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    Blue_Opossum

    1. The Usual Preconscious Simulacrum Evasion

      by , 11-18-2018 at 01:03 PM
      Morning of November 18, 2018. Sunday.

      Dream #: 18,962-02. Reading time: 2 min 42 sec. Readability score: 53.



      One would think that after over fifty years, the same dreaming and waking processes in the same order and with the same foundational autosymbolism would trigger more viable threads of conscious self identity and recognition beyond subliminal RAS mediation than what occurs at certain stages of the sleep cycle. In this particular case though, my subliminal recognition of the dream state resulted in me resetting it, as had often happened before. My dream was mainly from the influence of a movie, “What Ever Happened to Aunt Alice?” (1969), that Zsuzsanna and I watched last night, despite it being of the typical transition through the nexus, which in this case, is a supposedly hidden room rather than, for example, a porch.

      The focus revolves around someone I had supposedly killed, a younger male, possibly accidentally. (The backstory, again based on the movie, is unclear). The urban location is unfamiliar and unknown. The person’s remains are under a commercial business building near a corner. I had somehow done this even though I was not involved in the construction of the building. The Sleeper (the “dead” person) transmutes into a cheerful emerging consciousness simulacrum in the last scene before the offset dream, without my dream self finding it unusual.

      There are many typical scenes of evading the authorities, one of them (the preconscious simulacrum) in particular. The emerging consciousness travels with me after someone finds their remains. The building is already being taken down during this time. (In the movie, the remains were under pine trees.) He (the activated Sleeper aka previously “killed” character) helps me find a secret panel in the wall of a nearby building, in a hall. I first try to phase into the wall (as with many past dreams in subliminal, liminal, and lucid manipulation of the dream state). Instead, a panel opens, and we step into a supposedly hidden area. I reason that going deeper into the area will result in us being less likely to be found as well as being farther from the entrance point (the same “logic” as in hundreds of previous dreams of the same type). (This scenario, naturally becoming the most vivid segment of my dream, replaces the typical porch-as-nexus event, in correlation with enigmatic space as the association between dreaming and waking. It includes “puzzles,” associations with detectives, ambiguity relating to where my real physical body is, and so on. Of course, it is not possible to “hide” from the natural preconscious transition.)

      However, upon walking into another area, the avatar tells me that “this is his office,” meaning the office of the police sergeant that had been after me. I notice how it looks like an ordinary office and is not hidden from public access on one side, finding it annoying that there is not much prospect for a genuinely hidden room. The police sergeant eventually comes in. I reset my dream, and it becomes a scenario where the police sergeant is the one responsible for the “death.” He is supposedly a vampire, which I tell a few people - and I have film footage to prove it.

      I then liminally reset my dream into an offset scenario of the typical vestibular system correlation process. I am helping someone, though only at times, who is in a wheelchair, as we descend an unlikely staircase built of various big stones in an outdoor rural area adjacent to a mountain. (In other cases, I am consciously aware of using this process to sustain or vivify a dream.) We have a little trouble, but we cheerfully descend several steps without incident, even though some of them are two to three feet high. He seems to find it amusing and mostly maneuvers his wheelchair on his own. There is no preconscious simulacrum at this point, only the emerging consciousness (as the otherwise typical vestibular system avatar) in the wheelchair. (This stems from both “What Ever Happened to Aunt Alice?” and the new “The Flash” television series, where characters are in wheelchairs without needing to be as a part of their “disguise.”)


    2. Relay Station Drama

      by , 08-19-2018 at 01:08 PM
      Morning of August 19, 2018. Sunday.

      Reading time: 2 min 39 sec. Readability score: 55.



      In my dream, I am walking through an unknown neighborhood at night. My dream self believes I am in America (even though I currently live in Australia). I have a false memory that I am supposed to go to a radio station to work as an announcer as well as perform live music on the air. At least two of my older brothers, Dennis and Jim, are already supposedly there. (In real life, Dennis is still alive, but Jim is deceased.)

      When I reach the building, it is mostly unlit. There seems to be activity inside at first. Over time, I become very annoyed, because it is presently only serving as a relay station rather than a radio broadcasting station. I hear loud voices from inside that sound like my brothers, but the broadcast is on loudspeakers inside, and from an unknown location. I walk around the building, and a few unknown residents tell me the station is closed, and that no one is there. I still yell near the building in case anyone is there. All of the doors are locked. I am very annoyed.

      Looking at the street from the front of the building, I see a police car arrive. The police are probably here to tell me to leave and to stop yelling. However, my infra-awareness shifts to where I non-lucidly transform the vehicle into a white semi-truck without a trailer. The preconscious avatar, still in a precursory mutable form, changes from a male police officer into the semi-truck driver. The cab is tipping forward, and he seems to be working on the engine. He does not look in my direction.

      Soon, preconscious dynamics shift into a more dominant form for the waking process. An unknown woman opens the front door of her house, becoming the emerging consciousness factor (in the usual doorway waking autosymbolism). When I tell her of my situation, she looks at me and says that my Australian accent sounds unusual. I am annoyed by her comment and tell her that it is not an Australian accent as I am American. That triggers awareness of my conscious self and dissolves my fictitious dream self’s identity, which causes me to wake (rather than to become lucid).



      What is a relay station in the brain? The thalamus is the deep-seated part of the brain that relays incoming sensory information. The brain’s outer cerebral cortex coordinates responses to this input.

      The most important process of a dream is to bring about awareness of the conscious self as preparatory to waking (or in contrast, becoming lucid while remaining asleep). People who are “against” lucid dreaming because of misconceptions about control do not seem to understand that lucidity and dream control are separate factors. (The preconscious distorts threads of the unconscious with synaptic gating, to prevent false memory. In other words, the non-lucid dream self does not even have viable access to the unconscious mind, revealing that the theory that dreams are related to memory processing is asinine. For me, infra-control, or non-lucid dream control, often brings about full conscious awareness, but lucidity is not required to control a dream and people who make this claim have no credibility. To quote Stephen LaBerge, “Lucidity is not synonymous with dream control. It is possible to be lucid and have little control over dream content, and conversely, to have a great deal of control without being explicitly aware that you are dreaming.”)

      Although I did not become lucid here, while threads of my conscious self were temporarily locked (the closed relay station), I still controlled my dream’s autosymbolism in non-lucidity by changing the potentially annoying police scenario into a non-event (which did not trigger viable lucidity). The man working on the engine is an analogy to becoming more aware, both physically and mentally. RAS modulation commenced, but with a less annoying context. A door did eventually open, to remind me of who I am, and that is the subliminal, liminal, or lucid quest of the dreamer.



    3. Undercover Under Cover

      by , 07-26-2018 at 09:26 PM
      Morning of July 26, 2018. Thursday.

      Reading time: 1 min 51 sec. Readability score: 71.



      My dream starts with a scenario involving what I think are people working for the EPA. I am present, though I am not originally a part of their group. Something happens to an unknown male. It involves a tree that had fallen on him.

      The background story changes. The leader (probably Andrew Wheeler) gives me the job of guarding the man who was injured (probably Scott Pruitt). I am to pretend to be a police officer during his hospital stay. I tell them that I do not have experience doing this. They say that they will give me the proper outfit. I am to stay in his hospital room until further notice. Later, I am wearing a turquoise uniform.

      I sit in a chair on the left side of his bed. He does not wake or move at any point. His head is at an odd angle, as his pillow elevates his neck but no other part of his body or head. It appears he might be uncomfortable (even though he is asleep), though I cannot be sure. An unfamiliar nurse tells me, “Well, it’s better to have indigestion than a broken neck.”

      As I sit there, I feel confident in my role. Eventually, however, an unknown male walks in, a police lieutenant of about sixty years of age. He stands across from me and talks to the nurse. Although I feel confident in my role, my non-lucid RAS mediation begins to waver. I start to realize that I might have been given an incorrect police uniform from another department. I also consider that he probably knows all of the officers in the area and eventually start to question who I am.

      Eventually, the RAS avatar responds to my silent subliminal commands and stares at me. “What are you up to here?” he says in his role as the police lieutenant. He brushes my uniform, and I notice some dust on a few areas of the jacket. I realize that he knows I am not one of his officers and not even wearing the correct uniform for this region.

      He does not tell any of the hospital staff that I am an imposter and does not even question me from here. He turns around and walks to the doorway. “You’re going to regret that,” I boldly call out after him. I start to tell him that I am “working undercover.”

      Then I realize, looking to my right, that the other man asleep in the bed is me, literally under the covers.



      It is virtually the opposite of a dream from yesterday, where transpersonal interconsciousness avatars were posing as female police officers, and I questioned them (except in that dream, “An Unwarranted Treasure Hunt,” more of my conscious self identity was present). How hilarious can it get?


      Categories
      non-lucid
    4. An Unwarranted Treasure Hunt

      by , 07-25-2018 at 01:52 PM
      Morning of July 25, 2018. Wednesday.

      Reading time: 1 min 27 sec. Readability score: 75.



      In my dream, which seems to take place throughout the morning, Zsuzsanna had gotten a message from an unknown sender. It supposedly relates to a contest, but I become wary of the circumstances. Even though it seems like a legitimate commercial competition at first, it turns out that a gangster had buried a jewelry box near our house. (In my dream, however, it is firstly a variation of the Loomis Street house and near the southwest corner, although the sidewalk is not present.)

      Eventually, several male strangers are near the house. They begin to look for the buried jewelry box. There are supposedly valuable items inside. I see them as intruders and realize at this point that it is not a legitimate contest but that unknown men were using an area of our yard to hide the loot from other criminals.

      I hit a couple of them with shovels, but I think they have guns. I want to protect my family, but there is no logic in not letting them get what they want, so I wait. My family remains inside the house during this time. Eventually, the gangsters are no longer present.

      The house changes into a version of our present home. Two female police officers are in the kitchen. Each of them is wearing a blue bikini as well as a black trench coat. That makes me think that they may not be real police officers.

      I go outside to see them digging in two areas of our backyard. There is a police car parked there. It could mean they are real officers. I ask them if they are real cops. One of them looks at me with an annoying glance, saying that people only use the word “cop” on the Internet. (This, of course, makes no sense at all, but what else is new?) I remain unsure if they are real officers, but I slowly wake after this. It almost seems as if they are gardening rather than looking for the loot.



      Many years ago, when I was in middle school, a female bus driver, as my schoolmates were boarding, was angry. She said people should not say “cop,” because it was disrespectful.


    5. From a Boat Trip to an Unsolved Kidnapping

      by , 05-27-2018 at 09:47 AM
      Morning of May 27, 2018. Sunday.



      Typical RAS modulation autosymbolism was going strong in this non-lucid dream but still did not activate the waking process, so I slept a couple hours longer than I usually do (even though Zsuzsanna and our children were up and in the lounge room with the television on at one point). If I cannot rely on RAS to wake me at a certain time with unique dream content (which is what a dream’s autosymbolism is inherently for) at the top of an ultradian rhythm, then I consider that very unusual.

      In the first part of my dream, the setting is a unique new variation of the King Street mansion, the second-floor apartment in the middle of the east side of the house. My non-lucid dream self does not care that it is an impossible setting. I happily sit around on the floor for awhile listening to bizarre fictitious music (on a record player yet) where the lyrics make no sense at all. The “music” seems to have rock elements, but the male vocals are mostly randomly spoken phrases. I hear the audience cheering, so it must be a live recording. At one point, he chants slowly but loudly and clearly, “Yellow bathroom”. (This is a biological hint to my dream self, but I do not feel the need to use the bathroom in my dream.)

      I notice my curtains are open, and I see an unfamiliar male lying on his left side on a ledge, in his underwear, enjoying the wind and smiling. It seems to be late morning. Apparently, he is enjoying the music I am playing. (Of course, this is a liminal projection of how my real physical body is as I sleep.) I am annoyed that neighbors can see in, so I attempt to close the curtain. (In reality, this scene could not be possible either, as the windows had only a view of the front of the house across the street, so there was no side of a house right near the King Street house, though what does my non-lucid dream self care, from a lack of any viable connection with either the unconscious mind or my conscious self.)

      I hear an unfamiliar girl’s voice yelling about my music, and their music is turned on more loudly, even though the male was enjoying my music. (I did not think my music was loud at all.) A different male argues with her and there is yelling for a short time. I go into a different room and I am now in the lounge room of the Stadcor Street house (which only has the first floor) with Zsuzsanna. Now, the events are shifted to the first floor in the house next door as well (and as usual my dream self does not notice the impossible change). I mention something to Zsuzsanna about the music and an unfamiliar male, who can see into our house through our window from his window, loudly says, “You think you can beat me?” I reply by yelling, “Why don’t you leave us alone?” I then yell at no one in particular, “I’m tired of crazy people always living next door to us!”

      I go out to the front yard and bash several unfamiliar males on the head with my Olympic barbel (no weights) and swing it around like a baseball bat until no one else is standing or moving. My dream shifts into reinduction rather than the waking process during the RAS modulation event and I now find myself riding in a skiff tied to the back of a small motor yacht. Curiously, I do not recognize this scene for what it is and no lucidity is triggered, only an elevated vividness. I am now a female (of about twenty-five), though not a female I have any conscious knowledge of. A man tells me to tie an additional length of rope from my boat to the back of his motor yacht (as the previous one had apparently came off and I am now drifting over the ocean). I somehow do this even though the distance would not logically allow it. I throw the rope and pull it lightly, but a large knot seems to make itself with no effort on my part (to my left; reinduction orientation and stabilizing). “That’s a good knot,” says the unfamiliar captain from the other boat. A few other unfamiliar people look on.

      After a time, I am “myself” (though only about twenty-five) and another (unfamiliar) male is sitting to my right. We are still on a skiff on the ocean, but there is no other boat now. We go through an ambiguous area where it seems I am inside a house for a short distance even though we are also on the ocean. I notice many large sharks swimming below us. The water is unrealistically clear. I am wondering if there is any danger, though I do not feel concerned. The other male denies there is any danger and tells me how sharks only eat things that are at its own level in the water. I do not feel any fear, more like cheerfulness (almost comedic) even though there seem to be hundreds of sharks below us.

      Soon, the scene shifts and I am walking with the same male and an unfamiliar female. We are in an unfamiliar town near mostly commercial buildings. After we walk a short distance, the male vanishes. We look back to see someone running in the distance. Suddenly, I am aware that we will be blamed for the kidnapping of the male that vanished. We are carrying small plastic bags. We stop to look inside them. The girl’s bag has the ID of the male that vanished. I know that the police will be here soon and that we are being framed by an unknown person. I take the ID and throw it behind a soda vending machine thinking it will not be found and that I am being careful and intelligent in my action.

      The police arrive and I am still holding one of the small plastic bags. The scene somehow shifts to where I am in a police station (though of more of a restaurant appearance). The police officer is looking at the supposedly kidnapped man’s credit card (made of cardboard), a large sparse clump of hair, and some other items. The officers do not seem to think I had anything to do with anything, but I still tell them we were framed. (The girl is soon no longer present.) “Can you take fingerprints from plastic bags?” I ask. I say, “I know my fingerprints are on them, but they will probably also have the fingerprints of the kidnapper.”

      “Can you take fingerprints from hair,” I ask. “Can you take prints from paper?” A police officer at a counter looks at me as if he is wondering why I am still here. Two other officers look at me annoyingly as well. They are not interested in me at all. I decide to finally leave my dream (in a liminal state, as I am not viably lucid until the last moments) and finally wake as I step through the door. (This last part is quite odd. I am liminally trying to force RAS modulation by way of my conscious self, but nothing happens, probably because the process is often transpersonal in origin in its natural form. On one level, something similar occurred recently, where I learned I was not in trouble for “killing” an unknown male, though my dream self had the opposite focus as to this one and I did not seem to be as fully modulating it myself.)


    6. South American or Not

      by , 05-11-2018 at 09:00 AM
      Morning of May 9, 2018. Wednesday.



      In my dream, I am living back on Barolin Street, but there is not much else regarding conscious self identity. In fact, there is uncertainty over the country the setting is implied to be in, though I should assume Australia even though the police sound and act American. There is more of an open area and a larger side yard on the south side of the house.

      The typical preconscious modulation kicks in and it is an unfamiliar male of about thirty. Curiously, in this case, I am outside the porch rather than on it or in the house. I jab him just below the sternum with a stick (or possibly the handle of a broom) and it seems to go all the way through his body and out his back. Still, I am uncertain of whether or not I killed him. Even so, I stay outside while he apparently falls back into the porch. This of course causes a shift in unconsciousness, though my dream continues.

      When I am in the side yard, three police officers arrive. I first think I may go to prison, though it is never determined if the man had actually died or not. Suddenly, there are several unknown members of the public sitting around at picnic tables.

      There are two male police officers and one female officer, all unfamiliar. The two male officers start to be cheerfully condescending of me being South American (even though I am not). To my left, they dance happily around while a mix of music plays, which seems an ambiguous combination of Mexican Mariachi, Bolivian, and Andean. They are greatly enjoying themselves and dance around smiling at me but seem to be patronizing me with their tomfoolery. I am not sure how to respond and I remain sitting at the picnic table. One of them puts on a poncho and talks cheerfully about me, additionally asking me how I like living in South America. I do not say much.

      Finally, in the last scene, the female officer talks happily to me. Apparently, I will not be getting into any trouble at all even though I suspect I killed the intruder. I am vaguely aware of manipulating the RAS mediation (as is often the case), actually feeling the change over time, though I have no actual lucidity (thus, this is the common transition of liminal dream control experienced since earliest memory), and that the RAS personification had gone in my favor without its modulation. I feel good about the waking transition, though my conscious self identity does not fully kick in until I am awake.


      Categories
      non-lucid
    7. A Nimbin Man with Balloons

      by , 01-03-2018 at 12:04 PM
      Morning of January 3, 2018. Wednesday.



      My dream begins in an undefined setting. I do not possess any conscious self threads other than a vague association with Nimbin and Tuntable Falls (which I had written about in a recent entry). I am outside, though there are ambiguous shifts where I am also inside at the same time at certain points.

      An unfamiliar male of about thirty is present. Apparently, the police are following him, believing him to be carrying drugs. He has a large backpack and some sort of oversized balloon. Eventually, the balloon grows larger and proves to be that of a dinosaur, a tyrannosaurus (though there is no implied threat as it is just a balloon).

      Until the last segment, I am not implied to be a direct part of the scenario. However, I am curiously linked to the dynamics of the balloon. When it expands and grows taller, it seems my dream self is also growing larger and taller, though not implied to be seen by the other dream characters.

      Somehow, another balloon is present and expands. I believe it is meant to be a rabbit, though there is not that much focus on it.

      A third balloon begins to fill with air and grow large and tall, but this time it is a reindeer, somewhat anthropomorphic. Again, I am linked to the balloon, feeling myself growing larger and even hitting my head on the ceiling (though it is not painful) as I watch the reindeer’s head bump the ceiling to my left, even though we are also implied to be outside.

      From here, I am annoyed by the presence of RAS (the police) via the preconscious. What started out as the usual return flight waking symbolism (as a flying reindeer is a flight symbol, which truncated the rabbit symbolism of which symbolizes being deeper in sleep) to vestibular system symbolism, triggers an odd level of semi-lucidity to where I am ready to shoot everyone (which symbolizes real-time RAS mediation of the dream state). Bumping my head on the ceiling means a part of my mind is holding me in the dream state, though as I am only semi-lucid, I am unsure of my waking space status and physical orientation. Still, I shoot about six officers in the forehead. They are ducking behind some cover (some sort of flat vertical structure), but I get them one at a time in my semi-lucid waking space. (As I have written in past entries, the association with the man possibly carrying illicit drugs is a dream state potential reinduction factor, as they relate to altering the level of consciousness or unconsciousness.)


      Categories
      non-lucid
    8. Robbery and Running and Preconscious Distraction

      by , 09-11-2017 at 10:40 AM
      Morning of September 11, 2017. Monday.



      I am walking with two unknown males, a situation of which continued from a very long previous dream sequence. I think about robbing a place, but the details are not clear yet. I eventually realize that I am carrying a Glock pistol. Soon, I “realize” that I am a black female of perhaps about twenty-five years old.

      It seems late at night. I go into a small trailer park in an open field where a dense forest is to my left. An unknown black female, but of whom is apparently known to the character I presently am, complains about me being there to rob her again (though I do not recall any backstory for this). Other than that, she does not seem alarmed by my gun. She opens a couple drawers in a large chest of drawers in her trailer. There is a bundle of one-hundred-dollar bills in an even stack, partly wrapped in cellophane. There is also a roll of fifty-dollar bills held together with a rubber band. There are also numerous rolls of coins. I tell her to keep some of the money, including the roll of fifties, but she insists that I take all of it. I put everything in two bags. There are several other items besides the American money, including bottles of perfume and shampoo and small items of clothing. I leave the trailer park, walking briskly east. I see a couple others outside of their trailers on my right, one an older black male of about sixty.

      Somehow, it is suddenly daylight now, possibly early afternoon. I am with two unknown Caucasian males (though one reminds me vaguely of Don K from the early 1980s). I am seemingly now a male character, though not fully myself and perhaps about twenty years old. We seem to be going west on Sill Street, having gone past Wood Street and possibly Kane Street. I decide to toss my gun on the ground near the intersection near the trunk of a tree so I am not armed if caught (thinking I would be in less trouble). Still, I consider that may not be a good idea as a child might find it. The others and I continue, but eventually turn right to go north. I continue to carry my two bags.

      We seem happy until one of the males looks back and sees another male who apparently knows us. It may be that he will cause trouble or at least be annoying if he sees us and catches up with us. The male who recognizes this other male tells us all to go our separate ways. “I have to try to wake him up,” he says in an authoritative tone. He goes across the front lawns of a few houses on the right side of the street and I am still following him, unsure of the situation. He yells with frustration and waves me off, indicating to me not to follow him. The male who had been behind us is apparently sleepwalking. He has long black hair and a long black beard and has on blue jeans but no shoes, socks, or shirt. He starts cheerfully talking to the male that seems to know who he is. “I can’t understand anything you’re saying,” the sleepwalking male is told, “You’re speaking gibberish”.

      I continue to go north a short distance, but then turn around to go through a very narrow residential alley back southward. I am slightly concerned that I might annoy people by going through or close to their backyards but I do not see anyone. At the end of the alley are two closed chain-link gates about chest-high, side by side. Each of the two gates is for a different house, which makes no sense, as the alley goes past all houses on the block and the gates are adjacent to the public sidewalk. Before I get to them, I have to climb quickly up over a couple large full garbage bags and some other objects. At first, I think the gates might be locked, but I am able to open them by turning a horizontal L-shaped bolt lock. The detail is very vivid and realistic in appearance (but unlike any setting I had ever seen in real life). The sense of physical momentum and touch is vivid as well.

      A few police officers approach me and look in my bags and ask me where I am going. I see that there are a lot of rolls of coins in them. I insist that everything is mine, but they seem condescending. While pretending that I am totally innocent, I am eventually able to get away. One policewoman seems to think I am okay and seems to see me as being victimized by the other officers. However, a chubby male officer seems determined that I will be caught again and found to have robbed someone, or possibly a bank.

      I somehow end up going through the second floor of a business building. There are a few times when I fly after getting outside again, but I end up walking again, as my two bags are heavy. I somehow end up back near Sill and Kane and recall how I had deliberately thrown my gun there (at the northeast corner) but I do not see it. It is daylight at this time.

      I am now briskly walking south through the north side of La Crosse (except that it looks more like the south side) and it seems to be night once again. I somehow have my gun again without contemplating that I had gotten rid of it. I am the black female character again. I make sure my gun is holstered in the front of my pants and unseen. I am thinking of finding the Loomis Street house to hide out even though that does not make sense as I am supposedly someone else. I vaguely recall that my sister had died but that my brother-in-law may be there (though they had actually moved prior to my sister’s death, though I was living in Australia by that time). I continue to carry the two cloth bags of money and other items, one in each hand. I notice that about eight people are running towards me, though not directly towards me. I think they may have attempted to rob a closed business but none of them are carrying anything. Police cars go by but they curiously do not stop. (The scene of these looters, including their appearance, was very similar to something I did not know about until after this dream and seeing it on the news, so I am considering this part as prescient.)

      I cross the street (which may be a distorted version of Loomis Street, though too commercial) to my right and turn right down a very narrow alley with tall commercial buildings on each side. The alley is not wide enough for a car to follow me through and is at least two city blocks long. However, nearing the opening ahead, I see a puff of smoke going past the edge of a building on the left side of the end of the alley at about head level. It is the chubby policeman, who is smoking a cigarette, who had vowed to catch me. I knock him in the head with my heavy bags and knock him over. The police woman, who seems to be on my side, is possibly going to help me escape now.



      The preconscious modelling itself artificially, or mimicking itself, in needing to wake another dream character (instead of me) is about as surreal and unusual as it gets (even stranger than a false awakening where I am writing down or telling someone about my previous dream). The threads of my dream self identity changing a few times (without any focus on that dynamic) is rather odd as well.


    9. A Very Illogical Police Stakeout

      by , 08-30-2017 at 01:16 PM
      Morning of August 30, 2017. Wednesday.



      My dream’s setting is a unique composite as always. (I have never non-lucidly dreamt of the same setting more than once, even in tens of thousands of closely studied and fully mapped non-lucid dreams for over fifty years. This aspect of non-lucid dreams is due to the incidental real-time dynamics of being in non-lucid REM sleep, where reflective cognitive capabilities do not exist as in lucid dreams and even more so in apex lucidity where automatic conscious control of the dream state is achieved.)

      The back area of our house is modeled after our present home, (our backyard south of our house), except that the area between the short hallway to the back door and the minimally-rendered kitchen has no dividing layout (and is all an open area). The implied east side of this rendering (assuming our present home) is loosely modeled after the north side of a previous home on Stadcor Street in Brisbane (though the driveway more like the Gellibrand Street apartment in Clayfield), the third-from-last house we lived in. The front of my dream’s house, implied to be oriented northerly, is modeled more accurately after the west area of the Stadcor Street house, which was also the front of that house.

      For several minutes, my dream features the recurring event of me taking supposed public money out of a device in our home (that is, a device in our home which is apparently used by the public and the money going elsewhere, which makes no sense from a waking life standpoint, especially as the public would not otherwise have use of our home, the only way to explain this being real-time symbolism related to receiving thoughts from other people via the collective unconscious which was validated long ago from “receiving” from Zsuzsanna long before we met in reality). There is no backstory on what purpose the device serves. It may be some sort of unlikely vending machine (though is too small to serve that purpose). The device is about the length of my hand and looks like a miniature vertically elongated cash register. Zsuzsanna is present and so is Marilyn (older half-sister on my Mother’s side who died in 2014, though I have no memory of her death here and she appears as she was in the 1980s). I make three attempts to get money out. My second and third attempts make no sense as I had already gotten all the coins out in the first attempt, by shaking the device upside-down, yet many more come out on my second and third attempts. The sound of the clinking coins, the movement and momentum of my hands, and the movement of the internal parts of the device are rendered very realistically.

      I am eventually aware of a police presence in our backyard. There are at least seven officers standing around on stakeout, though not for us, but a criminal who lives in the area. Still, I am concerned they might see the various coins lying everywhere on the floor. I make a quick attempt to kick sheets of paper and parts of clothes over them. I also slip some into my left pocket. They ask me through the back door if I know a certain man or had seen them and I say no. (I do not recall the name though I know it did not sound familiar.)

      At one point, I notice that an unfamiliar female police officer is closest to our house. I also notice that the screen is torn down the middle from the top of the screen door, about three-quarters of the way down. (though we do not have a back screen door in reality.) She pushes it towards me from outside as if to draw more attention to it, almost slapping me in the face with it, but not intentionally. There is an additional partial horizontal tear in the screen (lower down) of less significance and which seems to have already been there for a long time, but this vertical tear was apparently done recently by the authorities, supposedly for my benefit and theirs regarding their stakeout. I find it puzzling but I do not comment. In a short time, my brother-in-law Bob makes his first appearance in this dream (mostly as he appeared in the 1980s). From the left side of the solid wooden back door, he closes it over the screen door (and it closes from the opposite side as in reality). “This door can be closed,” he says cheerfully though informatively. I question if his act is thought out very well, but I do not comment.

      In the next scene, I am going to the front of our house. Off to my right, through the windows of the adjoining room I am walking through, the criminal first makes his presence known. He drives rapidly (north based on our present home) over our driveway, the car’s tires loudly crunching and spitting gravel and dust (the driveway of which our present home does not have as such, as it is just a very narrow side yard in reality, though, as mentioned in the second paragraph, this seems based on dynamics of when we lived in Clayfield on Gellibrand Street despite the room being like the one on Stadcor Street, though my dream’s house is at about ground level, unlike in reality for all three locations). This event makes no sense at all, as he is suddenly driving rapidly from our backyard, directly from where several police officers had just been standing. I wonder if they even noticed he was there.

      In the front room of our house (which again, is now of the Stadcor Street house) I look out the front windows. Our front doors (screen door and main door) are both open. The criminal has come up our high front steps (despite our house being implied to be low-set a couple minutes previously) and I politely nod “hello” to him through the doorway even though I do not want his imposition. He has a scruffy beard and light red hair. I eventually notice that he is coming in and there are at least two females with him, one pregnant, though otherwise very slim and wearing tight clothes (this character being directly modeled after a contestant on the Australian “Family Feud” game show very recently).

      I suddenly change my mind about welcoming him (which is based on a subliminal desire to sleep longer) and now I am not even sure what good the police presence is doing. I boldly tell him to get out. He becomes very angry. I notice that he is carrying some sort of rifle of illogical appearance. Instead of doing anything to me from near the doorway or even approaching me, he leaves the house to go into the street and starts shooting at our house. The noise is very loud and puffs of white smoke (dream state indicator) are floating everywhere like little clouds (this scene partly as a result of real-life environmental noise). I head towards the back of the house, which once again is more like our present home.

      As illogically large bullets are now firing through the walls of our house from the front and the back, the female police officer (still near the back door) advises me to get down. I get down on the floor and wake up in the exact same position I had just been in my dream. I then realize that the police officer seemed modeled after an additional young version of Zsuzsanna.



      This dream entry is probably too long to include a full decoding, but I will note a few details. Emergent consciousness and preconscious factors seem to be “after” each other here and I am (as my personified subconscious which again has no reflective cognitive capabilities despite the bizarre but popular disinformation) caught in the middle, which is amusing, but very atypical, though we did watch two episodes of “Cops” just before sleeping (though this is probably also related to news about North Korea, hopefully not prescient). The torn screen of the back door is a known dream state indicator, which represents a growing metaphorical opening that otherwise divides preconscious from emergent consciousness as a “screen”, though this is more about Zsuzsanna’s emergent consciousness “sending” to mine in real time. (As such, I am surprised that I did not become viably lucid, especially at least semi-lucid, though my dream did noticeably vivify past this point.)


      Updated 08-30-2017 at 01:18 PM by 1390

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      non-lucid
    10. Reversing Time and the Frog Policeman

      by , 05-20-2014 at 11:20 AM
      Morning of May 20, 2014. Tuesday.



      I am traveling with a few people in a station wagon that looks like the same one my brother-in-law Bob had at one time. My wife is with me. The driver is unknown but friendly and competent at driving. Somehow, it seems we are in a composite area that has a location sense of my backyard in Cubitis. We stop near the front of the large shed (the one my father built) and it seems to represent a charity store. It is closed, however. There are several cardboard boxes and bags of clothes to the right of the doorway, the bags leaning up against the outer wall. It looks like rain, so we put them in more suitable plastic bags as well as adding some more unneeded clothes from the car.

      Apparently this is not a public street and a police frog is on its way to our location. The police frog has trouble getting over some clusters of grass so we decide to take the opportunity to leave before he gets to our location even though we not only had not done anything wrong or illegal - we were giving more donations of clothes. The police frog is hindered by a somewhat shallow pond near where the car is parked. He starts moving through the water and drowns. I had thought frogs would be better swimmers.

      In another scenario, I have two identical wives (perhaps a few years apart in age, but the same otherwise). For some reason, this really does not seem all that unusual - one may be the one before I met her and the other being the one after I met her. I make love to both of them at different times. There is a lot of realistic physical contact. We seem to be living in La Crosse. My brother Jim is still alive, much younger, and seemingly staying with us for a short time before he goes to another town. I think he is going into the army or marines (he was a marine in real life) as he has a duffel bag near the arm chair in the living room, seemingly in preparation to go.

      The two versions of my wife do not seem to ever interact. One starts to talk about her new pregnancy (which is quite a surprise to me) and I start to worry again (as in real life) if her petite size can handle the pregnancy (considering we have five children, though, I would say yes). Still, she would be at far more of a disadvantage than other females and I worry about her health and water retention concerns as she says her hands and feet are quite swelled. I decide that for now, perhaps I should reverse time and undo the present scenario and work out what we will do. This is also because this version of my wife should probably be more free to do more of what she wants on her own.

      I find the “two wives” (my wife having had dreams of two of me) or more, and other “two of something” dreams to be rather intriguing. I have also dreamt of having two of the “same” fathers and two of the “same” mothers (and even two or more of the “same” pet cats or guinea pigs).

      I spend a bit of time thinking about reversing time. My brother Jim seems late for his journey but does not seem that concerned. I pretend to have some sort of machine (about the size of an old typewriter) that reverses time and I push “invisible” buttons and move some sort of “invisible” panel. I am aware of how foolish this act seems even in my growing lucidity. Jim seems to think it amusing and does not believe that time can be reversed.

      However, after a short time, it is a year prior to the in-dream present date as I verify this with a calendar. Somehow, Jim still has to go, but now has time to get to his destination and he seems happy about this. I go out to the front yard with one version of my wife and we embrace for a time. For some reason, I am reminded of “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” where my wife has the “same expression” as the girl from the film. I hear a sort of screeching sound and the mood changes completely. I try to work out where it is coming from and realize that it is my own throat. I try to deliberately make the sound and it is similar, but not as loud. I rise swiftly into the air and fly around in standing position (recurring) and make the screeching sound a few more times as there is a bizarre composite emotion of peace, terror, “finality”, and exhilaration at the same time. I fly over an open field where I see a forest in the distance. This is nothing at all like the real-life location and has no urban features at all. I had just been in a smaller house in the middle of the open field. I deliberately (being mostly lucid) make the sound a few more times with my throat and get used to the exact physical sensations as to how it is done and the different subtle facets of movement and vibration. However, I then realize that I had probably been screeching in real life and so better wake up to say that I am actually doing fine. It turns out that I had not made any screeching sounds, and I have no idea of how I made my throat make the sound that it did, at least at that volume.

      Updated 10-02-2015 at 10:06 AM by 1390

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      non-lucid
    11. A Very Strange Train

      by , 05-14-1995 at 11:14 AM
      Morning of May 14, 1995. Sunday.



      I seem to be the director of an unusual comedy-drama-science-fiction movie. Prior to the movie-like sections of my dream is a long section about getting friends together and equipment set up. There is no fear at any point and although at times I seem to “direct” my “movie” or dream by mental will, I am not actually lucid at any point.

      The first part of the “movie” is about another world that is like a swamp where a tribe of seemingly African people live. This is connected with yet another world where blue-skinned people live in wealth near a beach. Some of these people have half the side of their body a darker blue. It seems that the people of each world sometimes bring gifts to each other that have religious or social-status-related implications.

      An unknown female from the African tribe somehow enters this world (“my” world where the filming is taking place). A giant alligator also somehow comes through and causes a lot of problems. I get to a roof with several other people but certain other people climb a tree instead, which is pulled down by the alligator, and as a consequence the people are eaten.

      Later, there are both comedic and sensual scenes, including a restaurant where people make love in public on tables but with mosquito nets over them. Supposed comedy involves police attempting to track down the alligator by reading different outdated files rather than where they are actually seeing it.

      Later, there is an oversized man-eating train to have concerns about. It still only travels over some of the normal-sized railroad tracks. This seems to happen after the alligator gets hit by a train and there is an explosion that somehow combines the alligator and train into one living creature. It has a ribbed appearance and looks like an H.R. Giger design.

      Eventually, the train has “babies” that are much smaller than real trains; about one-quarter the size. One person kills one and notices that it looks edible. It seems to have a marshmallow texture and banana flavor as I join the hunting party.



      This dream is quite similar in some ways to another dream; “Alligator Train?” of 1989, which was before my first contact with Zsuzsanna and my move to Australia in 1994. There was a shorter “prototype” of certain aspects of this dream (including a sort of “origin story” involving an African priest) on May 12th (1995). I find it curious that H.R. Giger died on May 12th, 2014.

      Updated 09-11-2016 at 01:01 PM by 1390

      Categories
      non-lucid