Blue_Opossum

Morning of June 13, 2020. Saturday.

Dream #: 19,535-07. Reading time (optimized): 2 min.



My dream self maintains the instinctual awareness I am dreaming (after dropping back from post-liminal mode to pre-liminal) by becoming more aware while sitting in a bed near the ocean (potential reinduction). There is the typical indoor-outdoor ambiguity, with my bed in this instance being near a harbor in Antissa, Lesbos, though the setting does not have a more discernible definition.

My waking-life identity is absent. I am listening to an operatic aria (fictitious, I assume) sung by Luciano Pavarotti about Antissa. (I do not listen to opera in waking life.) I am unsure of the source of the music, but it is probably from a cassette (as my dream self has no recall of what a CD is).

The sleep-wake manager eventually appears as an unknown male, but he is in passive mode (non-RAS; non-cerebral.) I sit down and watch him create a painting. It features a black oval as a scene of outer space. (This feature represents a higher level of sleep atonia, which may be why somatosensory kicks in as the trigger in the last scene rather than a vestibular event.) There are sparse red and blue ovular arcs around the “egg.” I absentmindedly add a blue ovular arc to the image’s right side with a felt-tip pen. Almost immediately, I feel as if I may have been intrusive in doing this. I start praising his art, focusing the most on the outer space rendering within the oval. He does not seem angry or annoyed.

A reporter approaches and wants to interview the unknown artist. There is still indoor-outdoor ambiguity, though the setting has more outside dynamics at this point. The two men stand and face each other, about ten feet away from me. The reporter says he is interviewing “the aggressor.” I am puzzled by this and state that he is not an “aggressor,” though I do not know his history. I hope I did not embarrass him by saying this.

Soon, a sun spider (camel spider), as long as the reporter’s head, crawls around from behind his head and covers his right ear. I am amused, as neither man seems to know it is there. Another sun spider of about the same size as the first crawls from behind the reporter’s head but goes around to the other man’s right ear. The man ignores it despite being aware of it. There is no sense of a threat, as my dream self considers them harmless. I wake at this point with a sense of great amusement.

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A vestibular-cerebral handshake did not occur as the waking process in this instance (as the result of greater sleep atonia but with a directive toward hand myoclonus), so it was somatosensory in this case. In other words, I sleep on my left side, with my right ear more exposed to my waking-life environment. The somatosensory focus was liminally drawn to that factor, especially as a spider often represents the human hand and its somatosensory arousal (though a sun spider is not a true spider).

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Morning of August 22, 2015. Saturday.



Yet again, I am back in my childhood home in Cubitis. The setting, though, is more near the entrance into the kitchen, though still in the living room area. For whatever reason, there is a character present who seems to be a version of actor Anthony Hopkins, who starred in the first movie my wife Zsuzsanna and I ever saw together in a theater before we we married (“Shadowlands”, about C.S. Lewis). He remains mostly standing near the entrance to the hallway and talking to me about how good an artist I am and the aspects of what I am working on at the time. This does not trigger lucidity in any way.

I am seated at a table, making some sort of large drawing with just a few felt pens, yet still get the impression it is related to a painting - or maybe it will become a painting eventually. I make a statement a bit later of how I wish I had more of a variety of colors to work with.

The more the actor comments positively on my work, the more I seem to absentmindedly start adding random lines and what may eventually eliminate the original image. The image seems to be an ambiguous scene, seemingly as seen from a window, but with both winter (as there is seemingly sparse snow) and summer features. There is a bird (unknown species) near the upper middle of the image as well as trees and a sunrise or sunset. Its wings are out as if in flight, though I think it may also be on a branch at one point, as the image changes over time.

There is an unusual nature to my work at one point. I try to focus on it and even “explain” it to the actor (and my wife who is present) before I wake. The concept makes no sense at all, though. It is something like including an additional layer over the image as someone else has also painted or drawn the same scene (elsewhere) but slightly smaller, or something like me making the picture as if someone else were drawing it as a “reflection” into my drawing. (It is hard to explain, as it does not make much clearer sense in my dream, either, though I suppose it could also be related as my image being on an easel within the actual scene but the easel being transparent and showing the scene more realistically through the outline of my less-formed artistic version.)

Although my image was seemingly very well-done in the first part of my dream, I am adding lines (wider apart) over previous lines, removing the more defined nature of the image, supposedly superimposing the art of someone different over my own version. I am starting to think that Anthony will become annoyed with what I am doing (in “ruining” my original work), but he has not commented at this later point.

All in all, this may simply be yet another metaphor for the waking process; that is, my dream becoming less-defined as I am waking even though my dream-self is attempting to clarify or change the dream’s energies somehow. During my work in the mid-1980s, I found that many dreams can be seen in this manner, especially flying dreams, which represent the state of dreaming itself.

Morning of April 7, 2014. Monday.



I am in Cubitis in my father’s original music room (southwest corner of the house). I am not sure of the time. It may be early afternoon.

An unknown girl is in the room and, in fact, it seems to be her room. (Of course, it is possible that a girl, or even a female artist, occupies this room now in real life - I have no way of knowing.)

There are various sets of A2 sheets of paper, mostly in several pads. There are also a couple unfinished cream canvases. She is some sort of well-known artist, it seems, but I do not know her name at any point.

The main scene involves me making art “for her” or to help her with the foundation of a pattern somehow, as she is somehow behind on her drawings or paintings (not sure what the situation is). I end up drawing various curving random parallel lines from the left to the right. That is mostly all that happens. I make at least two, the second being far more sparse, with only a few lines. There is no discernible form or shape.

A little later, I notice a thin dark-haired man in glasses kissing her. I ask her if she has three boyfriends and get a “no” from her. Somehow, I am also thinking of a male at a bus-stop somewhere who is “also” supposedly her boyfriend, but not in actuality somehow. It does not make much sense. It may very vaguely relate to a movie we saw last night, “Le battement d'ailes du papillon”, fairly interesting but a bit contrived (though an amusing look into cause and effect).

Parallel lines “never meet”. This may be a play on the two lines being the girl and I - and us “never meeting” in reality, even though I do not have a clear idea on who the girl might be or represent. However, looking at it in another way, it may mean that I remain (or should remain) in uniformity and balance with the females in my life (especially including my wife and daughters).

Morning of August 29, 2013. Thursday.



One part of my dream is related to seeing a park as if in a documentary (although it seems I am actually there at times). The first person seems normal other than having about three large layers of completely loose skin on the right side of his head, which also have a bit of hair. Mostly, there are interviews regarding the day-to-day challenges of life. Parts of the skin actually seem slightly larger than his head in particular areas.

Later on, the deformities become more and more diverse. There is a person who is like Schlitzie the pinhead.

One of the people looks very small (only about two feet tall) and also as if he has a mostly blue body and a head that looks like a baby bird with fuzzy fly-like (but not bulging) eyes and a straight black fuzzy beak instead of a mouth but yet is also more mouse-like overall than bird-like. (He looks a little like the Muppet Gonzo crossed with the aliens at the end of Star Trek’s “Cat’s Paw” episode in some ways.) However, this still does not seem all that unusual to me. I focus on the rather bizarre imagery and think that he is probably no different than other people in terms of mind, thought, and desires (even though the brain would be very small).

There is another section of my dream that seems to have no direct connection to any aspect of my usual thoughts and aspirations. I work for various well-known actors, one of them a young Sean Connery. My job is to “rescue” certain parts of paintings (almost as if they were “alive” in some way), such as the Mona Lisa, supposedly owned by Sean Connery who I later see at a larger open area in a park near at least two picnic tables with several other people gathered - and other paintings that are in museums in real life, but owned by actors in my dream. There are several repeating scenarios in terms of main ideas, but very diverse in imagery and even mood at times.

A strange, very unattractive, unkempt, and chubby woman (about forty) has the Mona Lisa. I need to get in and get out of her house safely, taking the parts of the painting that need to be “rescued”, which in this case, are the lips; upper lip and bottom lip separately. I have special weapons and items to help me in my work. I use a special, rather complex knife to cut out the upper lip, which seems more and more three-dimensional and a piece of art and sculpture in itself. The same is true for the taking out of the bottom lip, which I do without too much trouble. The female thief is very angry, but I manage to stop her from killing me by running a two-toned (in color, purple and white) retractable rod through her upper body, which takes a few attempts. The rod is like a more complex device that is somewhat antenna-like in that the two differently-colored sections can collapse into each other for ease of carrying on a mission. The woman is not even hurt that much it seems (even though I am certain there were wounds through her whole body), but I manage to get away with the stolen “art”. It seems likely that she is part of a gang of art thieves.

I vaguely worry that people at the park gathering will eat the cake (or “lips”), which now looks like sections of fancy cupcakes that I try to arrange a bit more neatly near the edge of the picnic table, with a few crumbs falling away here and there - even some of the several layers not quite “in line” - and I will not get any recognition of my accomplishments (or having risked my life) in my work and special missions. (I may be the only active agent of such missions.) People meander about, oblivious to the art recovery. I think of trying to get Sean’s attention, but I do not actually attempt it. However, it does seem I am paid somehow, and I eventually understand that I now have $600.00 in my wallet (along with other papers, which possibly relate to spying) as I shift into a different dream.

My dream that followed the above one is fairly simple; involving mostly walking about in various locations with the pinhead I knew in real life.

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Known precognitive/postcognitive elements:

As usual (but only occasionally documented online), there were very precise precognitive and postcognitive elements relating to real life:

1. Page 11 (half the “master number” and a “key” itself) of a library book (I had not seen) my wife and sons had been working with is called “Let’s Eat Cake!” (with pictures of cupcakes everywhere) and in the list it has “Can you spot…” and “a mouse?” (regarding the “freak” mouse/bird/human creature) following. This is also comparable to the concept of being a spy or detective and finding certain hidden things by separating them from the more complex setups.

2. The next page (which they had spent time trying to work out and my wife said she “had in her mind” for awhile) has “Can you spot…” followed by both “a cupcake” and “a pair of wax lips”. In the actual photo, the pair of wax lips has, under it, a device that looks very similar to the “weapon”/rod from my dream and is also of the same two colors (purple and white).

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Morning of June 16, 2013. Sunday.



I had a shorter intimate dream with the setting once again being in Cubitis, the one area near the hallway being fairly close as to how it really was. Zsuzsanna and I are wrapped in blankets on the otherwise hard tiled floor but we are still enjoying ourselves.

In my last dream of this date, I am back on King Street in the L-shaped smaller apartment in the back. I have several paintings up on the main length of the west wall. They are sort of like water-color images and slightly abstract, one of an eagle’s head. My wife Zsuzsanna is talking to someone else about his art, but he seems to be a younger version of me though with ongoing tribal ties and more art skills, perhaps. His work is detailed but more contemporary, almost like panels from a professional-looking comic book. One image shows a happy couple. One seems to be on plain A4 typing paper but that one may be a print. They are making fun of all the racist cartoons and such that stereotype Native Americans as saying “Ugh!”. They each say “Ugh!” about six times, laughing. Apparently, my “younger self” is even going to paint a large picture expressing the “ughness” of “Ugh!” in abstract. Some of it seems to be a response to modern television shows. There is a vague idea that the public would sit and watch a still image “Ugh!” on their television screen for an hour or more without moving.

Another (unknown male) person also speaks, and there are two other unknowns in the room, at least at one point. This other person is talking about how “great” my paintings on the wall are and I feel a bit silly about the attention as his praise seems sincere, yet as he points out each individual line making up the larger image when talking about the eagle head picture, which is composed of mostly blue and lighter purple water-color paint-like lines, but with also a somewhat of a pen-drawing look.