Blue_Opossum

Morning of October 6, 2017. Friday.



Something has happened to my physical form, but possibly only as I am “sleeping”.

I think of myself as a paragraph of writing, in the form of a hazy cloud of about four feet long, hovering a few inches above our bed. Being a paragraph incarnate makes me feel somewhat vulnerable. I am aware of Zsuzsanna sleeping om my left, but my viewpoint is curiously from somewhere in the center of our bed at times.

Other than being only a hazy cluster of “words” hovering a short distance above our bed, there is a perception of having an additional “shell” at times, or some sort of armor, but which comes and goes. There is no viable perception of having a physical body. I vaguely remember an affirmation (“I am of the healing powers of Universal Mind”) but I do not fully grasp or sustain it.

I turn in my “sleep”. It is like a twisting that “rolls” from “head” to “foot” when I do. It occurs about four times. I am aware that having transformed into the form of a paragraph relates to my illness (food poisoning). I only feel slightly ill in the dream state.

Before I am fully awake, I start to realize aspects of this abstract dream’s source. It is quite old and it has been years since this memory was more present. Years ago, in an animated version (shown on television a few times) of “A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court”, there was a scene where a boy informed the main character that he was a page. The Connecticut Yankee responded by saying something like “A page? You’re no more than a paragraph.” Additionally, having the “armor” around my cloudy form relates to the (King Arthur) knight association with the story. The perceived “suit of armor” is obviously a biological symbol of wishing to be protected from the norovirus. The rest, including “being a paragraph”, is incidental to this association with the Mark Twain story, which I had not thought about for a long time.

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Since early childhood, my non-lucid dreams, other than prescient or precognitive threads, have often resolved themselves in meaning in a form of light hypnopompic thinking (as well as reveal source patterns that created my dream in the first place), which is often carried directly into conscious afterthought (although this process is occasionally “replaced” by a false awakening where I am writing down my dream or talking about it with someone else). In a way, this has always been like having two dreams in succession, the original dream (often surreal or at least unusual and illogical) and the decoding of its meaning while waking or in a different (much lighter) level of unconsciousness. (It was not until I was about seventeen years old that I started to come to terms with the fact that most people were apparently not like this.)

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Morning of September 4, 2015. Friday.



My senses are not very clear in this sequence. Firstly, I am playing some sort of game with an unseen character (seemingly by proxy via some sort of radio broadcast but he may also be “present” though disembodied) though the plays and outcome are quite abstract and hard to describe and follow. The playing field is illogically on an otherwise featureless area of an electronic keyboard (where the voice settings and other features would otherwise be). There is something to do with placing very short lengths of “hair” (of only about one centimeter) into a pattern that seems to have no particular form. It seems difficult and annoying. We had apparently been playing awhile because the shape that is supposedly mine is like a large circular form, but it seems the other character is winning (though I am not sure why or even what the purpose or rules are). Eventually, as I do not seem to be the winner, I pick up my game result and it is somewhat like a furball though seemingly made of drawn lines that somehow are separated from the surface that they were originally drawn on.

Later, I am on my side in a bed that is outside near an isolated intersection in a wooded area during the afternoon. I get a vague impression that there may be large dinosaurs (such as a tyrannosaurus) in the area. There is no fear or perceived threat of any kind, though. It is almost as if I am aware I can create any creature I want and have it run around by the intersection and along the perimeter of the forest. I absentmindedly choose not to focus more clearly to do this, though. Instead I am playing around with an electronic drum kit that also is like a digital sampler to capture at least an octave range of a particular sample.

I press something (some sort of small rectangular button) and sample the ambiance of the area, which is barely audible. I try to play a melody on the pads, but the sample is not loud enough to hear. I try again and get some ambiance that is slightly louder, but mostly only wind through the trees, my breathing, and a distant (unknown) animal sound. From here, I am able to play a random melody with a rather odd sound (almost like a person saying “huh?”), though which eventually sounds more and more like an electric guitar. I remember that sound can be recorded from anywhere and turned into anything else.

Morning of April 4, 2015. Saturday.



I am lucid in this dream, though it is not of the level of lucidity that enhances the dream state to full vividness and highly focused dream-self awareness. It starts out at our present address on W street, rendered fairly accurately in layout and overall appearance. My wife is with me for most of the events. Two unknown people (late forties perhaps - male and female though not necessarily a couple), dressed somewhat formally as for a business, are on our porch while there is a storm beginning. A thicker bolt of lightning comes down and strikes them, actually curving around underneath the eaves, seemingly knocking them unconscious. I decide to summon the lightning to strike me to see what will happen (regarding my in-dream state of awareness) as well as thinking it may improve my physical well-being. I am not able to do this though and become somewhat annoyed though not outright angry.

Later, my wife and I are on a crowded bus in a larger city though the storm seems to threaten to tip the bus over. We get off the bus and the other people do as well, though we hold a cheerful disposition. There is a strange sudden heavy rain that blows horizontally (mostly only in one small area of the street, near the corner) and for a moment, almost seems like a large unseen hose spraying from the front of the bus (from near the rear-view mirror). It is not even near us so we do not get wet.

I am later walking down the sidewalk and there is a large gnarled tree that actually moves one lower branch to avoid physical contact with me, which annoys me in the manner of an insult. I then demand (though without projected anger in my voice) that the tree make contact with me and heal me. The branch perfectly forms the shape of a human hand and holds it over the back of my wrist. (This reflects somewhat on a long vivid dream of over twenty years ago where trees on a boulevard reached down to caress my face and express love though the mood is entirely different here.) The mood is not fully positive though, and my lucidity is not that pronounced - though I am still aware that I am making most of my dream’s contents.

Later, it seems to be after sunset and there is still some sort of unusual storm activity (but not directly threatening in any way). My dream takes on a similar mood and setting as previous dreams where I am looking straight up at the sky; the zenith (and almost always with abstract features). It actually seems to take place in the same setting as other similar dreams somewhere in the southwest area of La Crosse. (It is not anything like the “remember the twilight” dreams where I watch lights or other things and events in the sky over the horizon with a nostalgic sense.) The sky is very unusual regarding the cloud formations and I also see various “objects” moving around, such as an orange trapezoid and other geometric shapes now and then, though which seem two-dimensional and not related to a spacecraft of any kind. From here, my dream becomes too distorted to hold cohesion of any kind. The sky; the zenith; becomes a random hodgepodge of abstract morphing shapes.

Morning of February 4, 2015. Wednesday.



I keep moving in and out of sleep over a couple hours but stay in the same general dream environment and level of consciousness. At one point I open my eyes and watch an animation of a hand-drawn red and blue daisy on the wall above the real telephone (red and blue alternating petals). I do not try to shake it off as the hypnopompic stage it is - I am not getting out of bed yet anyway. It wiggles insect-like at times, and wavy lines “swim” out from it on the wall in all directions (one “jumping” over the phone chord), as the daisy drawing breaks up into its individual smaller lines. I look near the ceiling on the wall in the room to my left. High on the wall is a series of handwritten years (each about four inches high); 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, and so on, in a column, alternating in red and blue writing for each year (for example one year written in blue, the next down in red, the next down in blue, and so on), about seven or eight dates. I am not sure of the relevance.

Over time, I keep turning to either my left or ride side (typically alternating in seemingly “precisely timed” stages) taking care not to bump my sleeping wife and making sure it is done at the right time relating to the “proofreading” system I sometimes indulge in. My task is to read through someone else’s writing - three or four paragraphs, I think; I am not sure of the content anymore. The “paragraphs” are an orange fluffy ball hanging in the air (lit from the inside as if in photographic negative), about four feet up and to the right of the bed. I have to move my essence up and down through it to “download” the English writing. I have to “read” and “reread” this orange-fluffy-ball and mentally correct any spelling errors. It gets rather boring at times…It is almost like a featureless porcupine fish rendered in the wrong area, though it is not close enough to my sleeping body to be that annoying.

At one point, I am lying on a porch at an unknown residence. I am lying there mentally reading through a newspaper that is lying open near where I am, no need to turn the pages - I read it in a dream within my dream. This is not the right newspaper, though; I am actually looking for a CD that came with a particular newspaper, something relating to animal sounds made by students in a special project - I see the advertisement for it being in another newspaper. The front door opens and an older frail man looks out at me, seemingly annoyed at first, but then he offers me a place to sleep, but then I tell him I am okay where I am. He apparently sees me as a homeless teen.

A new “Star Trek” (original series) episode is being filmed in the large parking lot of a shopping mall in La Crosse (near the old Quillin’s IGA area). I am within the story itself at first, as if it is all “real”. I am on the Enterprise and I watch the activities of a Klingon ship from a window at the end of a very small downward-slanted hallway (nothing like this on the actual show in real life) - it is close and I see a lot of detail but it does not fire. Later, I am walking around in the parking lot and see that all the ships are miniature. Does this mean all the actors had been miniaturized as well? I see no larger sets representing the inside of ships. It seems very late at night. After a short time of exploration in the parking lot, I look down at a model of the Enterprise and comment on how much of it is made of cardboard, though in fact, it is actually sitting over a rectangular cardboard “fence” and not with any cardboard in the plastic model itself.

Leonard Nimoy and William Shatner, both seeming only around forty years old at the most, are seated on benches. I ask William Shatner if they are making a new “Star Trek” episode (again, as part of the original series) and he says “yes” quite cheerfully and I say “cool” with a warm sincerity, not remembering they are rather old now and that it is not 1969 anymore.

Morning of January 27, 2015. Tuesday.



I am in a somewhat uncomfortable dream state (likely from being overheated) and in reality am farther down on the bed than usual, somewhat in a sideways fetal position. I am mostly in muddled states of creative thought where I am trying to get my body to “rematerialize” correctly. Usually, it is only about two-thirds the correct size. I am also slightly hovering, shifting into body forms that suggest static statue forms for the most part, but sometimes distracting abstract tangents.

Some of the forms are just too abstract to build on, so this will not do - I cannot exist in an “abstract body”, suggestive of human or not - I might just float around and not have full control that way. I have to live and breathe in an anatomically correct physical body. It is difficult (relative to establishing more mental clarity) and mentally laborious trying to bring all the molecules together so that I may live in my body again after it is correctly remade, sometimes floating about a foot from my bed. At one point, my body is like “The Thinker”, but on his side and half the size of my actual body. Sections of my body in one last session and attempt are still missing as I decide to abandon the process.