Blue_Opossum

Morning of November 10, 1990. Saturday.



This particular prophetic dream revealed the actual uncommon surname of my soulmate (twin flame) and wife-to-be, who first contacted me in March of 1991; about four months after this dream. That surname was Horvath. On the television series “One Day at a Time” (1975–1984), Mackenzie Phillips played the character Julie Cooper Horvath. I was not a fan of hers (and did not find her attractive), and this is my only clearer dream about her as far as I know. The tennis court in this particular case is likely related to a play on “love” as well as courtship and marriage. We were the only characters in my dream and seemingly isolated.

In my dream, I had been playing a tennis match with Mackenzie Phillips. I am not sure of the location. It could be Florida, Wisconsin, or even California (or some sort of implied composite). I am eventually wandering through the tennis court somewhat randomly after something apparently interrupts our tennis game (such as a bottle or a rock being thrown onto the court, I think, though I am not directly aware of any other people at any point). I soon notice that she is gone or had disrespectfully (in the opinion of my dream-self) wandered off but we still have a game to finish. I spend the rest of my dream going around screaming her first name over and over, getting louder and louder, walking in a kind of zigzag pattern “MaKEEEEEHnzie! MaKEEEEEHnzie!” (possibly also a play on “I can’t see”?). I feel tense, irritated, and even abandoned. It almost seems like we are married and she had deserted me. Everything starts to turn into a mist. I get the impression that all of the other people disappeared (even though Mackenzie was the only other person I was aware of). All of the world is fading, very slowly and frustratingly (not a typical way to wake from a dream). I awake with a mild headache, seemingly having slept too long.

Morning of March 26, 1989. Sunday.

Dream #: 8,133-02. Reading time: 28 sec.



I find myself with actor Leonard Nimoy at a tennis court (possibly in La Crosse where I played tennis with my friend Rick from Chicago, but otherwise probably somewhere in California). We are playing a game of tennis at around ten o'clock in the morning. He is dressed informally in white shorts and a plain white t-shirt. Eventually, I start to feel strange. I cannot hold onto the tennis racket because my hand is becoming less tangible. Using my other hand works at times, but eventually, I start to fade. Leonard Nimoy looks at me curiously and with vague suspicion, but seems slightly amused as well. I feel bad about leaving the game unfinished as I wake.

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