Blue_Opossum

Morning of April 11, 2016. Monday.

Dream #: 18,011-02. Reading time (optimized): 2 min.



My dream is a science-fiction scenario, but it seems as if I am in a movie. It may be taking place in the present but with fictitious technology. I am with an unfamiliar girl and an unknown man. There is a teleportation system. The girl has a black spider pillow (about the size of a couch cushion) that looks somewhat cartoon-like. There is a teleportation mishap.

I am lying on the ground in the woods with the two others. The girl is sleeping to my right. Most of the legs had come off (or had been cut off by the teleportation malfunction) of the spider pillow (a play on my dream self not having real legs). It briefly squeaks as if it is alive or is a robotic pet, but this idea fades, and it is only a pillow.

Instinctual awareness of being asleep (the pillow, sleeping in my dream, and quantum Zsuzsanna sleeping near me) does not trigger conscious recognition I am dreaming. (My waking-life identity is absent.) I wonder what is going on. (As a spider visually represents the human hand, this is a possible play on having my hand on or under the pillow while sleeping.)

Another teleportation malfunction occurs. It seems to be part of a spying technology but goes awry. We end up in a candy and confectionery manufacturing building in New Jersey.

We wander around while the girl seems to have breathing issues. An older woman who behaves like a housekeeper on an old American sitcom gives her something that I first thought might be candy but is medicine. It takes place in a big room where numerous long wooden tables are in an equidistant arrangement.

My attention wanders to where I try to find something in a big telephone book (seeking communication while in the dream state). I search through the yellow pages, but I am uncertain if this is what I should be doing. Soon, I seem to find what I had intended to see more of - movie listings. The print on the small movie posters is so little as to be unreadable. The features are on two panels shrunk down and rotated to be displayed lengthways. It seems to be because movie posters and theater scheduling information is not as important as residential and business listings.

I mentally magnify the page to read some of it, but soon realize I am doing it without a magnifying glass. As an illogical consequence, my sight returns to normal, and I cannot read the tiny print. I realize I need to find a magnifying glass, but I do not see one.

I am in the Loomis Street house living room, but I still see it as the candy factory. Long chunks of dust hang from various areas of the ceiling and walls. It seems no one does any cleaning. I consider I should vacuum the rooms even though I am not an employee. On another level, it seems natural that more and more dust should accumulate.

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Morning of July 11, 2015. Saturday.



It seems that my family and I are at an unfamiliar and unknown campground (and no name is perceived that I remember). Over time, some sort of unusual phrase seems to dominate the back of my mind in this possibly fictional location. It is something like “dust comes from the dirt weasel” or something similar. It does not seem to relate to an actual weasel or any other animal. At one level, it may relate to the link between “dust devil” and “Tasmanian devil” (cartoon version when relevant to spinning and creating a miniature tornado) and my association with my childhood “Wild Weasel” dream.

Mostly, there are two males that seem imposing. I am not certain of their intent. I somehow control movements of wind and dust (at some points, as an actual dust devil) to keep them back. One man seems particularly intent on possibly getting to us, and his motives are likely destructive or at least problematic, but I manage to hold and control whatever forces (which control the wind and air-blown “streams” of dust) are pushing him back. He never gets past this implied barrier, though the forces vary from strong to very strong to light enough so that he is able to move one step forward (though always moves back a step). Wind and dust both usually relate to the passage of time.

2 minutes 12 seconds to read.

Sunday morning, 6 February 1972.

A Rose Encased in Glass

Dream # 1,875-04.


I am standing at the front of my fifth-grade classroom in the late morning, to the left of the teacher's desk and facing the seated students. My classmates are gazing toward the front of the room. However, no one acknowledges my presence or seems to see me. There is a sense that it is the last day of school. Danny Hollingsworth is standing on my right, closer to the other students. He seems very happy.

An unfamiliar male teacher gives him an award for an unknown accomplishment. It is a red rose in a rectangular prism made of glass. Despite his gratitude upon receiving the award, I recognize that it is an act of mockery. I sense a couple of classmates (including John Cavas) snickering at Danny's "award."

"Thank you," Danny cheerfully says.

"It's dusty," he says without changing his happy mood.

He blows on the top of the rectangular prism. An overpowering wind carries dust that covers the other students. Time seems to flow rapidly, 50 years swirling by in a second, to present a scene of old business people (seemingly close to death) seated around a large rectangular table (still in the classroom but with a sense of bilocation). (They eventually seem mummified.) The event had not affected me. I am only a spectator. I sense Susan Cavas had been a real estate agent.

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Dream Content Errors:

Danny was not in my fifth-grade class, only in previous grades.

The rose and prism were of an unrealistic size, at least a foot high, perhaps caused by a zoomed-in superimposition that my dreams often provide.

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Causality and Meaning:

Wind often implies the passage of time and a "glimpse into the future" (as here), depending on other content.

The rose encased in glass; and the immobile business people are indicators of intuitive, metacognitive, or lucid associations with REM atonia (the natural paralysis while sleeping that occurs throughout all dreaming). This fundamental causality of dream narratives occurs whether or not there is any other related factor.

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Influences:

One influence was the joke where a teacher asks a student what their favorite flower is. They respond with, "chrysanthemum." When the teacher asks them to spell it, they say they like "roses" more. Another dream integrated this gag and included the ending line without the joke's inference.

Danny had a feminine personality and manner, and other classmates sometimes teased him for it.

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Enigmatic Content:

In the next grade (in middle school in a different building), a female classmate, Lorilee, mocked me by giving me baby blocks and other baby toys tied together with string for the classroom's Christmas gift exchange (where students had randomly drawn names). (It was because she was obsessed with my "oversized baby teeth," and ironically, she was in dentistry years later.) When she was about fifty, she claimed to have no memory of her life until recently (though because of trauma and drugs, apparently). To read a strange news story regarding that classmate, use the Google search for "A dilemma carved in wood" in quotes.

Years after this dream (after I had lived in Wisconsin for years), I learned that Susan (who remained in Florida) had become a real estate agent.

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