming) and manifest it with no effort. (The thought alone creates it.)

Back in the kitchen, there is movement in the ceiling over time, which is not tiled but of some sort of white fiberboard. Whatever is up there is very heavy and seems to make the ceiling slightly lower wherever it goes. Everyone seems concerned as we clearly hear it within the ceiling, “following me” wherever I walk, which is quite interesting - as if it can sense me somehow - even though I try to walk very quietly. This goes on for several minutes. At one point, there is the idea that it may be a giant rat although its “real” form may be a demon or ghost. I am annoyed more than frightened in any way and talk about “how to get rid of the demonic presence”. After a time, it speaks in a deep patronizing voice. This causes me to have had enough since this being also brings out termites a few times (as if by supernatural control), though they do go back into the walls. I shout as loud as I can for the being to leave and I do not stop. I am not afraid; I am annoyed. Eventually, it seems quieter.

I casually walk into our large lounge room. On the opposite side of the room and to the right (near the front windows) is a large lion sitting in a natural position on one of two large couches (which form a corner against two walls that join) and is “playfully” nudging one of six or seven toddlers who are somehow all sitting atop the back of the couch. The lion is opening his mouth around one in particular as if to indicate he is about to swallow her. There does not seem to be an immediate threat because the lion does not actually bite any of them. However, I have had enough of this strange “haunting” and even strongly feel that sacrificing myself to save the toddlers is the right thing to do. I get the lion’s attention to distract him from hurting any of the toddlers and he jumps down from the couch and approaches me. I assertively demand “Who are you?” after boldly gazing at his face for a time, because, even though I am not lucid in any way, I get the strong impression that I should do this.

The lion eventually starts talking in a rough human male voice as I look stoically into his eyes, but, almost without me noticing the change, the lion is now a dark-haired and heavily mustached European male (perhaps in his early forties) standing before me in a medieval swordsman outfit, though there are also the essences of court jester and pilgrim in his overall appearance and I seem to make out vague pale green and brownish horizontal stripes across his jerkin. His hair is about shoulder length though his small hood seems up. He talks about being the former resident of our house. He seems angry about its fate. Oddly, his main concern is about a party that is apparently to be held in the kitchen. I am not so keen on a party myself. I try to reassure him so as to stop all the ghostly commotion and eventually wake - with an understanding that a few of the other people will not have a party that may wreck the house and annoy the ghost.

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The setting of the kitchen may relate to slight hunger in sleep, though here, it may also imply the presence of the lion of coalescence as a lion represents swallowing the dreamer back into whole consciousness. The toddlers probably represent potential new (or offset) dream states, as this takes place on a couch (a dream sign as it is like a bed). When I was getting books from above the ceiling, I was attempting to reach and communicate with the critical thinking skills of my conscious mind, which are usually greatly lacking in dreams (as anything above the ceiling represents conscious activity as does a haunting - which is meant to stir the conscious self into waking or at least being more aware within the dream state). With the most subtle of conscious activity (though I am never lucid here) I even get a direct symbolic response that indicates I am sleeping and dreaming (the book cover of a boy running with a sheet over his shoulders). The challenge of “who are you” is quite extreme and rare for me in a non-lucid dream state (though is commonly practiced by other schools of thought in dream work), especially as I subliminally know the “who are you” is a form of my emerging consciousness. Overall, I found this dream fascinating and have placed it on my “favorites” list. It is one of my favorite non-lucid dreams in recent years.

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Again, it is curious how I challenge the Gatekeeper in liminal space, which, for whatever reason, some people identify as the “subconscious”, though this makes no sense as it is the dawning conscious self that is growing in activity in the dream state, not the “subconscious” (a term I no longer use or broadly accept anymore). A swordsman represents truth and clarity of conscious day to day awareness and in some cases implies a higher “destiny” regarding change (especially the angel with a blue flaming sword). A concern about the “party in the kitchen” possibly relates to eating healthier foods and losing a bit of extra weight yet may also metaphorically relate to a more profound coalescence in integrating more with the Source.

Morning of April 14, 2016. Thursday.

Dream #: 18,014-02. Reading time (optimized): 2 min 30 sec.



My dream starts as a typical painting and maintenance dream. The setting is a version of our present home with a fictitious open room between the lounge room and dining area where a big wardrobe against the west wall is between them.

I have clarity as I enjoy my work. I have an occasional concern about paint dripping on folded clothes on wardrobe shelves and the floor. It is light blue paint that changes to a cream color and back to blue. It occurs (several times) when switching back and forth to the different rooms. At one point, I am concerned by the thicker ridges caused by having slapped on too much paint.

Above our bed, a short distance from the ceiling is an artistic feature left by the former tenant. There are red ribbons in a trailing frame pattern that partially enclose a large and rectangular piece of tinfoil that blocks about eighty percent of the view of the ceiling. I try to paint around it.

I see a large and ancient painted tapestry. The paint seems to have expanded and blurred over time. I recall that all I have to do is touch something to refurbish or perfect it. I feel the upper right corner of the tapestry. As a result, it becomes beautiful and more defined as I watch, more detail clarifying the image in a slow sweep from right to left. I think I will finish painting the walls this way. Even so, the walls paint themselves in a light cream and blue pattern as the previous lumps and minor cracks smooth out.

I summon a haunting (regular in dreams since childhood). I pretend the room is haunted, knowing if I concentrate, I can bring about a haunting. I read various large letters and word clusters on the wall. An unknown female, a professional investigator, who reminds me of actress Helen Kleeb as in the 1970s, writes down what I say, most of which is gibberish I spell out for her.

Eventually, I say, “Oh, it’s a name.” It is Rosemary Berry (unfamiliar, but it reminds me of other rhyming dream names, such as Tony Karoni). I report “Ms” appears before the name. (It is possibly an association with “MS. Found in a Bottle” by Edgar Allan Poe, or Matisyahu’s “Message in a Bottle.” I have recently listened to it and made a version. However, the “MS.” of the Edgar Allan Poe story supposedly means “message” in only some sources and “manuscript” in more credible sources). I am glad signs of a ghost are present even though I am aware it is the result of my pretense.

Suddenly, I am a little boy of about eight years old, and I see an unfamiliar friendly boy (a ghost of a former resident) walking up to a jagged hole in the wall. (This “doorway” is a haunting feature, and other people who are present cannot see it.) I am aware his name is Hamlet. The investigator is supposed to be my mother now. (Helen is the name of my wife Zsuzsanna’s mother). I tell her about Hamlet. She says, “Oh” and remarks with seeming frustration and disappointment, “You’re just dreaming!” She thinks the Rosemary Berry incident we shared previously was a dream. I feel her condescension, but as I am a child, there is not anything I think I could say. She towers over me to my right, and I feel like a child in size contrast.

We walk through a parking lot (for liminal modulation, typically the last setting in a dream). After looking at documents she was carrying in her bag, she cautiously says, “Oh…Hamlet was one of the former residents…” (with attestation emphasis on “was”). She looks at me curiously as I wake slowly.

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