Blue_Opossum

Morning of August 19, 2018. Sunday.

Reading time: 1 min 21 sec. Readability score: 49.



In my dream, my family and I as we appear now are living back on Barolin Street (though the house is no longer there in reality and our youngest daughter never lived there). It seems to be late morning. She is looking out into the front yard.

A white plastic bucket (contents unknown, if any) rises from the ground in about the center of the front yard and hovers in the air to about five feet and floats slowly from north to south. The scene resets and repeats several times. I think that an invisible whirlwind is causing it. It does not pose a threat, and my daughter sees it as a joyful event.

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It is not a tornado dream, but it is a basis for the ultradian rhythm process (in addition to VSC). Tornadoes stem from a specific type of vestibular system correlation at the peak of ultradian rhythm. Even so, I have often controlled their manifestation and direction in both non-lucidity and lucidity.

Here, my infra-awareness (with non-lucid dream control) mediates the event as being cheerful and soft. It represents ultradian rhythm being less dominant in the projected contemplation of my illusory fictitious dream body, also affected by the level of natural melatonin. The white bucket likely represents a specific measurement of it. From a biological standpoint, water and how it occurs in dreams is autosymbolism for the level and dynamics of sleep and levels of melatonin. I have “water symbolizing sleep” as appearing 350 times in my main online journal (though water induction/melatonin begins all sleep cycles). As I have written often, dream “symbolism” is not symbolism in the conventional sense, as it is not even viable in non-lucidity despite popular misconception.

The association, although I never take medication as such, probably stems from the following extract: “When it’s nighttime and melatonin levels are high,” says Dr. Wurtman, “taking melatonin supplements is like putting a drop of water into an empty bucket; when it’s daytime, it’s like putting a drop of water into a full bucket.”

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Morning of July 17, 2018. Tuesday.



In my dream, the setting is an isolated version of our present home, with the erroneous factor of being in a large field. The roof is different from what it is in reality and is more like the roof of the Cubitis house. We have neighbors who live nearby, but not as in a typical suburban area.

It seems to be late morning in my dream. Threads of my conscious self identity are scant, but I am aware of my marriage and family.

Vestibular system correlation begins in the form of the approaching winds of a storm. Zsuzsanna and I are outside. I see a tornado. It is not a threat and seems unusually thin. I non-lucidly mediate the weather without my dream self becoming lucid.

As time passes, there are a few more tornadoes. One of them moves toward our house. As I anticipated, one of the tornadoes turns, moving into our house, tearing the roof off, but not doing any other damage.

“Oh no, not again,” I say, without much emotion or excitement. (This is a reference to the natural disaster that we survived in November of last year.)

There are several large sections of boards scattered about the yard. (I do not see steel roof sheeting as in reality.) There are also sections of tar paper (which I have not seen in real life since the 1970s).

An unknown Hispanic male, apparently our closest neighbor, comes over to look at the damage. He exhibits a cheerful and helpful attitude. My dream self automatically correlates with the factor of non-lucid dream control (with no discernible trigger) and I start to realize that I can will the roof to become whole again. Pieces of the roof fly up and go back onto our house so that the roof is complete. At one point, I hold onto small rods that are part of the foundation of the house and wiggle them around as the top of the house rebuilds itself. (This is an attempt to reinduce my dream or to get more sleep, as it represents the vertical pipe of the outdoor faucet near the front of our house in reality.) I wake shortly after this. There is no exploration of indoors in this dream. It all takes place outdoors.

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Readability score: 73 (likely to be understood by a reader who has at least a 7th-grade education).

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Morning of August 19, 2017. Saturday.



I am in an ambiguous new composite setting (as all dream settings are one-of-a-kind since early childhood), which seems to align the front (northernmost) room where I use my computer (at our present address) with the Cubitis southwest bedroom (so that the main north windows from our present address are directly associated with the Cubitis southwest bedroom’s south windows, though also present are that bedroom’s west windows as defined easterly, which otherwise have no association with our present address). It does not have the usual essence of bilocation, only an unusual atypical blended association and awareness.

There are threads of liminal dream state awareness but no active lucidity from my dream self’s viewpoint. Zsuzsanna is present at times. In the main scene, it seems to be late at night.

I had been going through, in my mind, a set of patterns relating to the dream state. I consider how certain rules or symbolism has remained the same all my life. There are three main ones I had been writing about, but I do not recall what they were, though I think one was specifically related to directional orientation regarding dream features.

I am in the room and a cardboard box containing some of my older dream journals is present on the floor. There does not seem to be the presence of other discernible features. The top of the box is partly open. As I turn to face the windows, I vividly feel a cold wind flow over my back and I am aware it has somehow come from the open cardboard box. I am puzzled and consider that the wind should have come into the room from the windows, though I still consider closing the box more securely. I remain puzzled, standing in the semidarkness, and slowly wake. (In real life, it was very windy outside at the time. The sound probably altered the rendering of my dream in an illogical way as has happened many times before with environmental sounds, body position, movements, and tactile sensations. In this case, my dream self was looking out the window vaguely aware of the sound of wind, while my real physical body probably simultaneously felt a cool spot on my back unrelated to wind.)

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Morning of December 20, 2016. Tuesday.



Zsuzsanna and I are “sleeping” in a tent (in the same orientation as in reality; her on my left) in what is apparently an unfamiliar urban park (though with a vague association with the field that used to be across the street from our present home) early in the morning around sunrise. I become wary of the gaps at the bottoms of the sides of the tent (mostly to my right, near my head) in their offering of less privacy. It is also windy at times. In the final scene, the tent is actually hovering above the ground and directly above us, the bottoms of the sides probably about four feet above the ground. I think a few ropes are still holding it in place. My clueless non-lucid dream self is not standing at any point.

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This is typical RAS (reticular activating system) intrusive waking symbolism, though sustained and with no hypnopompic physical event.

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Key concepts: Zsuzsanna and I sleeping in correct orientation as first level dream state indicator, dream state indicator of indirect association with floating or flying as dictated by natural inner ear dynamics, outdoor area previously a field and now a parking lot in real life as liminal space transition, sustained RAS factor, no personified preconscious, no direct preconscious factor, non-lucid and sustained non-cooperative emergent consciousness, interpretable as waking symbolism only.

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Morning of August 8, 2015. Saturday.



In my dream, there is a sense of love and joy even though there seems to be a possibility of a storm approaching from the north. My family and I seem to be living on Stadcor Street in Brisbane again. The layout of the house is different and there almost seems to be a loft in the corner near the front door where I am recording, I believe, a half-hour video that relates to some sort of educational session, though I do not fully recall the content. I am only talking smoothly throughout the video. The precision of what I am saying seems to have flowed smoothly thus far for the most part. However, just within the last five minutes of the otherwise perfect video, my (deceased) mother turns on the television in one of the rooms (she has never been to Australia in real life) and the sound is loud enough to be picked up on the video.

I am somewhat annoyed and illogically believe that I will have to start over from the very beginning (instead of implementing an undetectable edit). I do not show any anger, though. However, for some reason, I now seem to have the need for additional equipment and documents to do what I had just already almost completed.

From here, I go to the back door as a heavy rain has just started. There is also a fresh strong wind bringing the rain from the north. When I go out to the backyard briefly, I see a gray area and implied heavy rain over Halcyon Street, yet still do not panic.

I go back inside and notice that, in my computer room, heavy streams of rain are actually now coming through the boards of the ceiling. My first thought is that the equipment I need will probably be too wet to use for awhile, thus my video will be delayed. I am then concerned about all my documents including my dream journals. This is the only room that is leaking thus far. I almost feel a sense of cheerful amusement even though I am not sure if this indicates an apocalyptic event. I am not quite sure if I am dreaming or not. Obviously, closing the windows will not matter at all, as most of the water is coming in through the ceiling. My dream is most vivid at this point, though I start to wake from here. I have had similar dreams (concerning water coming from the ceiling) since I was very young.

Morning of July 11, 2015. Saturday.



It seems that my family and I are at an unfamiliar and unknown campground (and no name is perceived that I remember). Over time, some sort of unusual phrase seems to dominate the back of my mind in this possibly fictional location. It is something like “dust comes from the dirt weasel” or something similar. It does not seem to relate to an actual weasel or any other animal. At one level, it may relate to the link between “dust devil” and “Tasmanian devil” (cartoon version when relevant to spinning and creating a miniature tornado) and my association with my childhood “Wild Weasel” dream.

Mostly, there are two males that seem imposing. I am not certain of their intent. I somehow control movements of wind and dust (at some points, as an actual dust devil) to keep them back. One man seems particularly intent on possibly getting to us, and his motives are likely destructive or at least problematic, but I manage to hold and control whatever forces (which control the wind and air-blown “streams” of dust) are pushing him back. He never gets past this implied barrier, though the forces vary from strong to very strong to light enough so that he is able to move one step forward (though always moves back a step). Wind and dust both usually relate to the passage of time.

Morning of June 11, 2015. Thursday.

Dream #: 17,706-04. Reading time: 2 min 42 sec.



I live in an unknown region in an unfamiliar (to my conscious self) house with my family (some fictitious). I have at least three additional daughters though I do not recall their names. (They do not resemble my real-life daughters.) One seems frustrated with her middle school mathematics homework at a kitchen table. I say that she may need my help. She looks at me annoyingly because it is evident that she needs my help. Another daughter in the twelfth grade will need less assistance.

I am vaguely aware of my need to use the toilet. One of my fictitious daughters is in the bathroom, but she leaves (without complaint) before using it because of me. The bathroom is big (about half the area of our present house). There are pieces of vinyl not firmly or entirely covering the wooden floor as well as debris. Near another wall, perpendicular to the doorway I came in, is what resembles a glass door of a business building but with a doorknob rather than a handle. I go over to the door upon seeing it is open and then discover at least part of the wall is like a glass storefront, so there is no privacy. The immediate area outside looks like a shopping mall entrance. As I attempt to close the door, the doorknob and plate slide about as if loose. I fix it by moving it around until it locks into place and I close the door. I think I will tell my family about it.

The toilet flushes itself (before I go) as if on a timer. It quickly overflows. Water, waste, and debris go under the door, into the hall, into a daughter’s room. I can see through the wall (mentally; unlike through glass). She is doing mathematics homework on her bed, probably wondering about the flooding. I am annoyed by the realization of the awful mess that I will need to clean up, but incredibly, the water, waste, and debris recede, returning to the toilet, leaving the floors dry and clean.

Without using the bathroom, I go outside. The area is rural, and the front yard is very big. I get a strong sense of being in Kentucky (though I have never lived there). The house next door is vacant. On the other side of the dirt road, through a cluster of shrubbery and trees, I see horses pulling a carriage as well as several people walking. I wave at them, and they smile generously and wave back. Most of them are older wealthy blacks dressed in late 1800s attire. One man has white hair and is wearing an expensive-looking suit. They cross to our side of the road and are either moving into the other house or looking at it for possible purchase. There is at least one old Caucasian man with them who may be a servant or adviser as he asks me when the wood pit (a long deep ditch between properties with firewood and uncut logs) was last in use. I am unsure.

Soon, there is a strong gust of refreshing wind, like the season suddenly changing from summer to winter. Big flakes that briefly seem like snow but then like small pieces of old newspaper, small sections of tar paper, and grainy debris, rain down upon us. Some people duck out of apprehension at the unexpected event (that does not cause any injuries). I feel thrilled and exhilarated by this event, with a sense of sudden well-being. When I look back, I see that it was the wind blowing a section of roof cover off my house so that now about a fourth of one side looks uncovered. I notice at least three layers that include newspaper, tar paper, and shingles. One of the men starts talking about my house (though his criticism does not seem rude), as if he is surprised I am living there, expressing how it is more like the kind of house and roof for an apprentice than for a someone such as me. My dream fades.

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Morning of September 16, 2014. Tuesday.



This is a rather bizarre and ridiculous dream; more amusing in afterthought.

Two (unknown) people, a male and a female, are on a large stage in front of a very large audience. The setting is possibly loosely modeled after my old high school auditorium but probably could be anywhere. They are there to demonstrate a special type of vacuum cleaner which also refurbishes any environment to eventual perfection. Also on the stage is some sort of living room setting but with various types of curtains in different areas.

Apparently the male is the one promoting the device and the female is there as possibly part of an audience participation event. The machine is turned on and, over time, the curtains, couch on stage, and carpeted floor - even the clothes the people on stage are wearing - become more and more beautiful, solely due to the removal of tiny particulates - dust motes and such. More and more, the audiences gasps in amazement as the setting becomes cleaner and cleaner and more perfect and more pleasant in appearance. In my dream, I even notice a continuously increasing enhancement of my own cheerful mood.

Eventually, however, the vacuum-cleaner-like machine seems to increase in power, going at too high of a speed. There is a rather amusing scene where the female is holding onto the machine and flying through the air (being pulled by the machine, which is creating some sort of storm-like atmosphere on the stage, with a lot of wind and roaring) with the male holding onto her ankles and being dragged across the stage on his feet. Small pieces of stuffing from the couch are roaring around the stage everywhere (like a sandstorm) and there is thunder. I get the impression that it may start raining. (Aside from having heard the vacuum cleaner just recently - this is also quite possibly influenced by coincidentally having very recently seen two scenes with sandstorms with heavy, damaging particulates that shared the same scenario - those being in “Prometheus” from 2012 and in an episode of “Outcasts” from 2011).

The audience is now gasping for a different reason, watching the onstage “storm”, yet I still get the impression that everything will turn out if they get the machine under control again. What is going on presently may be related somewhat to the concept of sandblasting but at a very augmented level.

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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 August 30, 1986. Saturday.



I am on the front roof (that goes out over the front porch) of my King Street apartment with an unknown dark-haired female (”mystery girl” who was literally and visually precognitive of my wife-to-be since early childhood) under a sheet. It seems to be late morning. Eventually, there is a strong wind and it pulls us into the air, with a very strange sensation moving through my body, similar to when I am “too close” to the edge of a roof or cliff in real life but the feeling is augmented. The “flight” and “fall” transforms into a natural waking mechanism though without the usual hypnic jerk.

Dreaming about anything related to a bed or sleep in most cases is just that, an obvious dream sign of the dream itself (and as is typical with any other native dream metaphor, with no “interpretation”), especially if the bed or bedding is in a different location than real life (though, even though it is very common, something I rarely catch in my own dreams as a possible trigger for lucidity, though this dream is very vivid). Being on a roof is also relative to a particular “band” of the dream state itself regarding a transitory state of consciousness (just on the threshold of the waking state). This is basically just a variation on the falling waking mechanism other than the visually precognitive reminder of my wife-to-be. Still, it is also a clever play on “magic carpet ride”, yet another flying symbol and analogous to the dream state itself. First and foremost, dreams are about dreaming and waking, instilled with precognitive and foreshadowing layers to prepare for what is to come (both immediate waking and potential elements yet to be). Wind relates to both the passage of time and long-term precognition.

Night of November 5, 1984. Monday. (To morning of November 6.)



As some of this one facet of a small part of my lifelong “story” involves hundreds of pages, I will include only basic information here, and a copy of Zsuzsanna’s journal page from when she was much younger and written long before we made real contact (though at the time of this dream). There are many more entries both already online and not yet posted anywhere that add hundreds more unexplainable layers that prove (for me) dreams are often a composite of precognition and remote viewing and there is absolutely no one that could convince me otherwise, especially twenty years on in a blissful, sensuous and spiritual marriage and with healthy children (though I do understand how there are deceitful people that, for whatever reason, are somehow against marriage and family and who sadly deny love itself - you the reader have likely seen it yourself many times - they are very good at pretending and creating fabricated drama).

There were earlier “prototypes” and precursors for this dream, and there were many that implied the eventual “battle” between Susan R and the “mystery girl”, this still being years before it was confirmed that hundreds of my childhood dreams implemented more precise precognition and remote viewing, which has turned out for me to be what dreams mainly are. The “mystery girl” dreams were all precognitive; they not only “introduced” me to my soulmate before she was born, they revealed every minute detail from the unlikely accent and cultural mix, to birthplace (exactly inverted to my birth place) from directly across the ocean (as shown in other entries).

Before the Blue Pearl (or “blue flame” or Merkaba) was more dominant in my perception, I saw it in Susan R. My first dream where I “ended up” with the “mystery girl” in an implied marriage would not be accepted as truth by most, due to it having elements of maturity for me at the age of eight (I am never in a mood to debate so I will not go into it). It was validated many times that Brenda W was the wife-to-be “stand-in”, which was validated again in 1991 just prior to real contact with my wife-to-be (and involving the “blue sun”).

My main castle dream implied a battle between Susan R and the “mystery girl” (who looked exactly like my wife-to-be in every way and with the same mixed heritage and same intriguing mixed Romani/Hungarian/Australian accent). The castle was implied to be beyond the area (at the end of the hanging bridge) where the “Bridge Over a Prehistoric World” dream took place - which started with watching Susan R (a transparent “blue egg” around her) leave me and ended with me hugging my wife-to-be archetype. The castle exists high in the sky, on a floating small hill, but only of partial land area, with plant roots hanging down from underneath. It seems to be “another realm” with a different “speed” of time (hard to explain). I get the clear impression that the castle stays only in areas where night exists.

The castle also has areas of temple-like rooms as well as oddly modern neon lights in some areas (almost like a discotheque). It is very vivid. Some lights are too bright to directly look at. I do look over the edge of the floating hill at one point, and see the view as if from an airplane flying very high; I see the lights of a larger city far below, barely perceptible at times. Susan R seems oddly upset at looking at her own reflection (though I eventually discover that is not what she is looking at in the mirror). She frustratingly yells “get out” at the mirror, which seems odd to me though reminds me strongly of the scene from “Fear No Evil”, first seen March 3, 1969.

My mental “connection” to Susan is broken (there were events prior to this which I do not recall). The “mystery girl”, wearing a black dress and a diamond necklace and some sort of unusual swept-back “crown”, emerges from the mirror, quite royal-looking, with glowing green catlike eyes and quite precise, sensual motions. I am amazed by her beauty. It is her. “Queen of the Gypsies”. Well, at least a dazzling princess. Orange-tinted skin. I even detect a trace of Aboriginal Australian.

From here, the two girls fight in an epic battle of screeching voices and incredibly intense and eerie screeching wind. They are arguing about me, my purpose, my birth, where I should live, and who I “belong to”. I believe the “mystery girl” is “screeching” and “whistling” the loudest and affirming that I am hers. It is very strange to hear this - like the wind itself “arguing” with itself, like lightning bolts “wriggling” against each other, like clouds trying to “strangle” each other. The Merkaba appears to be spinning out of control for a time sort of knocking into each girl’s silhouette for a time. The voices reach a point where they are not human-sounding at all in any way.

One of them falls to the ground far below, eventually, but I am not sure who; I only see her silhouette falling, back first with arms out. I think I have had enough commotion, so I turn to leave…almost finding my way out before someone behind me asks “Where are you going? You cannot go alone”. I am not alarmed but I do not see her directly. I only see her shadow on the wall. I wake.

This “battle” and long-term outcome (as some already know) could not have taken place solely within my own dreams, but could only have happened in a collective sense (in the supraconscious perhaps) or “another plane” of reality. There have been a number of dreams where I eventually was absolutely sure of this and there is not the slightest evidence to the contrary. What is also interesting is that my wife also loosely describes the Barbara Steele movie I was fascinated by as a young child and it remains a favorite movie (1964’s “Danse Macabre” aka “Castle of Blood” aka “Castle of Terror”) yet she had never heard of it or seen it. In a way, this dream is actually a “replay” of some aspects of it.

There were other dreams involving Susan R and the “mystery girl” (wife-to-be) within the same setting or relative to one event or another. I do not know the dynamics behind this, as I had never contacted Susan after high school. (In fact, she is the only one I have never been able to contact or find out more about out of all my classmates through all school years. I did hear she was married, though. Another girl with her same full name, unrelated I believe, married someone with my name - and my surname is not very common at all.)

My wife Zsuzsanna’s older poem from her teenage years follows in text - which implies another layer of reality and which matches my dream above as well as being from the same time period (do not forget the thousands of other facts that confirmed the “mystery girl’s” identity many years before I met her).

A castle on the hill

gleaming lights and flights of stairs

running through the corridors

looking for the door

it’s a mystery where are you going

you cannot go alone

for there is something eerie

watching the lights fade away

then all I heard was a shout

a voice pleading to get out

it’s a mystery where will I go

I cannot go alone

A mystery in the castle

A mystery of neon lights

A mystery of you and me

A mystery the facts of love

Morning of October 10, 1972. Tuesday. (Resupplemented for clarity on Tuesday, 5 September 2017.)


“Giant” trucks go by our house in Cubitis - as there is apparently a new and bigger highway now. They go fairly fast at times and I watch shingles and tar paper being ripped off the roof by the wind they make in passing, most vehicles heading north. I watch the event from a distance, seemingly from the other side of the highway (the original Highway Seventeen), yet also with the idea I am in my bed and viewing this scene while incorporeal. Our house seems farther south in overall imagery and awareness, though I am still clearly aware that it is our home. I am eventually vaguely lucid and the scene becomes somewhat peaceful.

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My original title for this was “The Martian Highway” even though there was no clearer awareness or idea of aliens being present. However, the trucks did seem to be much larger than normal, though sometimes this seemed more relative to distorted perspective. The idea that they were or could be “Martian giants” was not really defined as such. Later titles for this dream (while I was transferring thousands of my dreams to larger and more convenient binders) were “Thunder Road” and “Thundering Road”.

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The shingles blowing off our roof in the wind may relate to a preconscious factor (though wind usually relates to the passage of time), the roof symbolizing a particular state of consciousness in transition and its cessation. More relevant in this case however, may be the association with my blanket coming off while sleeping, or the need for the blanket to come off before getting ready for the day. This may additionally be validated by the engines of the oversized trucks, which are akin to growing neural and physical energy. Additionally, I was likely subliminally focused on the sound of passing semi-trailer trucks at times.

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Years later, in real life, after we moved, there actually was a very large wide highway that came fairly close to our old home (though on the opposite side), the house still being there. My wife Zsuzsanna, when a child, sometimes had a fear of large trucks.

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Night of May 19, 1972. Friday.



In this dream, there was a hurricane occurring and it may be early morning. At the time it started to become more noticeable, I was outside near my Cubitis house in the northern section of the yard as well as walking in the carport, and as the wind became stronger, I somehow ended up holding onto the north-facing incline of the shed roof in the area closer to the entrance and yet not being carried away by the strong wind. (This scene, however, would not have been possible in reality, as the roof was smooth tin and had no features to hold on to.) Most of the roof remained stable and mostly undamaged as well other than at least one sheet of tin flying off. The wind seemed to last a long time. At one point, it is as if I am seeing myself clutching at the shed roof near the apex (peak) or at least lying upon the incline (the entire shed of which my father built) while looking from my disembodied self’s right (by which my perspective seems to be from floating slightly more northward of the scene). I can even see “swirly mostly horizontal curved lines” (as if in a comic strip) that supposedly represent the forces of the wind. I am not sure what the fate is of any other people in the region including my parents. Perhaps I will be the only one left? The thought of being the only person left causes me to wonder how I will get food and fend for myself though there is also an odd sense of comfort at one point, which continues to grow, probably do to emerging lucidity (and being grateful I am only dreaming), though nothing occurs after this.

Wind most often represents the passage of time or a concern with the passage of time (aging). This dream may also simply represent the waking process while trying to “hold onto the dream state” and not wanting to yet get on with the real-life day’s unfolding. Many other storm, hurricane, or tornado dreams may relate to trying to hold onto the dream state or even a particular level of consciousness, thus a storm comes to wake you (depending on what part of the dream the storm occurs in).

On a side note, the first actual storm of this time period was Subtropical Storm Alpha (also called Alfa) on May 23, 1972 though I never concluded this was precognitive in any sense.

2 minutes 12 seconds to read.

Sunday morning, 6 February 1972.

A Rose Encased in Glass

Dream # 1,875-04.


I am standing at the front of my fifth-grade classroom in the late morning, to the left of the teacher's desk and facing the seated students. My classmates are gazing toward the front of the room. However, no one acknowledges my presence or seems to see me. There is a sense that it is the last day of school. Danny Hollingsworth is standing on my right, closer to the other students. He seems very happy.

An unfamiliar male teacher gives him an award for an unknown accomplishment. It is a red rose in a rectangular prism made of glass. Despite his gratitude upon receiving the award, I recognize that it is an act of mockery. I sense a couple of classmates (including John Cavas) snickering at Danny's "award."

"Thank you," Danny cheerfully says.

"It's dusty," he says without changing his happy mood.

He blows on the top of the rectangular prism. An overpowering wind carries dust that covers the other students. Time seems to flow rapidly, 50 years swirling by in a second, to present a scene of old business people (seemingly close to death) seated around a large rectangular table (still in the classroom but with a sense of bilocation). (They eventually seem mummified.) The event had not affected me. I am only a spectator. I sense Susan Cavas had been a real estate agent.

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Dream Content Errors:

Danny was not in my fifth-grade class, only in previous grades.

The rose and prism were of an unrealistic size, at least a foot high, perhaps caused by a zoomed-in superimposition that my dreams often provide.

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Causality and Meaning:

Wind often implies the passage of time and a "glimpse into the future" (as here), depending on other content.

The rose encased in glass; and the immobile business people are indicators of intuitive, metacognitive, or lucid associations with REM atonia (the natural paralysis while sleeping that occurs throughout all dreaming). This fundamental causality of dream narratives occurs whether or not there is any other related factor.

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Influences:

One influence was the joke where a teacher asks a student what their favorite flower is. They respond with, "chrysanthemum." When the teacher asks them to spell it, they say they like "roses" more. Another dream integrated this gag and included the ending line without the joke's inference.

Danny had a feminine personality and manner, and other classmates sometimes teased him for it.

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Enigmatic Content:

In the next grade (in middle school in a different building), a female classmate, Lorilee, mocked me by giving me baby blocks and other baby toys tied together with string for the classroom's Christmas gift exchange (where students had randomly drawn names). (It was because she was obsessed with my "oversized baby teeth," and ironically, she was in dentistry years later.) When she was about fifty, she claimed to have no memory of her life until recently (though because of trauma and drugs, apparently). To read a strange news story regarding that classmate, use the Google search for "A dilemma carved in wood" in quotes.

Years after this dream (after I had lived in Wisconsin for years), I learned that Susan (who remained in Florida) had become a real estate agent.

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