Blue_Opossum

Morning of July 18, 2020. Saturday.

Dream #: 19,570-02. Reading time (optimized): 2 min.



My waking-life identity is absent throughout this dreaming experience. My dream’s backstory emerges as an atypical narrative where I am pretending to be a high-ranking military officer. I have an unfamiliar younger male partner who is working with me. Even so, the outcome is to result in delivering something to a genuine naval ship or a high-ranking officer.

The narrative otherwise firstly links as a precursory factor to the usual instinctual summoning of imaginary kinaesthesia to vivify the dream state. In this case, the vehicle resembles a WWI US Standard B Liberty Army Truck, though with the driver’s side on the right. My partner and I are trying to convince an unknown civilian male to give us items from a research laboratory that relate to recent discoveries in molecular biology. He is uncertain if we are legitimate but decides to cooperate with us. He wants to ride with us as well, reflecting that he hoped he had put his trust in the right people.

My partner drives the truck as my dream vivifies, and night becomes day. The streets and high embankments are all white sand as we travel. At one point, the vehicle goes onto a small wooden raft, and it simultaneously takes us across a river as if the momentum of the truck put it in motion. We travel around for a few minutes on a battleship that has areas that make it appear more like a cargo ship.

The three of us stand outside a military base. A general walks out to greet us, and I salute him. He seems to recognize my partner and me but greets me as a “French pig.” I do not take it as an insult, but I am puzzled because I am supposed to be an American officer. The man we brought here does not seem to notice this contradiction. A private appears and will lead us to where we are to give what the other man took from the small town laboratory to the general.

My dream vivifies as imaginary kinaesthesia and physicality exponentially increase when I focus on my walking I try to maintain as a formal swagger.

We sit on what seems to be part of a dock. The general sits down farthest from the water’s edge. An unknown woman is nearby, and I consider I should show my identification. I intend to hold up my badge, but instead, hold my left hand up in a C shape as if holding an invisible one, as my summoning did not work. She does not say anything but appears slightly puzzled.

We give the general the item. It is a resealable sandwich bag containing chocolate chip cookies. After he eats one, he takes notice of one that is bigger and of a lighter color than the others. Baked within it is microfilm. He holds it up to the light and studies one section of exposed microfilm in a thinner area of the cookie. “This is what I expected,” he says, and thanks us.

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Morning of July 27, 2015. Monday.



After spending intimate time with Zsuzsanna in reality, I then enter the usual “portal” of apex lucidity with the lighter form of sleep paralysis (this being always effortless and automatic but different than the other type, which has sound and augmented touch but no imagery at all and a completely different awareness than the other form), the thin white lines (always starting with a “spark” that seems to “fall”, creating a door or impression of a door) quickly forming a fairly bright and highly detailed outdoor setting, rapidly changing several times (mostly in the background) but then stabilizing. My setting comes as an alternate version and fictional perspective of where the alley behind our house is implied to be (and looking due north). Even though I am blissfully looking into our backyard (and clearly recognize it as such), everything is different. For example, the tall dark wooden fence is a much shorter picket fence and our shed is not here at all. Additionally, the fence squares off and seems to divide the area of where the central line (longways) of the shed would be in reality. This is somewhat amusing (though perhaps I am somehow “seeing” another time period; would not be the first time - for example, after our shed is finished being eaten by termites and new shorter fences are added one day, perhaps). I know exactly what I am looking at…except that it is not really how it looks. I find this familiarity yet typical “wrongness” of rendering quite enjoyable, particularly as it was created so quickly. I have no idea how that is possible, or how it can seem so realistic, but I go with it.

I notice that there is a round wooden card table near the west side of the backyard, a bit closer to the house, as well as at least three bentwood chairs (though I only focus on one of them). I “explode” the chair and table into splinters after playing around with them for awhile, spinning them in the air and such with in-dream telekinesis. Then I reintegrate them back to normal. Breathe in, reintegrate, breath out, explode, and so on. It vaguely reminds me of the motions of bits of straw moving on the surface of a pond. The chair noiselessly (well perhaps with a soft subtle “puff”) explodes into splinters, the splinters spin around…breath in…the chair is perfect again. I decide to let it hover in the air about seven feet above the ground at a tipped forward angle of about thirty degrees while the table continues to float about a foot from the ground.

The environment shifts slightly as I enter a more dynamic state (this is a specific type of dream state that seems to be “between worlds”). Everything is sand falling and holes opening up. I watch the incredible beauty of the transitions. At one point, it looks like concrete blocks have been placed sideways (longways north and south) all across where the parking lot across the street is in reality, each recess originally meant to be a place for an exotic plant, but sand is falling continuously; beautifully. This seems to shift into a new dynamic. Breathe in…miniature waterfalls everywhere; breath out, “sandfalls”. I reach my hand down to check the texture. It shifts between water molecules and grains of sand continuously and evenly with my breathing. I see very clear imagery of small white stones in potted plants. Miniature cycad palms emerge and sink back in at times.

After awhile, in this blissful appreciation of sand falling everywhere and moving and sliding downward (in different colors and textures) over various implied forms and with a slight granular “rustling sound” everywhere in the world, my dream shifts to another type of state and goes “Fantasia” on me. I am aware that instead of the parking lot, it is a very large mandrake garden. The mandrakes (all about four inches high) are ready to crawl up out of the ground and dance, a composite of the brooms moving about from “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” and the guards marching about outside the witch’s castle in “The Wizard of Oz”, though it becomes more like ballet after a time, all uniform, all smooth, all in harmony…except…

One mandrake seems to be struggling with his presumed partner (in trying to pull “her” from the ground). I go over and look and see him in a shallow hole pulling on something, which turns out to be a limp, lifeless carrot, only partially anthropomorphic. He looks up at me curiously. He has a face about the size of my thumb that looks much like a miniature old chimpanzee.

“That’s a carrot!” I shout gleefully.

He blinks and looks worried. “Oh?” he squeaks, with a raspy puzzled voice. He turns and walks away dejectedly as the hundreds of other paired mandrakes dance “perfectly”.

From here, I am in a fairly dark and seemingly undefined “void”. Some sort of “creatures” which are like giant luminous dandelion seeds (about five of them, about a foot and a half tall) lightly brush over the backs of my hands. There is an implied communication. At times, their luminosity changes slightly, becoming dimmer or brighter, mostly at the central area of the span of “tendrils”.

Night of October 13, 2013. Sunday.



Within the large transparent and safe sphere (about the size of a city block), I attempt to create and “program” a suitable tulpa for a change - and perhaps other features later. First, I allow the grains of feldspar and dark basalt to flow in through the “equator of small holes” that go all around the sphere until it is halfway up near said “equator”. The sound of grains moving and gathering is peaceful, nearly as much as rain, as I rise to the center of this environment as the “solid” ground, as it manifests, lifts me up. Oxygen flows in as if the sphere were made of a smooth, strong, translucent skin. First, I begin to manifest from the tulpa template, focusing on the knuckle of the middle finger, and its glowing blue skin, of the left hand. Shift. I am able to hold it for almost nine seconds. The fingertips of light shrink back very slightly on the second run, but that is only based on my eye movements, which I should control better. My right hand to “her” left hand, a slight pulling sensation on the back of my head. Ten seconds.

My focus is “interrupted” by vague impressions of lines of text over everything, a modern inconvenience, with a subtle impression of a brick wall that fades but remains as “background noise”. The soft, larger wrinkles and folds on the knuckles remind me of lips, and after this, the eyes of lizards, perhaps miniature iguanas.

Now how about toes? A leg and feet and toes - becoming a sapling with five expanding roots. Try again. I get a vague impression of two hands forming “okay” with the fingers, yet also appearing to be doing something else, perhaps holding a grain or something very small between the tips of the thumbs and forefingers.

Pure white, wool-like hair, “burning”/flowing as if it is cool fire, yet radiating soft blue light, like filaments of the thinnest, most malleable “crystal”. Time to shift and make the face for a time, but the eyes keep closing, which is very common for new ones. Come on, look at me.

Dimensionality of the tulpa hologram reverses, as if my depth-perception is of the inside of a mask rather than the outside of a face, somewhat of an unusual effect (and fairly common depending on focus and shifts) - as if I am “inside” the tulpa template itself. Try again. No, this one refuses to keep her eyes open. And even so, they become entirely black if left open for too long. This is not something “demonic” (as falsely claimed by many others) to be wary of (in fact, almost the opposite - innocent over-the-top expectation - much like an individual discovering a new talent and wanting to “use it all up” upon each moment) - it is simply the pupil of a “new one” going “overboard” and wanting to see everything too soon, tulpa-eye-dilation, until the entire eye is as such (and all shiny and black). Vibrations of near consciousness. Atoms have no higher consciousness in such a state, anyway. Why worry unless you are afraid of yourself?

I get a vague yet vivid sound pulse of a man of about thirty or younger saying “diablo” (“devil” in Spanish). As it is impossible to fully block the existence of wayward dreaming minds from the lower supraconsciousness, I ignore it - and do not acknowledge it at all - I was way past that sort of thing over twenty years ago. I had spoken Spanish for about two hours today (but not saying or thinking of that word at all), and this probably linked me slightly to the outer field of the Spanish supraconsciousness. The same effect happens when a guitar string vibrates at a certain frequency - one within a certain range of it will resonant slightly with it (and the lower the frequency, the more the expanding and “interfering” vibrations) - thus the same with human minds and perception at certain levels, which is a loose form of subtle, non-focused telepathy that happens all the time but goes unnoticed by most.

I fold my hands around the back of the tulpa’s head. The sphere is filling up (not fully, just as an environmental feature) with small, dried leaves. I do not mind, the permission was there somewhere in the back of my mind. I am reaching the point where the eyes become like mirrors to reflect my own visage for a time, in brief periods.

I pick up some new features in the environment, which are thinner, lighter sticks, and they remind me somewhat of pieces of an exoskeleton of a giant insect’s leg, not in any alarming sense, but in a wondrous way. I then get an impression of ash and snow - mixed together, almost to a point where the mix becomes indistinguishable - as either being snow or ash, this being almost as a property of the curling, dried leaves it settles upon. I enjoy the snow-ash-dried-leaf crumbs flowing around me like a rejuvenating force…

Morning of June 17, 1972. Saturday.



In my dream, which is fairly long but with no real plot, I am somehow in control of a dune buggy (or “dune buster”) that is a full-size version of the Sand Crab model I had gotten as a gift months before. I am mostly disembodied yet somehow still the “driver” of the vehicle, usually “flying” or floating to the left of the dune buggy from at least five feet away, sometimes more. It seems to be early afternoon for the most part. The setting does not seem to be a beach, but rather a large desert-like region (though still with the sense that the ocean may be around at some point even though I contemplate the Sahara Desert in the back of my mind). There are no people around at any point.

A desert in this case, as associated with a beach, seems to represent the liminal state between sleeping and waking, that is, the ocean (of the unconscious) and the day to day waking reality. This “beach” is much larger than a typical beach. My dream did seem long and with many partial awakenings. Sand dunes have appeared in a number of my dreams and seem to represent the changes of the dream state itself, as well as sand also being associated with coalescence.

Night of January 1, 1972. Saturday.



This dream was the rather unfortunate result of having seen some of “The Mole People” (from 1956) and “Bikini Beach” (from 1964) on our black-and-white television in Cubitis on the same day (though I only saw about the last half of “The Mole People” as I got up too late - about eight o'clock - to see it from the beginning - though my mother had watched it from the beginning yet did not think much of it except for mild amusement, I thought). In my dream, Annette Funicello is in the main role of the fictional in-dream version of “The Mole People” and apparently her boyfriend is one of the mole people though looks fairly normal, and there is a scene where the slightly more human-like heads (than the creatures in the actual movie) are sort of moving side to side with their bodies otherwise buried in the sand at the mostly featureless beach. There is something somewhat ambiguous about the scene in that it seems more like a foreign desert at one point than an American beach, though it does not seem to be horror; only some sort of low-key drama. I only remember about three distorted fictional scenes, which is typical of such movie-influenced composite jumbles. What a way to start the new year (1972), as my mother used to say.