Blue_Opossum

Morning of January 5, 2017. Thursday.



My wife and family and I are living back on Gellibrand Street in Clayfield. When the mail goes, there are several items. I firstly focus on a large package.

The package turns out to contain a book we did not order or expect to get, possibly because of being members of a book-of-the-month club. It is a very large and thick book with shiny gilded pages with the title of “Return of the Fairy Tale”. It seemingly includes fairy tales as well as poems and folk tales. I read one poem as our youngest daughter listens (though I cannot recall its content). I am not sure if we should keep the book as I seem to remember that Zsuzsanna has an older edition of the same book. We look for it and it is found near the bottom of her wardrobe. I ask her if we should keep the new edition we just received and it seems that we will. The older edition has a slightly different cover but is about the same size.

After this, I go onto our porch to look at our other mail. There are two postcards from Margaret. In one, she starts off by talking about seeing her “pale face” looking back at her (from a mirror I assume). She writes that she is sorry to hear about my sister (Marilyn).

Apparently, I had also written to a man in India of whom I had not written to in over twenty years. I had asked him about his address (which makes no sense because if I did not know his address he likely would not have gotten my letter). On his postcard, in somewhat sloppy handwriting, he only writes:

“I do not remember my other address. I would like a comfy.”

I am not sure what he means by “comfy”; if he means a footrest or some sort of apparel. (In real life years ago he had asked me to send him auto repair books and I did not have any.)

I also notice a couple loose letters which are older love letters from Zsuzsanna though I am puzzled as to why they are with the recent mail. One letter includes a couple drawings. I had been sitting on the left end of the couch on the porch (liminal space) during this last segment.

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• The fifteen rupee tiger stamp is a sublimated coalescence prompt (as a tiger can swallow the dream self back into full consciousness) and additionally, mail usually symbolizes communication between the dream self and either the conscious self identity or the collective unconscious. Even so, and even containing the same dreaming and waking metaphors (and overall meaning) since earliest childhood, this dream’s rendering is unique.
• Regardless of the nature of the book, a book usually links to conscious self identity (and critical thinking skills that are not wholly feasible in non-lucid dreams). Gilded pages relate to dawning awareness and sentience (as sunbeams coming in through a bedroom window).
• The other book being in the wardrobe is a dream sign, as Zsuzsanna gets clothes from her wardrobe shortly after waking.
• Most dreams, when waking prompts are not more direct or jolting, are to subliminally inform the dreamer to wake as in this case. This same “call to waking” (waking transition with waking metaphors) can be seen in tens of thousands of my dreams documented and studied over fifty years, and in very specific layered (redundant) ways (and often “no-brainers” that I easily grasped as a child).
• Even “comfy” can be considered a dream sign, as it can refer to pillows and being in bed.
• Even the line about not remembering the other address is a direct reference to the amnesic nature of the personified subconscious (dream self).

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Morning of November 17, 2015. Tuesday.



My wife Zsuzsanna and our children and I appear to be living back on Barolin Street but it has more of a rural feel. At one point, I go outside and it seems to be early evening, during sunset. Some sort of unexpected large movement takes place to my right (though in the distance) and there is mild anticipation over something unusual about to be seen. Something soon comes into view from between a couple houses on our side of the street. It looks like a detached Ferris wheel rolling slowly across the street and away from our neighborhood. I can make out its silhouette against the dark blue sky as it rolls towards the horizon.

Later, my wife and children are outside. Curiously, there is a couch on the front lawn facing the street but at an angle towards where the rolling Ferris wheel was last seen. Zsuzsanna and our two youngest sons seem curious about what I saw and are seated there in expectation. Perhaps it will happen again.

Meanwhile, I am looking through a magazine which has various articles about guitar music and rock musicians as well as at least one article about fishing (kind of a strange mix). We will be eating fish (either lutefisk or sushi, neither of which I have ever eaten in real life), which is in a cheap plastic salad container of the overpriced kind sold in grocery stores. However, I have an additional set of at least three smaller plastic salad containers, also containing some type of fish salad, that somehow came out of the magazine. I am not sure if they are fresh, as the magazine’s date is unknown, and I remain uncertain about eating anything.

There are a few photographs related to fishing. One photograph shows a man fishing from a small boat. Somehow, the fishing line from the photograph is eventually hanging out of the magazine and gets caught up in features of other photographs and even the guitar strings in a photograph of a male rock musician performing (playing electric guitar) on stage. I pull on it a bit and try to work out what other pages or photographs it is connected to. It is in somewhat of a tangle across a few pages.

Eventually, the Ferris wheel (or a different one, as it comes from the same area and I do not recall the original event showing it rolling back to where it was), comes out in the same way as before. This time though, it stops and leans in our direction - though it is about a block away and not really threatening should it fall. It somehow transforms into a giant robot and picks up a white truck, crushing it and dropping it to the ground. I am worried about flying debris (even though it is not that close to us), so I get my family to go inside the house. Otherwise, the giant robot does not leave that area. It appears to simply be junkyard activity at this point, though the walking anthropomorphic car compactor is a rather fancy feature.

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There is another dream event, somewhat distorted and viewed from space, where an asteroid comes down into the ocean, causing a huge tidal wave that goes around the planet and covers most of the land on every continent. There is seemingly at least one “reset” where I “make sure” it goes all the way around to cover the United States evenly (though I am aware I had been living in Australia, which is the first to be covered). There is no fear or even much concern, just an odd emotion I cannot quite describe, with a slight giddiness, though not unpleasant. This is probably some sort of waking metaphor event; for example, destroying or “covering up” the dream state.

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Morning of September 11, 2015. Friday.



The intersection setting has been more recurring of late, though I am not certain as to why. I suppose it could relate to a metaphorical “crossroads” in regard to trying to solve certain mysteries through extensive research and not really making as much progress as I would like (though I have achieved some amazing new breakthroughs). On the other hand, it could simply be an in-dream metaphor for the choice of remaining either at apex lucidity or choosing to become passive. Although this dream is lucid, it becomes quite distorted, as I mostly remain passive in order to observe, especially things like writing, though which I cannot fully read at any point as it is.

My dream seems to start near an unknown intersection, though vaguely reminds me of Stadcor Street (in Australia) as well as King Street (in America). The setting is ambiguous though and seems to be indoors and out on the street at the same time. In fact, I even willfully shift our location a bit so that the “floor” of the setting seems to move out of the range of any potential traffic (though I do not see any vehicles approaching at any point.) I notice that my wife Zsuzsanna, who is seated on her knees, and who seems only slightly puzzled at my manipulation of “sliding” our dream placement, has some sort of computerized display on the “floor”, probably an iPad, though a little bigger. The fairly large writing is in landscape format.

I try to read it and become completely clear and lucid for a short time, though this does not do much good as the writing makes no sense at any point. I notice the phrase “dog mxtre”, which I take to mean “mixture”, though it is mostly random letters and gibberish. There is something like “coup de gras” but mostly the screen is an incoherent mess of nonsensical words. The phrases do change a few times with one or two actual words here and there, but just when I think I am getting something interesting or potentially meaningful, I realize it is solely gibberish.

During this time I find a newspaper article on events in a park that also somehow relate to sexual acts that are not permitted. There seem to be at least a hundred by-laws that specifically limit the nature of sensuality. It seems very clinical and yet senseless, as if society is ruled by a “mechanical” mentality that does not even recognize the nature or pleasures of organic life. One of the phrases relates how the heel of the foot is not to be used for gratification in making contact with the partner’s bottom (regarding the cleft). I do not go on to read much of the rest of the long list.

From here, I seem to be in a room with my wife, though my mother (deceased October 2, 2002) is also present, along with a few other people in the background. The news is on, on television, and I go closer to watch it carefully, though only semi-lucid at this point. The news announcer is making references to how fantastic and amazing the sound of a snow leopard is. He goes on and on as the screen mostly shows the head of the snow leopard in profile, facing to the right. After several minutes, the snow leopard still has not made a sound, though I continue to watch. As the news announcer goes on and on in praise, there is not much movement of the animal. In fact, it looks a bit annoyed by the presence of the television cameras.

Finally though, it makes a roaring sound, still with its head facing to the right of the television screen. However, it does not seem quite real. The news announcer continues to jabber mindlessly. Eventually, the snow leopard seems to speak in a very raspy and breathy voice, “Hank…has not been…ly…ing” (“Hank has not been lying” - in reference to the implied but false “honesty” of the news announcer), which is very low-pitched yet still with a discernible melody. I am aware however, that the video has been edited quite amateurishly to make the mouth seem to move with the words.

My mother rolls her eyes and subtly shakes her head and looks frustrated and somewhat angry over the news announcer’s attempts to trick people with ridiculous manipulated video and audio.

Yet again, my dream renders unlikely things my wife had seen with no possible way of me knowing. In this case, it was two elements; my wife being endangered by a thoughtless driver while walking near an intersection and also, as odd as it sounds, my wife had recently seen something on her own on television about an owner of a gray and white cat (similar colors as a snow leopard) trying to make it look and sound as if it was talking while it was meowing. However, my wife said the commentator in that case made a note that it was obviously fake due to the owner manipulating its sound as the camera held the same orientation as the image in my dream according to my wife. I have never been thoughtless enough to think something like that could be coincidence, especially as it happens continuously and often on higher levels of precision in imagery and events. I continue to remain baffled, not by continuous precognition and remote viewing since earliest memory but how other people do not experience this (or at least claim not to for whatever reason - it just does not add up).

Morning of August 16, 2015. Sunday.



Rewritten for clarification and supplemented Friday, 25 August 2017.

In the first part of my dream, I read at least halfway through a paperback crime novel (possibly by Erle Stanley Gardner, though this is not certain). I retain much of what I read for a few minutes after each page, enough to get a general idea of what the story is about, but I eventually forget most of it. It concerns a jewel thief who escapes by traveling by jumbo jet to another country while meeting a female on the airplane. He becomes interested in her and sees her again later on. She is a secretary that eventually goes to work for him.

My reading of the paperback crime novel expands into an amateur play aboard the airplane. I find at least two people (unknown and unfamiliar) who I decide to act out the story with as our airplane takes off and flies to wherever we are going.

One of these other passengers, who mostly stands to my left as I am seated on the right side of the airplane about the fourth seat back, is a young female who becomes wary about doing this as if perhaps she thinks that movies or plays made from novels are filmed or performed exactly as they are. For example, if an actor plays someone who is killed, the actor will actually be killed at that point. This seems to be an extraordinarily ignorant belief, yet in my dream, it seems typical of ordinary people to hold such beliefs. She eventually comments on the persona of the jewel thief in the story and decides to free herself of this little fictional drama and return to her own seat, no longer being interested. I am somewhat annoyed that the play was not completed, but my thoughts shift to other things.

There is an idea that I need to make a beanie. The beanie will have a blue and white mandala design spreading over the center from the top down somewhat like a simplified spiderweb design. Another (unknown) female complains about me wanting to create the beanie (which I plan on finishing on the airplane before we land) from scratch and asks me why I do not just buy one. (In some ways, this is like saying to someone who wants to learn to play guitar to go out and buy a music CD or someone who wants to build a house to just look at pictures of houses.) At any rate, I explain to her how the design and creation has to be mine (similar to a real life event when I made a headband, as it had to be a design taken directly from my dream). I start working on my beanie, but I do not complete it before I wake.

Meanwhile, I am given an on-flight meal which ends up leaving a horrid sweet taste in my mouth after waking. It is some sort of serving-tray-sized clump of thicker reddish jelly or conserves that is not fresh and is shaped somewhat like a land form relating to the Colorado Plateau. I do not want to eat it, but there is nothing else to eat so I eat most of it. I wake before the airplane lands.

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Time to explain the meaning of this dream, yes? I am certainly not talking about “interpretation” but about inherent meaning and why this dream is as it is.

Firstly, I am on an airplane. This usually has nothing to do with waking life (unless prescient or based on literal dynamics from recent experiences) but is an obvious dream state indicator. This is primarily based on the floating sensation of entering sleep and the residual memory of such. (How difficult could it be for a person of average intelligence to immediately realize this?) Over twenty percent of my dreams have more obvious flight symbols. This includes tens of thousands of dreams over a fifty-year time period. As a result, can you imagine what I think when I read about “dream interpretation” as the term is often used? (To be honest, I do not think you could.)

Then there is the paperback crime novel. Since being unconscious in the dream state is a “puzzling” state of awareness, the rendering becomes actualized in this case as a mystery novel and is even expanded into my dream’s environment as such (and how often would such an event occur in real life even symbolically?).

Why am I making a beanie in this particular dream? I am trying to implement a connection to my outer (conscious self’s) awareness in real time (and completeness in consciousness regarding what a mandala represents). There is non-lucid dream control. A part of me knows I am dreaming (as is most often the case) yet the lucidity is not viable or held within my dream self’s inherently fictional memory. Making this cap is similar to other dreams involving my dream self attempting to initiate waking (and this is also why there is no dominant preconscious personification or other preconscious factor). The unknown female complaining about me wanting to make the beanie is possibly a distorted perception of me believing (or actually perceiving within the same level of consciousness as her as we are sleeping) that my wife does not yet want to wake. This is certainly not meant to sound negative. No one else could even come close to her beauty or compatibility with me.

The weird dessert at the end of my dream likely relates to a few factors. (Red desserts have appeared in other dreams since childhood.) It may relate to having low blood sugar after a long sleep. It may be a rendering of the subliminal awareness of an odd taste in my mouth. Red dominating a dream typically means I have been sleeping a bit too long (or sleeping too long in one position). The association with a Colorado plateau may also indicate partial dehydration (and the need to rehydrate after waking, which is very important).

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See how this dream is based on the real-time dynamics of sleeping, dreaming, and waking rather than having feasible conscious self relevance as main factors in this case? A person of reasonable intelligence should be able to grasp this with no difficulty. Even so, most of my dreams have threads of literal prescience, which could not be discerned by “interpretation” either. Thank you for reading and understanding.

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Morning of December 19, 2014. Friday.



Firstly, I am in some sort of group of mostly unknown males (not relevant to real life). There are two rows of perhaps seven or eight facing each other. It seems to be on King Street, though the front (northeast) apartment is much bigger. I seem to become angry and punch most of them extremely hard. This seems to at least partly be because each and every one of them is being condescending to each and every other, sounding more and more ridiculous, like a perpetual comic strip but with no comedic elements.

After seemingly several minutes of this, I become slightly lucid (becoming more lucid over time). I have an awareness of an affirmation set and decide that instead of eliminating these people, I will heal them (including “fixing” their brain by bringing it into its most natural resonance somehow). I vaguely sense a “correct” oscillation and harmonic resonance inside their heads when I put my hand on the top of their heads and eventually place my hands on all of their heads. The effect is similar to feeling the vibrations when placing your hand on the body of an acoustic guitar when a chord is played.

I heal their wounds and cuts as well. However, because I reach an apparent overly energetic stage which is supposedly “too powerful” to use directly (with my palms, for example - where the energy seems to emanate from), I need only lightly touch them with the back of my hand to restore them to their healthiest state - otherwise my power may cause them to “disintegrate”. I do not recall this event being like this in past dreams, as I formerly used my fingers and palms.

From here, I walk out with a few (unknown) people. The porch roof is extended out more over the front yard than in reality (almost like a large lower awning) which seems frustrating relative to being able to fly out and up as soon as I want. As lucidity is dawning on me a bit stronger, I decide to fly out into the world. As I fly swiftly and efficiently, even deliberately over a longer sequence of telephone lines and power lines (which seem somewhat out of place and randomly going at an angle from the buildings and sidewalks), I notice how incredibly clear and visually defined my dream’s environment is. It is so well-rendered, I am amazed to a nearly breath-taking pleasure on the imagery alone; even more so, because it does not seem reminiscent of a real location. It seems to be near an industrial area of whatever town it is now meant to be. I notice a few buildings, a forest in the distance, and a few parked vehicles here and there, including a semi near a warehouse.



I feel fantastic as I look down and about over the scenery. At one point, I see a pile with old books and magazines, but mostly atop a taller pile of just debris, at the end of an alley, which appears to be a public dumping area. The pile is almost as high as the two-storey possibly abandoned commercial buildings on each side. I land near the top of the pile and pick up what seems to be an old “Alvin and the Chipmunks” comic book (it may be an association with an old instrumental my father wrote and performed as well as the name of where we lived at one time in Chipmunk Coulee). There are three bats on the cover (which may be related to a short-term comic strip I did as a boy about three “rock star” bats in the early 70s based on an earlier recurring dream). I tell myself that because I know I am dreaming, I may be able to actually read the entire book. However, I mostly only seem to focus on one odd phrase, which is “Poly Calep” and seeing that distracts me from my plan to read the whole comic. Perhaps this is a name of one of the characters.

From here, I am still aware of the people that had been at the meeting walking around not that far from where I am. However, I decide to enjoy more flying. I am able to again maneuver just slightly above power lines for a fair distance (which used to be problematic in dreams in my youth) without getting tangled. Oddly though, the power lines go up at an angle the farther I fly, but I still directly remain parallel to them the entire distance.

From here, I find myself back at North Monroe Street, which is usually rare to dream of. I have not been there since early 1968. I notice a few people standing around near the outer hall to the west, where my older brother Earl lived at one time. I go with my wife (who had apparently been standing in the hall) into the apartment, which seems larger and much longer to the east. Of course, I plan on having a nice romantic interlude to see what can physically occur. At this point, my dream is almost entirely under my conscious influence in every way other than the “extra people” that annoy me somewhat (which is typical of this type of lucid dream until apex lucidity is reached). We walk past three bedrooms where I can see a person’s feet sticking out from under a sheet on each bed. As we continue to walk, a male relative (Kevin M) ends up following us as well. Just as my wife and I are able to get into a bathtub (which is perpendicular to the direction we are walking), which is already full of nice cool water, he is still behind us. However, as my wife and I begin to sit down in the water (already suddenly unclothed by mental will alone), I slam the mostly opaque bathtub’s sliding door (much like the setup from King Street) so that we are then isolated from all public perspectives. (I suppose that he could have technically still opened the sliding door, but this does not really occur to me at any level of thought so does not happen.)

I am on my back and my wife sits on me in the cool water. The pleasure is quite augmented; a very clear sense of wetness and warmth (against the refreshing coolness of the water) and enhanced physical pleasure as well as spiritual unity and oneness. The only unusual distortion is that Zsuzsanna has tiny curly black hairs that create a narrower curved line going up and around her hips and back up towards her abdomen, somewhat like a doubled mirror-imaged harp design.

Morning of June 19, 1976. Saturday.



I am in the southwest bedroom of the Cubitis house where my father is present. We are in the southeast area of the room, near the doorway. I am facing the south windows as he is sitting on a chair facing me. He has taken a very rare species of (assumed as fictional) phosphorescent earthworm and is holding it by one end, saying that it has the ability to communicate with people. After a few minutes, the worm curls to form actual vertical handwriting with its entire body, first spelling the word “loam”, then the word “vex”. This is all that it does before my dream fades. (I consider that it is a glow worm, as one of the many songs my father sang publicly was called “Glow Worm”, though that is not actually what it is.) I sense that the worm is annoyed by people trying to get messages from it, when it probably wants to sleep.

The earthworm is a real-time dream state symbol. Attempting to read it as it is spelling words is the emergent consciousness factor, as thinking skills for sustained reading are only viable when conscious. As such, it seems that a part of me does not want to get up for the day yet. Additionally, trying to get feasible “messages” from the unconscious is sometimes futile, as it is just that…unconscious. (I suspect that this dream may have also been influenced by the “Sesame Street” short “Mary Sunshine”, though related to counting, with the lyric, “I head eleven worms yawning”.)

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Morning of May 4, 1974. Saturday.

Dream #: 2,693-02. Reading time: 53 sec.

One of my male classmates (Bobby G) and seemingly another one, (Wayne H), seems to be in my front yard. (These classmates have been obnoxious to me in real life.)

I had a false awakening into this situation and remain unaware I am still dreaming. These two boys may be there to make bullying remarks or cause other problems.

At one point, when I look out through the open jalousie windows, I notice what may be somewhat illegible handwriting, seemingly from a felt pen, on about four or five lower louvers. I am unsure how it got there. It may be something I wrote that might cause me embarrassment, though I am unable to make out the words, only various letters. It may be writing from my dream journal that somehow ended up on the jalousie panes, but I do not recall doing this.

I see Bobby walking away from the front of the house, but I do not know if he read it. It may be that some of the writing became distorted from being wet or partly washed off when my mother was watering the flower box.

There is a reset where there seems to be an unknown dark-haired girl to the right (in my view), but I do not know if she is his friend or concerned about me.

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2 minute 20 second read.

Saturday morning, 7 October 1972. (Rewritten for clarifications on 21 June 2022.)

The Sally Struthers Autograph

Dream # 2,119-05.



Some people might incorrectly claim the foundation of this dream is a "false awakening," but it originated from semi-conscious summoning and maintaining it with partial lucidness. However, there were sparsely occurring "false awakenings" (but not in the conventional sense) later in this sleep cycle.

To clarify, I thought I had been awake a few times before morning when I was not (though this was more like false memories of brief dreams that did not occur), mistakenly confirming "Sally Struthers" was written on the page. (There was no resemblance to her real-world autograph). The outcome was that it was not her name but "sepia" written in cursive in real life. (Even if it had been her name, it would have been me who had written it.) The word was on the right-hand page, slightly above the center. As a boy, I had written that it might have been confusion with the word "sleepy." Ultimately, trying to remain alert enough throughout the night to write in my dream journal immediately after a dream was something I felt was problematic. I never had trouble recalling multiple dreams in vivid detail every morning, so it was unnecessary.

In my dream, actress Sally Struthers, dressed informally in blue jeans and an orange sweater, visits me around midnight in the darkness of my Cubitis bedroom. She stands in the southwest quadrant of my room near the head of my bed. She seems younger, probably from my associations with her teenage persona of Pebbles in the cartoon.

As she leans over me (as I do not get out of bed), she tells me about the work she will be doing to help people in poverty and her pending activism (Christian Children's Fund, which became a scandalous organization in 1994, and public service announcements). She wants to sign her name on a page of my dream journal (that, in real life, was open on the desk near the head of my bed) to prove to me that she had been here.

I was familiar with her acting in "All in the Family," the movie "Five Easy Pieces," and (as aforementioned) voicing Pebbles in "The Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm Show."

There is unaccountable content here. Sally's appearance and persona are more like Fran Clinton in "The Getaway," but that movie did not come out until December 1972. Odder is how, according to sources, she only became the Christian Children's Fund spokeswoman in 1976.

Because the movie ("The Getaway") was already in production when I had this dream, it is demonstrably more from a co-occurrent "non-local" perception rather than "seeing the future." (That is certainly true for my continual "communication" with Zsuzsanna before we learned of each other in waking life.)

The content regarding the Christian Children's Fund and the charity work she became known for is likely from a type of perception people do not fully understand yet. I do not think it is "seeing the future." Because they approached her as such, it must have been for a discernible reason, something I impersonally perceived (for no particular reason for me). With Zsuzsanna, it is different and an unknown factor continually linking us together all our lives on many levels.

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