• Lucid Dreaming - Dream Views

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    1. Marsh and Missile [dual narrative]

      by , 08-09-2017 at 01:28 PM
      Morning of August 9, 2017. Wednesday.

      I become aware that I am babysitting an unfamiliar boy of about four years of age in the northeast area of the Cubitis living room. I perceive myself as being about twenty-five years old. It feels like it might be late morning. I have no associations with whomever the boy’s parents might be.

      The dreamer does not realize that he has not lived in Cubitis since 1978, leaving when he was seventeen. He also does not recall that he lived in Wisconsin when he was twenty-five, not Florida. The memory of his three sons (and two daughters) does not seem extant, though the presence of the unfamiliar boy, who does not resemble any of his sons, may be a subliminal clue, though he otherwise has no memory of who he presently really is.

      There is a huge Raggedy Ann doll sitting against the north wall near the northeast corner of the living room. I have a notion that the giant stuffed doll is somehow a mother figure for the boy. It almost reaches the ceiling. The head is unrealistically large in proportion to the rest of the doll. Time passes, and the head seems flatter (front to back) than it should be. The doll begins to sag and lean forward and the boy and I are annoyed that this oversized pie-like head may cover us. I have to push it back a few times, but when I do, the whole doll, especially the head, seems slightly thinner.

      The dreamer still does not have viable memory. He does not question why a giant doll would be perceived as a “real” mother by the boy or comfort him as such. He does not even consider simply moving out of the way of the doll when it leans forward at times. He does not consider why the doll’s head gets vertically flatter when there is no discernible reason for the change. Perhaps he is subliminally aware of the weight of the blanket on his real physical body as he sleeps, and perhaps through the veil of sleep, he indirectly recalls that his youngest daughter has stuffed toys near her as she sleeps. Could this hodgepodge of current neural energy while sleeping be why such a scene is rendered? He also did have concern that his youngest son had enough blankets prior to sleeping. As a doll symbolizes the physical inactivity of someone while in the dream state, it likely is a very distorted thread of memory of his beautiful wife Zsuzsanna, combined with thoughts of his pillow that sometimes seems too flat.

      Eventually, I notice that much of the oversized ragdoll is now more like a collection of blankets that fall forward at times, a couple that cover me, though I think the doll is still sitting there. It seems ambiguous, and the round face itself seems more and more like a large flat pillow I push back several times. It does not seem cold. I do not think that the boy will be harmed, only perhaps annoyed by being covered like this. After a few minutes, I am aware that Dennis (half-brother on my mother’s side) is coming into the house. He seems about thirty years old and is dressed like a biker. He wants to show me something. It seems the boy will be okay on his own, though I somehow perceive that Dennis has no interest in the boy’s well-being. I go with him for a short distance after leaving the house. I then decide to fly. Coming out from the house, it is now the King Street boarding house. I effortlessness fly north over Tenth Street South, leaving Dennis behind for now.

      The dreamer’s brother had not been to Florida since 1970. Like every other dream feature, it is erroneous, completely removed from any correct timeline. Even more curiously, he walked out from the north end of the open carport in Florida yet simultaneously from the closed porch of the King Street boarding house, not regarded in real life much since 1990 and over 1,500 miles away from the original setting. There is no measure of distance in thought, but that is moot, as the two buildings were somehow perceived as being the same. The dreamer often flies in his dreams as if it was a perfectly natural thing to do. To take to the air to get somewhere else is what he has done often for many years in both lucid and non-lucid dreams, without considering physics or gravity. There is no doubt, but the dream self is not the conscious self, and the rules that dictate that flying cannot be as such do not apply, even if there was some subliminal memory that it was not possible.

      I end up in some sort of forest on the other side of La Crosse, which I perceive may be several blocks west of Loomis Street. After walking around and entering a denser area of forest by way of a footpath, I notice that Dennis is already here. He talks to a seemingly homeless person in dark apparel. The unfamiliar scruffy male is sitting at the side of the path, facing outwards from the dense trees. Dennis seems annoyed and may be impatient about something. It has something to do with the other male not owning a motorcycle as he is expected to. There is no fighting, just a conversation. It seems the other male may have sold or lost his motorcycle and is now living in the woods. I walk around and see another clear footpath that leads straight through the densest part of the forest. It seems to be afternoon and the imagery is very clear and beautiful. The path leads east and seems to continue for quite a distance. I can see an open area at the very end that indicates an urban area. Still, after walking around, I decide to fly again.

      The dreamer does not question this fictional area of land. The area in real life would be within the same area as the Northside Elementary School (though the area looks much different now than when he last lived there in February 1994). He does not ask himself how Dennis apparently walked there and got there before him.

      As I am flying, my focus changes somewhat. I see below me, something that is almost like a life-sized map, showing how the area originally appeared. It was mostly a marshy expanse with no trees for a long time. This changes, as Dennis had planted a number of saplings over time, until it was a dense forest. Curiously, I am aware that no one else, including members of the city council, ever noticed this change other than Dennis and a few biker friends of his. I watch the changes in the map as I turn and fly south.

      Looking down on a slowly animated life-sized map superimposed over the bird’s-eye view of the land below does not seem unusual to the dreamer. It is like a visual historical view displaying the changes over time, not following the rules of real-life perception. He does not fly back down to investigate or consider that if he did, he might be in the original treeless marsh as it supposedly was years previously.

      I am now aware that it is nighttime even though it had been afternoon moments before. I do not find the change unusual. I am aware of a missile lighting up a small area of the sky to the north, over what I perceive may be a small island, but I still consider it as a threat even though it seems far away. My wife Zsuzsanna now joins me as we run southward. The buildings around us start to shake. They seem to wobble and waver unrealistically, somewhat like exaggerated jelly motions. I think we can escape. We run over the tops of buildings, over the roofs of commercial buildings of various heights, no attention to how tall they are. It seems effortless but annoying. I get the idea to take cover in a boiler room of a commercial building. I sense the ceiling may collapse, but it does not, though there is still shaking. We end up near a breaker panel. I have a fading idea about possibly resetting the main breaker, as if that might somehow make the building more suitable to hide in.

      The dreamer’s memory seems more viable now as he recalls Zsuzsanna. There is even a thread of recent memory about North Korea’s missile launches, but little else. His focus on the breaker panel reveals a subliminal awareness of the neural energy within his mind, yet not fully realizing why this thought emerges in the last seconds of his dream or whether it symbolizes “deactivating” his dream, increasing his neural energy and expansion into whole consciousness, or both.

    2. Circumventing a Lumber Camp

      by , 01-03-2016 at 07:03 AM
      Morning of January 3, 2016. Sunday.

      I am flying throughout my dream (with no backstory in mind) yet I do not recognize that I am dreaming at any point, which is curious.

      Mostly, my actions are illogical since I probably could just fly off to my right at any time, to find another location or region to land in, but I do not want to land in any area directly below me yet (or off to the left where there seem to be more forests being cut down), where my attention is mostly held. I do not want to land because the area is a very large lumber camp, which seems to go in a continuous arc, though it is not clear what is off to my right from this arc - probably the ocean or possibly an undefined and unrendered area where I cannot “really” go or an implied barrier (divided by liminal space, though I am not lucid enough to consider this possibility as dream-based) which I cannot go past.

      It seems that the lumber camp is very active in most sections and for whatever reason, I sense the workers are very hostile to intruders of any kind, including wayward flying people. After all, they are destroying the landscape, so probably would destroy anything (including people) in their path (as I do not reason they are doing it to provide for people as they likely may be). In one way, it seems like a miniature landscape (of about one-quarter scale), but this seems a possible distortion of my perspective. I do not fly close enough to the ground at any point to see that much.

      There is another distortion, something almost abstract but related to having to write something in a journal or notepad (while flying?) while just outside the perimeter of this range though which causes additional frustration. My flight path is continuously aligned to the semicircular lumber camp, which seems to go on like this for a considerable distance. This of course makes no sense, as if such was the case, I would be flying in a circle yet I seem to be going in only one direction in my dream and the land features below are consistently different as well.

      There may be some sort of association with circumventing and circumference, as this was one of those dreams that seemed to “self-title” itself after waking, something I have experienced fairly often since around the age of eight.
    3. Interpreting Tree Leaves

      by , 09-26-2015 at 11:29 AM
      Morning of September 26, 2015. Saturday.

      In my dream, I am focused on my childhood dream girl scenario. Though I now know her in reality as my beautiful wife Zsuzsanna, my long-term memory is not accessible (which in fact is typical in many dream types). I am perhaps about twenty-five years old.

      I look to her right and notice we are probably either in an isolated forest or possibly a park. My attention becomes focused on what looks like writing superimposed on the largest tree in the foreground, each letter perhaps about the size of a leaf. I become semi-lucid yet distracted by the idea of “learning” something in a dream state by reading it, which is usually futile.

      Just under that tree in the foreground, I see a brighter light, which I am aware is my conscious mind at one level, like a potential portal to waking from the present scenario. This intrigues me. However, the landscape “under” and beyond the tree seems slightly miniature. I am not sure if I can “fit” under the sky if I choose to walk in that direction. I may bump my head on the sun and possibly burn some of my hair off.

      The “writing” on the tree becomes more annoying as I “realize” that I am not looking at letters of the alphabet even though I am. For a time, I think I am looking at horseshoes that somehow got thrown into the tree over time by enthusiastic horseshoe players. However, I eventually become aware that I am in fact looking at “letters”, but mostly only “C” and “U” in a random sequence. I reflect that this may be some sort of binary code and consider trying to “interpret” or decode it.

      Strangely enough, my dream-self does not even become aware of the play on “CU” (as in “see you”) at any point even though I am quite lucid prior to fading. I decide to move forward to wake. The ray of sunlight reminds me vaguely of a yellow number two pencil from my school days, held up diagonally, writing intricate “shadow writing” over the path ahead.

    4. Vulnerable

      by , 08-02-2015 at 02:02 PM
      Morning of August 2, 2015. Sunday.

      There is a small hill on the side of a larger hill sloped down to my left with a single tree growing on the top and a small cave within the smaller hill that is slightly to the left at first. Looking more closely upon approach, tree roots hang down from the ceiling of the cave. This creates somewhat of an unusual impression that I cannot put words to. It gives me pause to think that, even though the tree is possibly very old, many of its roots are exposed within the cave, even more-so by anyone who wants to mess about in the cave. In fact, I even get the impression of an unsavory character looking around the side of the hill to my right.

      Going partly into the cave though mostly staying by the entrance, I discover that the roots are actually not roots, but the trunk of some sort of miniature exotic tree (possibly a fruit tree of some kind). The top of the tree is in fact very green and I now see that the roof of the cave has nothing hanging from it as was seen just previously. Now I think that this special tree may even be more vulnerable than the tree above (even though it is unlikely it would have flourished in a dark cave as such) as it is seemingly much younger and certainly smaller.

      However, it soon dawns on me that I am, in fact, in the cave myself (rather than looking in from just outside) and am looking out at a normal-sized tree in a field that is a fair distance from the cave, as I realize I am looking at a blue sky from my viewpoint rather than the dark recesses of a cave. (There is a brief sense of deja vu relating to something about commentary on dream journals, yet I cannot quite focus and I am in no way lucid and the idea of a dream journal, especially a digital one, falsely seems somewhat abstract and “out of reach”). I am wondering if I should feel vulnerable now that I am in the cave and am not sure if I should exit. I do not really focus on the illogical changes of perspective and imagery and placement that I would otherwise just enjoy in light sleep paralysis (during the speedier imagery before it slows down enough to “enter” when a more interesting setting or location appears).

      When I was very young, I played near a recess in a hill on Chipmunk Coulee, though the “cave” was not very deep. I remember at least one photograph where I was sitting in the area, which is probably with at least one relative now. I remember the unusual perspective I had at that age (which carried over into some later dreams) of being “between worlds” just by sitting within the entrance (part of me outside, part inside).

      Updated 08-08-2015 at 09:19 AM by 1390

    5. Haunted Swamp

      by , 10-01-1977 at 04:01 PM
      Morning of October 1, 1967. Sunday.

      I am on my own, possibly in late morning, in a drifting canoe, going southward over a river (the Hillsborough River) in a swamp in Florida that looks like a part of Lettuce Lake Park.

      On the banks of the river are very tall cypress trees. There seem to be continuous tall vertically stretched faces of which are superimposed against the trees, but are likely not meant to be the trees themselves, more like a ghostly presence or a strange optical illusion, similar to a funhouse mirror effect.

      A few of the faces seem wary of my presence, even though I am a young child, with mouths open, though there is no certainty at some points that they are aware of me. There is a bluish green hue on everything at times. The closely clustered faces, as well as being stretched from ground to treetop and very narrow in appearance, also seem to waver very slowly at times, or have a bend near the middle of the face. They are both male and female, mostly all adults. They are only to my right, near the bank of the river. The faces otherwise do not move much. Despite the eerie imagery, I feel no fear, especially as a few of the faces seem afraid of my presence at times.

      Variations of this dream, both lucid and non-lucid, occurred a number of times from earliest memory. The causes behind this dream are fully known. It developed over the autosymbolic rendering of “drifting into sleep” (spoken mainly by my mother in real life when she was describing my status when I was resting in bed) and mixing the association with drifting in a canoe into a recognized form of dream state induction, which of course has no waking life relevance due to it being a factor of the dream state itself. It is still a major factor of my dreams, water being autosymbolic of the essence of sleep. This dream’s setting was an area my family and I visited in real life when I was very young.

      Updated 10-08-2019 at 10:24 AM by 1390

    6. A Family of Trees

      by , 10-10-1975 at 08:09 PM
      Night of October 10, 1965. Sunday.

      This dream is not very complex, but is one of thousands that has been revelatory and proven to be of a long-term precognitive nature. In this case, however, it related to Susan R as the “other” rather than my yet-to-be wife. I believe this is relative to a deliberate play on “branching” from a so-called destiny point prior to becoming aware of it.

      In my dream, I am not sure of the exact location. It is possibly based on an area near Chipmunk Coulee, but not higher on a bluff. There is a seemingly abandoned house which I believe faces east, with an older one-lane road running north/south. The large front yard is filled with several old, gnarled trees (not sure of the type, but possibly oak). I am not exactly sure if the house has a real-life version. It seems mostly unfamiliar - or at least I thought so at the time.

      Over time, I learn that the trees were actually people who had been transformed by possibly a witch. These people were the family that had lived in the isolated abandoned house. They were of various ages even though they are now seemingly very old trees. They have large human-like faces, about double or more the size of a person’s (but still with all the characteristics of wood and bark). There is a slight similarity to the “I do not think that I want to be a tree” dream which actually did relate to the “mystery girl” (future wife).

      I seem to be given the task of going into the house to find a cure or to give them some sort of (commercial?) medicine, which, while perhaps not making them human (although they can still seemingly talk and interact, just not uproot themselves and “walk” or move much at all), will still help them somehow. This theme repeated in a similar way (going to get medicine to help someone) in several other dreams - including the one with several short and long-term precognitive layers regarding my yet-to-be wife (regarding “The Tired Queen”). Over time, however, the mood and level of awareness changes, and I become aware that it is unlikely that the trees are actually human-like in any way. Nothing much happens after this. I have left out some personal information regarding connected scenes.

      The long-term precognitive aspect of this is quite intriguing. This was one of the only, more precise dreams related directly to Susan R (the “other”) in its implications. In fifth grade, an unfriendly classmate, Bobby G (I believe the son of the school principal or boy’s dean), had (during the task given for each student to write stories for the lower grades), written his story about a “family of trees” (with the same title as my original dream summary at age four) that had human qualities, and one of the last parts being “had one tree” (meaning a “baby”) and living happily ever-after. My story was “King of the Birds”. The strange thing was, he bullied me the whole time on “birds can’t talk” while his story was about human-like trees having a human-like life (and also apparently talking in one way or another). This was so hilarious, I held no anger, as it made him appear quite idiotic (especially as there are certain types of birds that can “talk”, and the stories were “just stories” for younger students at that, some others of which also had the essence of fables).

      During the same day, Susan first made it known (more clearly and seriously, anyway) we had some sort of “connection” (and this was long before I read anything on soul mates). She asked me to sign my name on her copy of my story. Bobby G asked if she wanted his and she made a negative sarcastic comment. This was one of those days that become “fixed” in my memory. I knew there was something unusual (and “unseen”, but more powerful and important than mankind in my view) going on but I could not understand it. Susan was one of only two people I was absolutely certain of a clearer “unexplainable” link (the other being my wife). I was the only one whose signature she wanted on her copy of a story.