Morning of July 26, 2018. Thursday. Reading time: 1 min 51 sec. Readability score: 71. My dream starts with a scenario involving what I think are people working for the EPA. I am present, though I am not originally a part of their group. Something happens to an unknown male. It involves a tree that had fallen on him. The background story changes. The leader (probably Andrew Wheeler) gives me the job of guarding the man who was injured (probably Scott Pruitt). I am to pretend to be a police officer during his hospital stay. I tell them that I do not have experience doing this. They say that they will give me the proper outfit. I am to stay in his hospital room until further notice. Later, I am wearing a turquoise uniform. I sit in a chair on the left side of his bed. He does not wake or move at any point. His head is at an odd angle, as his pillow elevates his neck but no other part of his body or head. It appears he might be uncomfortable (even though he is asleep), though I cannot be sure. An unfamiliar nurse tells me, “Well, it’s better to have indigestion than a broken neck.” As I sit there, I feel confident in my role. Eventually, however, an unknown male walks in, a police lieutenant of about sixty years of age. He stands across from me and talks to the nurse. Although I feel confident in my role, my non-lucid RAS mediation begins to waver. I start to realize that I might have been given an incorrect police uniform from another department. I also consider that he probably knows all of the officers in the area and eventually start to question who I am. Eventually, the RAS avatar responds to my silent subliminal commands and stares at me. “What are you up to here?” he says in his role as the police lieutenant. He brushes my uniform, and I notice some dust on a few areas of the jacket. I realize that he knows I am not one of his officers and not even wearing the correct uniform for this region. He does not tell any of the hospital staff that I am an imposter and does not even question me from here. He turns around and walks to the doorway. “You’re going to regret that,” I boldly call out after him. I start to tell him that I am “working undercover.” Then I realize, looking to my right, that the other man asleep in the bed is me, literally under the covers. It is virtually the opposite of a dream from yesterday, where transpersonal interconsciousness avatars were posing as female police officers, and I questioned them (except in that dream, “An Unwarranted Treasure Hunt,” more of my conscious self identity was present). How hilarious can it get?
Morning of July 26, 2018. Thursday. Reading time: 1 min 24 sec. Readability score: 66. I am driving an unfamiliar car. The driver’s side is on the left (implying America). Brenda is on the passenger side. There are no threads of my conscious self at this point. We are going north on Highway Seventeen (the original one). An outdoor seminar on dreaming is occurring in an area we pass to my right. Brenda cheerfully points and says, “Bobbleheads.” (This is what I call people who talk or write about dreams or their so-called meaning while having no understanding of the dream state.) Something about the scenario seems off, and I try to consider what it is. Brenda’s head is now slumping forward. Her head is Betty Boop’s. I wonder if she is a clockwork girl that has suddenly malfunctioned. For a moment, I consider I may get into trouble for stealing or taking advantage of a movie prop. Her forehead seems to have an electrical outlet (the American type). Glancing at Brenda (or Betty Boop) again later, I see her changing into different dream characters at the rate of about two per second, cycling through many diverse personas. Finally, “she” becomes George Harrison and continues to talk about Bobbleheads. We continue on our road trip with a cheerful disposition. We arrive at a music studio. George has a meeting with several music producers. Once in the room, however, it seems to be a class on economics. Going up to the front, where a chart on an easel displays an upward trend (a linear representation of the waking process), I see that all the students are equidistant identical ceramic chicks (yet still living entities), which turn their heads left to look at us. They chirp similar clouds of small triangles, circles, and squares, mostly of red, blue, green, and yellow, of which float about above their heads for short periods of time. They seem to be asking why most humans are unable to communicate with them. (This is emerging consciousness simulacra of which first occurred around age three. What wonderful nostalgia.) (Zsuzsanna and I were talking about “Route 66” yesterday, though she has never seen the show.)
Morning of July 26, 2018. Thursday. Reading time: 2 min 48 sec. Readability score: 56. In my dream, most of my current conscious self identity no longer exists. Only one identifiable thread remains for this excursion into the absence of self. I am about 15 years old again. My mother is alive and present at one point, but I am unaware of my father. (This is the typical absence of viable memory and “means” nothing. In other dreams, I remember my father and not my mother. It is because the dream self does not have viable access to the unconscious mind, contrary to popular misconception. The preconscious has limited access, but the dream self does not. Additionally, the preconscious always knows it is dreaming when the dream self does not, which is why RAS avatars and emerging consciousness simulacra are rendered in the last dream of a sleep cycle to initiate the waking process.) There is a thread of awareness that I am in bed asleep in reality, though this is a common factor of subliminal presence, not an indication of lucidity, as my dream self is not aware of being in the dream state. I am writing in my dream journal. As I write, I notice a gentle rain outside. My bed is in the northeast corner of the room, lengthwise to the north wall, the head oriented east. I see the orange grove beyond the carport, though the rendering is different from real life. I am looking through the open jalousie louvers of the carport door. (This setup is likely my subliminal awareness of a doorway representing a dream’s potential exit point, a typical form of reactive representation in the dream state since early childhood.) As I write, I vaguely recall that other people read my dream journal, but the recall is not full, that is, I do not remember that the Internet (or computers) exists. The thought about other readers is there, yet it does not trigger the emerging consciousness factor or RAS activation until later (and there is not a separate preconscious waking process in this dream, mostly because it is not the last dream of my sleep cycle). On one level, I am aware I am dreaming. On another level, my dream self does not hold this realization. This enigmatic state has been common to my dreams since early childhood and is not lucidity, but is one of many reasons why I know “interpretation” is not a valid concept. (Other than with factors such as literal prescience, I am aware of the processes that underlay experiences in REM sleep.) My dream self is perplexed by the recall of how anyone could believe in “interpretation.” (My dream self remains without recall of the Barnum effect as a factor of causation.) Even as a young child, I sometimes went into several pages of why dreams held the causes, meanings, and effects that they did. I was more sarcastic of disinformation agents and empty-headedness at age eight than in my tamer rants as an adult since my 2004 online presence (probably because my mother often shared invalid beliefs about dreams she heard from people in her time, though most of which I still see on the Internet to this day). As I am watching the rain and listening to its peaceful sound, I write in my journal, “When I am dreaming about rain, it means that I am dreaming about rain. You idiot.” (This is somewhat ironic, as I know water and its specific dynamics typically correlate with ultradian rhythm, the extent of muscular inactivity in sleep, and the dynamics of the glymphatic system. Still, this is in stark contrast to the asinine rubbish that “water represents emotions.” Additionally, even from when I was a toddler, I have always used the essence of water to reinduce the dream state as with its usage as such on virtually countless commercial recordings.) This dream mainly came about in response to the typical infuriating nonsense people sometimes leave on my posts on one site (as the site does not have the option to delete or block comments, so I remove the entry and repost it). It is unfeasible for me to post the same extensive paragraphs of information about RAS mediation each time as explanatory notes for a particular dream.
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