Blue_Opossum

Morning of September 2, 2015. Wednesday.



I am a semi-active part of an unlikely scenario. It seems to be a group of soldiers that are attempting to rescue at least one hostage from a foreign military group in a forest. It does not seem to be related to a war, just an isolated incident, perhaps.

The events are not that defined, but the enemy is on the other side of a linear cluster of trees. At one point, an M60 seems to be held by an enemy just past a couple of trees. This potential threat seems unrealistically delayed, as there is no drama or action as far as I recall.

Somehow, it seems to be agreed that the leader of the hostile group will meet the others in a clearing near a jeep. Several minutes pass and I see the supposed leader coming out of the trees. He is apparently not carrying any weapon. His slightly oversized clothes (perhaps as if from starvation, as he looks fairly thin though not muscular as would be expected for a soldier) are torn and his body is somewhat muddy.

A young girl appears out of nowhere and seems to be some sort of unlikely leader of some kind - it does not make that much sense considering the region supposedly being fraught with danger. The man holds out his hands and holds the girl’s hands in a gesture of recognition and respect as well as hope. It looks as if he can barely stand up straight. This is an unusual and unexpected outcome because the leader of the hostile group turns out to have been the one supposedly being held hostage and he is seemingly very thankful to be out of his position of leadership of the militant group. No drama ensues after this even though there may be enemy soldiers in the woods beyond wondering what is going on.

Morning of April 5, 1986. Saturday.



I had apparently been “sleeping” or resting in my dream in an unfamiliar room, but which is like a composite of the front (northeast) first floor bedroom on Loomis Street and seemingly a hotel room that is on a higher floor (at the same height the airplane is flying). I become aware of a very loud percussive sound, which gets clearer and clearer and seems to be getting closer to where I am. (I am unsure if this dream event was caused by real-life noise.) Looking out the window (implied to be a fictional window open to the north when using the layout of the familiar Loomis Street bedroom), I see that it is a 1940s military aircraft of a greenish gray color (which resembles a Grumman F8F Bearcat) that seems to be shooting at something (though I perceive that it is apparently present time in my dream, not the 1940s) and there are associations with Tripoli or Tipperary. Even though it is heading for the building I am in, even seemingly shooting in my direction, it does not crash or pose any actual threat now or later. I am not sure what happens to it after this as my dream shifts to where I am then outside. I assume that there is a small war going on in the region, though I am not clear on the location. There is confusion with Germany and Turkey as well as Libya and vague terrorist associations. Logically, it is probably meant to be the Middle East.

Later, I am standing outside, still seemingly in present time. I am one of the first people in a line of several hostages, which includes mostly older men and women. I am soon well aware that I am not me, though. Instead, I seem to be a much older male civilian or at least occupying his body somehow, perhaps a journalist. A hostile male facing the line, seemingly in charge, and holding an AK-47 or similar, is possibly going to shoot us all, though this is uncertain. At this time, I feel a strange vivid sense of both fear and growing relief and quickly rise up out of this character as if I was only inhabiting his body temporarily and do not want to be him if he is killed (which seems impending at this point). I rise higher and higher, looking down on the scene which includes bombed-out buildings. Meanwhile, I feel as if I somehow legitimately had been in this situation but am now escaping and “returning” to my own body, the presumed possibility of this remaining in fleeting conscious afterthought.

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