Blue_Opossum

Morning of August 29, 2016. Monday.



My wife Zsuzsanna and I are in bed, though I do not pick up on the fact that the orientation is quite different. Beyond my feet (I seem to be lying on my back) and not that far from our bed, I notice that three young men of about twenty years of age (possibly younger) had been looking at us through the mail slot on our front door (even though we have no mail slot and in fact I have never been in or lived in a house with this sort of layout).

The three males take turns looking at us, which is odd because I think they might also see through the window in the door (although this is not certain) unless they want to remain mostly out of sight. Since I am nude, I am therefore not embarrassed about any implication of having slept in my clothes (as in a few past dreams including a recent one), but I am very annoyed at these imposers.

I get out of our bed (without getting dressed) and get my large barbell (my weapon of choice in many dreams) and go to our front door (of a fictional appearance) and shove it through the mail slot to bonk one of them on the head and continue to strike whoever is within reach after mentioning something about this imposition to Zsuzsanna. (Discovering that unknown people, usually younger males, had been watching me as I sleep is a long-term recurring dream situation since early childhood, though usually non-threatening, and is a dream sign of residual subliminal memories carried over into sleep, which typically represent threads of my own conscious mind or in some cases an unexpected environmental noise. In this case, my conscious mind’s “intrusion” into the realm of my dream self is validated by the mail slot, which represents potential communication between non-lucid dream self and conscious self. Because I probably do not want to wake up yet, I subliminally “pretend” it is an intrusion by strangers, though in some cases there actually are real voices on the public footpath from outside our house when we are sleeping.)

The scene and setting very curiously shifts to one where Zsuzsanna and I are sitting in armchairs (now fully clothed) in an unknown mostly featureless room with the three unknown males who are sitting on wooden chairs. Three small dogs, possibly chihuahuas, are running around and are seemingly a mild threat though they do not come close enough to bite either of us. I push them away with the barbell and also bonk the males on the heads a few times even though they do not directly attack us. I do not really feel like hurting the dogs and we leave without incident.

Later, I am in the backyard of our present home on W Street. Zsuzsanna is sleeping on her left side in a grass cocoon (seemingly intricately woven of thin grass) very close to the west fence. I hear someone talking, probably walking south past our house, and wonder if they are going to bother us by looking through the gaps in our fence. Zsuzsanna looks beautiful. The grass cocoon covers almost every part of her with the appearance of a papoose, with only her face showing through an open oval area. There is a sense of love and peace.

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Morning of August 29, 2016. Monday.



My dream curiously starts out at the King Street boarding house (where I have not been since the early 1990s). I do have some memories of my present life status but it is distorted and also changes before my dream ends. I start mowing the lawn, but oddly, for whatever indeterminable reason, continue to mow all the way to the north side of La Crosse via the causeway through the marsh (though which is more like normal land in my dream). I may in fact be working for the street department as I did in real life, though that was mostly for Onalaska.

I feel very happy and satisfied as I somehow walk all that way, while mowing yet, without getting tired, even somehow casually mowing over some rather large bushes with thick trunks. I feel a bit helpful for others in the area in doing this. Strangely, without even considering it odd or impossible, I end up at the corner of Hamilton Road and Stadcor Street in Wavell Heights (Brisbane, Australia), instead of where I should be, that is, George Street and Sill Street (Wisconsin, America).

On this composite corner of the two locations, where we never lived in reality (though we did live on Stadcor Street farther down from Hamilton Road), there is another version of my family, though I am somewhat confused about it as I am also there (rather - “another me”). My “other” son Lorenzo, a child of the “other” us, is playing near the street. About four police officers are near our front entrance talking with the “other” us. Our house resembles a composite of our present home, the Stadcor Street house, and the Barolin Street house. They apparently had brought Lorenzo home after he had unknowingly wandered off. I start to mow “our” front yard, but the officers remind me that my job is to only mow the public areas.

From here, I mow along what is either Stadcor Street or Sill Street but which ends in an area similar in appearance to where it would have begun near the George Street turn off, not at the end of the street on the other side. The particular corner lot also seems rotated ninety degrees north to east as well as duplicated to the north. This puzzles me quite a bit even though my memory of the composite could not be right anyway (due to the fact it is a composite and not a real layout). I am not sure where I should continue from here, though it is not quite a dead-end, as there may be an intersection that would imply either Corowa Street or Wood Street (though which would imply Loomis Street is “missing”).

As I continue to try to only now work out where I am, I notice a large unlikely feature in the center of the empty lot which now seems to be a park. It looks just like an old mausoleum. This gives me a very eerie sense of mortality and I am soon wary about where I am. Still, I consider that it may not actually be a mausoleum, as why would there only be one in the center of a public park?

Looking more closely, I see a large clock face over what would otherwise be the entrance, which seems like a miniature version of Big Ben. This slowly convinces me that it may not be a mausoleum (as why would a large clock face block a mausoleum entrance) but perhaps meant as a city tribute of some kind. I am still in awe over the very eerie and ancient-looking feature and I do not go any farther. (I do not recall the time that was on the clock as I did not note it while in my dream. It may have indicated the real time, though this is not certain).