Blue_Opossum

Morning of December 3, 2015. Thursday.



This dream is of a fairly common focus where I can hover and float about vertically (as if standing though completely relaxed physically). This is sometimes a secondary awareness to other dream events (such as ones with some semblance of plot or circumstance, surreal or mundane, including shopping or just previously walking around). Interestingly, over time, it becomes known that hovering or flying is not legal (though I am not lucid at any point). I get a feeling that I am possibly in the UK (though this is not certain).

Throughout my dream, I mostly fly vertically (upright), about a foot above the ground, though sometimes lean forward to fly in a diagonal position for shorter periods. Some people seem appreciative of me doing this even though it is not lawful. They find satisfaction in my “rebelliousness” of oppressive authority I suppose. I evade the authorities several times by flying (as they are not allowed to fly even if they have the ability, apparently). It seems odd to me that flying is illegal but then I sense that it probably relates to the prevention of getting in the way of aircraft and drones and such. In fact, I get the impression (though this is not certain) that flying may be legal in some areas if it is authorized and supervised by the government, though that does not seem a common situation.

I am shot at, but either they always miss or I am somehow bulletproof. At one point, near an odd composite of my past middle school and a shopping mall, I am shot at and a grenade is also thrown at me. I throw it back and watch the colorful “realistic” explosion near the outer wall of the building. Eventually, I join a couple, a young male and female. The male is apparently not fully human; possibly some sort of animal (such as a lemur) and human hybrid, though he looks mostly human. The girl sings to him at one point. They are like me in that they evade authority and “do what comes naturally”.

From here, I mostly just play around, not causing any fatalities even though I cause explosions and do not like being pursued (though the pursuit has mostly stopped by this point). I watch a “large” silver bus, which seems to be a Greyhound from the 1950s. It moves through an underpass though oddly (based on my full-body presence and perspective) seems only half the size of a real one (though is still fully three-dimensional and with “realistic” movement and momentum otherwise). This is actually typical of my dreams since childhood, where vehicles often seem miniature even though it is otherwise perceived as “normal” (and without me presumed as being a giant). I throw some grenades, which are somewhat like (toy) jacks and are supposedly harmless even though they cause a lot of noise and fire. The bus squeaks to a stop. I am aware that no one is injured but they are probably baffled.

After this, a similar bus approaches, though this one is about three-quarters the size of a real one. I throw more “grenades”, which make more popping noises and fire, but not as large in contrast to the other smaller bus. The three-quarter-sized people do not seem as much in awe as the other (half-sized people) group. (Jacks as small grenades is somewhat of an unusual idea.)

Morning of July 22, 2015. Wednesday.



This title is not that relevant - as the cat itself does not glow, but for some reason it just came into my head as the title (and who am I to “argue” with self-titling excursions into the surreal).

Yet again my dream alters the features and layouts of real locations. This time our bed that is in real life in what would otherwise be the dining room (head to the west) is now in the front computer room, which is adjacent to our older children’s rooms; the head to the east (though feasible, not that likely to be as such - especially as our oldest son’s room has a window in his wall into the room). At the same time, the computer desk is near the window (where the bed was).

I “realize” that I am at 611 North Monroe Street (in America), which I rarely dream about anymore, especially considering I have not lived there since early 1968 (before moving to Cubitis off Highway Seventeen). My cat Tiger (long gone in reality), an orange tabby, is walking about. I “realize” that I am about seven years old but am concerned that Tiger has stepped in paint and is tracking it around the room. He is hesitant and shaking each leg in rotation, just as in reality when a cat steps in questionable liquid. However, the footprints are like a light and almost like a “hole” as well, somehow.

I “remember” after the tracks are giving off an annoying amount of light, that I can “turn off the footprints” (that is, anything glowing in the room) with a special light switch. I move my hand around to feel for it but cannot find it. I vaguely also recall (real memory) that there is a stack of about six or seven comic books on the left side of the toilet tank in the bathroom and am wondering if they will be knocked into the toilet as a result of the cat’s actions. I am trying to remember if this already happened at a previous time and if as such they had been there for several days thus far (which makes no sense of course).

The cat walks up the wall, leaving an even pattern of footprints (which start to look more like upright five-pointed stars than cat paw prints), almost to the ceiling. “Come down from there,” I command. The animal comes down and starts purring very loudly on my chest but seems eventually to be my own breathing (and likely Zsuzsanna’s as well).

My thinking falls into the slightly abstract. I realize that a “star pentagon” is not a pentagon at all but a decagon (as it has ten sides and angles, not five sides and angles). I feel a strange uneasiness over humanity being “wrong” yet again, then realize everything in the world is misnamed and misunderstood anyway, so it does not matter that much.

I approach three (unknown) girls in somewhat plain dresses (sitting on the floor in the form of a triangle for the most part) who seem to be speaking Portuguese and involved in an occult ritual. There is unexplainable luminosity in the setting. Looking more closely, I see they are actually playing Jacks. However, looking again, I see the game box looks suspiciously like some sort of ritualistic system with the box shaped like a hexagon. I then confirm this by the fact that, even though they are playing Jacks, it is on a hexagram painted carefully on the floor. Then I get annoyed once again as I realize that the “hexagram” is actually a type of dodecagon, as it has twelve angles and twelve sides, not six angles and six sides.



“No one knows what anything is,” I say calmly. One of the girls (to the left and closest to where I am standing) turns and looks at me curiously though smiles in understanding and seeming familiarity (with a vague thought she is my wife when much younger). She says, “A minha estrela guia” (“my guiding star”) and I am not sure if she means me or the game piece (Jack) she is holding. Then I realize she may not have said “A minha estrela guia” but “I’m in Australia”, which sounds the same (and it slowly dawns on me that this is yet another “missed clue” or “confirmation”, of millions, about finding Yin incarnate, yet I recall I already have).

I feel slightly nervous and enter a more luminous state of “quivering” (where the foreground and background quickly shift inversely to each other) and see a large electric fan (all white, including the blades) where the rotary keeps changing in diameter, smaller and larger, but somewhat randomly. The fan blades sometimes curve out as if in attempt to touch or at least reach me (with a perceived sense of care and compassion, not as a threat). The imagery shifts in unusual ways. Every now and then, a small narrow crocodile head emerges (again, with no sense of threat, and the mouth remains closed) horizontally and evenly from the center and is seemingly pulled back in. Other things the spinning fan blades become is a cycad palm, a sunflower, and some sort of floral kaleidoscopic design. I watch it for quite some time (with a vaguely perceived buzzing) and eventually shift into a dream where Steve J (an old classmate) and I are walking just below rafters on roof support beams and ceiling joists in a large building. The rafter patterns become more and more complex. This last part, Zsuzsanna says she also dreamt of - though she was the one walking mainly on the hanging beams (without any actual reason or prior cause to dream as such, though this shared dreaming happens fairly often). (However, I did have a lot of similar dreams when about thirteen.)