Blue_Opossum

Morning of September 24, 2021. Friday.

Dream #: 20,003-02. 2 min 54 sec read.

Late at night, I watch sparkling silver cursive text (as if covered with glitter) move smoothly through the sky from right to left. I am on the front porch of a fictitious version of the Barolin Street house (where we have not lived in years). The text is not on a banner as it seems to be a solid sequence of plastic material shaped like the outer form of the writing, moving like a conveyor belt. I am unsure of the implication. I decide it may be unseen aliens because the text refers to humans collectively, using “you” (not me personally).

I describe it to Zsuzsanna as she approaches. As text often does in dreams, it continuously changes, but with some readable words and phrases forming and morphing here and there. There is a transition to a similar scene, but unresolvable indoor-outdoor ambiguity (impossible with conscious perception) is predominant before the narrative changes again. The entire neighborhood seems to be inside the house. The floating text is unlike silver glitter now and plain, “rotating” across the “ceiling.” (It is a common mistake in my dreams for the sky to become a ceiling or vice versa.)

Now it is daytime. The events are more vivid as I become more physically aware (temporary proprioception correlating with my specific level of REM atonia). Objects are continuously moving from left to right in midair, in front of the eaves of the porch. They first seem like miniature air conditioners. Zsuzsanna is to my left (as with our sleeping position). I know they should keep going, but a few of them fall from the sequence on the porch floor and outside near the porch door.

I pick up one object and throw it into the front yard. I soon throw another one that rapidly slides across the street into someone else’s front yard, though into a culvert drainage ditch (confusion with the Cubitis house in America). There is an unfamiliar dark-haired man who is also moving similar objects out of the way. I apologize to him. He remains cheerful. He tells me that the gadgets might be a type of camera. (This event is my dream’s most vivid part because of vestibular phasing, somatosensory phasing, and increasing, though imaginary, proprioception for eventual emerging from REM atonia.)

It is suddenly night again. I am temporarily concerned that the objects, like empty cardboard boxes at this point, might explode (myoclonic anticipation caused by REM sleep). Our middle son walks out into the front yard (from the porch) just as an explosion occurs (though he is about ten years younger in my dream). The explosion causes him to fly back through the top of the porch’s inner wall (physically impossible but a predictable outcome when remaining in the dream state after a REM myoclonic event). It is as if there was a gap above the window frames. He now stands near us and seems fine. I get the vivid impression of a simulated “war” or events caused by aliens that do not understand that humans can die. (My level of metacognition is low, so this is my mind creatively compensating for the fakeness of the dream state.)

In the next scene, multicolored glowing barrels are “rolling” in midair in the sky and “shooting” rectangular and square pieces of themselves at various buildings and people (though no one seems injured). At this point, there is a vague association with “Pixels” from 2015 (likely an influence for much of the content).

In my dream’s last scene, I walk up to an “alien” who seems to be fixing a public building. I talk to the unfamiliar man (who looks human). I tell him that Earth’s military might destroy their spaceships once they learn what is happening. Protoconsciousness (caused by REM cerebral phasing) initiates as an “alien” who reminds me of Melvin Belli as the Gorgan from the “Star Trek” episode, “And the Children Shall Lead.”

He holds up his hand, addressing the other “alien” and me while cheerfully saying, “Propaganda!” about what I said.

“That’s not what ‘propaganda’ is, you moron,” I shout. I explain what propaganda is to him as I slowly wake, but consider they might not understand other English words. Of course, this was the protoconsciousness catalyst that triggered more realistic emotion (more so than the earlier explosion near my son) as well as cerebral phasing.

---

Morning of January 23, 2017. Monday.



I become aware of activities I must do for a movie being made that is about a wealthy German family (in Germany and on Germany’s side when the war starts) during World War II (about as far from my real-life associations as possible). I am a boy actor, probably around ten years of age.

One part of the set is reminiscent of the Loomis Street house, another somewhat suggestive of the southwest Cubitis bedroom. Still another part (in the last segment) seems somewhat like the kitchen of our present home. I have no coherent familiarity with my real-life status other than during the last part of the waking events.

There is a scene where I have to walk from one area in the house, go outside, and then go back into the house into a different room and look in a mirror (though the mirror curiously seems to be on an outside wall of the house that faces the backyard). I am aware that I only have a white shirt on. This does not bother me at all because I assume that all the scenes presently being filmed are from the waist up. I am satisfied with my appearance at this point.

At another point, I absentmindedly enter the room that is somewhat like the southwest Cubitis bedroom. An unknown female is there and sitting on the side of a bed, apparently on a cigarette break. On the left side of her face are parallel indentations, almost like the map of where a few stream beds converge (my actual thought within my dream in this scene). She wants to be alone at this time.

There is a scene where a fictional relative is going into the military at the start of the war. I am standing outside (seemingly at the south side of the Loomis Street house) between at least two adults (and clearly aware of my smaller, shorter body and status as a child actor), an unfamiliar female on my right and at least one unfamiliar male on my left. The camera is on us (filming from east of us). I feel “perfect” as I turn my head slowly to the right, to briefly acknowledge a crow in the sky behind me (which is flying north), making sure part of my left profile is filmed (for at least a second or two) and that the angle of my face at each point is “perfect”. I focus with clear intent to keep my stoic expression “perfect”.

Eventually, my dream starts to lose cohesion and I am slowly more aware of at least some of my real-life history. Still, I am writing a letter to inform my sister Marilyn (deceased) that I am going to be in a Hollywood movie, indicating some of the details.

In the last segment, I look in a mirror again. My face is becoming more and more unusual, almost like the classic Frankenstein monster. I have patches of green skin on the left side of my face. It is very wrinkled in that one area, though the wrinkles are in long straight vertical lines. There are what appear to be stone-like features peaking out from parts of my forehead and cheeks. The “stones” are of various colors and textures but are likely meant to be some sort of oversized acne.

Eventually, I realize my left eye is bulging and I touch it to see that it is like a small plastic dome that is slightly cracked more to the left. (Oddly, I can still see clearly from it within my dream even though it is almost sealed shut.) This is because a crack in my left cheek had reached its perimeter.

---

Losing teeth dreams have nothing on this level of dream-self cessation (which otherwise usually have no “interpretation”).

---

Morning of February 2, 2015. Monday.



At first, I am in a privately owned store that sells primarily older collectable Matchbox cars. The counter is a rectangular area in the center of the large main room with an additional internal area for the owner/cashier who is an older male. I look at the various merchandise, some of which is in square shallow wells in the outer area (over a slightly slanted section) and some of which is more carefully arranged behind glassed-in shelves in lower areas; some of the Matchbox cars with the original box as sold. Many of the die-cast toy cars in the wells are missing smaller areas of paint. In one section, I look at a few different yellow bulldozers, Ground Grinders, and cranes. I pick up one that looks just like a Taylor Jumbo Crane number 11 from the 1960s. (There are also Dodge Crane Trucks and several others.) I get a false memory of it being from the 1970s, but the man mentions something about “optical illusions” when I talk about it and the invalid associated time period (but using a different term, I believe) and I look underneath to see the date 1989 appearing three times in close proximity, including the copyright symbol.



There are other people in the store including two unknown girls that seem to be shopping together. I eventually notice that there is a large flat screen television near the front of the store. It is showing an adult movie but of which is supposedly only a television show (of which I do not know the name of). A lovemaking scene is apparently beginning, but the man’s erection is actually an artificial device but which is otherwise somewhat realistic (and seems to “operate” somewhat like a miniature crane) - this being done relative to some sort of television standard where certain things cannot be shown. This still does not make much sense to me and is apparently a violation of the broadcasting law even as it is. The girls laugh, though more in shock and surprise at the show even though there is no actual nudity.

From here, there is an attempt to rob the store, it seems. The door is then actually locked from the inside with the present customers still in the store - which implies that the store owner must have known that the criminal was already on his way. Being somewhat concerned about this seemingly powerful burglar eventually breaking down the door as he pounds and pushes upon it (apparently with superhuman strength), I use some sort of ability to turn everything into steel including the door and doorway being one solid section.

There is a slight shift and I am outside in the same part of town and a man (perhaps the same robber) makes an announcement, shouting “not everyone here is human” (as if trying to divulge a conspiracy to all the members of the public in the area).

“You got that right,” I say (emphasis on “that”) as I immediately effortlessly fly upwards into the sky (seemingly being the only one in the region who is “not human”), doing this too quickly for anyone else to pose a threat. After flying around for awhile and enjoying the scenery, I land back near the same area. For some reason, I am aware of the robber being a part of a street gang and there being some sort of turf war. I decide to damage “his” area of the street, which is across the street from the store from the first part of my dream. I lift my hand and cause machine gun fire to spray the entire length of buildings on that side of the street. There is no gun; the bullets are just materializing from the motions of my right hand and putting large holes in all the buildings, with a lot of noise.

Later, my wife and another (unknown) female get out of a convertible and have a meal in one of the bullet-ridden restaurants. As I was the one who had done this, I do not feel wary in joining them at a small round wooden table (we are the only ones there other than the owner).

The scene shifts again and I am flying northwards over La Crosse. I fly into the back area of the King Street boarding house, up and over the back stairs, flying through the hallway. Now flying somewhat slowly, I see my wife in the hallway, as she had been looking for me. “Pardon me, just passing through,” I say to the other tenants. She smiles up at me and we leave through the front entrance, her walking down the steps though I am still flying slowly until we leave the building.

Finally we are all sitting in a convertible. My wife (the implied driver) is in the front seat with the other female and I have transformed into the Silver Surfer, sitting in the back seat behind my wife. However, we are all now sleeping until some sort of (scheduled?) event begins in a week or so, which seems related to a new Marvel movie. I soon look at myself (seeing my face as the Silver Surfer’s from semi-disembodiment perspective) and think about waking up and do, even though I was not lucid at any point throughout my dream.

Morning of April 5, 1986. Saturday.



I had apparently been “sleeping” or resting in my dream in an unfamiliar room, but which is like a composite of the front (northeast) first floor bedroom on Loomis Street and seemingly a hotel room that is on a higher floor (at the same height the airplane is flying). I become aware of a very loud percussive sound, which gets clearer and clearer and seems to be getting closer to where I am. (I am unsure if this dream event was caused by real-life noise.) Looking out the window (implied to be a fictional window open to the north when using the layout of the familiar Loomis Street bedroom), I see that it is a 1940s military aircraft of a greenish gray color (which resembles a Grumman F8F Bearcat) that seems to be shooting at something (though I perceive that it is apparently present time in my dream, not the 1940s) and there are associations with Tripoli or Tipperary. Even though it is heading for the building I am in, even seemingly shooting in my direction, it does not crash or pose any actual threat now or later. I am not sure what happens to it after this as my dream shifts to where I am then outside. I assume that there is a small war going on in the region, though I am not clear on the location. There is confusion with Germany and Turkey as well as Libya and vague terrorist associations. Logically, it is probably meant to be the Middle East.

Later, I am standing outside, still seemingly in present time. I am one of the first people in a line of several hostages, which includes mostly older men and women. I am soon well aware that I am not me, though. Instead, I seem to be a much older male civilian or at least occupying his body somehow, perhaps a journalist. A hostile male facing the line, seemingly in charge, and holding an AK-47 or similar, is possibly going to shoot us all, though this is uncertain. At this time, I feel a strange vivid sense of both fear and growing relief and quickly rise up out of this character as if I was only inhabiting his body temporarily and do not want to be him if he is killed (which seems impending at this point). I rise higher and higher, looking down on the scene which includes bombed-out buildings. Meanwhile, I feel as if I somehow legitimately had been in this situation but am now escaping and “returning” to my own body, the presumed possibility of this remaining in fleeting conscious afterthought.

---

Morning of December 14, 1979. Friday.



I perceive myself as being someone else; an unknown male of about forty. I seem to be planning where soldiers will go by using a large map that covers a table, and I point out locations as other males stand around watching. The country that the war is against is unknown, but is possibly China (though it may also be somewhere in Africa, though that seems illogical in conscious afterthought).

Over time, it becomes obvious that I have made a mistake, in that a large yellow butterfly has landed on the map, by which I am then incorrectly designating features of the butterfly’s wings as being rivers, rivulets, and locations of possible villages. The people observing and listening to my instructions do not seem that concerned or amused, but I notice a few walking away.

The butterfly has landed so that its head is over a delta and its superimposition also creates the illusion that its bottom half is over the ocean or other body of water. At one point, I am trying to work out where the perimeter of the butterfly ends and the map details begin.

When I look up, many people have gone to a different table, where at least three unfamiliar males, possibly astronauts in blue coveralls, are looking at a larger map on a table, one male pointing at it with a pointing stick. (This scene was directly influenced by a View-Master “Project Apollo” frame, which I gazed at many times as a boy.)

I am somewhat puzzled. The butterfly has made my presentation problematic but now I am vaguely unsure if the meeting was about going to war, or returning to Earth. Somehow, “returning to Earth” does not seem quite right as it would entail that we are not on Earth presently (though this is not certain either).

Explanation:

Over twenty percent of my dreams since early childhood have rendered return-to-consciousness symbolism as related to flight, though always unique, with positive, negative, or neutral imagery which often seems unrelated to waking life (though is sometimes validated as prescience). This is obviously based on subliminally anticipated hypnopompic effects, mainly including the feeling of falling (which is spontaneous and biological, without the pretense of “interpretation”).

The concept of war in this case is related to the “struggle” of the fictional dream self, the transient identity and neural patterns changing via the dynamics of emergent consciousness and beginning wakefulness, which is sometimes represented by the color yellow (though red when I have been sleeping too long). It is also seen as a “journey”. In this case, it is even more obvious by the questioning of whether we are on Earth. Technically, we are not, as it is the dream state and I am not walking around on the real Earth.

There are some curious layers here including “delta” as an association with sleep as well as ocean waves, a play on “delta waves” (relating to deeper sleep rather than REM). It is also associated with the song “Delta Dawn” (sunrise). Water is my most common association with being in the dream state (and its sound has been used in virtually endless commercial relaxation recordings to bring about sleep). The butterfly creates an illusion of “returning to land”, which is akin to returning to the real world from the dream state (as thousands of my dreams have been proven to contain this same type of waking symbolism, though always unique).

---