Blue_Opossum

Morning March 15, 2014. Saturday.



Sometimes when more precise dream scripting meanders and fails while in the dream state, yet still holds the residual patterns in part, the result can be ridiculous and ironic.

As I have stated before, I do not normally include scripted dreams, as that would be unfair, only ones built with generic affirmations such as “I am the continuity of maximum well-being”, though real-time thought and direct belief and expectation (without a specific phrase) is the most powerful and viable way of shaping a dream.

In this case, twelve multicolored butterflies eventually encircled the area (horizontally) so swiftly that they created a clear impression of a helicopter rotor - in fact, a subtle sound of a rotor was vaguely discernible later on during a transitional period. In such a case it is the dreamer making the dream rather than the dream making the dream self.

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At the beginning of my dream, I am working at the Ford Taurus-based factory as I had in reality years ago. The area seems to be the upstairs lunchroom though seems on the first floor in my dream. Awards are being given out based on service to the company. I am mostly on my own at one picnic table, but there are several other people in the room. Apparently I am in waste management and garbage disposal of some sort and there is a speech of appreciation for my service and how I have been rewarded with a new trash compactor for upcoming usage in my service to the company. (In reality, this is the compactor that exists on the southern end of the building - much scrap went out every day - probably as much as three cars or more in volume - though I never worked in any position relative to that.)

I am given an award in the same manner as a few other people. The trophy award looks like a horse’s saddle stirrup but larger and bent at somewhat of an L-shape, and is somehow pulled from the corner of the wall. It is an allover shiny silver. I hold it but do not comment or speak much.

Later on, people are standing and I think a few more people come in, but then it is more like a class reunion of some kind. I leave the area with a male coworker, as it is seemingly a ten-minute break period. I ask him about who the people are but I do not recall any responses. I ride a black motorcycle through an area that I take to be the entrance to the special location, the Enchanted Forest, which I have often dreamt of in the past, and I ride in at the familiar angle from the original road (about twenty degrees). There seems to be a dirt road at first, which I follow for a time, but then I just steer through various dense areas of the forest. It is very vivid and enjoyable.

The coworker is still with me (probably having been on the back of the motorcycle, as I remember someone else yelling in enjoyment, with a few more stressful yells regarding near misses with trees). I am near some outcrops of rocks and unusually narrow mound-like areas about six feet up, which are climbable. I soon have to use the bathroom. (It is rare for me to need to use the bathroom in a dream if I do not have to go in reality at the time). I get the idea to actually do this from the edge of a ledge whereby there is a small ravine across from a much higher hill (about double the height to where I am) with a ledge of about the same distance up and an even denser forest on the opposite side on the hilltop. I look down and it is like looking into a narrow area between two walls about four feet apart, with some shrubbery, but which arcs out in both directions towards the mound I am standing on.

Just as I start to get ready, I look around and down and notice a large white gorilla has entered the area. I am rather concerned, because, although I really do not want to hurt the ape, I really need to go to the bathroom and do not want an audience. I take out a rifle and notice the coworker is out of reach of the gorilla on a lower narrow outcrop of the mound, but the gorilla does not really seem threatening. The coworker tells me to shoot it in the head. I shoot it in the chest a few times, as well as the forehead and it goes down. However, a short time later, before I am able to relieve myself, it slowly gets up again, opening its eyes and calmly standing up and walking to the other side of the mound.

I am very annoyed. Can a man go to the bathroom in peace? My rifle changes into a sort of simplified machine gun (this morphing as a result of very vague lucidity at this point) and I start shooting at it again, over and over. The noise is not very loud, though, at least at first, but gets a bit louder prior to waking (and it also sounds more like a helicopter rotor). The white gorilla just stands there looking puzzled, not even annoyed or injured in any way. The bullets are so numerous, the area in the air eventually forms a solid but transparent and cylindrical ice-like horizontal waterfall-like effect from me to the gorilla. It creates the impression that I am sending small probes at the creature that apparently either have some sort of healing effect and are otherwise inconsequential. Not once does the gorilla seem angry or threatening in any way. So here I am, shooting and shooting and being inherently ridiculous. So much for a goddess-like indestructible “girl-illa” in a “white gown” in the Enchanted Forest. The white gorilla was a form of the goddess that I did not, for whatever reason, coherently manifest within the dream state. The gun in this case was still (partly as it was scripted, though not as a gun) a transference of energy rather than one of killing, confirmed by the small rapidly moving (and spinning while moving) transparent cylinders.