Blue_Opossum

Morning of January 14, 2019. Monday.

Dream #: 19,019-02. Reading time: 3 min 40 sec.



Most threads of the awareness of my identity remain in entering sleep, though my perception of what house I am in changes. I look at a knotty pine wall. It would be the north wall of the Cubitis living room (in Florida, not seen in real life since 1978), though I erroneously consider it as the north wall of the northeast bedroom of the Loomis Street house (in Wisconsin, unseen in real life since 1994), which it becomes later. Instead of correctly seeing this segment as a dream, I see it as an opportunity to enter the dream state consciously. I focus on separating the imaginary wall from the “real” version (which is also imaginary). There is double vision for a short time. A pack of cigarettes is somehow stuck sideways on the wall, from its back. I pull one out to the left from it with my hands that I can feel but not see, considering my invisible hands as my link to the dream state. It is working well as I hold my discernment. (I do not smoke in real life.) I can vividly feel the texture of the surfaces with my invisible hands.

Later, I am in my fictitious body in the northeast bedroom of the Loomis Street house. A sheet is in a lump on the bed, but I summon Zsuzsanna from beneath it. We indulge in lovemaking twice. After the second session, I absentmindedly decide she will become a vampire, but the transformation only lasts for about two seconds before the essence of the scenario returns to normal.

The preconscious manifests as an unknown male and seems to want me to leave the dream state. He sings a sarcastic song that includes obscenities and talks about what my encounter might symbolize.

“Dreams don’t have symbols as meaning anything in waking life, you stupid STUPID f—!” I say as loudly as I can. I continue to affirm my knowledge that dreams stem from dreaming processes and my perception of being asleep and are concurrent events that result from being in the dream state. “This is not my real body,” I say, “I am not conscious, I am asleep, and this is not my house. It is a dream, so SHUT UP and stop comparing it with real life, you idiot!”

The preconscious simulacrum sits on the window sill and looks sad and defeated (atypically passive behavior for reticular activating system personification), and my dream becomes astoundingly vivid as a result. I go to the porch to enhance my awareness even more. Using the porch to solidify the “bridge” of enigmatic space as I have done many times in past dreams, my dream becomes so vivid that I marvel at the detail and three-dimensionality. I decide to make fun of people who talk about “reality checks,” making my right hand claw-like and smashing my fingers against the front wall of the porch to the right of its door. It is as solid as a rock at this level of dream state awareness. “Reality checks are re-tar-da-tion,” I tap with each syllable, feeling very amused and satisfied.

As I stand on the north side of the porch, I watch my brother-in-law Bob walk out from inside his house, probably going out to his car. Marilyn (deceased in real life) also eventually walks out after him. I recall that she had died in real life. I talk to her briefly.

I look out at the street and suburban neighborhood. It seems to be late morning. “Oh, it’s all so beautiful,” I scream as loudly as I can. “You’re beautiful,” I scream at the sky. “You’re beautiful,” I scream at the bumpy, shiny surface of the street. “It’s beautiful,” I yell at least ten times. I continue to marvel at the detail. The more I scream, and the more emotion I use, the more vivid my dream becomes and the more it stabilizes. I look around in astonishment. There is an incredible sense of peace, security, and well-being.

I eventually choose to step outside from the porch door (a technique I have used since childhood), and my dream vivifies again. I cross the street and indulge in lovemaking with Zsuzsanna (from behind) for the third time as she leans forward against a wooden fence (not a real-life feature but a thread that divides enigmatic space). Other people are standing around.

Natural melatonin mediation becomes an emerging thread. As a result, I notice a shallow pond on my left in someone’s front yard. Vestibular system correlation begins to initialize, creating a line of cars approaching from my right, curiously on the big front lawns of the neighboring houses rather than the street. In an absentminded reinduction thread, the first car, about two-thirds the size of a real one, flies through the air and crashes into the pond. I find it very amusing and anticipate the next one. Bob and Marilyn and a few other people look on. The second car flies through the air and crashes into the pond.

The second car rises vertically from the pond and walks toward me, its underside facing me. “C'mon, you need to wake up now, your body’s gotta p-ss,” it says in a hoarse electronic voice. It grows stubby metal arms in an attempt to beat me up. I swing my right fist around at it and effortlessly knock it back into the pond.

Even so, I move my right leg over the bottom horizontal bar of the wooden fence to wake myself instantly.

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