• Lucid Dreaming - Dream Views

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    1. From the Year 7230

      by , 07-25-2019 at 11:28 AM
      Morning of July 25, 2019. Thursday.

      Dream #: 19,211-02. Reading time (optimized): 2 min.

      I am in an unknown location watching a video of Ray Romano cheerfully shopping in public. He keeps making puns. He picks up a can of peas, places it near his left ear, and talks about “finding peace.” He picks up a pear and talks about “finding a pair, yet there is only one.” He picks up a comb, talking about his “parting.” He picks up a can of beans, mentioning something about not “spilling the beans.” He picks up a packet of tea bags, saying, “I found the T before you (U).” There are more puns I do not recall.

      Eventually, I am at the location with an unknown female who remains on my right. I try to recall what he said, writing it down on a sheet of paper. When I try to read what I wrote, some is gibberish, some scribbled out, some clear. I had gone back to the beginning of the event, except now it is “real” and not a recording.

      I meet Ray before he starts making his puns. I realize that I have altered the timeline by being present while he is shopping, as my presence redirects his attention. Still, I talk about the puns he will be making. I tell him about one he made about a diaper (and where it was in the store), but I cannot recall what he said. I explain to him that I am from the future. He repeats the pun about “finding peace” but not much else.

      Ray leaves. An unknown male is now present on my right, and I tell him I am from the year 7230. He doubts me. I lead him out to the parking lot to show him my evidence, and it seems to be the afternoon. On my left wrist is a watch with a dome atop it. Under the wristband, held by it, is a long scrap of thin cardboard with writing.

      The small dome contains images that I project as a life size monochrome hologram into the parking lot. We walk to it. There is a statue of a female angel or goddess (with wings) on a high structure. It is Nike. There is a holographic image of a 2018 Lamborghini.

      The male seems amazed as we approach the holographic dome. Soon, it becomes “real.” The car, now mostly blue, moves out on its own (with no driver). Everything now has color. There is also what looks like a Cessna cockpit. A dark-haired girl (about ten), who sits in the right seat, turns her head toward us to happily talk about the equipment and life in the future. (An unfamiliar woman on her left does not move or speak.)

      We walk through the mall. The male asks me about how people think in the future. I tell him people have minds that contain much knowledge in a “holographic matrix” that surrounds their brain (and location). He asks me about crime. I tell him that they eliminate criminals when found, without trial. I wake.

    2. Of Thumb Drives, Fingernail Wipers, and Time

      by , 07-05-2016 at 09:33 AM
      Morning of July 5, 2016. Tuesday.

      This dream starts off with quite honestly the worst visual pun I have seen in ages. I am looking into a parking lot and see that something is not quite right. Instead of the cars having a windshield and upper section, it is a thumb in such a manner as the thumbnail implies the car’s windshield. Still, the scene does not really seem that bizarre to me and in fact, eventually triggers otherwise unrelated sequences.

      Next, there is a thumb with windshield wipers moving over the thumbnail. This image is greatly magnified though the closeup perspective is not realistic. The windshield wipers have too much mechanical detail and exaggerated distance from each other (relative to one over the other and seeming farther out than it should). Eventually these “windshield wipers” become more like a minute hand and an hour hand reading fifteen minutes to three (or two forty-five). During this time, there are also glimpses of watching the slightly twitching needle of a pressure gauge. Sometimes when going back to the “fingernail wipers” they seem more like black hairs that just fall off the surface.

      The perspective of my dream shifts, similar to when one jumps from visual sequences into a more corporeal state. A car has been abandoned at the top of a hill with all of its doors left open. It is raining. The windshield wipers are the minute hand and hour hand of a clock, again suggesting two forty-five or a quarter to three. They move slightly but fall back, and the position remains at about a quarter to three. It seems at first to be some sort of sign relating to mortality. However, it is more likely a circadian rhythms feature as it relates to the nature of time. I begin to walk towards the car and instead become the car which is also a clock.

      Upon seeing the above image, Zsuzsanna caught the play on “thumb drive” instantly, with no other hint.