Blue_Opossum

Morning of February 22, 2011. Tuesday.



I am shaving in what seems to be an unusual manner relative to location and distance from the bathroom(?) mirror. (It may actually be a mirror just outside our bathroom, although our house seems unfamiliar, but is like a composite of a few houses I have lived in with some features being of our present home.) There are several short periods of contemplation - through which seem like about twenty minutes total - when my face becomes a bright, shiny silver plate all around. During these times, I have various thoughts. These thoughts include ideas about not needing to shave over smooth silver. I also have trouble focusing my eyes to shave at times, because my face is so bright, as it distorts and reflects so that I can not see where I am shaving. My entire face is of a solid, polished silver “skin” that augments any light in the area exponentially. My eyes are there, but as outlined shadows of a lesser brightness against the “mask” of my “real” (in my dream) skin.

It would seem to be a transient condition that may be related to either reflected light or mood or even the time of day. Later, I seem to be back in my old apartment and shaving there as well, but my facial skin is bleeding everywhere. Over time, I start to worry that I have lost too much blood to live, although there is not that much bleeding from particular areas during a shorter time. There are only a few extremely thick and hard hairs left along the sides of my face, reminding me of tree stumps.

Again, there are times when my face is a silver, polished plate, with shadowy outlined eyes only - no discernible nose or mouth. I am vaguely worried I may die (during times when my face is otherwise normal), but nothing dramatic happens.

A connected dream, in which my face is also sometimes the silver glowing “mask” of “real” skin, involves three new daughters. Oddly, they seem less than nine months apart, the oldest being perhaps a year and a half or two years old at the most and the youngest maybe six months old or older. I am not sure of the ages, but I still question if this closeness of ages would be possible. It is also possible that the youngest is newly born. The oldest is named Rowena. The middle one (by age) is Tillie. (The name “Tillie” might have come from a comic book character I was familiar with for a time - “Tillie the Toiler”.) I am not sure of the name of the youngest; it seems we may have not given her a name yet.

The middle one (by age and on the northernmost end - the oldest, Rowena, resting to the southern-most side of the room, the youngest in the middle) keeps trying to stand, but falls over and bumps her head several times (but is not injured in anyway, although I have concern). They are all on the floor on a large blue mat. I am sitting on a (white?) sofa on the east side of the room.

Later, I am aware of our real-life children, but their ages do not reflect the time differences of my dream relative to the “newer additions”. My youngest son had not aged the two years or so my dream would require to be consistent.

We did have another daughter later on, but the name “Rowena” was not used as planned. Instead, we used the name I was “given” in a clearer-than-usual seemingly external “pulsing” event on November 22nd, 2012. It seemed to be some sort of communication of energy from the actual unborn child (in “wanting” and “saying” the name), but also seemed “rerouted” to some extent - it also seemed to simultaneously be in my own “voice” as if in reaction to something. It was also found to have happened at the same time a younger girl with that name died from a fall in the region (with the usual life-long “clustered” associations). It was on the 22nd of the 11th month. It was a 22-storey fall. Her last name was very similar to the brand of lantern (light-giving) my family used when I was young, and part of the area’s name was “Paradise”. I also saw the name several times after in different synchronous events seeming to validate our naming decision several times over.

Morning of July 5, 1996. Friday.



This was one of my most vivid dreams during this time period. Somehow, even though I seem fully conscious and fully in-body in this dream, I do not enter any level of lucidity.

My wife Zsuzsanna and I are standing on a second-floor veranda in what may be some sort of unusual composite of airport, shopping center, and mansion. We are looking out over intensely beautiful silvery water. There is a heightened sense of peace and the sense of touch is augmented. I study the reflections on the water’s surface in appreciation for what seems like an hour or so. A sense of timelessness and happiness dominates the scene.

Eventually, a male around my age who reminds me somewhat of a British guard, but wearing a stove pipe hat, grows larger and larger as he walks, but not in any menacing way (as he does not seem to regard us in any way at any point). He becomes at least as tall as the two-storey building. As he continues to walk to the right, he then starts to become smaller and smaller until only his otherwise large hat is left rolling around. I then start focusing on the rolling of the hat. Even though the imagery is quite surreal, it also somehow seems “realistic” and “correct”.

In another scene, we are taking a small fast escalator somewhere. Everyone else is having difficulties, as they are using a particular escalator for the wrong direction, trying to walk down the one going up and trying to walk up the one going down (and of course, I have seen children and teens mess about on escalators like this in reality). Seemingly, we are the only ones who get to our destination.

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The first part of my dream reminds me vaguely of the “friendly giant” dreams I mostly had around age five when living on Rose Street in Wisconsin.

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