Blue_Opossum

Morning of May 26, 2020. Tuesday.

Dream #: 19,517-01. Reading time (optimized): 3 min.



My dream self grows instinctually aware and active during the usual process that determines a handler for cortical arousal (initially my vestibular cortex). In this dream, it is Jackie Gleason, the primary influence being the moonrise (dream state initiation) in the television series “The Honeymooners.” (I will emphasize a fundamental causal factor here. Because being in the dream state has a similar level of cortical dormancy and sensory deprivation as when watching television or a movie, a celebrity is often the virtual handler of my waking transition.)

An unknown male is with me to my right (waking status personification, mainly inactive). In a big undefined room, two unfamiliar men are standing and talking, facing each other, with the implication we are watching a movie, though we are present and sitting cross-legged at the scene (a common dream state ambiguity). One man is playing the role of a young and thin Jackie Gleason. For a few minutes, we are trying to work out which man is playing him. Eventually, it becomes obvious. It is the man on the left, who has dark curly hair.

The identity determinant results in initiating the next stage of my dream and vivifies it. My dream self handler (again, vestibular cortex) is Jackie Gleason. Even so, I am still only a witness to the scenario. The Sistine Chapel is in ruins, though only as in another world. An unknown male with a staff controls the lightning (neural energy while in the dream state) to send individuals into the other world. He first does this to an unknown woman (a quantum model of Zsuzsanna, as my waking-life identity is absent). I watch her wander around alone. The storm is not threatening.

Eventually, the anticipated myoclonus factor becomes pre-liminal. Jackie Gleason stands in the center of the ruins and wants to find the unknown woman to confirm her status and bring her back if possible. The expectation of the transition is by way of flight (as has usually been the case since childhood). There is no roof on the ruins of the building, to allow for the vestibular management of this process. (I am sleeping on my back in this instance, which usually results in vertical dream state processing rather than horizontal as with, for example, using a door to exit my dream).

A pterodactyl flies down as the vestibular processing simulacrum. Jackie Gleason stands there, but nothing happens. They stare at each other, but the pterodactyl eventually unexpectedly flies off instead of carrying him into the next world.

As a result of no myoclonus or viable consciousness emergence, cortical arousal instead establishes a vivid offset dream that serves as a false awakening, and I am now lying on my back on the front lawn of our current home in the late morning. Zsuzsanna is standing to my left. (She is awake in reality, standing to my left in our lounge room.) I can see the front of our house and the sky. Dark clouds, lightning, and rain are fast approaching from the south. I am concerned about my dream journal getting wet (as it is on the lawn near me), but I have difficulty moving quickly enough. Eventually, I can get up and wake while doing this.

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Here are some similar examples of this dreaming process that has occurred every sleep cycle for over 50 years:

Ralph Waite (as in “The Mississippi” television series from the 1980s), referring to a book, talks about the vestibular cortex processing in initiating consciousness (though I do not discern the specific details), summons a giant sparrow, and flies off on its back. (November 7, 2018.)

An unknown woman and her daughter (quantum model of Zsuzsanna and our youngest daughter) receive a book from Rodan. (Rodan has a similar appearance as a pterodactyl.) The book is enormous (as tall as the woman) and is about dream state processes. (May 21, 2020.)

A giant white dove (with a red heart symbol on its chest) emerges from the entrance of the Arcadia post office and approaches me as I stand outside facing the building. I hold onto a sword engulfed in blue fire, but there is no threat. (February 9, 1991, part of a longer dream with enigmatic communication with Zsuzsanna before we met in waking life, foreshadowing the letter she wrote to me. I arrived in Australia on February 9, 1994. An American postage stamp, #2814C, featuring a white dove and a red heart made of roses came out on February 14, 1994.)

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Morning of December 4, 2018. Tuesday.

Dream #: 18,978-02. Reading time: 3 min 20 sec. Readability score: 62.



At the beginning of my non-lucid dream, I am with an unfamiliar woman (of perhaps twenty) in a fictitious room of the Barolin Street house that is implied to be between the main bedroom and the lounge room. There is no furniture in the room. Despite my lack of viable dream state awareness, I am subliminally aware that I am dreaming.

My dream self believes that we are awake but that I am ritually inducing the dream state. We are lying on the wooden floor. I am aware of Zsuzsanna being nearby, yet I also do not see the unfamiliar woman as an imposter or trespasser. (This is because she is supposed to be the usual Naiad and melatonin mediator, modeled after a young Zsuzsanna, but because I am not viably lucid, the situation is distorted and integrated with other dreaming processes.) I am teaching her how to enter the dream state by creating the illusion of water as autosymbolic of natural melatonin and as defining illusory physicality within sleep. I cause the floor to transform into shallow water (the typical beginning of dream state entry since early childhood), and we float around for a short time even though it only seems about four inches deep. There is an awareness that I am entering the dream state (even though I am already dreaming). I consider that if the water becomes very deep as we go farther into the dream state, sharks might eventually appear below us, but there is no continuity of perceived threat.

From here, I enter a more vivid dream segment. There are no thoughts about the unfamiliar woman, who has vanished, or of the previous exercise. Zsuzsanna and our two youngest children are present. There is no longer any association with dream entry or being in the dream state. There is a storm approaching from the south. I look out from the lounge room and see odd clouds, one of them shaped like a top. Despite the several big fluffy clouds being white, they supposedly are storm clouds. I try to create a tornado from the one that looks like a top. Soon, there is a loud crash, and something, perhaps a large tree branch (though I do not see it) comes through the roof above the hallway, leaving an irregular hole. Rain comes in. Zsuzsanna and I look at the damage. I deliberately stand under the rain coming through the ceiling. I feel cool and refreshed, and my dream becomes much more vivid. (I have used water to vivify and sustain my dreams since early childhood.)

In the next scene, I walk around observing water flowing down the walls from the edges of the ceiling. There is a plastic storage box on a high shelf that I feel concern about getting wet, as it may contain textbooks or my dream journals. However, it does not seem that the water is anywhere but on the walls. Through the windows, I look at the cluster of white clouds again and notice more that are shaped like tops, though I try to imagine more than there are.

Zsuzsanna and our two youngest children look outside and up from (fictitious) lounge room windows at the south end of the room. It seems to be nighttime now. Near our house are two tall palm trees (not a real-life feature). The palm trees start to move in the wind and soon bow down near the windows and, at first, “roar” at us. Loud human voices, somewhat electronic, come from atop them. I find it curious but not unusual.

Upon going outside, I see that Isaiah Washington (from “The 100”) is inside a space (as if I am viewing the imagery with x-ray vision) in the fetal position near the bottom of one of the palm trees. He is speaking into a microphone. He loudly and cheerfully states, “This is sector seven.” It seems that another male (though I do not see him) is inside the other palm tree. The loud voices are coming from loudspeakers atop the palm trees.

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The neurological function of the preconscious simulacrum (Isaiah Washington in this case) is to guide the dream self back into wakefulness (which is known as RAS or reticular activating system mediation or modulation depending on the mode of the dream self) - and enigmatic space typically results in an avatar with authority (fictitious or not) as in this case. The fetal position implies being “reborn” into waking life. The bowing palm trees are the association with a form of vestibular system correlation, the emerging awareness (vestibular precursor) of the return to viable physicality upon waking (as the dream self does not correctly discern the physical body until RAS and the vestibular system kicks in, which often results in flying or falling, bicycle riding, using stairs, and so on). It follows the usual autosymbolism-driven formats, in the same order, that my dreams have for over fifty years, though the processes are always unique and intriguing in their rendering.

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Morning of June 18, 2018. Monday.



I titled this dream “The Second Storm” because of it being from a literal thread of my conscious self identity in vague recall of the storm that tore our roof apart in November of last year. However, our home is rendered as the Cubitis house (where I have not lived since 1978) rather than our present home. In this dream, I become aware of the cyclone or hurricane approaching. I am not as afraid as I would be in waking life. Zsuzsanna is present. It seems to be late morning.

Mainly, I am near the doorway of my bedroom (as in Cubitis). Rather than the roof coming off this time, sections of the southwest area of the south wall, closer to the ceiling, are partially destroyed, leaving a couple irregular holes. A small pine tree is carried through the hole in the wall (though this would not be possible in reality regarding the size of the hole) and blown through my room mostly in an upright (vertical) position, in slow motion, as are a few branches from other trees. I do not think the house will be destroyed. Blue sky and white clouds can be seen through the holes rather than signs of a storm. The roof stays on. I am soon aware that the storm is over and wake shortly after this.

Morning of November 4, 2015. Wednesday.



I and my wife Zsuzsanna and our children are living at our present home on W Street. However, it is elevated at least to second-storey perspective in the first situation, with our wooden staircase over twice as high and oriented northward (directly from our front door) rather than offset and westward (perpendicular to our front door and at the front of our porch) as in reality. Running parallel and adjacent to our footpath, in fact the railroad tracks seemingly replacing a portion of the street, is some sort of small train station (with the train seemingly running west to east). I eventually see Barry Cowsill (September 14, 1954 – c. August 29, 2005) cheerfully approaching our house, seemingly having gotten off a train that was stopped near where the intersection is in reality. He has a beard and is wearing a hat. I have a sense of positive expectation about this encounter and get an autograph from him. I get a sense that the other Cowsills may soon arrive but not necessarily visit our home. I am not sure why he is on his own presently.

Somehow, there is soon a heavy wind blowing; some sort of “super hurricane”, so powerful as to carry large pieces of metal everywhere. I am outside and trying to dodge things like falling garage doors and large pieces of bulldozers and earthmovers as well as sections of warehouses in the region. Although it seems I may be in danger from large falling objects and windblown debris, I do not feel that threatened, though I do try to get out of the way in each case. There are a couple diggers and bulldozers on the streets near our house.

I avoid a large sheet of metal falling towards me by ducking under some sort of metal awning sticking out from a parked utility truck or van. It is a very loud metallic sound when it hits the concrete sidewalk (fictional in this case, as the area is grass in reality). A few times, I move out of the way of approaching flying debris. This almost seems like an “automatic” or natural “ability”.

Directly after this, I get into a car (which is parked facing south next to our house), into the back seat, where two unfamiliar older boys are sitting - seemingly related to some sort of emergency evacuation of the area - they do not seem like my sons. (This is atypical for me, as I often cannot fit inside cars in dreams if the situation involves getting into one, though in some cases, I am already in a car and there is usually no problem as such.) I am slightly concerned that the car may be crushed and so I get out after a short time, mentioning this to the boys and a couple unknown adults. Although this wind is incredibly powerful, it does not seem to be doing any direct damage to buildings (other than abandoned warehouses) and does not even seem to have much direct force against my movements and walking about.

Mostly, this dream was shaped by actual loud metallic noises outside our window at the time; curiously enough, a trailer they were eventually unloading small diggers from after I was awake (which I could not have consciously known, as very similar noises came from temporarily parked car carriers and other random vehicles at times in the past).

Apparently, without deliberately trying to sound harsh or judgmental, there are certain people, including certain types of “dream interpreters” who are too short-sighted to understand that some dreams are mostly only shaped (or at least altered during the dream state) by environmental noises (as here) - even though there is also the inexplicable element of somehow knowing during sleep that there was a large trailer with diggers parked outside our house (our windows and curtains were closed). The other association seemed fairly untimely and random. Barry Cowsill actually died during Hurricane Katrina in 2005 (not found until later, thus why the date of passing is not exact). (“On August 29, 2005, Hurricane Katrina hit the city of New Orleans. Cowsill, who chose not to evacuate, weathered the storm in an abandoned warehouse.”)

The first segment of my dream may be a play on “being off track” - implying that my dream is soon going to be “altered” (”disturbed”) by environmental noises, which it was. Arguments and fights amongst unknown groups of people outside our window (while we were sleeping) have also influenced, even triggered as a foundation, our dreams at times. I am sure most experienced and genuine dream journalists can easily relate to this (especially those who live in a suburban area as we do).

Morning of August 8, 2015. Saturday.



In my dream, there is a sense of love and joy even though there seems to be a possibility of a storm approaching from the north. My family and I seem to be living on Stadcor Street in Brisbane again. The layout of the house is different and there almost seems to be a loft in the corner near the front door where I am recording, I believe, a half-hour video that relates to some sort of educational session, though I do not fully recall the content. I am only talking smoothly throughout the video. The precision of what I am saying seems to have flowed smoothly thus far for the most part. However, just within the last five minutes of the otherwise perfect video, my (deceased) mother turns on the television in one of the rooms (she has never been to Australia in real life) and the sound is loud enough to be picked up on the video.

I am somewhat annoyed and illogically believe that I will have to start over from the very beginning (instead of implementing an undetectable edit). I do not show any anger, though. However, for some reason, I now seem to have the need for additional equipment and documents to do what I had just already almost completed.

From here, I go to the back door as a heavy rain has just started. There is also a fresh strong wind bringing the rain from the north. When I go out to the backyard briefly, I see a gray area and implied heavy rain over Halcyon Street, yet still do not panic.

I go back inside and notice that, in my computer room, heavy streams of rain are actually now coming through the boards of the ceiling. My first thought is that the equipment I need will probably be too wet to use for awhile, thus my video will be delayed. I am then concerned about all my documents including my dream journals. This is the only room that is leaking thus far. I almost feel a sense of cheerful amusement even though I am not sure if this indicates an apocalyptic event. I am not quite sure if I am dreaming or not. Obviously, closing the windows will not matter at all, as most of the water is coming in through the ceiling. My dream is most vivid at this point, though I start to wake from here. I have had similar dreams (concerning water coming from the ceiling) since I was very young.

Morning of July 7, 2015. Tuesday.



My dream starts out like a typical imposer dream. The setting is our present house on W Street, though there is a slight change in the layout relative to size. My wife Zsuzsanna is sitting near our front window (sewing, I think, though her sewing machine is in our living room in reality) where there is more of a view of the neighbor’s house. I notice that the fence design is different. The thinner wooden planks had supposedly been horizontal (rather than vertical as in reality) but are now mostly decayed and lying on the ground. However, the first section of fence about three feet into the front yard division is still standing and made of brick - and is at least five feet high. There is a group of at least four young males. One of these males steps over the rotted planks into our front yard and this imposition immediately annoys me. I am thinking of going out and making sure they stay where they belong, but he goes back on his own. I speak about continuing the front part of the fence by putting more bricks in (not thinking about cost or work effort).

From here, I am concerned about the longevity of our wooden house. These thoughts do not result in any threatening event manifesting even though I consider the possibility of parts of the ceiling falling on us. Diverse features of the ceiling and the angles and differences in height in different areas are far more complex than in reality.

I am outside for a short time. I notice that one section of the sky to my right is different than to my left; a very distinct green color, which makes me think a really bad storm is on the way, perhaps a tornado (even though the sky to my left to the west seems normal and calm).

I go into our house, concerned about the possibly approaching bad weather. As I shut our front door, there is resistance and a pulling sensation and I think that it might be an imposing neighbor trying to get in to assault someone or burglarize, though it turns out that the door will not fully shut due to a large circular (slightly wreath-like) clump of grass being blown into the doorway above the doorknob and being stuck between the door and door frame at about shoulder level (mostly due to my closing the door so quickly that the grass did not have time to fall, the additional pull being caused by the wind). However, I do manage to get it closed. From here, I join Zsuzsanna and our youngest son, and the inside of our house then seems longer, though narrower, north to south, almost hall-like. There is soon a very eerie and human-like low-pitched howling of the wind, which we first think may be an old man or creature moaning just outside our front door. We end up still running, but in a sort of playful manner upon realizing the circle of grass stuck in the closed door is making a feature to cause sound to amplify and phase in this way.

The next scene involves other people being in our house, apparently by permission or just random passive characters coming into existence. Regardless of the weather concern, I sit down to consider a very large game board (about three feet by about one and a half feet) that has several different simultaneous game scenarios at once (though seemingly not at all related to each other). I take it apart (the board seems to have small joints whereby smaller sections connect), separating a section that appears to have some sort of Egyptian strategy game in progress (so that the other sections of the board displaying different cultures and battle scenarios do not distract from the seemingly individual game). The two buildings in the opposition look more like ziggurats than pyramids, though. I do not really reflect on why a person or group of people would have so many different things going on at the same time on the same game board. I am not interested in playing it now.

An older male sits on the couch (its position has changed; it is perpendicular to its location in reality; it faces east rather than north), apparently talking to a young Ava Gardner (December 24, 1922-January 25, 1990) - probably related to the fact that my wife had checked out a “Perry Mason” DVD set in real life (thus a distorted Erle Stanley Gardner association). I am not sure what the scenario is; perhaps he is coaching her in her acting, though he is seemingly her agent. I go over and notice that she is dressed in lacy black and is sitting back with her arms back (and knees up) on the floor. I grab her heels and lift them slightly. She then transforms into a Tweety Bird foil balloon (shaped like Tweety Bird in frontal silhouette) of about three feet long. I end up whacking the balloon by her “feet” (the balloon of which is still somehow her) against the floor (though I am not even focused on why) with a slight wariness that I probably should be doing something else.

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Morning of September 16, 2014. Tuesday.



This is a rather bizarre and ridiculous dream; more amusing in afterthought.

Two (unknown) people, a male and a female, are on a large stage in front of a very large audience. The setting is possibly loosely modeled after my old high school auditorium but probably could be anywhere. They are there to demonstrate a special type of vacuum cleaner which also refurbishes any environment to eventual perfection. Also on the stage is some sort of living room setting but with various types of curtains in different areas.

Apparently the male is the one promoting the device and the female is there as possibly part of an audience participation event. The machine is turned on and, over time, the curtains, couch on stage, and carpeted floor - even the clothes the people on stage are wearing - become more and more beautiful, solely due to the removal of tiny particulates - dust motes and such. More and more, the audiences gasps in amazement as the setting becomes cleaner and cleaner and more perfect and more pleasant in appearance. In my dream, I even notice a continuously increasing enhancement of my own cheerful mood.

Eventually, however, the vacuum-cleaner-like machine seems to increase in power, going at too high of a speed. There is a rather amusing scene where the female is holding onto the machine and flying through the air (being pulled by the machine, which is creating some sort of storm-like atmosphere on the stage, with a lot of wind and roaring) with the male holding onto her ankles and being dragged across the stage on his feet. Small pieces of stuffing from the couch are roaring around the stage everywhere (like a sandstorm) and there is thunder. I get the impression that it may start raining. (Aside from having heard the vacuum cleaner just recently - this is also quite possibly influenced by coincidentally having very recently seen two scenes with sandstorms with heavy, damaging particulates that shared the same scenario - those being in “Prometheus” from 2012 and in an episode of “Outcasts” from 2011).

The audience is now gasping for a different reason, watching the onstage “storm”, yet I still get the impression that everything will turn out if they get the machine under control again. What is going on presently may be related somewhat to the concept of sandblasting but at a very augmented level.

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Morning of April 9, 1984. Monday.



I was in bed, listening to The Alan Parsons Project’s “Tales of Mystery and Imagination: Edgar Allan Poe”. I imagined the imagery and detail. It was one of my favorite cassettes of the time, along with their “I Robot” album.

In one vivid dream of the “mystery girl”, the petite Persian Hungarian gypsy girl from Australia (with a curious mixed accent) with the beautiful green eyes and dark curly hair, there is a storm coming; a large tornado. This, for whatever reason, does not concern me all that much.

As the tornado gets closer, I do feel a slight wariness. The tornado is the lower half of the Merkaba in dreams, and at other levels, is the unknown future or “destiny” if you will. On another level it is the energies of the supraconscious (Universal Mind) in connecting with other levels of consciousness as perceived by the conscious mind; that is, other “realms” of mind and supraconscious exchanging energies as a new force as with a cold front meeting a warm front in causing wind and stormy weather. As I am at least partly lucid, I am not worried about being killed. Once I step into the tornado I see a beautiful young girl and recognize her as my “dream girl”. She leans back on a bed and as I approach her (in this case, I somehow see myself approaching her) there is a sense of wholeness. It is almost as if I rose above the tornado and looked down into it, where everything was clear and blue, a circular portal; an image of fulfillment.

In a dream within a dream, I am seemingly Edgar Allan Poe in a way. My dream journals are so extensive that I have indexes within indexes, often copied to new journals with additional important observations and notes added. A raven wants to be fed stale undercooked hamburger, which it seems to like more than bologna or canned fish. I seem to receive a very important “warning” related to not allowing “ordinary” people to influence me in any way and not allow them to “interpret” not only my dreams, but even ideas I develop over time out of life experiences. I sensed an unusual idea that other people one day, around the world, would see a small part of my childhood dream work as well as other writing. Of course, this seemed like a preposterous idea. How could one just “show their dreams on television for others to watch” whenever they felt like it? Perhaps the advancements of computers could achieve this? Likely far too expensive for the average person to ever be feasible…

One person said that the tornado was related to my “mental turmoil” (though I had less “turmoil” than others I knew) over my pretense that I would be married to a beautiful girl and have children within ten years or so. The raven was perhaps a burden, it was claimed, a “shadowy presence” representing despair, “a shadow hanging over me”. However, in my dreams, my two youngest “fictional” children learn from the raven, which speaks to them of the patterns of life and nature. I supposed other people would have been happy over me never marrying who I considered the most beautiful girl on Earth in another country. People in general have mostly only “cop outs” to share, “cop outs” which never have any value, except in learning and knowing what not to do or what not to believe from others or society as a whole.

Years later, in real life, after I married my dream girl, “our” raven sat on my chair watching me type on my computer. My two healthy and loving children enjoyed having a raven in the house for a few weeks until I decided it was fully healed (from a non-fatal dog attack) enough to fly on its own. It still came back and said “hi” now and then…but there was one time at the computer, when I reached behind me to give it a piece of raw stale hamburger and gave it a pat that I thought of the potential for the majority of “ordinary” human beings to ever accept the truth…or in fact, have any credibility at all. I almost thought I heard the raven quote (deep in the recesses of my mind) “nevermore”.