Blue_Opossum

Morning of July 13, 2016. Wednesday.



The first segment relates to my wife Zsuzsanna and our family as we are now though living in a house that seems like a variation of the Loomis Street house. One difference is that there is an additional porch door on its south end, closest to the internal wall. It had apparently been unused for longer periods by other tenants and was even nailed shut. In fact, there is a point at which I remove the nails and we use it for a time. Eventually, our landlord appears and, even though we had been using the door recently, makes the claim “this door has never been opened”. I find his ignorance typical of people but amusing. He appears to be here to make repairs.

Soon, there is this idea that I am leaving for an undetermined amount of time. Zsuzsanna had asked me at least twice if there was a nude man sleeping in the middle of the street (dream sign). I am not sure at first as it may just be an animal that had been run over. It seems to be late afternoon. Everyone is sad to see me leave. I leave with no additional belongings or items. A car pulls up (from the north if assuming Loomis Street) and an unknown teenage girl is the driver. (This is one of those many times when I somehow know that I am creating the events in my dream, in this case summoning the driver “out of nowhere”, but I am not at all aware that I am dreaming.) Before I ride off in the car (the driver’s side being on the left even though I have lived in Australia since 1994), Zsuzsanna asks me again about a possible nude man sleeping in the middle of the street but I am still not sure.

The dark-haired girl is dressed somewhat formally in black slacks and a light-colored sleeveless top. I do not learn her name at any point. Her demeanor is somewhat formal though still cheerful. I notice that the unusual imagery in the middle of the street is actually an animatronics display of two beavers as in an implied scene from one of the “Chronicles of Narnia” movies. This seems curious to me as it may be a hazard for vehicles to have to drive around. Ahead, as we go south, we notice other animatronics displays, most of which are large but most are on each side of the street. One, on the left, is somewhat like a small Nativity scene. This all seems like some sort of temporary publicity stunt as well as a holiday-related event.

A shift occurs and it is now late at night. I am now walking with the unknown female in an unfamiliar alley though it is an illogical setting as one alley leads into an additional perpendicular alley with a high light-colored wooden fence on the opposite side. An unknown man approaches us with a knife to rob us. Even though I am not lucid, I say “You have no knife” and his knife vanishes. He appears to be very puzzled and somewhat concerned. For a short time I think of making him vanish as well but instead, I create a revolver in my right hand and aim it at him. I then think that this might make the girl think that I am a violent person so I cause my gun to vanish. The man runs off into the night.

I am now returning to my family. It has been two years since I had seen them (though Zsuzsanna appears about twenty years younger and our children appear about three years younger). I hug her in the doorway. We are going to travel to a new home. Many people are going to help us, though most of them are in their fifties to seventies. The journey will be difficult since we have to wade through a river in the coldest part of the year. In fact, someone asks me why I want to go there at this time but I do not have an answer for them. Still, I am not sure how Zsuzsanna and our children get through as I only see several older people making the journey. I am with them but somehow not fully in my body. I do not seem as stressed as they are by the conditions of the environment. One older male’s outer flesh had come off from his right side and I can see his ribs and lungs. He keeps wading through the cold water with the others. I think perhaps he may die, yet he continues. I feel a bit guilty about his condition.

We all end up on the porch of my family’s new home. Oddly, it just seems like another version of the Loomis Street house (in seeming location and orientation) that we had left. It seems an older unknown male is letting us live there for as long as we want. The male who had a large strip of his flesh come off seems to be okay now. Many antiques and knickknacks are visible, including some sort of smaller cylindrical objects with a forest painted in one smaller circular area on the side and which may be candle holders. I remark about the house probably having been built in the 1700s. I see that the brick wall on my right is very crooked, with the bricks at various depths from the wall’s implied center (almost as if something very strong had tried to push out from the other side) but this does not seem problematic in any way. There seems to be some sort of machine attached to the ceiling. I can see two small rectangular buttons close to each other longways, one red, one yellow, the red one on the left as I look up. Someone activates it with a switch on the wall for a short time and a few are wary of it as it is fairly large and hanging over their heads. It is connected to some sort of pulley and is part of a device to carry parts for production from one area to another but has been unused since perhaps the 1800s.

I look out through the doorway and discover that there is now an additional porch that is illogically linked to the front of this porch. It is a bit bigger and mostly glass and metal rather than brick. There is a series of French doors all the way across the front. I clearly see writing that is printed in large letters (at least six rows) from ceiling to floor. It says “To Lulu” on each left door and “To me” on each right door (and there are probably four sets of two) so that the writing is close near the middle of where each pair of doors open. The writing is on bars that go across what is otherwise glass to where I can see outside to the street.

I go back into the other smaller porch and comment on how the house was built for, and dedicated to, a girl named Lulu. I start repeating “To Lulu, to me, to Lulu, to me” over and over. (Lulu is the name of a singer who sang “To Sir with Love”, which I heard a lot as a child and young adult and which I also performed as an instrumental on both accordions and keyboards. However, there is also a song called “Don’t Bring Lulu” which I also performed, though I assume it means the singer as Paula Abdul was referenced in one of my last dreams.)

Morning of July 1, 2016. Friday.



My wife Zsuzsanna and family as we are now are living back on Stadcor Street in Brisbane. Our youngest son first notices a caterpillar which moves quite fast. I tell people not to touch it as it has long hairs (though I honestly am not certain if it is poisonous in this way). It seems to crawl unnaturally fast at times but is not really a threat; only a curiosity. It is somewhat of a deep blue color.

Eventually, it seems to make a cocoon after we have it in a large rectangular plastic tub full of dirt. We are out on the back porch, seemingly early in the morning. As I watch, the cocoon moves rapidly over its body like a transparent skin. There is interest concerning when it will become a moth or butterfly. Almost as soon as the cocoon is formed the caterpillar changes as the “skin” now disappears and it becomes a large moth that flies upward. It is almost like a small bird.

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This is a curious and more direct waking transition utilizing the typical consciousness displacement flight symbol in leaving the dream state. A cocoon can be seen as a dream sign (analogous to the sheet or blanket that covers the sleeping dreamer) as, additionally in this case, a moth is attracted to moonlight. A caterpillar, especially in a cocoon, is a waking precursor that implies the liminal space on a more subdued level. The moth has a crescent moon design on its wings, which indicates the dream state itself (moon induction) as now waning in relationship to the circadian rhythms and biological nature of the dream state and dream stability and continuity. As I wake while we stand on the back porch, while watching the moth fly up and away, our youngest son is to my right and I am facing the outer wall of the bedroom where Zsuzsanna and I had slept while living at that house (dream sign and waking reference).

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Morning of April 30, 2016. Saturday.



In my dream, my wife Zsuzsanna and our children, mostly as we are now, are living in a distorted version of the Barolin Street house, where we have not lived in years.

I am at the computer on Facebook and apparently writing a response to something my older brother Dennis (half-brother on my mother’s side) had written. I end up writing something about Thor (both flight symbol and lucid dream symbol but which does nothing here) and stating how it is good they are making movies from the Marvel comic books I used to enjoy reading as I was growing up. Oddly, I get the impression that the latest Thor movie is along the lines of an Elvis movie, and there are apparently scenes where a large group of girls is hanging around him, but I do not consider that as unusual.

Looking at the computer screen, I see that there are two responses to what I had written, each about a paragraph long. Oddly, I see that the user name is “But Dennis” and with no avatar. He has written mostly incoherent nonsense claiming that no good movies have been released since the 1960s and it is supposedly my brother’s fault (and I later inform Zsuzsanna of some of what had been written). The first part of each paragraph is a continuation of his user name such as in “But Dennis was responsible for the decline in…” (which is why he uses the troll name “But Dennis”; as he solely trolls Dennis). In real life, this had been utilized as the user name followed by such as “is feeling happy”, but the “But Dennis” as a user name seems a bit clever and I firstly think it might be Linda (a niece) doing this but it is not.

Soon, the very common downgrading shift occurs relative to technology. As I go deeper into my dream, parts of my unconscious that for whatever reason cannot accept computer technology, alter my dream without me even taking notice. Instead of Facebook being on my computer screen, it is now in a softcover notebook where the communication still somehow ensues in the manner of continuous Facebook posts. I consider the possibility of my brother replying to the strange unknown poster, but I do not notice evidence of this. Looking at the next page of the notebook, I see he has written more in fairly neat printing, though what he is saying makes little sense. He writes about how a certain sitcom of years ago was one of the last watchable television shows, but then he starts to write about Thor though none of it is actually correct in reference to either the movie or comic book history.

I notice page after page of his writing and begin to realize that he is insane and his trolling of Dennis may only be a random choice just from seeing his name once. Both his printing and paragraph content change completely from page to page. In the back of my mind, I contemplate how he must write out something then scan it and then upload it so that it appears in the notebook. It does not dawn on me what a ridiculous concept this is or cause me to reflect on the many other dreams where this sort of false technology has appeared. On one page the writing is very large but vertically stretched and slanting backwards which makes it impossible to read. (This is actually based on the trick where you hold a page horizontally up to your eye and then are able to see what is written when it is elongated over the entire page.)

I eventually come across pages that look as if they were written out on an old typewriter. I tell Zsuzsanna how he probably should have done that in the first place, but after that, there are more pages of scribbled handwriting. Finally, I reach a page where it supposedly shows his photograph at the top (somewhat like a Facebook banner). When I look at it, it first seems to be the actor Mitch Pileggi, who played Skinner on “The X-Files”, yet I tell Zsuzsanna that “I know him” and that it is my foreman from one of the factories I had worked at in La Crosse.

As is typical of the continuous inconsistency of dreams, he is now depicted as a blind Albino African who apparently had been homeless for a long time, though another homeless black male is in the foreground on the right (a direct giveaway to who this “dream journal” actually belongs to) and a Norwegian backpacker on the far left. I cannot be sure which one is the writer. I notice that the back of the notebook is torn and the last few pages are solely thick scribbles in felt pen. For some reason the faux logic of my dream changes completely and I come to the conclusion that he must have somehow placed the notebook in our house when we were not aware of it. “He must have done it around twelve o'clock,” says Zsuzsanna. It concerns me that someone had been in our house while we were sleeping and we had somehow not awakened at the time. (This is an obvious dream sign - talking about sleeping while in the dream state, especially in reference to what seems like someone leaving their dream journal in our house - but I do not catch on at all.)

And now the waking transition begins. It seems to be late at night. I go onto the porch and see a strange man on our sidewalk (of about fifty or more) looking cautiously at our porch. Though it still looks like the Barolin Street house in some ways, there is no fence. There are several young girls running around on our front lawn, all wearing pajamas. Off to the left, there is a square shallow foxhole (about six feet by six feet) with pillows along all sides. One girl jumps in and rolls to the center. Other girls stand about gossiping. This does not bother me as I consider that it may be some sort of school-related ceremony. The man comes up to our door. I push my steel barbell through the mail slot in case he tries anything threatening (blatant symbolism here), though he seems somewhat nervous. He speaks a bit incoherently and seems to be warning me of a couple other males in the neighborhood.

Strangely, our porch rotates to where it is now perpendicular in orientation to how it had felt before, seemingly facing north instead of east. Still, I do not pay notice to this change at all in my dream. A different man approaches our door. He is only about half the age of the other man. Again, I hold out the barbell in case he chooses to impose further. He brings attention to the strange insect nests on our porch. I lie and tell him that we are moving anyway so as to cause him to not impose further with his insincere concern. I look up and see a lot of strange features near the porch light including what looks like a sleeping bat, though it is actually some sort of strange black cobweb hanging down. One of the features looks like a large white fuzzy ball hanging from the ceiling, bigger than a baseball. “You have a Kapoosh up there,” he points out, stating that it is a type of very dangerous venomous ant nest (though a Kapoosh is actually for holding knives and is usually a cube, not a sphere). The concept of a singular ant living high up triggers vague but inconsequential doubt.

“Good, I wish there was a lot more, to keep people like you away from our porch,” I say sarcastically. (It actually represents my attempt to keep dreaming even though I am not lucid, as it represents the downsizing of the moon near the ceiling. This is why I am adamant against this “intruder” who is actually my emergent conscious mind sent to the porch-liminal point to wake me.)

Soon, a (fictional; nonexistent in real layout) door opens on the opposite side of the porch which apparently also leads to outside (and it does not occur to me that this is impossible, as it would actually have to lead into our bedroom if there was really a door there). An unknown male comes in and grabs me. The other male also enters the porch from the front. Even though the waking mechanism has already been triggered, I still decide to knock them back with the barbell but the first male grabs it and prevents its movement. Finally, I have had enough of this dream and become lucid in the last second. Even though it is futile and the waking mechanism is already nearing its end, I mentally change my right hand into a gun and shoot both of them and they go flying backwards in opposite directions.

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Many people who have legitimately and honestly worked with real dreams probably know that the porch of a house is a waking transition setting. This of course is because it is directly between one’s living quarters and the outside world in real life, to metaphorically render the state between deeper dreaming and the path to waking. Even more obvious, I should have also realized this from the dream signs (girls in pajamas and the foxhole with pillows around it as a play on “the outside world is also sleeping and dreaming now”) and thus would either let the less aggressive male instigate the waking mechanism or decide to become lucid and perhaps greatly lengthen my dream and awareness level. As it is, violence was needed to wake me (with the old “being killed” metaphor to “destroy” the dream self as it probably had originally been at the beginning of mankind).

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The notebook with all the different writing reminds me a lot of a teacher’s writing rubric standards guide with open response question examples related to a reading assessment, which shows how various students answered a particular query in their own writing, which displays vastly different levels of intelligence even in high school students, almost to a surreal degree.

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Morning of December 19, 2015. Saturday.



In my very vivid dream, my family and I are back living on Barolin Street (the large house no longer there in reality, having been moved). It seems to be late at night and I am on our front porch with a young version of my brother Earl (deceased) and his last wife Cindy. I am nearest the front entrance, Cindy being to my right, and Earl being to her right. We are all seated on small kitchen chairs. My brother and his wife are facing an electronics setup though I am more to the side of it, what is seemingly a cassette deck to record their conversation and possibly singing. This cassette deck is sitting on a larger feature, which is some sort of computer. There is also apparently a radio. (This is probably associated with a recording which Earl and his first wife Beverly created at North Monroe Street in 1967 with a guitarist of the region, Don Keys, including their singing and his own double-tracked guitar parts on reel-to-reel, which was transferred to cassette copies.) This is where I had a setup in real life prior to our moving, though not exactly as in my dream.

Over time, the face of the vertical-load cassette deck seems detached and loose and is out by about half an inch. I also notice that the front of the computer tower is slightly protruding with a gap. Eventually, I feel a bit of heat and smoke begins to come out.

There is a temporary strange shifting of the situation, like an offset dream within a dream but oddly just as vivid (without a seeming consciousness shift, which is atypical of dreams within dreams). I am then on the far right of the setup and my oldest son, seeming only about twelve years old again, is to my left. I am telling him that he should sit back from the smoke as the smoke seems possibly toxic if too much is breathed in, though at this point, it seems a “normal” part of the recording process and to be expected of the electronic equipment (even though in the main scenario it is not considered as such at all).

Then, I am shifted back into the previous scenario again, exactly the same as it was. I do not really pay any notice to my having shifted into the offset dream but continue trying to work out what is going on with the equipment. The smoke is not that thick but seems to annoy my brother and his wife and becomes more problematic. It mostly drifts northward through our porch.

My brother Earl shows me his wife’s bracelet, which had been sitting atop the cassette deck. “Look,” he says to me, “it’s melted”. He seems slightly annoyed but not angry. His wife Cindy looks on without emotion.

I then notice that my black wallet (of synthetic plastic) had also been atop the cassette deck and has partly melted. It has even come apart into two sections, all of the contents having been singed. I am only slightly concerned. I am not sure if we will continue to work in a session regarding what we had been doing (recording from the radio or Earl singing with his wife).

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Because a cassette deck has two cylindrical rotating features (and especially being a machine), it is obvious now that it is a subtle metaphorical form of the Merkaba. Frankly, I cannot imagine how I have missed this all this time - talk about being “slow”. (In fact, this setting reflects when I experienced it the strongest when wide awake, complete with the intense cilia-like imagery. This also means that I will be able to get additional clues out of a number of past dreams that I had not fully decoded yet.)

The cassette deck being the (partnered) Merkaba is even more obvious with the additional elements which validate this likelihood. Firstly, the melted bracelet is that which symbolizes lack of bondage to something mundanely habitual; in other words, it augments spiritual freedom (or not being “chained” by society’s limited understanding and unrewarding material pursuits). (A melted bracelet equates a removed handcuff.) Secondly, the melted wallet means dynamic spiritual freedom in another way, in the sense of the melted identification card - that is, losing static and mundane associations with any previous presumed identity - or being free of non-dynamic restrictions caused by being “labelled” by either government or consensus or even a particular individual.

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In another way, it could also be a reminder of the ephemerality of the Merkaba. (Certainly, something melting does not always have this association. For example, I have two well-documented dreams of melted bicycles, both having been preceded by having a small amount of alcohol in real life. It is clear to me that, as a bicycle represents both cellular processes and the ability to define travel through “narrower paths” - as well as yet another form of the partnered Merkaba evidenced by the two rotating wheels - that alcohol interferes with cellular processes - “melting” or killing brain cells - and interferes with intended steering or desired direction as well as spiritual relationships.)

Smoke often represents real-time communications with consensus consciousness and (potential) changes of thinking in the dreamer (or the “burning” or dissolving of previous ideas or circumstances). In this case, aspects may be “toxic” because of the limiting nature of some levels of collective consciousness; that is, people who refuse to move on by holding labels over a person or circumstance; they are mentally “stuck” on one time period (or fixed memory) and one illusory facade without the ability to understand transience or natural change, as even rocks are transitory.

Why was my brother Earl rendered in this situation? Since childhood, I always referred to him as the “doubting Thomas” of my family, so at one level, he is the “skeptic” within my consciousness.

Some people have the idea that “being free of restraint” (melted bracelet) and “losing invariable identification” (melted wallet) can only be of negative implications, when that depends on the circumstances. My experiences with the Merkaba tell me that something outside of myself is needed to balance my place in the universe (in other words, my soulmate). My wife Zsuzsanna and I had also made cassettes of our singing together, mostly when we lived on Gellibrand Street in Clayfield. There are sometimes many layers to consider in a particular dream, depending on its type. This one seems to have more actual meaning than usual (though not just because it was vivid and non-lucid).

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Morning of May 14, 2015. Thursday.



My family and I are presently living where we are in real life, on W Street. I seem to be the only one home at first, though I eventually notice my two youngest sons playing with toy cars on the living room floor in the last segment of my dream. The house in-dream is larger than it is in reality. It seems to be nighttime throughout most of my dream.

I eventually hear someone talking to me very loudly and clearly through the fully closed and locked back door. Thus, as there is obviously a trespasser in our backyard I become very annoyed. At first he seems to be demanding some small change but then seems to be requesting a wine bottle or two (we have no alcohol in reality). I decide to go and tell him off and possibly knock him unconscious with one of my long steel barbells. When I open the back door (while holding a barbell), I see that he is apparently a homeless person with a long beard and perhaps around forty years old. There is also a younger man (of about thirty) farther out and on the east side of the yard to my left. He is seemingly my (unfamiliar) next-door neighbor who seems annoyed by the drunk but also annoyed with me even though he is also trespassing in my yard - as there is a tall wooden fence between the properties that cannot easily be climbed over. I have a brief dream within a dream (though not very clear) of throwing them both over the fence. I close the door and go back into my house, but there are eventually somehow a few other unknown males roaming around in the rooms. I become angrier at this additional set of impositions.

At one point, two unknown females (about eighteen or possibly younger) enter the house through the front door. As with a few other dreams, the window area on the north wall relative to the porch and beyond is almost skeletal or unfinished, allowing passersby to get into the house easier if they choose, by coming in through the “window” or between two vertical planks. The girls seem very dominant and unimpressed by my ordering them to leave and they act as if my house is just a convenient shortcut (though they eventually leave the same way they came in, but return briefly). After a time, I start to walk around, asking aloud “Where’s my pistol?” I notice a couple toy plastic squirt guns on the table and make a note of it. I talk about calling the police, but do not (not even being sure of where the telephone is in this case).

At one point, another unknown male bumps into me when coming through the living room (as I am standing near the front door) to leave via the front door - another intruder who had somehow just gotten in through the back door and wandered through the house until deciding to leave. This elevates my anger and makes me feel displaced in my own home. It feels despicable and ridiculous to have to put up with this.

I eventually see another male near the porch’s (fictional) outer screen door as if trying to get in (it is locked at this point at least). The porch is rendered differently than in real life at this point. It seems more elongated eastward and has a wider and far more logical footpath-facing entrance rather than being very narrow and illogically perpendicularly offset to the left as in reality (thus extremely inconvenient, if not impossible, to use the front entrance for carrying out furniture or larger items, including baby prams - an extraordinarily stupid architectural design for a residence, in fact, requiring furniture to be lifted up and over the higher porch wall by up to three people).

The last male attempting to get into our house (for no particular reason) has a very strange appearance and is also muscular though with odd skin. He has black veins in his forehead that are somewhat reminiscent of plant roots and extend down a bit on the sides of his face (and for a moment I ponder on whether it is some sort of eerie tattoo I am seeing - or perhaps he is somehow not fully human). I open the door and push him back and vividly feel his weight and presence. Out on the street, to my right, are more annoying people who are just mindlessly staring at our house. The level of vividness is quite pronounced to near-lucidity, though I do not become directly lucid at any point. There is no feeling of being actually threatened at any time, just pointlessly imposed upon.

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Night of April 27, 1984. Friday.



There were two times in my life where I had an extremely vivid and fully in-body dream of a “melted” bicycle in a more notable way, and each time I had had a small amount of alcohol in real life prior to my dream (although I normally have not drank at all throughout my life). Thus, when I think of beer or alcohol in general, I automatically think of useless, melted bicycles, which seems to imply you “lose control” or are “unable to steer”.

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I go down the front stairs from my apartment in the King Street boarding house and onto the porch. It seems fairly late at night or very early in the morning before dawn. Soon, another person who is very drunk (Shawn P) comes out and says what a nice bicycle I have and continues to say positive things about it in a sincere but inebriated way. The bicycle is leaning against the front of the porch on the right side of the doorway. Upon taking a closer look as I am taking it out from the porch to ride it, I then see that the entire front half is partly melted and crooked and thus unusable.

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See also: The Beam (warning against alcohol?)

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