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    Blue_Opossum

    1. Modulating Dreaming Processes with a Calculator and a Robot

      by , 10-15-2020 at 07:19 AM
      Morning of October 15, 2020. Thursday.

      Dream #: 19,659-02. Reading time: 2 min 12 sec.



      My dream, in instinctual mode (but on the periphery of liminality throughout), transitions through the usual processes, but I carry a graphing calculator throughout my exploring and meandering. This aspect keeps my somatosensory dynamics vivid and sustains my overall clarity and perceptual awareness throughout most of my dream. I keep it in my right hand and enter numbers mostly with my thumb.

      In the main narrative, I walk through several areas of what seems to be a college campus in the late morning. I consider I am not supposed to be here, but I doubt anyone would notice or care. As I walk, I push random numbers on my calculator, which I consider some people might perceive as a cell phone. I do not look at the display and only vaguely think of random numbers to enter at different times. (It is mainly somatosensory focus holding me in the dream rather than cerebral. As I sleep, I sometimes habitually clasp the wooden slat of our bed’s headboard.)

      Eventually, I transition into the predictable “seeking the sleeper” mode. I find myself walking into the bedroom of an unknown person. As a result, associations with the physical immobility of my body (while sleeping) instinctually initiates. I cannot find a way to leave the room even though I had just walked in. The sleep personification resolves as an unfamiliar girl. She leaves her bed and talks to me. I tell her I have to find my house. She assumes I am a professor that should be living in the school and is puzzled by me calling the school a “house.” I tell her, “Well, I call where I live a house.”

      For a short time, I contemplate returning to deeper sleep. As a result, we walk to a staircase that leads down into a dark flooded basement. The girl briefly transitions into the Naiad simulacrum and talks about the process, but I decide to explore more. We continue to communicate as we find an exit from her bedroom that leads into the next predictable stage of dreaming, the parking lot setting.

      The sleep-wake personification appears as an unknown young male a foot taller than me. I consider if he will be a bully or remain friendly (especially as I am already in the last transition of the dreaming process, so he does not have to be imposing). My indecision creates a delayed and ambiguous behavior on his part as if he does not know how to act. He says something that comes out like gibberish. “What did you say?” I ask him. He does not seem rude or confrontational, but I still move on to the next process.

      I instinctually summon the process of attaining physical mobility (while still thumbing the calculator), that, of course, is imaginary while in the dream state (a fallacy that has occurred all my life when dreaming in this mode and is autosymbolic in co-occurrent continuity of the process rather than a false awakening). Although the man is not a bully, I mentally define, with engraved lines, the perimeter of a large square in the parking lot. As we watch, a Transformer robot begins to emerge until it is visible down to below its chest. In this analogy to moving into post-liminality, I walk on to the school building and soon wake.


    2. A Vivid Roller Coaster Adventure (control without lucidity)

      by , 09-09-2020 at 06:52 AM
      Morning of September 8, 2020. Tuesday.

      Dream #: 19,622-02. Reading time: 4 min 18 sec.



      I instinctually summon imaginary kinaesthesia to vivify and sustain my dreaming experience. It is crucial to comprehend that this process is not symbolic, interpretable, or influenced by waking life but is a deliberate attempt to become more immersed in my dream. (Summoning imaginary kinaesthesia means instinctually directing the vestibular system ambiguity resulting from the lack of viable discernment of my physical body and its orientation while in dream sleep to favor the inward illusory side of this ambiguity to increase the illusion of movement and momentum. I have indulged in this practice since I was a toddler.)

      I am also instinctually aware of Zsuzsanna sleeping close to me on my left. As a result, in my dream, she is sitting on my left in what first seems like a small open train but soon becomes a car on a roller coaster. There are no other roller coaster cars or people. (Meanwhile, Zsuzsanna is dreaming of being on a train, intimating we are in the same stage of dreaming, not necessarily transpersonal as it is a fundamental process.)

      My dream vivifies with realistic movement (correlating with my imaginary physicality) as we ride the roller coaster. I see its unusual structures ahead, but I remain unconcerned, and our ride is smooth. The landscape is similar to that along West Avenue North in La Crosse. I realize that the ride will take us to a resort that features a beach. This factor is an instinctual summoning of melatonin mediation. Water exemplifies the illusory essence and nuances of sleep. (Meanwhile, Zsuzsanna continues in the same dreaming stage. However, in her dream, she remains on the train. Rain starts to come in because of a leak in the roof.)

      At the unfamiliar resort, the beach is suddenly an indoor feature after the typical indoor-outdoor ambiguity of this dreaming mode begins but favors the indoor factor. It is now more like a big indoor swimming pool. Our oldest son is now with us (even though he did not travel here with us), but he is only about ten years old. (There is no recall of our other four children at this point.) He cheerfully jumps into the water. Several other people are swimming while I sit with my legs hanging over the edge of the pool and sarcastically complain about there being no beach. At this point, because of sustained virtual melatonin mediation, I become aware our son is not resurfacing. I soon see him below the water’s surface and pull him up, and he seems to be unconscious (instinctual awareness I am sleeping). He recovers and complains about a man grabbing him underwater and doing something to his face.

      Zsuzsanna, our son, and I walk down a hall as I complain about the place and the man who may have hurt our son. A sleep-wake manager (also the manager of the resort) comes to us with another unknown male and states how he removed a small stick from our son’s nose and also intended to bring him up to the surface. Even so, I am annoyed that such a business would allow debris where people are swimming.

      In the next scene, Zsuzsanna, our son, and I are in a small room with windows encompassing three sides and benches attached to three walls. We watch an unrealistically large shark swimming around, though it does not bump the glass or pose a threat. The height of its head is higher than the windows when it is closest. (This scene was directly influenced by “Underwater” from 2020, though in the movie, it was people watching a giant fictitious oceanic creature through a window. Despite the influence, it correlates with precursory liminality that I informally call wall mediation, instinctual awareness of the concurrent division between imaginary dream space and potential waking space.)

      At a service counter, I become annoyed when the manager gives us complimentary bowls of ice cream. I knock them to the floor, as I do not want to spend any more time here, and end up leaving on my own with less of my waking-life identity. I climb up the roller coaster and attempt to ride a car back home (mistakenly perceived as Northside La Crosse, where I have not been in waking life since 1994). Even though my dream exponentially vivifies at this point, it also transitions to the emergence side of physicality and kinaesthesia. It now seems I am on a mechanic’s creeper (instead of a roller coaster car) and trying to move through a small wooden tunnel, feet first while on my back. (This type of dream state process occurs when precursory liminality becomes predominant in that I am then liminally aware of my physical body being immobile and beyond my control while sleeping. At this point, I am also instinctually aware of my sleeping position, which is mostly on my back.) I think about the unusual restrictions of the design and consider how men of a bigger size than me could not use the transportation at all. Even so, it seems likely that I will not be able to continue comfortably.

      I decide to teleport (with only vague myoclonus). I am suddenly in an unknown outdoor location in Northside La Crosse. Two people are present; an unfamiliar man and a woman (quantum model of Zsuzsanna). I tell the man that I teleported here. He seems puzzled and incredulous. I prove it to him by teleporting about six feet to the left of my present position with the sense of quickly blinking and becoming more aware of the dream state’s essence again. He cheerfully holds up his cell phone to film me in a conspiratorial manner, but I turn so that my face is out of range. I cause his cell phone to stop working. The screen cracks, and it displays what looks like an analogue television on an empty channel.

      I explain that whatever I say happens. I summon somatosensory dynamics (to augment my dream self’s sense of touch), but with big diamonds rather than eggs or coins. I open my hand to reveal an unrealistically large diamond that I give to the man. I tell him it is only worth about $30,000.00. Other diamonds appear in my hand. I give the woman one.

      In the last scene, she happily approaches me as I am leaving to remind me I had already given her a diamond on a previous day. She opens her hand to show me two large diamonds.


    3. An Unusual Journey

      by , 08-23-2020 at 10:57 AM
      Morning of August 23, 2020. Sunday.

      Dream #: 19,606-03. Reading time: 2 min 42 sec.



      There were more kinaesthetic and somatosensory events in this dream than usual. The processes sustained my dreaming experience but resulted in an exaggerated and prolonged sensory focus that was predominant in the unusual narrative.

      In the first part, my instinctual awareness I am sleeping results in the opening scene being in an unknown bedroom. My conscious self identity mostly remains present throughout my dream. Zsuzsanna and I are going on a trip to another part of town (fictitious location). We are sharing an apartment with an unknown woman. I have to get dressed, but it is too difficult. My pants will not go up over my hips. I am annoyed by the irritating sensations. (This sometimes happens when I sleep with a heavy blanket.) Even so, the scenario eventually changes, and Zsuzsanna and I are walking along a dirt road.

      There is an exhibition in an unfamiliar region. Zsuzsanna introduces me to an unknown male named Chris. She supposedly knew him when she was younger and living in Nimbin (though that is impossible, as he is only about twenty years old). An unknown man takes a picture of Zsuzsanna, saying how beautiful she is and acting as if she is on her own and available. I take his camera and smash it, noticing that there is a roll of film inside with images of people. I am unsure if he will still be able to develop it, but I mangle the camera as much as possible and throw it on the floor. (This situation was influenced by a scene from “King Kong” I had seen a small part of last night. It is the scene where Carl discovers his destroyed camera. The only difference is that, in my dream, I could see transparent individual images in the film.)

      Somatosensory dynamics cause me to focus on my hands. I have a silver ring that used to be tight on my finger, but now it is far too big to stay on it. I move it around over my finger and tell others about the situation. It seems I am shrinking, or at least my hand is.

      Zsuzsanna and I are going to leave. I start to walk down a staircase on my own and (as is typical in dreams) imaginary kinaesthesia becomes predominant. The steps are individual stacked storage boxes, and some below me fall to the ground as I remain on the higher section. Other people cannot get down either. I consider that some people below can put the steps back, but they walk off. A woman at a counter in the building tells me I can turn and go to another area. I teleport to the back of the building by going under the large gap in the lower section. There are many people around. I soon teleport back and jump to the ground. I tell the woman at the counter (from outside the entrance, though the setting is ambiguous) that the staircase is illegal (because of being unsafe for the public). She cheerfully tells me that she knows it is obviously against the law but that it is only a temporary setup for the exhibition.

      Zsuzsanna and I and our youngest daughter are walking home. An enormous vehicle approaches from the opposite direction, and we go to the side of the street. However, the machine is so big it is over most of the area. The bottom of the long truck is over ten feet above us. It seems to be a street-building and maintenance device that pours the asphalt as it travels as well as smooths out the surface and performs other tasks. The driver is aware of us at one point and swerves slightly, but we still cannot get past and cannot continue safely either. There is a high-set chain-link fence on our left that prevents us from going another way. Despite the gigantic size of the vehicle, I push on its wheels and slide it away from us as if it weighed hardly anything (though I am aware of some weight and momentum).


    4. The Rain

      by , 08-10-2020 at 11:38 AM
      Morning of August 10, 2020. Monday.

      Dream #: 19,593-02. Reading time: 2 min 50 sec.



      While comfortably re-entering light sleep by choice, I summon my favorite scene - a light rain in an urban neighborhood. It is in the late morning. As I float into the extraordinarily vivid setting, flying slowly about four feet above the street, I choose to remain incorporeal, without summoning and integrating imaginary physicality. Even so, imaginary kinaesthesia becomes a factor of my navigation through the fictitious environment. I indulge in the astounding detail and beauty of raindrops falling into puddles.

      Eventually, there is an incidental recall that Zsuzsanna and I had briefly discussed the Netflix series “The Rain” last night while scrolling through the content. (We had only seen the first episode weeks ago.) Two people (implied to be from the series) walk into the previously unpopulated setting, strolling off to my left, eventually no longer in view. I consider whether my dream will amalgamate the backstory of the series in implying the rain is dangerous.

      American actor Jack Albertson (June 16, 1907-November 25, 1981) is lying on his left side on the ground (concurrent with my sleeping position). He is inside a fenced area not much longer than his height, the top of his head directed to the sidewalk. The fenced area is otherwise for either recyclables or junk from the adjacent service station. I wonder if sleeping in the rain will be problematic for him during my distracted association with “The Rain.” His eyes roll up with his visage like Elise Rainier’s from “Insidious: The Last Key” Zsuzsanna and I watched last night.

      Soon, the young Elise Rainier forms from droplets of rain flowing over a tree and hovers in the air about three feet from the sidewalk (typical reinduction as the Naiad factor common since childhood) and vocalizes the melody (with only tenuto “oo” sounds) of Jim Reeve’s “The Blizzard.” (My dream self does not make the association with that song or its implications during my dream.) This factor stabilizes the original peaceful essence of the dream state.

      Even so, after about fifteen minutes, cerebral nuances begin to activate wakefulness, resulting in text of various colors appearing on the street in paint and chalk. (Despite the rain, it does not wash away.) I float over an area where the word “leveling” features in white paint. I focus more on my usual seeking of text in this mode, but nothing relevant is in my view after this. I see what I first think might be a word, but it transforms into a series (about five of them) of the letter “i.” I see the character “o” in a set of three. Probably every letter of the English alphabet, in various colors, features at varying angles to each other on the street’s surface.



      Notes on this dream’s no-brainer causality:

      The essence of water (both summoned and spontaneous) begins the majority of my dreaming experiences in this mode as virtual melatonin. The Naiad factor is the pineal gland personification but also has mystical implications with the so-called third eye (as well as the Eye of Providence).

      Note the incidental play on “Elise Rainier” as “release rain” (“produce more melatonin to sustain my dream”).

      “Leveling” is concurrent with the transition from the imaginary kinaesthesia of floating into legitimate physicality without myoclonus. (There is probably an association of the balance between serotonin and melatonin).

      Jack Albertson’s role as this dream’s sleep simulacrum ties with several threads of dream state causality. Firstly, he remains in bed in the first scenes of “Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory.”

      Secondly, that association was recalled from me posting an image of Willie Talk (a ventriloquist dummy) on Twitter yesterday, a doll being the signification of the absence of mental and physical viability while sleeping.

      Thirdly, his visage is as Elise Rainier’s in a trance (yet another play on sleeping and dreaming).

      Fourthly, the fenced area signifies both the virtual division between dream space and the threshold of wakefulness and, in this case, is also indicative of how the physical body is restricted in its movement while sleeping.



      Everything in this dream stems from the same causation factors as the tens of thousands of other dreaming experiences I have studied and resolved daily for over 50 years. Even so, the uniqueness each time is surprisingly admirable.


      Categories
      lucid
    5. The New Design (and morphing / liminality modulation)

      by , 07-28-2020 at 11:12 AM
      Morning of July 28, 2020. Tuesday.

      Dream #: 19,580-02. Reading time (optimized): 2 min 30 sec.



      I am dreaming in an instinctual mode that transitions to moderate liminal modifications that define my emergence from illusory dream perception to the threshold of wakefulness and precursory physicality. My waking-life identity is irrelevant and absent throughout this process.



      I am sitting on the couch in the living room of the Loomis Street house (unseen in waking life since February 1994). I have no recall of its history as my dream starts with a fanciful theme, with morphing content. The narrative initiates emerging physical awareness by first acknowledging and defining the immobility of my physical body while sleeping (a fundamental dreaming process).

      My dream’s narrative begins with the creation of miniature walls (about a foot in height) with the appearance of the front of a barn (the quantization of the virtual division between dream space and waking space), featuring a hayloft door and barn doors. An unfamiliar male character of about twenty years old had been creating them under the management of British actor Mark Sheppard (this dream’s sleep-wake manager) who remains a passive witness, as my dream self is initiating the waking transition in this instance.

      I instinctually continue the process by mentally creating a new version of the little wall. Its appearance differs from the original design only in that it features four miniaturized drawer spaces (without drawers), of equal size, beneath two adjacent doorways (where the barn doors had been). They are in two columns of two, and the feature matches the width of the barn’s entrance. A narrow column evenly divides the two doorways, directly above the division of the two drawer space tiers. (This feature instinctually acknowledges the compartmentalization of neural activity while in REM sleep, though with the anticipation of achieving consciousness.) Mark looks on as I feel cheerful about this more elaborate design.

      The modulatory process (co-occurrent with progressing towards wakefulness) continues with a change in the feature. The area where the drawer spaces were is magnified and isolated while the rest of my dream’s environment becomes undefined. I see two miniaturized gray boom gates that mirror each other, facing the center. This feature instinctually anticipates the exit point of the dream state. As a result, somatosensory dynamics initiate. I push down on the tip of the little boom gate on the right, and it springs back up (sleep atonia to myoclonus).

      My instinctual awareness of my immobility while sleeping (sleep atonia) integrates into the next change in the feature. Mark remains, but I do not look at him. The little boom gates transform as the area is now over twice the size as previously. They are now tonearms that face each other (similar to those of a 1950s record player).

      I become aware that there is motorized clockwork higher within this feature, though I wonder if the tonearm on the left is redundant or if it might interfere with the function of this device. I move the right tonearm in the manner of how I would use it when placing it on a record. The left tonearm only slightly moves on its own as I do this. Mark says he does not think there will be any problems with the new design.



      Even though this dream utilizes the usual processes, I found this particular sequence fascinating in its uniqueness and inventiveness.



      Factors not explained in the main entry:

      Hayloft door (quantized in the miniature wall): Instinctual anticipation of the vestibular system ambiguity as a result of being in REM sleep. A recent variation of this occurred in “Conspiratorial Murals (‘Tickle Me’ Influence),” where my dream self even made a vocal acknowledgment of the process.

      Tonearms: Correlation with liminally becoming aware of the physicality and potential mobility of my arms during the waking transition (sleep atonia to myoclonus).


    6. A Unique Military Operation

      by , 07-18-2020 at 07:07 AM
      Morning of July 18, 2020. Saturday.

      Dream #: 19,570-02. Reading time (optimized): 2 min.



      My waking-life identity is absent throughout this dreaming experience. My dream’s backstory emerges as an atypical narrative where I am pretending to be a high-ranking military officer. I have an unfamiliar younger male partner who is working with me. Even so, the outcome is to result in delivering something to a genuine naval ship or a high-ranking officer.

      The narrative otherwise firstly links as a precursory factor to the usual instinctual summoning of imaginary kinaesthesia to vivify the dream state. In this case, the vehicle resembles a WWI US Standard B Liberty Army Truck, though with the driver’s side on the right. My partner and I are trying to convince an unknown civilian male to give us items from a research laboratory that relate to recent discoveries in molecular biology. He is uncertain if we are legitimate but decides to cooperate with us. He wants to ride with us as well, reflecting that he hoped he had put his trust in the right people.

      My partner drives the truck as my dream vivifies, and night becomes day. The streets and high embankments are all white sand as we travel. At one point, the vehicle goes onto a small wooden raft, and it simultaneously takes us across a river as if the momentum of the truck put it in motion. We travel around for a few minutes on a battleship that has areas that make it appear more like a cargo ship.

      The three of us stand outside a military base. A general walks out to greet us, and I salute him. He seems to recognize my partner and me but greets me as a “French pig.” I do not take it as an insult, but I am puzzled because I am supposed to be an American officer. The man we brought here does not seem to notice this contradiction. A private appears and will lead us to where we are to give what the other man took from the small town laboratory to the general.

      My dream vivifies as imaginary kinaesthesia and physicality exponentially increase when I focus on my walking I try to maintain as a formal swagger.

      We sit on what seems to be part of a dock. The general sits down farthest from the water’s edge. An unknown woman is nearby, and I consider I should show my identification. I intend to hold up my badge, but instead, hold my left hand up in a C shape as if holding an invisible one, as my summoning did not work. She does not say anything but appears slightly puzzled.

      We give the general the item. It is a resealable sandwich bag containing chocolate chip cookies. After he eats one, he takes notice of one that is bigger and of a lighter color than the others. Baked within it is microfilm. He holds it up to the light and studies one section of exposed microfilm in a thinner area of the cookie. “This is what I expected,” he says, and thanks us.


      Categories
      non-lucid
    7. Solid Tin Coyote vs. Imperial Walkers

      by , 06-18-2020 at 12:32 PM
      Night of June 17, 2020. Wednesday.

      Dream #: 19,539-14. Reading time (optimized): 2 min 30 sec.



      Before deliberately letting go of my conscious awareness and recognition of being in the dream state (see note one below), I watch the typical rapid morphing of surreal imagery until it begins to slow into something with which I can integrate. I become aware of an audio snippet from “The Solid Tin Coyote” that accompanied the scene where it is striding. (It is a very familiar and nostalgic sound going back to age five when I first saw it in a drive-in theater with my sister Marilyn and her husband.)

      I focus on the imaginary sound, and this results in a vivid vestibular response of being the solid tin coyote. However, during my dream, my viewpoint changes. At times, I am the solid tin coyote, cheerfully striding through a field. At other times, I am inside its head at a panel reminiscent of an aircraft. Additionally, I am sometimes watching it from an incorporeal perspective.

      Soon, Imperial Walkers (AT-AT walkers) from the “Star Wars” franchise appear on each side. They are slightly shorter than the solid tin coyote. As the solid tin coyote, I happily push them over and avoid their attacks.

      Eventually, when cerebral cortex nuances rise above vestibular cortex nuances (that is, thought cohesiveness beginning to overtake the imaginary physicality of the dream state because of higher liminality and more predominant duality), a Boston Dynamics robot dog struts into the scene from the opposite direction. “Mind your social distancing,” it says in a strange synthetic voice, yet while walking even closer to my solid tin coyote form.

      “Here’s your social distancing,” I say, and kick the Boston Dynamics robot dog over a pole vault bar about a city block’s distance away.

      After this, vestibular dynamics rise above cerebral, resulting in seeing a herd of zebras running to the horizon. (See note two.)



      It is important to emphasize that this is my first liminal to instinctual dream where a pandemic term was perceived, though it still did not trigger any dream state recall of the pandemic itself.



      Note one: In contrast to “becoming lucid” while dreaming (though I have always been spontaneously lucid in the first half of a sleep cycle since I was a toddler, a fact that most people can neither seem to comprehend nor accept), I often utilize the opposite technique. After building a foundation of repeated specialized affirmations (though I never post more definitively scripted dreams online), I deliberately release my conscious presence, so my dream becomes instinctual (without conscious bias, allowing my dream’s narrative to render naturally), which is more intriguing and unique than by way of liminal modulation. (This term includes the sustaining of the duality and knowledge of causal factors between dream space and waking space.) It is overwhelmingly evident that most people lack any understanding of the dream state or its processes, but I try to write as clearly and as honestly as I can. I use specialized software to utilize as low a grade level (concerning readability) as possible for the content, making multiple passes. Despite my AI-reported performance, typically 100% (correctness, clarity, engagement, and delivery), that does not guarantee that my writing is entirely free of errors or ambiguity.

      Note two: Anything in my dream resulting from vestibular-cerebral handshakes and their instinctual, liminal, or lucid management, for example, a car, horse, robot, and so on, vary with which cortex is concurrently most active.

      Robots correlate more with cerebral cortex integration (and my liminal awareness that the physicality of the dream state is wholly imaginary). Physical forms such as animals (in this case, the zebras) correlate more with vestibular-cerebral passivity as I release my hold on liminality. I have experienced these results in thousands of my dreams since childhood, so there is no mystery as to their causal factors.


    8. Reluctant Sorcerer

      by , 06-13-2020 at 12:54 PM
      Morning of June 13, 2020. Saturday.

      Dream #: 19,535-03. Reading time: 2 min 56 sec.



      Although parts of this dream have influences from coronavirus associations as read in the media in waking life, there is, as usual, no dream self recall or concern about the pandemic, only three compartmentalized threads unlinked in my dreaming experience. The first is a reference to someone having a sore throat, the second relating to the claim I read in an article that bugs in a dream are “symbolic” of COVID-19 (and yet people have always dreamt of bugs long before this), and the third relating to stores being abandoned and boarded up (associated with media reports about rioting and looting as well as COVID-19).

      My dream self is a sorcerer in this imaginary scenario. My waking-life identity is absent even though I am in what is possibly a variation of the Hinkler Centre shopping mall though it also has the vague, ambiguous essence of my middle school and a shopping mall in La Crosse. An unfamiliar man and woman approach me. The man claims he got a sore throat from me. I tell him, “I never had a sore throat in my life.” (My dream self has no recall of ever having one, anyway.) I had supposedly been in service to them as a sorcerer, though I am unsure as to what he had wanted from me. He reminds me by giving me a card (about one and a half times bigger than a business card) that supposedly has their requests on it, though I do not read it.

      Even so, I am annoyed. I do not want to deal with these people, so I summon scarab beetles in their direction, though only a few crawl towards them. (This event is similar to one in a dream from April 14, 2020, though that was with comedic, sarcastic intent with ants.) I decide to leave the scene, now recalling I should be wearing different clothes (instinctual awareness of being undressed as I sleep).

      I walk out to the parking lot (liminality management) and notice most of the windows of the shopping mall are boarded up (another type of dream state liminality management, though with a more defined division between dream space and wakefulness). I want to get something from a store. I eventually find one store at the other end up the shopping mall that is not boarded up and is open. It is a grocery store with many shoppers. After I go in, I look around and realize I am not here to buy anything but to retrieve my clothes. (It makes no sense other than as specific co-occurrence with preparing to wake by being near a checkout with the association of getting dressed after getting out of bed. Once dreams are understood for what they are, there is no doubt as to their translation.)

      Instead of waking with this otherwise familiar process, my dream becomes exponentially more vivid. The vestibular-cerebral handshake kicks in to an extreme degree, and I find that I seem to be a young boy scout (and dressed the part, including with khaki shorts) even though I also have the recall I had been a sorcerer in the previous transition. Three men tower over me like giants, though I do not feel threatened or insecure. They are going on a fishing trip and are waiting for the man I wanted to avoid in the first dream segment. He eventually arrives and is huge. However, I summon a fireball and disintegrate him. The other “giants” do not seem to care and behave as if they are glad to be rid of him.

      Even so, I decide to instinctually initiate the next process. I turn and walk through the wall of a nearby building into a dark bedroom. However, one of the men from the previous scenario walks in, though he is now normal size, as I am. He is thankful for me getting rid of the other man but patronizes me by giving me a card addressing what he wants from me by way of sorcery. Soon, another man comes in and also gives me a card with his requests.

      I am then on the porch of my present home (liminality management) and wonder if I should wait for the third man to approach me in case he also has a card. Even so, I begin to feel that my dream is too ridiculous to continue, so I wake myself.


    9. The Interview in Antissa, with Sun Spiders

      by , 06-13-2020 at 11:25 AM
      Morning of June 13, 2020. Saturday.

      Dream #: 19,535-07. Reading time (optimized): 2 min.



      My dream self maintains the instinctual awareness I am dreaming (after dropping back from post-liminal mode to pre-liminal) by becoming more aware while sitting in a bed near the ocean (potential reinduction). There is the typical indoor-outdoor ambiguity, with my bed in this instance being near a harbor in Antissa, Lesbos, though the setting does not have a more discernible definition.

      My waking-life identity is absent. I am listening to an operatic aria (fictitious, I assume) sung by Luciano Pavarotti about Antissa. (I do not listen to opera in waking life.) I am unsure of the source of the music, but it is probably from a cassette (as my dream self has no recall of what a CD is).

      The sleep-wake manager eventually appears as an unknown male, but he is in passive mode (non-RAS; non-cerebral.) I sit down and watch him create a painting. It features a black oval as a scene of outer space. (This feature represents a higher level of sleep atonia, which may be why somatosensory kicks in as the trigger in the last scene rather than a vestibular event.) There are sparse red and blue ovular arcs around the “egg.” I absentmindedly add a blue ovular arc to the image’s right side with a felt-tip pen. Almost immediately, I feel as if I may have been intrusive in doing this. I start praising his art, focusing the most on the outer space rendering within the oval. He does not seem angry or annoyed.

      A reporter approaches and wants to interview the unknown artist. There is still indoor-outdoor ambiguity, though the setting has more outside dynamics at this point. The two men stand and face each other, about ten feet away from me. The reporter says he is interviewing “the aggressor.” I am puzzled by this and state that he is not an “aggressor,” though I do not know his history. I hope I did not embarrass him by saying this.

      Soon, a sun spider (camel spider), as long as the reporter’s head, crawls around from behind his head and covers his right ear. I am amused, as neither man seems to know it is there. Another sun spider of about the same size as the first crawls from behind the reporter’s head but goes around to the other man’s right ear. The man ignores it despite being aware of it. There is no sense of a threat, as my dream self considers them harmless. I wake at this point with a sense of great amusement.



      A vestibular-cerebral handshake did not occur as the waking process in this instance (as the result of greater sleep atonia but with a directive toward hand myoclonus), so it was somatosensory in this case. In other words, I sleep on my left side, with my right ear more exposed to my waking-life environment. The somatosensory focus was liminally drawn to that factor, especially as a spider often represents the human hand and its somatosensory arousal (though a sun spider is not a true spider).


      Categories
      non-lucid
    10. Commanding a Trailer to the Enchanted Forest

      by , 06-09-2020 at 07:26 AM
      Morning of June 9, 2020. Tuesday.

      Dream #: 19,531-02. Reading time (optimized) 3 min.



      My dream begins with indoor-outdoor ambiguity. Although I am in an unidentifiable rural park in Wisconsin before dawn, I am first near a wall that holds the essence of a room when my dream self becomes aware. I am listening to a vinyl LP with my thoughts being that I can change the wording of the spoken audio, which seems to be a business missive. It is as if I am editing and clarifying the implied text with my mind even though it is on a 33 1/3rd rpm record. At one point, I see the individual words on small movable virtual cutouts that I can rearrange on the record’s surface.

      I go to a small teardrop camper caravan a short distance away. (It is similar to the image, but its door faces the trailer hitch, and there are two sliding windows on each side.) I want to lie down inside it to rest, but I have to move several clusters of full beer cans that are on plastic yokes. (I have hardly ever drunk beer in my lifetime.) I eventually clear an area through the middle where my body fits, my head at the back. I open a sliding window a short distance, pulling it to the left, above my left, and appreciate the coolness of the fresh air flowing through the screen.

      Eventually, the little caravan starts moving. It is daylight now. Looking through the doorway, I see my brother-in-law Bob and my sister Marilyn in the front seat of a car that is pulling the trailer. (They are both deceased, but my dream self does not remember that.) Marilyn looks at Bob (who is driving), telling him that he forgot to unhitch the trailer, and she acknowledges me by looking back. Even so, he continues to drive to the Loomis Street house. I vividly feel the movement, especially as the car goes up a ramp to an overpass. When he drives near three semi-trailer trucks (on the right) that are emitting black smoke, I unhitch the trailer with bodily movement and mentally “drive” it down a different street, now while sitting up in its center. I consider this is legal, as there is a license plate at the back. Even though the caravan only has one pair of wheels, I successfully “drive” it to the Enchanted Forest (a fictitious recurring location in my dreams since childhood, though always different).

      I follow a boy down a hallway that opens into one section of the forest that is now part of a resort. There is an enclosed area with small monkeys and an eohippus (miniature prehistoric horse) here and there. One eohippus is lying on its left side (as I am in reality). I wonder if it is alive. The monkeys are only about eight inches tall. I pet a few of them.

      I instinctually vivify and sustain my dream by walking on the fence of the enclosure (a dream enhancement routine since childhood), increasing vestibular-cerebral perceptual integration. I look down to my left at a car with its doors open, wondering if the people think I am intruding upon their privacy. After I practice balancing for a few minutes, I jump back down into the animal enclosure.

      I discuss the Enchanted Forest with Locke, Sawyer, and Jack from the “Lost” television series. I describe a false memory regarding Jack driving me through an area of the region, which took a couple of days, being that it was of a different dimension that the rest of the resort. I tell them that one section is infinite.

      I call them over to look at a beautiful lake after going into “another world” through a door. We gaze at the extraordinary beauty. Several tourists are around, also appreciating the sight. I see a few small fish below the surface of the water and try to perceive more. The vividness and detail are unfathomable.

      After several minutes of appreciation, my dream begins to transition again to an instinctual awareness of my body being horizontal in bed, as well as a need to initiate waking (for me to get up and use the bathroom). As a result, I try to open a couple of bathroom doors, but Locke yells about needing to elude someone. It is Rowena King from “Emergence.” We all rapidly crawl on our bellies as does she, though she remains about ten feet behind us. We all crawl quickly on white sand underneath the underside of an unfinished building’s floor as I wake.


    11. Frank N. Stein

      by , 06-01-2020 at 04:16 PM
      Morning of February 9, 1971. Tuesday.

      Dream #: 1,513-02. Reading time (optimized): 1 min.



      I am at West Elementary School in Arcadia and walking to the building from the playground. I see lightning inside the main school building in the western area when looking north. Although it is a sunny morning, it is dark and stormy inside the classroom, though I do not see any of my schoolmates or teachers, only what appears to be a crude version of Doctor Frankenstein’s laboratory.

      Later, I am sitting in a taxi in the back seat on the left-hand side. The driver turns around and reveals himself to be Frankenstein’s monster. His name is Frank N. Stein, which I read on a card above the steering wheel, to its left. Nothing frightening happens. It seems more like a puzzling comedic event. The narrative is ambiguous, as even though I am getting a taxi home, the school day has not started yet.



      Now I ask for reasonable intelligence to understand how to decode this dream. Frankenstein’s monster awakened by way of electricity that could also be analogous to neuronal energy. It represents my own waking process and nothing more. The ambiguity of the narrative also correlates with the realization that I am not starting the school day because I am asleep.



      My dream’s influence was probably from Shock Armstrong, the late-night television horror host of “Shock Theatre” from Channel 13 in Tampa, Florida (from 1964-1968). (There was a similar scenario I saw in a humor magazine later in my life; a gag about the ID not looking like the driver).




    12. Dream Journal Paradigm 2020, i, fire and more

      by , 06-01-2020 at 09:39 AM
      Afternoon of May 24, 2020. Sunday.

      Reading time (optimized): 4 min.



      Fire, lightning, electricity, wiring, circuits, lasers, candles, lightbulbs, flashlights, headlights, sunbeams, and the sun are fundamental characteristic features of the cortical arousal of the waking process and represent the increase of neuronal energy and the emergence of consciousness for anyone who legitimately understands the dream state.

      Although the same transitions occur every sleep cycle, they stabilize with uniqueness in vivid liminal sleep-wake management. Here, I will include the modulatory factor in the upper case, a description of the relevant dream content, and the ultradian implication (with virtual or literal melatonin or serotonin mediation). My goal is to find correlations I had not previously noticed (to develop more clarity of mind, though, as there are more than 20,000 examples of this form of dream state management, it is not feasible to include more variables at this time. I may study them in pairs of variables at a later date, though I have found all major statistical curves and causal factors for most dream content over 50 years.)

      Before I describe the many unique and intriguing versions of this process, I will begin with including my lifelong activity of pulling myself out of undefined liminal space (that has no imagery and seems integrated with enigmatic space) by summoning an unseen candle, perceiving my emerging consciousness as a candle flame. When this happens as a result of sleep apnea (though which is rare), and no vestibular-cerebral handshake (viable body-mind agreement), it is the only type of dreaming experience where I feel genuine fear. Variations of it are rare. One variation occurred in December of 1969. In addition to sustaining my consciousness as the essence of a candle flame, I also absentmindedly summoned an unseen dragon that roared and breathed fire. (Undefined liminal space never contains imagery. Also, the duality as a result of being between dreaming space and waking space is far less in this state. That is likely what causes a sense of dread.)

      19690519. FIRE. Toby and I rescue Brenda from her burning house, though it is erroneously on the school grounds. Dark, before dawn. (Includes audio near the waking point: “You boys are wonderful!”)

      19710209. LIGHTNING. Frankenstein’s monster is the driver of a taxi I get into (though I do not notice until I am sitting in it in the back seat, left side). I see lightning flashing only inside the school in the early morning on a clear day. There is a sense of amusement rather than a threat. As a school is associated with learning, the lightning represents potential wakefulness and is analogous to the monster rising from his bed. The taxi is analogous with my physical body, of which I do not yet have control, as I am asleep in reality. Otherwise, summoning vehicles as I often do, is more about increasing my imaginary physicality to enhance and sustain the dream state.

      19710516. LIGHTNING and FIRE. A bolt of lightning comes down and strikes a church belfry in the distance, setting it afire, while I am on the otherwise empty school grounds with my mother. Dark, before dawn. (Includes audio: I say, "It’s not my fault” to my mother.) It is essentially a visual and visually exaggerated version of the candle-lighting process.

      19740127. SPARKS and FIRE. I am at my middle school with my GI Joe jeep, though it is erroneously a remote control toy (confused with my remote control orange Volkswagon). Low lighting in the cafeteria. At first, I seem to be operating it, but the narrative changes. Sparks and fire begin near the gas pedal when it stops, but it does not spread. A moving vehicle (analogous to the body) typically represents the anticipation of a vestibular-cerebral handshake, and I often summon vehicles in all modes of dreaming. The fire near the gas pedal anticipates atonia to myoclonus, which is often a spontaneous leg kick with waking.

      19791106. FIRE. In a parking lot (management of liminality during an absent vestibular-cerebral handshake), I see a car erupt into flames as its unknown owner enters it (though I feel no emotion or sense of dread). Curiously, as a result, the car reveals what looks like an oversized human ribcage that had been its top and sides. Nighttime, low light. It is a direct validation that a vehicle is analogous to the human body.

      19820905. ANTHROPOMORPHIC LIGHTNING (ELECTRICITY). Early morning setting. An imp, about a foot tall, lives inside the kitchen cabinet under the sink. He seems to be made of electricity, though he maintains a sketchy human form and monitors the plumbing (seemingly with the pipe missing). Although he seems mischievous, I do not feel threatened. Later, I see Earl in the back of a car in a parking lot (liminal space management). He is instead the disabled man from a real advertisement in which he had said, “I’m a little tired. I’m alright though,” when rising from the water in an Olympic-size pool. It ties in with how the “electric imp” was a simulacrum of melatonin mediation. (The clue is the statement “I’m a little tired,” though unspoken in the dream, meaning I am sleeping, as water signifies the dream state’s dynamics.)

      19901209 FIRE. I see the front-left heating element on the stove catch fire for no discernible reason in the otherwise dark Loomis Street kitchen. I feel no sense of threat. (Audio: An unknown girl exclaims “Fire!”) This variation of the candle flame summoning has an association with the area underneath the stove element as a virtual portal deeper into dream space.

      20160222. CANDLE FLAME. I summon a giant candle to undo the magic of a male cult leader. (Audio: “…and now a golden candle, taller than me, appears here.”) (My dream was extremely long with a complex narrative.)



      I include these detailed explanatory factors with each relevant series about my fundamental dreaming habits and their inherent dream-based meanings, so I can remove the more extensive redundancies from past entries (on my two main online dream journals), and keep this introductory page as a public reference for future entries.


    13. Of One of Four Dolls

      by , 05-28-2020 at 10:15 AM
      Of One of Four Dolls

      Morning of May 28, 2020. Thursday.

      Dream #: 19,519-02. Reading time (optimized): 3 min 30 sec.



      My dream’s initial setting is a unique variation of our current home (with much of my waking-life identity viably modeled), but the focus is mainly on a distortion of the second house from ours. (That house has been empty for a long time in waking life.) Zsuzsanna and I are going to go and look at the inside of the house. I remember it is smaller than ours, but in my dream, it is unrealistically inadequate at first. However, in the final scenario, the setting is a mostly empty lounge room that is bigger than our lounge room.

      When I am in the house in its lounge room (before it transitions to its larger size), I consider how the back room, as the house only seems to have two, has walls covered with an unusual dark material. It is somewhat like pairs of insect wings evenly and vertically covering all of the walls, additionally reminiscent of fish scales. It seems to be a result of the room being unused for so long, giving the impression of unsuitability for a potential tenant.

      I eventually notice four dolls standing in a row. Each is about a foot high. I focus my attention on one that represents a girl wearing roller skates. This precursor to the vestibular-cerebral handshake (the fundamental waking process to alert the sleeping mind to comprehend physical awareness to move and rise from bed) exponentially vivifies my dream, as is usually the case, even when witnessed rather than inherited.

      Although the doll can stand on its own, it seems to be somewhat rickety at first. There is a button below its chest that will activate it. When I press and rub it, the doll continues to quiver (which results in a vestibular-somatosensory-cerebral handshake, vivifying my dream to the next stage) but soon rolls away, moving in an arc.

      My auditory cortex becomes active as the final dynamic of the cortical handshake. The doll vividly speaks in a young female voice as it circles the room. “Ooh, I am moving. Ooh, what’s that? Ooh, it’s a box.” The doll bumps into an empty cardboard box that matches its height, though immediately turns, rolls a short distance, and bumps into another one opposite the first.



      I awake with a slightly shaky feeling from being overheated.

      Most dream content (excluding liminal and enigmatic integration as well as modulation by my conscious self identity) is always a unique rendering of the same waking processes, simple as that, that is, imaginary compensation for the vestibular-cerebral handshake (and as here, additional somatosensory cortex and auditory cortex activity). Ever since I was a child, it has remained mind-boggling that I have rarely seen anyone comprehend this no matter how clearly it has been explained and validated thousands of times since I first wrote extensively about dreams at age eight.



      I will present here another rundown on this in my 5,100th Internet entry.

      Dream content is fundamentally co-occurrent with the dream state. As explained many times before, “Similarly, he (Herbert Silberer) has shown that the conclusions of some dreams or some divisions in their content merely signify the dreamer’s own perception of his sleeping and waking…in persons who are gifted philosophically and accustomed to introspection it may become very evident.”



      It should be self-evident that the shaky doll was a simulacrum of my emerging awareness of my physicality that needed addressing. It was upright and on roller skates (in contrast to my concurrent physical status), with similarity to my “Annabelle” dreaming experience from March 4, 2020. In that instance, the doll was bigger. Additionally, I decided to wear roller skates to enjoy the vestibular experience.



      Now, some clarification to wrap it all up.

      Why was the activation button below the doll’s chest? It was because of co-occurrence with my mild indigestion, where I typically press on or rub the same area for some relief.

      Why was the doll on roller skates? This feature is the result of vestibular cortex activity that has not quite correlated with the emergence of my physical status during REM sleep (the same factor that causes sleep starts, in other words, the transition of atonia to myoclonus).

      What is with the empty cardboard boxes? They are concurrent with the absence of full cortical integration, as virtual walls always are in the dream state, and ultimately with every other factor of liminal modulation. (For example, one person told me how he crashes through a wall to wake himself, though I often use a virtual door, and one of my more vivid early childhood dreams ended with a bull crashing through a wall. There is no need to pretend it “means” something else.)

      What about the small room in the back with peculiar walls? I just explained what “walls” are, but the pairs of insect wings are more about a potential increase in neural energy. Their dormancy correlates with the absence of a cortical handshake and no anticipated myoclonus at that point.

      Why was the doll female? I am more likely to associate a doll with feminine attributes, even though it is an analogy of how my body does not move while sleeping. However, I have not done the thousands of correlations needed to confirm that vestibular simulacrums are more often female than male.


      Updated 05-28-2020 at 10:40 AM by 1390

      Categories
      non-lucid
    14. Jackie Gleason in Stormland

      by , 05-26-2020 at 12:01 PM
      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.



      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.)


    15. Naiad Overdrive

      by , 05-22-2020 at 10:28 AM
      Morning of May 22, 2020. Friday.

      Dream #: 19,513-02. Reading time: 1 min 50 sec.



      In instinctual dreaming mode, though not long after a lucid transition and cessation, I am in an unknown second-floor apartment that has the erroneous implication of being where we presently live. Five cardboard boxes are adjacent to one wall. They contain belongings of an unfamiliar woman Zsuzsanna knows, but since we are supposedly moving, we will remove her possessions first.

      When the unfamiliar male removalist arrives (as a typical passive sleep-wake manager), I help him put the boxes into the back of his van even though they are not very big. I arrange them in two stacks of three and two, which is interesting, as, although the boxes change size and shape (regarding height and width contrast) several times, the number of them does not change, which suggests cognizance is becoming active.

      I talk with him about having worked on a garbage route, and he expresses amusement in how I describe walking in a landfill and the ground giving way when empty cardboard boxes are just beneath the surface. What I am describing is an analogy of losing consciousness when falling asleep as well as not having lucidity, and as a result, instinctual reinduction jumps to a pre-liminal focus.

      I am in the apartment again. I have four galvanized metal washtubs filled with water and sitting on the floor. I pick a water lily off a plant from another area and put it on the water’s surface. It sinks slightly, and I wonder if too much organic material is missing for it to grow. I put another blossom on the surface of the water in the second washtub. Eventually, I see what looks like seaweed swirling in the water. A girl (Naiad) emerges from each washtub.

      I have a cylindrical segment of a big branch (or small log) with a carved recess of a scene that features a miniature house and yard. I put this in the fourth washtub after putting an oversized jeweled Easter egg in the third. Two additional Naiads emerge, one seemingly the leader. All of them are wearing white gowns.

      The Naiad leader stands close to me and eventually starts talking about a human male she once knew. I see a depiction on a small viewscreen floating in the air, showing their history, the speed of which seems accelerated. A red letter x appears and vanishes on each of her cheeks (in the video) numerous times, indicating where he kissed her.



      Although a letter x supposedly means a kiss (what I have heard much of my life), there is also the contradicting claim that letter o means a kiss (as puckering lips), not letter x, and that an x represents two people hugging. It can also mean a sworn oath and has ties to Christianity in the Middle Ages.


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