Blue_Opossum

Morning of June 13, 2020. Saturday.

Dream #: 19,535-03. Reading time: 2 min 56 sec.



Although parts of this dream have influences from coronavirus associations as read in the media in waking life, there is, as usual, no dream self recall or concern about the pandemic, only three compartmentalized threads unlinked in my dreaming experience. The first is a reference to someone having a sore throat, the second relating to the claim I read in an article that bugs in a dream are “symbolic” of COVID-19 (and yet people have always dreamt of bugs long before this), and the third relating to stores being abandoned and boarded up (associated with media reports about rioting and looting as well as COVID-19).

My dream self is a sorcerer in this imaginary scenario. My waking-life identity is absent even though I am in what is possibly a variation of the Hinkler Centre shopping mall though it also has the vague, ambiguous essence of my middle school and a shopping mall in La Crosse. An unfamiliar man and woman approach me. The man claims he got a sore throat from me. I tell him, “I never had a sore throat in my life.” (My dream self has no recall of ever having one, anyway.) I had supposedly been in service to them as a sorcerer, though I am unsure as to what he had wanted from me. He reminds me by giving me a card (about one and a half times bigger than a business card) that supposedly has their requests on it, though I do not read it.

Even so, I am annoyed. I do not want to deal with these people, so I summon scarab beetles in their direction, though only a few crawl towards them. (This event is similar to one in a dream from April 14, 2020, though that was with comedic, sarcastic intent with ants.) I decide to leave the scene, now recalling I should be wearing different clothes (instinctual awareness of being undressed as I sleep).

I walk out to the parking lot (liminality management) and notice most of the windows of the shopping mall are boarded up (another type of dream state liminality management, though with a more defined division between dream space and wakefulness). I want to get something from a store. I eventually find one store at the other end up the shopping mall that is not boarded up and is open. It is a grocery store with many shoppers. After I go in, I look around and realize I am not here to buy anything but to retrieve my clothes. (It makes no sense other than as specific co-occurrence with preparing to wake by being near a checkout with the association of getting dressed after getting out of bed. Once dreams are understood for what they are, there is no doubt as to their translation.)

Instead of waking with this otherwise familiar process, my dream becomes exponentially more vivid. The vestibular-cerebral handshake kicks in to an extreme degree, and I find that I seem to be a young boy scout (and dressed the part, including with khaki shorts) even though I also have the recall I had been a sorcerer in the previous transition. Three men tower over me like giants, though I do not feel threatened or insecure. They are going on a fishing trip and are waiting for the man I wanted to avoid in the first dream segment. He eventually arrives and is huge. However, I summon a fireball and disintegrate him. The other “giants” do not seem to care and behave as if they are glad to be rid of him.

Even so, I decide to instinctually initiate the next process. I turn and walk through the wall of a nearby building into a dark bedroom. However, one of the men from the previous scenario walks in, though he is now normal size, as I am. He is thankful for me getting rid of the other man but patronizes me by giving me a card addressing what he wants from me by way of sorcery. Soon, another man comes in and also gives me a card with his requests.

I am then on the porch of my present home (liminality management) and wonder if I should wait for the third man to approach me in case he also has a card. Even so, I begin to feel that my dream is too ridiculous to continue, so I wake myself.

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Morning of February 22, 2016. Monday.

Reading time: 5 min 42 sec. Readability score: 66.



My family and I are leaving our home on Stadcor Street due to an understanding that Daniel (Zsuzsanna’s younger half-brother on her mother’s side) is ill and could make us sick. (This is illogical because he is not around or likely to visit.) I carry a big suitcase as we all leave our house. We walk toward the city of Brisbane, but I have the idea we will be walking to America to avoid getting the illness.

Eventually, we are sitting at a bus stop in an unfamiliar area with other people after I get tired of walking. (There are at least two bus shelters oriented end to end.) I am uncertain when the bus will arrive or if it will take us to our destination (closer to America, reachable by a short bridge from Australia as they are next to each other in my dream). I begin to realize that I have a car we can use that should be appearing soon. I think it is the fancy white car across the street. As I go to it, I look at the back to notice my first name written clearly above the license plate. That may be evidence it is my car though I consider it may belong to someone else. The door on the front left side is open, and we all get in, though I am the only one that sits in front. I assume the car has three rows of seats, as otherwise, all of us would not be able to fit. There is a periscope as well as an automatic pilot. I quickly drive off while vaguely thinking that it still might be someone else’s car but this is not a concern.

I safely and effortlessly drive through buildings, solid walls, and over water. I stop at a rocky cliff overlooking the ocean. I look over the cliff to see a few men wandering about on the rocks about ten feet below. Now there is an unknown homeless male with us, and I offer him food. (He has not eaten for a few days and has been wandering in the region.) I pick up a suitcase to use infra-control as a potential to create food in it, but upon opening it, there are only my family’s folded clothes inside, I then open a rucksack and reach in expectantly and see I am holding a baguette. He is cheerfully thankful, as it is his favorite food. I reach in and produce a second one, which I also give him.

I think about how the southeast section of America nearly touches the northwest section of Australia. It is like I see the Strait of Juan De Fuca (northwest above Washington state in reality) in the northwest corner of Australia, and that links to Charleston, North Carolina. Part of it could be confusing the Victoria above Washington state with the Victoria in Australia. It is not only an error of country location. I think we are still in Brisbane (the opposite side of Australia than my dream’s implication). (However, if you rotate Australia around to line up with the USA, the two Victorias are in the same area, though one is a city and one is a state.)

We are now at a Brisbane train station. It seems to be nighttime. There is a Russian wolfhound (Borzoi) lying on one of the benches. It possesses the soul of an unknown man’s ex-girlfriend. He hired a cult leader (present near a waiting train) to transform her with magic. I talk to the dog. She acts as if I am ridiculous in talking to her and makes a sarcastic remark about people who talk to dogs. There is an ambiguous awareness that I am in a bus station and the dog is a greyhound (as a Greyhound is a kind of bus). The increasing ambiguity, along with the dog’s sarcastic attitude, annoys me. I decide to help her even though she seems resigned to her fate.

I tell the young male cult leader that I will change the dog back, but he believes he is the only one with magical powers. I say, “…and now a golden candle, taller than me, appears here,” and it happens. A golden candle taller than I appears before me in a giant brass candle holder. He is amazed and stunned. It gets smaller until it is of standard size. I place it atop a small, round, wooden table that belongs to be the cult leader (even though it is a public area). Some blue, jellylike wax overflows from the giant candle holder. I apologize to him in case any of it falls out to damage the tabletop, though this does not occur. From here, looking at the mixed colors brings me into an abstract state, and I slowly wake.

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Dream errors other than known infra-control: We have not lived on Stadcor Street for years. One cannot walk to America from Australia, and they are not next to each other. I could not carry a big heavy suitcase very far in waking life. Maps (as well as location orientation) are hardly ever realistic or correct in dreams. I do not question blue wax coming from a yellow candle. I do not recognize a talking dog or magical abilities as strange.

Dream opposites: Walking south to Brisbane would imply walking in the opposite direction of where America would be, though this distorts in conflicting ways later. One of the reasons for our move to Bundaberg was concern over an illness more likely to be present in Brisbane (SARS), opposite inference to my dream’s scenario.

Dream accuracies: My infra-self is similar to my current conscious self in marriage and family status (as well as living in Australia).

Subliminal, liminal, and lucid creation and control of dream content: The summoning of the car with my name on the back is common subliminal control of the dream state, having nothing to do with real life. I have often deliberately done this in both lucid and non-lucid dreams. A car represents maintaining the illusory physicality of the dream state. Driving through buildings, walls, and over water (of which I also do with my illusory dream body without a car) is infra-control, unrelated to real life. I often use infra-control or control when lucid to create and control dream factors. The appearance of clothes is a typical infra-sign I am dreaming (as I do not wear clothes in bed while sleeping). My effort worked on the second attempt, which is common.

General concepts: It is usually harder for me to walk in both non-lucid and lucid dreams than to fly (though I usually end up flying whenever I had been walking for a time). With the highest level of lucidity, walking is more thrilling than flying, as the realism of physicality is more defined and accurate. Since early childhood, I have used reading to attain more of a focus on the dream state (though sometimes the writing changes or becomes nonsensical), especially in reading my name somewhere as here. I use yellow and creating and lighting candles (in both lucidity and non-lucidity) to clarify my conscious self identity in the dream state. The homeless man was a preconscious witness to my mode of awareness while the cult leader was this dream’s preconscious avatar. It all comes down to whether the processes of my reticular formation (RAS) have more or less control as my emerging consciousness (the dog in this case) in the waking transition. A dog usually represents how much control I have in the dream state. Animals becoming people is a common waking status, or in fact, anything going from unlikely (such as a talking dog) to resolved.

Prescience (updated same day): When I went outside tonight, I found a rucksack of the same colors and size as the one from my dream, lying just outside our house near the curb, that someone could only have dropped tonight. I felt what could have been a baguette through the canvas, but it turned out to be a tall empty water bottle. Zsuzsanna first thought a hookah was sticking out from it, and so did I for a second, until I realized it was a large hydration pack (the kind with a long transparent hose). Looking inside, I discovered it belonged to a Swedish male named Axel. The only other contents were documents, most related to applying for a tax file number. He may have lost it from his bicycle, or maybe someone stole it from him and tossed it.

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Early evening of August 15, 2017. Tuesday.



I am in an unfamiliar unknown setting, though it is implied to be a room in our present home. There is an unfamiliar tall chest of drawers against a west wall. It has a pale wooden design. There are five drawers.

Atop this chest of drawers, in about the center, is a gumball machine. The main concept is that this feature is somehow able to manifest new items in any of the drawers at certain times, more so, every drawer simultaneously, though this materialization of items like new clothes, comic books, paperback novels, games, perhaps even food items, still seems based on needing to insert a coin in the gumball machine.

I am vaguely aware of the events and the materialization, though I seem to be aware of seeing events as simulated without being directly involved, as the drawers open and close on their own a few times. I am wondering how many coins I have to activate this machine. There is no backstory or indication on what will materialize at a specific time or how to specify what one wants (though perhaps it is based on which coin is used). It may be thought-based, as such a dream implies non-lucid dream control as it is.

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Morning of August 7, 2015. Friday.



This was an atypical extraordinary dream that was quite long and exhausting. I can only relate some scenes as much of it was abstract.

In one part of my dream, my wife Zsuzsanna (though at a much younger age before we met) seemed to be oddly played by the role of a white female; actress Mary Beth McDonough. After a time, she is more like a composite. As most people have learned over time from my extensive online journal, it is ludicrous that anyone other than the dreamer could associate or “interpret” anything in his or her dream. The idea is so preposterous (not to mention disturbing) that I could fill an entire book with how wrong this concept is. In fact, this tiny little facet of just one dream proves that.

No one but me could possibly relate why this dream facet manifested. It is because of one minor association between my wife and Mary Beth McDonough that only I could know, that being the deer symbol. This is because both my wife and her had photographs taken of feeding and petting a deer around the same age, and that is obviously the first thing that comes to mind for me.

No one but me could decode the next scene, either. Over time, I am concerned about this character’s safety. Her “parents” (though they seem completely unfamiliar) talk to me about her future and for a time, it almost seems as if I am the father. The male is dressed as in the painting “My Father Was Big As A Tree” from 1955 and does not remove his hat.

Something happens to where her fake father seems to be causing her trouble or preventing her spiritual growth by preaching some form of skewed Christianity. She sits on the couch with her arms folded much of the time. I begin to develop a special discernment that I cannot call lucidity, because I am not lucid. I tell the male that it is impossible for him to alter the destiny of a master since the patterns exist in the world itself. I become angry.

In this way as if noticing me as who I am for the first time (related to any faux back story), he seems to see me in a different light as I feel, for whatever reason, that I need to protect the actress (who is looking more like my wife-to-be). I feel an exhausting level of energy and blow out towards him as he shouts “Manny! Manny!” to his wife, and he transforms into a butterfly under my will as he escapes through the front open doorway of the unfamiliar residence. I expect him to not make it across the front yard.

“That girl was ta…” (thunder). Police cars take my schoolmate away. I want to live in the sky, away from humanity and those who so effortlessly prey on the innocent without remorse..and all the while playing the victim. I saw the signs and no one ever listened. No one ever does.

From here, I reach down and feel my left leg and notice it has transformed into a deer’s leg and I can clearly feel the foot. It seems very intriguing and vivid and I brush over the fur on my left leg. My wife is herself again and I am once again thankful that no other path would ever have given me life.

I then see myself in a painting where I am separated from humanity by a gulf that will always be reflected in “Alien Child” (as the original artist apparently saw himself). The painting “Alien Child” burns and so does “Hostile Butterflies”.

Only I know…

Morning of February 25, 2015. Wednesday.



In my dream, I am at an unknown location (though likely in Australia as some of my wife’s relatives are there). It is an enormous room (with many smaller rooms connected to it, some office-like) that is like some sort of setup for a business seminar - seemingly, at least in part, related to advertising slogans, television commercials, and catchphrases. My wife’s oldest half-sister is there, seemingly annoyed by my presence. Several times, I transform the implications of what is being said in the particular presented slogan (usually using the same number of syllables and phonemes) into my opinion of people in the region. I do not recall all the changes I make, but one contains the word “backwards” which indicates the people are backwards in my view. Later, my wife’s oldest half-sister gets up and makes an announcement about me, most of what she says being nonsense. For some reason, she says (with contempt) that I am a Mormon - and makes other ludicrous comments.

Meanwhile, my wife is in another room, doing some sort of questionable and tiresome work she does not like at all but is totally passive to it for possibly a corrupt business or local government, relative to filling out forms or making detailed lists of other people (recurring dream plot). The oppressive authority of the business people over other people’s lives seems exaggerated in-dream, though in reality, it really is not much different in my experience. I decide that my wife and I will leave even though she is still to do more for at least two businessmen. I decide that I will protect her from this endeavor and the thoughtless intrusive older businessmen who act as if they own her or as if she “owes” them anything.

Over time, though I am not lucid, I take on an essence that supposedly represents Gitchi Manitou and I am in tribal dress at times, with numerous abilities (teleportation, flight, pyrokinesis, infinite physical strength, etc). I even say “I am Manitou” while hovering near crowds in an urban area. During the time when the seminar part of my dream shifts, I focus and cause many of the windows to explode outward and I then fly through one of the large broken windows with my wife.

Eventually, it turns out that I have an enemy. It is a powerful being in the form of an albino male with jagged teeth and solely hostile intentions, though he is somewhat jester-like in appearance and dress at times. The subplot of the two businessmen also becomes dominant at times. I end up threatening them, teleporting them, and holding them over an area near a cliff until they stop trying to get my wife to finish certain forms and lists.

My albino enemy is intent on destroying me, but we are about equally matched in power for the most part. Clusters of knives fly at me but I reverse their path and they cut through him though do not hurt him (solely because they are his - an in-dream folly, of course). We fight in several different scenes near areas in a city and around crowds of people. Over time, I do seem to maintain an advantage. I also sing and chant loudly and rhythmically at some points, as I fly and float around (mostly in standing or partly diagonally forward positions), feeling very strong and aware. Over time, I apparently weaken my enemy more and more.

Later on, my dream seems to shift into indicating a long passage of time had gone by. I am hovering inside a shopping mall, still having flown around a bit with my family. I see my enemy walking in the hall. When I speak to him, he calmly says “I’m a mortal now”. He no longer has any power or threatening presence and works in a carnival. He also has no interest in fighting me even at a human level anymore. Strangely enough (though I am uncertain of my motive), I offer to give him some of his power back. He seems a bit irritated that I would do this (rather than thankful - but then he had always wanted to eliminate me), but soon accepts. We even have a long friendly conversation, sharing information about our ancestry.

Later, there is a carnival set up in an empty parking lot near a large shopping mall where he is going to perform magic tricks. Three random girls are chosen from the large audience. He has them stand in a triangular formation. Shortly, one is struck by several bolts of scattered lightning (the farthest one back at the point or “triangle top”), the one on the left in front is pounded relentlessly by “compressed” rain that only falls in the area she is standing, and the one on the right is fatally sunburned with visible sunbeams in her area only. All of them die almost immediately while screaming in pain. This does not impress me, especially as most of the audience just sits around as if nothing has happened rather than trying to escape this lunatic “magician”. I calmly take my wife to another outside area of the mall closer to the entrance and we sit and share romantic conversation and closeness as I continue to hear people shriek in the background, just around the corner of where we are sitting. It does not seem to bother me at all.

Morning of February 16, 2015. Monday.



My dream has two main sections and is very long. It begins at a different version of our older home on Stadcor Street in Wavell Heights. However, our house is built directly over the ground (instead of up on stumps) and has a dirt floor, which does not trigger the fact that I am dreaming. I notice a large garden in our living room growing directly from the “floor”. They are large-leafed vine-like plants; possibly cantaloupes. Over time, however, I want to make our house more like a modern home and have our garden outside. It seems somewhat frustrating to me though I do notice sheets of vinyl and carpet over some areas of the dirt floor in different rooms, but only covering about half the area. This combination of vinyl or carpet over a dirt floor seems more aggravating than just having a dirt floor throughout.

Zsuzsanna comes in and tells me that she is going to visit an older lady that she knew when she was younger. Before visiting her, she decides to become fifteen years old again so there will not be any confusion as to who she is, as the older lady will recognize her more easily. This does not at all seem unusual to me but I start to worry about her as she leaves on her bicycle - the one she apparently had at that time when she knew this person - and “calls it into existence” as such again. Instead of this scene triggering lucidity, I instead eventually decide that I will catch up to her to make sure she stays safe. Of course, to do this, I take to the air to fly (still not becoming lucid).

I fly over what seems like a resort near a beach, but there is also an urban area. Flying down and around the people does not surprise them that much. In fact, one shirtless chubby male in swimming trunks waves at me from a lawn chair. I do have to dodge a few power lines. I also briefly see Zsa Zsa Gabor (very old) who regards me without emotion.

I fly in a semicircular path and land in an industrial area near a fence and see my wife approaching on her bicycle (which for a short time seems to be a three-wheeled rickshaw with packages on the seat to her right - however it is soon a bicycle again). She seems cheerful and okay as she soon hears me calling out her name (“Suzi”) rather loudly. Three unknown people are there and I start randomly talking to them about others in the area as my wife approaches on bicycle. One unknown male claims they are my relatives and that the person I thought was Zsa Zsa Gabor may actually be an elderly lady I visited as a child whose surname (real-life as well) was Love. I am not sure if the surname he gives for himself is Toms or Thomas (though I do hear “Toms” at first, it seems).

My wife is happy to see me and seems about twenty years old now. We decide to fly off together, but first, I must hide her bicycle so that no one steals it. I use telekinesis (still not lucid) and move it to near the sidewalk. From here, I transform the bicycle now lying on its side into a red fire hydrant which rises slowly from the ground as it forms and becomes harder and more uniform. My apparently fictional relatives gaze at the fire hydrant quite oddly as if they know I am deliberately being obnoxious to them by manifesting a metaphorical erection so boldly (albeit with supposed witchcraft).

My wife and I fly around while holding each other close, though there are several annoying younger chubby males who seem to not like us being there and suspect us of being witches intent on destroying their town. We fly near a higher hill overlooking the town where there are other people entering a cave above a cliff. These people seem more intelligent and spiritual than the people below in the adjacent town but we do not converse with them.

A few of the other males in the resort area soon somehow develop the ability to fly. This annoys me because they are now a threat. My wife and I move apart and run about in the air, about ten feet from the ground, to distract them from going in just one direction. Soon, the palm of my right hand grows a mouth with sharp shark-like teeth and my arm stretches several times its normal length to become an octopus tentacle reaching all the way to the ground. Any male that flies near either of us is grabbed and either “eaten” or thrown down hard enough to disintegrate them.

I flip backwards in midair, my body arcing back as I hover above the town and I then mentally force a newly declared “truth” that no other person from this town will ever be able to fly. This works (in this particular dream) and I feel strongly that no one else will ever fly or be a threat at least when we are flying. “Let’s get away from this looney bin,” I say to my wife.

My wife and I again hold each other in flight and we converse about how timeless and ageless our love has been and even make subtle in-jokes about our years of romance and bizarre experiences with humanity and their typically strange and limiting beliefs. It dawns on me yet again that I knew of her existence just before I was born (and even longer before she was born).

In the back of my mind, I vaguely contemplate the earthquake that rattled our house in a sweeping wave a few hours before in real life. It seemed to move from the front room where I was, under my feet, continuing in a vibrating wave almost as if a large animal was moving underground northeast to southwest with moderate speed. I could actually feel the floorboards vibrating in sequence from the front to the back of the house as I heard it move through my oldest son’s room in the same way - my first real earthquake. I was not aware they occurred like this; that is, as if traveling from one area to another like a wave, as I had always thought the ground shook in the same place for a time as in movies.

Morning of August 1, 2003. Friday.



I have been living in a “tree-house” - deep in extraordinarily beautiful thick, dark woods, miles from any city or even smaller rural area. The tree itself is actually more like a house-like structure. I live with a female that appears to be a “perfectly balanced” composite of my wife (at a younger age) and Brenda W. This appears to be the same composite female (but older here) from another dream where she, as a very attractive dark-haired witch (with just a slight hint of freckles), lived in an orange tree in the southwest corner of the orange grove in Cubitis. We are feigning ignorance of “normal” human life and human habits and mainstream society. We plan to make a movie to show the other denizens of the woods at some point…a “horror” movie about “average” people and their limitations and short attention spans (as well as their potential unpredictable rages over senseless, usually fictional, beliefs).

After time passes, I feel a somewhat tentative urge to explore a human city. I and a few others wander out from the woods, looking for signs of possibly frightening evidence of humans, eventually hoping to find the theme that can be viably used in our project. We come to a larger town. There is an area where a car drives slowly around, giving the strong impression of a prowling but mindless panther. We hide behind various fences just out of its reach. The city is uncomfortably weird and with potential of unexpected shadows of people (both “friendly” and potentially dangerous) appearing seemingly out of nowhere. We spend what seems a considerable time trying to work out if a parked car is occupied by one or two people or is merely empty.

Various small empty plastic bags (from potato chips and such) from vending machines seem to appear at random on the grassy areas adjoined to the sidewalk, causing one member of our group to become nervous. “That wasn’t there before!” they shout. Perhaps the wind just blew some of the pile from down the street. A dog barks, and someone screams. A bottle flies through the air from a drunk and is dodged by a team member. We go to study a broken hubcap near the middle of the street. We study it to determine if it has magical properties. It has an essence of the “wheel of fortune”.

There is a rumor that live human beings are walking about in unknown parts of the city. Terrifying. There is shadow play and there are false signs. We hear off-key singing. A group of drunks (unseen) are meandering near the railroad tracks area.

“Do you have the map?” someone asks. The map is like implied infrared images that somehow appear on what seems to be normal paper. Each image is of a person who is awake and walking or driving somewhere in the region. A member of the team, for some reason, still does not believe in human beings and claims that the reddish glows moving on the map are actually fireflies.

Every now and then (recurring since childhood) there is a vague impression of the shadows of giant rats (but never the rats themselves) moving across larger wooden fences near abandoned buildings, with an additional concern about random barbed wire in possible areas we try to move through. Ugly images of graffiti are horrendously splattered across the urban landscape, almost like an uneasy perception of unconscious occult ritual with the opposite intent of what is implied relative to the closeness of the images to each other - much like combining the wrong medicines in a given time period.

“There is nothing more frightening than walking through a town full of people,” comments a friend. I am inclined to agree. There is feigned concern and funny business over apparently losing our camera and film when it also seems we did not have any to begin with. Ugly billboards show smiling ogres holding up snake-oil. “The map, the map!” someone yells. It is no longer a map, but a napkin.

Over time, not much happens and we decide to return to the safety of the deep, dense forest. Even so, I decide to use an abandoned army jeep to make the trip faster. As we drive, I notice a strange, miniature wyvern that is more like just a partly moving woodcut design floating through the air, fairly high above us, but not posing a threat. It actually appears to be weirdly and incongruously superimposed on the dream itself, which creates a rather odd awareness for a short time, almost like a “watermark” on the actual construct of the dream (the only time I recall of having dreamt of this) in a similar way as a station logo appears over a television show. It seems to lose energy or injure a sketched wing and fall into a pile of abandoned rubbish on the wayside as we drive by the scene.

Before we get back to the forest, my wife (as she is now fully my wife as she is now) makes a remark about how quiet and peaceful “this part” of the city is at night. And I say, very slowly, “yes, it is…” as I awake very slowly with a very blissful awareness.

Synchronicity: A similar image (of a “deep forest”) was on the next user’s dream on the dream catcher site (with only one code number between the entries. Links here (15244 was offset originally - so the two images originally appeared together when posted):

http://dreamcatcher.net/blueopossum/15243

http://dreamcatcher.net/meghan_oona/15245

Morning of March 16, 1978. Thursday.





Dream Series: The Experience of Prescience, the Inexplicable Dream State Phenomenon. Part 5

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A very attractive girl with green eyes and dark curly hair (who seems mostly of a composite of about ten percent Brenda and the rest, my “mystery girl”, who turned out to be Zsuzsanna) is living in an eerie-looking small house that is also somehow part of the orange tree in the southwest corner of the orange grove in Cubitis. I somehow had not noticed it before within the supposed history of my dream’s backstory, which seems to have been over a period of at least a month. There seems to be a long time period where I am mostly just thinking about this unusual structure and wondering if anyone lives there. (In actuality, it is a more realistic rendering of the tree house of “Miss Suzy” by Miriam Young, and an additional association with “Old Black Witch” by Wende and Harry Devlin. These are two books I treasured as a child, but so much so, I actually later mentally combined them into the same story.)

The girl and I later sit together on the concrete flower box (outside the front west jalousie windows of my room and where my mother mostly grew coleus blumei). She sits on my right. We talk for seemingly a long time about various subjects, as if we had been very good friends for a long time. I am very comfortable next to her despite her amazing beauty. She tells me that she had often been called a “bad witch”, partly because she was born on a Friday the thirteenth (in September). I want to reassure her, but I am not sure of the nature of what “bad witch” is implied to mean or her full story.

She attempts to do some sort of magic trick with a passing car that is headed south on Highway Seventeen, but instead of it working out as she had intended (the car changing into something else or changing its color perhaps?), the license plate from the front of a different car comes off, rotates in the air as it travels, and attaches itself to the back of the car she is focused on. I then amusingly say, “You’re kidding”, in a matter-of-fact recognition that she is known as a “bad witch” in meaning that she is not that good at performing magic rather than being “bad” as a person. I then start to teach her powerful magic through the rest of my dream, including some rather pointless juggling of oranges, as well as telekinesis, and she seems happy and grateful.

“Miss Suzy” (though I am not viably aware of the Miss Suzy story influence in my dream) tells me that she will write to me on March 16th in thirteen years, which is the marker for when Michael died in 1974. (It is also when Susan R “broke contact” with me and no longer “sent” as she had since we met, telling me the other girl “had more power”, even though the “mystery girl” was only in my dreams at this time, though it would not have worked out between Susan and I as she was a devout Christian, which is ironic as she was the only viably telepathic person I knew of until I learned Zsuzsanna was a real person). Zsuzsanna, going by Suzi in the shortened form, did indeed write to me on March 16, 1991, though I got her letter several days later. The license plate magic trick that supposedly was not what she intended, seems to be an analogy for contact from one person to another, as a license plate is rectangular and contains letters and numbers as does a posted letter. Zsuzsanna was born on Friday the 13th in September, 1968. It was me who wrote to her mother first in answering her mother’s newspaper advertisement (due to a dream advising me to do this), but Zsuzsanna immediately “recognized” me for who I was (from a photograph I sent her mother) and then wrote to me, also sending me a long poem (“These Lands I Must Travel”) that was identical to the nature of my hypnagogic dreams years previously. The PAIA newspaper was printed in Arcadia, just south of where I lived for years (and at the time of this dream), though somehow made its way to a small town in Australia.

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Morning of August 25, 1967. Friday.



Location (both in real life and in first versions of dream): Rose Street (and surrounding area), La Crosse, Wisconsin, USA - the apartment building that mostly served as a tavern below (a venue where my father sometimes performed) and apartments above, which was struck by lightning and burned to the ground years later, after I returned to Wisconsin.

Real-life Associations: Wendy the Good Little Witch comic book number 45 as shown here, with, I think, a news agency stamp of August 17th, 1967 (“publish date”, which is sometimes several months ahead the release date, listed as December 1967).

Characters: Me, the young version of Alice Liddell (the real “Alice in Wonderland”, 1852-1934) as Wendy the Good Little Witch in “real” human form (recurring - I cannot presently recall a dream-witch who did not have black hair - she also wore a blue outfit rather than red - sorry Harvey fans, blonde witches just never seemed “right” for some reason), and a few random adults. Interestingly my wife had a very similar haircut around that same age, so that is just another intriguing familiarity, I guess.

This was the first occurrence of the “rain shield”. The first version of the rain shield or “bubble” shield was in the Pepto-Bismol pink I have mentioned in other entries. I could have lived without it, I suppose. I have not had pink as a dominating color in my dreams very often since late childhood. Blue has mostly been the most outstanding. At any rate, it was mostly about being “protected” from the rain in several recurring dreams this way, and it eventually became one of my own recurring dream abilities after moving back to Florida. Sometimes, it was a special wristwatch I wore (when it was not just “mind-power” or magic), which of course was a special variation of the 1967 Omega Seamaster, which could also allow the wearer and anyone he held hands with to walk on the ocean floor (which was less common than the walking and flying in the rain dreams, but to be honest, I actually liked walking and flying in the rain in some other dreams).

The shield was mostly egg-shaped and transparent, extending out about three feet from me and whoever I was with. I still had one dream of it now and then at age twelve. These were some of my more vivid and (lucid) self-reflecting dreams, which were eventually “replaced” by the flying in a cloak in the dead of night dreams - which tended to have the same overall amazing mood and feelings of peace and bliss.

Historically speaking, this was the day (25th) that a certain Nazi Party founder was killed at a laundromat in the US. Not knowing any better, I told an older girl (D. Rockwell) I knew at the time how sorry I was that her father was shot at the laundromat. Obviously, this was no close relation, so she looked at me in a very puzzled manner.

Morning of December 19, 1970. Saturday.



I am performing a magic show on the Cubitis carport, in front of a few friends and classmates (at least five or more) on the day before my birthday. There may be others watching me from behind and to either side, including a couple adults (teachers?).

At the time, this was likely a longer and more eventful dream, but I had originally only recorded some of the main details - though it also “reset” and was recurring (including on the same morning or prior evening), though this is mostly a combination of all versions of my dream.

I have a top hat and a wand, as well as a little table and am directly facing the east end of the carport and standing near the area that is just back from the west end of the carport itself. My classmates are really enjoying the show, it seems.

There is a point at which I throw sparkling confetti into the air. At that same moment, it starts to actually snow (in central Florida, yet) and the audience is amazed. The snow is not falling inside the carport, though, but directly outside, creating a feeling of a pleasant surprise as well as a sense of comfort and peace.

There is another point at which I turn a dove into a very large vulture that sits on my shoulder, but there is no sense of danger or fear (although audience members say “Oooh” out of appreciation and a slight wariness, perhaps).

There is another point at which there is orchestral music seemingly coming from nowhere (just as it does in movies and television shows, really). Also, my magic wand grows small branches and leaves. I remember some joyful conversation, but did not remember it after waking.

I turn a matchbox bus into a real school bus (which appears on the highway in the distance and in a way, seems like an “obvious” deception and the magic act sort of losing cohesion, but only in one version of my dream). Also, at one point, it seems the carport is flying in the sky like it is the large basket of a balloon (recurring). I also do a few simple card tricks.