Blue_Opossum

Morning of September 24, 2019. Tuesday.

Dream #: 19,272-02. Reading time (optimized): 1 min 30 sec.



Precursory: I am aware I am in bed at our present address though I do not perceive the room with coherence even though it is a vivid dream. My head is downward (though I am sleeping on my left side) though I have no perception of any other body part yet. My mouth is not against the mattress as my head seems elevated a few inches. I am aware it is morning, and although daylight is present, there is no cohesive imagery yet.

Induction: I am aware of at least one Naiad, but I do not see her. I can only hear her voice and breath in my ear after several short snippets of gibberish from farther behind me. She says, “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe” while near my left ear. Although I try to bring about communication with expectation with liminal dream state awareness, it does not occur, though I do not possess speech capability in this mode.

Post-induction: I watch several couples in canoes from a distance. I do not attempt to identify anyone. It seems to be late afternoon now. There are minimal ruins adjacent to the shore.

Vestibular stage: I ride a bicycle on a hilltop, avoiding sparsely arranged rocks. My concern is minimal as the tires phase through any that are directly in front of my path. (I am aware of attempting to enhance my imaginary physicality with this activity.)

The drop: I ride my bicycle off the edge of an embankment, and I slowly fly after it vanishes (without exit point modulation). I end up hovering near the doorway of one of the ruins, and I have a desire to look inside. I float into the room in a standing position.

Cognitive arousal: An MP (preconscious modulator as authoritative) is sitting at a desk with a typewriter. I cannot tell if he is real and had fallen asleep or if he is a mannequin. Upon attempting to read what he had typed, I see only sequences of random letters that change each time I look again. My view seems magnified. I see the red and black ribbon, red above black.

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(As I am already in emerging awareness and cognitive arousal there is no need for the preconscious to be intrusive.)

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Morning of August 6, 2015. Thursday.



I am with an unknown male though also sense Zsuzsanna is around at one point. I am going with him to an unknown location, though I think it has something to do with recovering certain information on the other side of the river (possibly in a different town). We are both riding bicycles and it vaguely reminds me of riding with Kenneth W or James M at a distance (out of town or on the other side of town) that eventually seems too far, though my bicycle is functioning normally. There was another schoolmate that used to go with me most of the way home (only for a month or two), though oddly, I do not recall his name (one of the only names I had forgotten in my lifetime, in fact) and this may be the character I am thinking of. It seems fairly late at night and I can just barely make out land features.

We reach a bridge over water and cross it about halfway and I soon see it is slightly inclined to where it goes down into the water, submerged from there. This surprises me, as I thought the other male knew where he was going, though now it seems he is gone (or perhaps somehow already got to the other side). I am trying to remember if he did get to the other side (with a brief impression that he was in the water for a short time). I am not sure what to do. I am not sure if I should ride my bicycle over the surface of the water, ride in while half-submerged (with the bicycle wheels half-submerged as I cross the river) or just keep going and see what happens (though I do not really want to ride completely underwater). My dilemma causes my dream to slowly fade. I have had numerous similar dreams of partly submerged bridges and docks throughout my life since childhood. I suspect it directly relates to the waking process or state of consciousness itself as many other in-dream predicaments do (for example, a car crash may solely metaphorically represent the waking process and the termination of the temporary dream-self).

I might as well include another non-lucid dream with this entry since there is not that much to it. Caution: Violence at end. Skip to avoid.

I am shopping in a store I buy food at in real life, though it is quite different. I am looking in a very large freezer (much deeper than in reality - and it seemingly has no shelves) where there are mostly meat pie packages and a few other frozen items. I hold the glass door open for awhile and am somewhat annoyed as there is not that much food in normal packaging in the entire freezer (which is nearly the entire length of the aisle). What little items there are, are sitting on large cardboard boxes (I assume they are unopened stock) and there are also a few smaller boxes on top (a couple being open) and I contemplate getting out whatever I need as I thus far only have one meat pie package (probably containing about four to six meat pies). There are only a few loose items strewn about the top of the stack that I want to look at or perhaps buy.

I then see that there are three people on the other side of the boxes who are standing within the larger freezer area itself, the boxes of which are at least three rows deep and stacked to above the waist. There are two females and a male and at least two of them have clipboards and appear to be taking some sort of inventory. They are a bit to the left. I reach over to the right and move a couple smaller lighter boxes to get to another product, which may be the only one left.

“Why don’t you go somewhere else instead of f–king around here?” asks the male (who may be the store’s manager), sounding very annoyed. This surprises me because I am a customer in a grocery store just trying to reach a product. I inform the man that I am leaving (and I do) and that I will make sure none of my friends or family ever shop there again. (In real life, I no longer shop in the grocery store that absurdly promotes self-service through the cramped and problematic small self-service section with a trolley-full of groceries while the cashiers just stand around gawking as all the normal checkouts are blocked off.)

From here, I walk home (rather than continuing to do any shopping elsewhere), though the location and building is not that familiar, yet I know I live there with my family. It vaguely reminds me of some sort of unlikely composite of Duffy Street (Australia) and Arcadia’s North Monroe (where I have not lived since early 1968). There are many young people running around randomly in the front yard, perhaps involved in some sort of game (like informal soccer) or party, though there does not seem to be any order to any of it and some of them seem to be wearing very strange and random outfits. It may be some sort of high school or college event, such as a semester break (though I do not know why they picked this area as they obviously do not all live in the area).

As I decide to go around and enter my home through the back of the building to avoid collision or confrontation with what may be a chaotic group of addled college or high school students, a (unfamiliar and unknown) girl who seems friendly joins me. We walk to an area near the back of my apartment building (which at this point looks a bit like the apartment building across the yard from where I lived at North Monroe). The back of my building has a door to enter the premises (at about the middle of the walkway from where we are), though directly to my right seems to be another tall building so that it is like looking into a narrow alleyway. There are several boulders and large rocks within the alleyway which are blocking my way to the door (though realistically, it would be ridiculous to assume someone or even several people put them there by hand). “Who did this? How are people supposed to get into their apartment?” I ask the girl (who is standing to my left) angrily. The girl leads me to the other side of the building where the rocks are now mysteriously gone just from looking through the opposite side of the alleyway.

From here, we get to the back entrance where there is a screen door. A tall young unfamiliar male (though he seems almost thirty when I look again even though I first get the impression he might be a college football player) comes out asking “How are you doing, dad?” as if with mindless sarcasm related to my age (and I am at my own home after all and I assume he is not supposed to be there). At this point, I am annoyed, as I reach semi-lucidity and the waking stage at the same time. In previous dreams I used to shoot every annoying character during the waking process. This time I pull out a large knife and effectively run it across his throat as I wake.

This last part was strongly influenced by the “Secrets and Lies” television miniseries filmed where we used to live (where the father goes to get his oldest daughter and is insulted and pushed and told to leave by the younger male as if he had no right to look after his own children), where the little girl turns out to be the clever criminal and killer rather than the suspicious adult males or other characters. Sorry for giving it away but at least I spared you the misery of watching it. And yes, it was supposed to be a serious detective show.

Morning of May 28, 2014. Wednesday.



There is a long first section to my dream where my wife Zsuzsanna and I are living in my older sister Marilyn’s house on Loomis Street. (She died this year in February.) It seems unusual that we now apparently own her house, especially as this was a rented house in real life and my sister had lived in a different house for some time after I came to Australia (though this erroneous factor occurs continuously in my dreams, as I never saw the house she had moved to after my move to Australia). I am aware of Marilyn at one point but when I look up she moves swiftly “in reverse” back to the kitchen (as if I were rewinding and resetting my dream). I notice a pile of clothes in one bedroom that belong to my brother-in-law (still alive) and my sister.

Later, I am at the front of the house. I have an old bicycle that I will be riding east down Gillette Street. At this point, I feel very good, though I am somewhat concerned about the traffic. However, there are not many cars after a time. I am able to ride the bicycle without incident. After going east down Gillette Street about two blocks, there is a (fictional) bicycle shop to my right. I still feel very good, but I think the bicycle needs to be fixed up a bit. I go into the store and have the bicycle set up near the center of the main large room so that I can work on it. The owner is behind the counter and does not even seem to notice me (until later).

I have a special bottle that resembles a small cylindrical spray-cologne bottle with a light blue tint. The liquid inside it that sprays out as a mist is virtually infinite. This has something to do with “the practice effect” in that the more I use, the more will be available and the more effective. In this case, it is a mist filled with nanobots that automatically clean, repair, and build even as they continue to improve themselves with a more and more efficient design. I spray the mist on rusty spots on the bicycle and over time, more and more of the rust is gone to be replaced by the original chrome surfaces. I spray it on the seat and the black seat takes on a copper sheen and transforms into a different shape.

The bicycle shop owner comes over with an unknown male customer and I say how the seat will now be more comfortable when riding. At this point, a bicycle seat falls onto the floor from a high shelf behind me. I point at it and say, “What a coincidence. I had just mentioned ‘bicycle seat’ and one fell from the shelf”. The other two males appear to be perplexed.

I continue to spray the mist over the bicycle and it becomes more and more newer-looking. I decide to add a headlight. I spray over the front of the bicycle and the invisible nanobots build a very nice-looking chrome headlight. There is a larger rectangular area on the bottom for a brighter light and two small eye-like squares near the top for signal lights. I also create better brakes and go back over the surface. Eventually, the bicycle, though with chrome aspects, also has copper and gold sections. I study the difference between the copper and gold nuances and I am satisfied. I notice several other features of the shop turning copper and gold over time, including parts of the shelves, checkout counter, and so on.

Eventually, the owner seems puzzled by a section of his bicycle shop, which seems to have partially expanded into a clothing store with craft store aspects more to the east. A few sections of elongated clover-shaped copper and gold felt pieces have ended up on the floor. A few other customers are walking around. It is not quite clear what he is looking at. At one point, it looks like two pieces of golden-colored felt sewn partly together with a bit of stuffing coming out. It seems like a propeller for a large stuffed toy airplane.

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This dream borrows from the science-fiction novel “The Practice Effect” by David Brin and additionally uses the typical dream ability of cleaning and improving dream features.

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For new readers or inexperienced dreamers: Something falling off a shelf is precursory symbolism representing getting out of bed, especially as it is a pillow with composite autosymbolism relating to flight. A shelf is autosymbolism that signifies being unconscious, analogous to being in bed. This dream is autosymbolic of the natural vestibular system ambiguity of REM sleep, biologically resulting in associations with falling, flight, or both. Therefore, it has no relationship with waking life or interpretable factors. An airplane is often only an autosymbolic extension of the physical body during the vestibular system ambiguity of REM sleep. Therefore, it is usually unrelated to waking life. In this case, only the propeller as a pillow is present. A pillow is a dream state indicator that represents increased awareness of one’s real environment while still in the dream state and is sometimes precursory of “The Periphery of Lucidity” as in many childhood dreams, and although my dream becomes more and more vivid, apex lucidity does not initiate. Preconscious RAS mediation remains passive here, as a checkout character being autosymbolism for exiting the dream state, likely due to my (subliminal) willingness to wake and harmonious attitude about RAS factors. In my childhood, I typified this common type of dream event as “failed flight waking symbolism”. Use of the word “failed” does not imply a negative connotation as it is a biological dynamic of waking from REM sleep. Therefore, attributing conscious self meaning or waking life meaning is unintelligent. A bicycle is also relevant to vestibular system dynamics, not as dominant as a fully featured airplane. Gold symbolizes a more viable closeness to the conscious self identity while sleeping.

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Night of September 13, 1990. Thursday.



This was a partly recurring dream a few months prior to making first contact with my lovely wife-to-be.

The world is ending. Or is it only a play/movie from the mind of Ödön von Horváth? (who I had read of at the library, based on an earlier dream). There is supposedly a true story (at least possibly true relative to the quote if not the event itself) - Ödön von Horváth was once walking in the Bavarian Alps when he discovered the skeleton of a long dead man with his knapsack still intact. Von Horváth opened the knapsack and found a postcard reading “Having a wonderful time”. Asked by friends what he did with it, von Horváth replied “I posted it”.

No, the world really is ending, apparently. There is a fire that is consuming the world. It is a fire containing the souls of all of the people who had died under Hitler - or so this seems, as some sort of epic movie-like plot. Their shadows move (walking about) within the fire as it spreads across the planet. It reminds me vaguely of certain concepts from “The Fog” from 1980. Though it has been a common theme since earliest memory to attempt escape from something by going around the world away from it, in as straight a direction as possible, and sometimes back from the other side, this particular scenario is new and unique to this dream series.

For some reason, they are moving in the United States towards Wisconsin (from the west), where I am living at the time of my dream. There is great awe and fear near the seeming opening of my dream, although not quite nightmarish. Also, for some strange reason, only my brother Dennis and I are actively planning to get out in time.

There seems to be enough time to get away at first. They seem about two blocks west of where I am living (but the fire stretches north to south, as far as the eye can see in both directions).

My brother and I get on our bicycles to leave. We start to ride south (not really away from the fire, but parallel to it for some reason).

Suddenly, as we are riding our bicycles, with knapsacks as well as a bit in the back bicycle baskets (I am even aware of the “Having a wonderful time” postcard in his knapsack), my brother somehow immediately has a glass of water which he throws in my face from his left hand (while still steering the bicycle with his right hand). As it splashes my face, I become much more aware and my dream more vivid, but still not fully aware that I am dreaming. This, in turn, causes me to think a little more clearly…why in the world am I riding with my half-brother who has a swastika tattoo on his hand? Wouldn’t that “attract” the supposed entities in the fire in a negative sense? However, at the same time, I get the strange impression I am “leaving” my girlfriend (”mystery girl”) or wife and am starting to question the nature of the setting.

We come to an area on the south-side of La Crosse where there has been some sort of earthquake damage. It is too hard to ride a bicycle there, so I get off and walk. There are “brittle” burned plants everywhere even though the main fire is still behind us.

I turn and look at the fire, which is about as high as a five-storey building. One of the “souls” in the fire is female and now seems quite alive and passionate, seemingly having spent her lifetime looking for me as I, her. I stop and decide to become a part of something I could not possibly have “escaped” from, anyway.

Then it seems that I got it all wrong. These people were not the “ghosts” of those who died under Hitler, but the energies of spirits looking for their partners in life or “twin flames”. Fire is life. Ashes are death. Should I tell the world that there was nothing to fear after all? I wake…

Morning of February 13, 1988. Saturday.

Dream #: 7,726-02. Optimized 1 min 15 sec read.

I find myself in the backyard of an unfamiliar house I associate with being in Southside La Crosse, possibly southwest of the King Street mansion. (It may be on Cass Street though its front is never visible.) It is late morning. Through a window more on the right, I see a group of about five unfamiliar men who are all at least ten years older than me. They are wearing formal clothes in what seems to be a kitchen. I get the impression they are having a business meeting. My bicycle is leaning against the outer wall of a utility room to my left.

When the men come out, none of them seem to see me as a trespasser. I notice one cheerful man in a business suit who is now walking a bicycle not only identical to mine, but it is somehow the same one. I ask, feeling an increase in mental clarity (on the threshold of dream state recognition), “How is this possible?” He says, with a friendly tone and as if he knows me, “Parallel ground, Claude.” The men continue walking away to the right (when looking at the back of the house), presumably to use the private sidewalk adjacent to the house’s east side.

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Bicycles in my dreams are primarily vestibular system response indicators with literal correlations (chiefly imaginary kinesthesia that exponentially vivifies and sustains a dreaming experience the longer I focus on my activity) unrelated to symbolism. In this dream, however, I do not utilize imaginary kinesthesia by riding a bicycle.

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What does “parallel ground” mean? Here, it is a declaration from my protoconsciousness or personified preconsciousness at the threshold of my waking. The term occurs in electronics, so there may also be a reference to the mentation of dreaming and mind-body reconnectivity. It may also originate from the duality of dreaming and metacognitive dreaming as a whole.

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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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Morning of July 15, 1977. Friday.



This dream was on the morning after drinking a small amount of beer from my brother-in-law Mel who was visiting from Wisconsin. It was titled “The Beam” in my original dream journal as well.

I am walking out to the highway (Highway Seventeen - the original route before the name was changed to NE Cubitis Avenue) with my father very late at night (or very early in the morning before dawn). I notice a partly melted bicycle just off the highway (about half on the wayside) that a very thin beam (like a laser beam) was shining onto, going into the handlebars. I also notice that a small part of the highway itself is like liquid as it is beginning to melt, sizzle, and bubble. I am aware that this beam is eventually going to melt everything in its path and is potentially very dangerous for some of the world and will likely continue to be problematic for a long time. There is no real sense of danger regarding my own safety though, or that of our home, at least for the time being. Its path at this point seems to be mostly down the highway to the north. I am not certain of its origin and not exactly sure if the bicycle is implied to be mine or my father’s.

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The meaning of this dream is basically the same as thousands of others I have documented, studied, and decoded and is anticipatory autosymbolism for waking into the light of day, more specifically via the emergent consciousness, seeking out the dream self for coalescence and to “save” the experience and perspective of the dream state. The same template and components, with the same meaning, are easily seen and recognized in dreams like “The Tadpole’s Ghost”, “Laser-Eyed Alligator”, and many others, though are more passive in dreams like “The Day There Was No Sun” where the role and active threads of the dream self and conscious self are slightly different, which probably depends on circadian rhythms and the time (and the date) of the dream.

Curiously, the highway begins to take on properties of another typical dream conduit, the river, though I have no perception of bilocation in this dream. The highway in this case seems to be “melting”. It is almost as if the “light of day” beam of the emergent consciousness is changing the dream setting for a “smoother” flow into the waking state by transforming it into the river conduit but this potential does not complete. The melted bicycle has been validated as a symbol for alcohol intake. As little alcohol as I have had in my life (even at my present age) it always triggered the appearance of a bicycle in a dream, almost always partly melted as here. This can be understood to mean that alcohol alters both balance and direction of thoughts and also alters the linear and more stable nature of decision-making.

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Morning of February 14, 1976. Saturday.



In the first part of 1973 (February), which repeated with more detail in 1974 and 1976 (the Bicentennial year, which some of the final version of my dream seems to partially reflect), I had a fairly long dream (that varied in semi-lucidity and in-dream awareness from time to time) in which the main subject was a localized Nazi Germany (Hitler is mostly only seen in shadow looking out a somewhat modern-looking window as if from an apartment building - apparently he also “dubs” - makes dub music, or produces it) that was limited to the range of the cow pasture to the east of our home in Cubitis, Florida. To the south from there was a localized Afghanistan, to which Hitler goes to with a large cavalcade of jeeps with various colorful flags - not sure if it is a conquest - but the feel is not so “warlike” - at least with a personal perception - and Osbourne “King Tubby” Ruddock is riding with Hitler, decorated with all sorts of awards for valor or some such. To have “little countries” in the region did not seem odd. It also seems like some sort of alliance, but there are rows and rows of weird flags from hundreds of other countries along the length of train tracks, both real and fictional (including a United Nations flag).

My dream featured my father at the end (C. Clarence “Rider” as in one version of the song, C. C. Rider, See See Rider, etc. - although he was actually known for very long bicycle trips, not motorcycles). We had the same name. In my dream, for some reason, he has a black motorcycle (probably a 1962 Harley). On the front of his motorcycle is some sort of shield (very similar to what an interstate highway sign looks like) with the number 79 on it in red. Near the end of my dream, I am moving rather oddly, with my fists going up and around in a sort of unnatural weird leaping run. We are in the area near the train tracks and halfway in the middle (and going north) of our neighbor’s orange grove (in real life he only ever mowed the front row of his grove, and the empty area near the tracks - which I thought to be a bit strange as rattlesnakes could hide in all the high weeds). I hear a strange humming and buzzing that is rather musical. At first I think it must be Hitler playing his “Death March/Funeral March” (as jeeps roll out behind us near the train tracks) but it turns out to be the motorcycle’s engine humming that song in a very strange and simplistic (but sped up) electronic way. There is a very weird mood in my dream. It is not sad, just slightly eerie. I keep trying to walk and run normally as I try to keep up with my father but I keep leaping oddly.

Finally, instead of saying “Every Good Boy Does Fine” (the treble line notes) to talk about the music - a line he repeated now and then in real life, he softly says “Every Good Boy Dies” (with no “F” note represented) and soon, he rides off, I cannot catch up - This sheet music motif was actually on his tombstone in real life several years later (on the design request of a half-sister I had hardly ever communicated with - see image). There is no sadness, anger, or fear, just a vague sense of awe, mostly related to the weird “humming” motorcycle engine that continues to play “Funeral March” (Chopin) about twice as fast as standard. The audio in my dream was identical (with all the same tones and nuances) to the Commodore 64 Jumpman death theme (when he falls and loses a life) that I did not hear in real life until several years later (1980s, a few years after my father died) and I was also moving exactly like Jumpman (even the same in mid-leap form) regarding the weird leaping - convincing evidence of very precise precognition for years ahead.

In real life at the time, I was making electronic dub music in a very simplistic, limited way as well as other strange recordings and comedy routines with my friends. One “trick” was that I had removed the erasing heads from a tape deck so that any new recording would layer over the first (but required precise timing), but the sound’s highs would be lost on each prior layer (so it was more viable to do the bass first and then build up from each A-based range, 55, 110, 220, 440, 880, etc). Another thing I did was to keep recording layers back and forth with two tape players, but again, it required precise timing, and the tape players’ capstan tolerance levels could not be that variable, because the track would either eventually sound slowed down or sped up (which was why it was common knowledge at the time that if you dubbed that way, you should have two same-brand tape decks not more than a few serial numbers apart). My father bought secondhand cassette decks and tape players almost on a weekly basis at the weekend flea markets just north of us and we sometimes rigged rather odd setups - my father built a large speaker set with several variously sized speakers as well as owning a very large and powerful dancehall amplifier for a time - one of the built-in effects was the exact same sound the vocal uses at the end of the original “Crimson and Clover” with the wavering pseudo-tremolo.

Additional notes:

My father died on February 14, 1979 (79 being the number on the shield on the front of the motorcycle in my dream.)

Adolph Dubs (United States Ambassador to Afghanistan) died on February 14, 1979.

Much here would have been missed had I not documented this one more closely. For example, I did not even catch the “cycle of death” play until quite recently. Given that most precognitive layers within a particular dream come from different time periods yet to unfold, and just as dreams combine aspects of the past somewhat ambiguously, it is also typical to miss combined otherwise unrelated patterns (for example Adolph Dubs, Jumpman, and my father’s death really were not connected in any way). As it is, hundreds of dreams before age nine related directly to my wife-to-be with such precise nuances as to be like one “big picture” already being determined and built long before I become aware in reality.