Blue_Opossum

Morning of June 7, 2015. Sunday.



In the first part of my dream, I am disembodied and watching a large group of tribal people on an island (possibly Polynesian) dragging an overturned very large (prehistoric) living trilobite onto the beach. Apparently they are somehow getting a lot of edible meat from it. There is a bit of ambiguity as if there is something related to archaeology in the back of my mind. It does not seem to matter that trilobites were probably never this large and are also extinct, as the scene is extraordinarily vivid and “realistic” otherwise.

Later, there is a shift and more people (perhaps the same group) are capturing large turtles and somehow using the carapace as some sort of small boat that seems to be able to hold about three or four people. It seems fairly “realistic” but I doubt it would be feasible.

I am with some unknown and unfamiliar females, not tribal and not directly associated with the other groups to my knowledge. We are in a boat which is somewhat canoe-like (not a kayak) though the others are sculling in an area near shore - which may be in the ocean or a very large lake, though I do not sense it is competitive rowing (or regarding a need to hurry), at least not clearly. There is an abandoned windmill on shore which seems important. Somehow, four oars are jury-rigged as new blades for this windmill, which seems to happen almost instantly even though I sense or see little movement. This is perhaps some sort of composite joining. Windmills represent the dreaming process itself or level of lucidity (as does successfully traveling in a small boat over a large body of water) or extent of the connection to semi-consciousness. In the past, one dream where windmills were stopped or unmoving (and another from years ago regarding entering a painting of a windmill, though I had a recent one where someone else was ready to enter a painting with a windmill) represented being fully in my dream, as the windmill turning would imply conscious awareness and a windmill beginning to move might be related to the liminal level of waking consciousness, but this is probably not always the case.

I do not get out of the boat as there is something else I have to do before waking - to help with my physical existence and “uniformity” in my role of “pretending” to be human and to exist in the real world as such.

I eventually shift to where I am aware that I am in bed with my wife, though she is asleep and I am in a state of artificial “wakefulness”, though not full sleep paralysis - only very light sleep paralysis, as there is not the typical blissful awareness or wonderful waves of energy and oscillation that move from head to toe and back in such states. I am aware that, due to recent back pain, I have to go through several stages and need to maintain each stage for a certain number of minutes prior to waking.

First of all, I am a trilobite lying on my back in our bed, but I need to transform over time into other representations of whatever partially abstract line of thought or existence I am in. I do not move (or attempt to move) at any point. Still, I am well aware that I am becoming a lobster. Becoming a lobster is important and not uncomfortable, so I am a lobster for several minutes. I almost sense a level of transparency and a sort of “flatness”, yet still three-dimensional vertically (which is somewhat ambiguous in form). Of course, from here, the next “logical” step is to be in my scorpion form for awhile. Finally, my line of in-dream thought begins to become a bit too abstract and wavers slightly. Still, I know my next stage is to become a tarantula, though from that point, I am puzzled over how to “correctly” adapt physically and wake “correctly”. This is vaguely similar to where I transform into symbols (such as runes) or letters of the alphabet (though sometimes just random polygonal shapes) in the “correct” way while in the “correct” position.

Morning of November 9, 1974. Saturday.



Two small creatures are arguing, but it seems more like I am hearing or reading a script at times. They are in my father’s old room (south end of the house) in the dark under a bed that is aligned along the west windows. One is like a small lobster or crawdad (a play on “father” and his comedic routines or “crawl dad”?), the other like a small crab. I am mostly only aware of their odd shadowy forms at one point. One is a “gig”, the other a “wag” (not sure which is which - probably the lobster is the “wag”, as a lobster has a tail).

They argue about which one of them is better at various things, including standup comedy and what seems like an old Vaudeville (“Vaude” rhymes with “Claude”, both my father’s first name and mine) routine with each blaming the other about the end of Vaudeville. Not much happens. There is a point where they mostly end up only saying “…but I’m a gig” and “…but I’m a wag”. (“Gig” is the first part of “giggle” which relates to comedy and laughing, and “wag” is also short for “waggle” with the same last four letters as “giggle”.)

I try to think of what the term “Gigs and Wags” means, and think “wigs and gags” after waking. I Googled the term “Gigs and Wags” but only got one match - a typo in a 1925 newspaper ad that reads “Gigs and Wags gons renovated” when it was supposed to be “Gigs and Wagons”, I think.

I think this relates to plays on “Vaude”, “giggle” (again, for “gig”), “crawDAD”, and “crab” (in that my mother sometimes called herself a “crab” and was also a Cancer by the so-called zodiac sign). It may be a comedic or “downplayed” dream restaging of a lesser argument between my parents (which was in the back of my mind later on) as well as relate to my father’s celebrity status, though he was not primarily a comedian but a musician/singer (also in reference to “craw” for throat as he actually used that word to mean throat at times). It also relates, outside of the actual conversation (where the sex of the voices was not quite ascertained) the difference between male (lobster or crawdad in this case - and with a “tail” - which in Latin becomes the term for the male reproductive organ) and female (crab - some of which have a somewhat oval body and no “tail”).

Morning of September 7, 1970. Monday.



A giant lobster is approaching my school from the west and we all have to leave (I had been in a class on the second floor). When I am outside, east of the building and at a fair distance from it, the giant red lobster approaches from the other side, but the scene does not look right. It is as if the school is now only one large wall with windows (and perhaps now implied as four storeys high), since I can see everything supposedly on the other side rather clearly as the creature bashes his claws on the building. Realistically, I should only have seen the building and not what was behind it through any windows to the other side, as I was down on the ground.

Not only that, the movement in each window seems to be the exact same partial scene and movement somewhat like a fly’s eye view, including what is seemingly duplicated sections of the same pieces of blue sky and arc of lobster claw in the background in each and every window. The simultaneous imagery and movement in each window is almost ominous in itself. Still, I actually enjoyed this dream because of its unusual “rare” nature. Although the “fly’s eye view” has occurred in other dreams (this being only one of two more vivid instances over a lifetime), it seems very rare.



This dream, I think, amusingly enough, was perhaps more influenced by the restaurant commercials shown during “Shock Theatre” than by any monster movies at the time, though “The Black Scorpion” (from 1957) might have had an influence.