Morning of November 27, 2019. Wednesday. Dream #: 19,336-02. Reading time (optimized): 1 min. In this dream, Zsuzsanna and I are living in the Cubitis house (a one-floor single-family home) in Florida, though the layout is different. There is a storm approaching from the west. When I look outside, I see it is night. A few equidistant rows of tornadoes are coming down on the other side of the highway, directly above the orange grove. Nothing happens, as they disappear before reaching the front yard. I go around the side of the house that now features the south side of the Loomis Street house (a two-storey residence for two families) in Wisconsin (which is facing north, the opposite direction it should be by compass direction in respect to its integration with the Cubitis house in this new amalgam). People I do not know are living here. I tell them how the tornadoes disappeared after crossing to our side of the highway. Later, I am standing in the front yard, looking up. The entire sky looks like a giant motherboard, though there are pairs of what look like satellite dishes and observatories (directed downward). I am puzzled and start to think about how people could have made something so big and so high, and I have a vague wariness about its architectural stability, though I am mostly unconcerned. The Cubitis house now seems like a skyscraper (holding up part of the motherboard sky) and where an orange grove should be is another high building holding it up on the other side, though most of it is expansive.
Morning of November 23, 2019. Saturday. Dream #: 19,332-03. Optimized 1 minute read. I maintain my metacognitive awareness of sleeping and dreaming. My dream self holds the awareness of being in bed at our present address with my memory of my current waking life. However, the details of my environment are incorrect (to prevent associating my dream with real life). I am on my back (though in reality, only my head is upward as I am otherwise sleeping more on my left side). Zsuzsanna is in our kitchen. I see blue sky through our roof. Our landlord had removed a small square section from it (which would not be possible as a few large sheets of metal serve as our sloped roof that also has a ceiling under it). I catch a glimpse of his face, but he does not regard me. I do not perceive it as an intrusion. After a short time, the area is as it was. Variations of this “looking in” narrative have occurred in all sleep cycles since childhood, though it occurs more often with the personification of potential wakefulness associated with a window or a door. I honestly cannot believe some people think this type of content has to have a waking-life “interpretation” each time. I typically perceive this personification of anticipated wakefulness as more intrusive in my final dreaming experience of a sleep cycle. My metacognitive awareness of my need to eventually wake is most predominant at this time. For people (such as so-called “dream experts”) who cannot comprehend such a self-evident process, I have no words.
Morning of November 21, 2019. Thursday. Dream #: 19,330-02. Reading time (optimized): 2 min. In coming out of slow-wave sleep into REM sleep, cortical arousal is slower (the weather getting hotter), so an Indonesian man (with a barely discernible ghostlike companion) in a small cage on wheels in a desert setting is the result, defining how the mind-body connection and the freedom of physical movement is absent during sleep. My instinctual self, no longer ghostlike, develops into a separate character on a concrete path near an unknown building. I think I might be in Africa or India. Gradually, despite not recalling much of my waking-life identity, I become vaguely aware I am in Australia. However, the presence of mines makes this a questionable factor, as the idea of a minefield in Australia seems unlikely. (This incidental association is a distortion of Zsuzsanna and I watching “China Gate” from 1957.) Another Indonesian male as a result of emerging but divided preconscious dynamics appears. I assume I may be in Indonesia, though this remains uncertain. Despite the neurological authority of the preconscious simulacrum, I do what I want for the most part. I free the first man from his cage, increasing my imaginary proprioception. I then mentally erase all the mines so we can go where we want. There are other unknown males. Most of them are without homes. I decide I should make houses for them. Cognitive arousal initiates, though it remains incidental, despite it integrating with the usual wall mediation, and I tell them they can call me on an emergency number if they need to. I write it near the left side of a doorway at chest level. In reality, it is not a telephone number, but from an American address from many years ago. This typical dream state cognitive error stems from it being similar to the real-life emergency number of 911 in America, though in Australia it is 000. My dream self maintains instinctual threads up until near the end of my dream, with neither lucidity nor my waking-life identity ever being a factor. I mentally cause houses to emerge from the desert. The walls rise from the ground on each side into a vertical position (an obvious analogy to waking and standing), though I do not recall how the roof and other details manifest other than by appearing out of nowhere. The men I am helping soon become miners. Subliminal acceptance of my status of being asleep comes to the forefront again. The men are sleeping outside near a fence. (It is wall mediation again, though with slow vestibular correlation rather than cognitive as in the earlier event where I wrote the number). The preconscious personification is still present but passive as I talk to him about the men. It seems they had been at a party the night before and drank too much alcohol. One man is especially out of it and drank more than the others. At this point, I slowly wake. The last scene represents melatonin mediation. It is disrupted in hot weather and is associated with a need for more.
Early Evening of November 18, 2019. Monday. Dream #: 19,327-09. Reading time (optimized): 30 sec. In my lucid dream, my dream self is in a shopping mall in the main area, probably Hinkler Central. Green Lantern approaches and hands me a rough sketch of an Angry Bird. When I look at it, I wake with an intense but brief hypnopompic abdominal spasm. Despite my imaginary experience starting with lucidity, my instinctual modulation of vestibular system correlation (as a result of the lack of discernment of my physical body while in the dream state) resulted in transferring falling start anticipation and its dynamics, typically lighter and whole body, into jolting where instinctual modulation originates from, around my belly button. My dream’s content is otherwise incidental to the processes other than most often having flight associations despite this trigger being a static image.
Morning of November 13, 2019. Wednesday. Dream #: 19,322-02. Reading time (optimized): 2 min 30 sec. The gradual emergence of my instinctual self from slow-wave sleep into REM sleep carries the subliminal goal to achieve consciousness to get up to use the bathroom. My real-life identity is absent. The urge is not that pressing, so my dream self remains distracted within an imaginary realm, requiring considerable preconscious effort to arouse me from sleep due to warm weather. I had been swimming underwater in an unknown resort hotel to find a bathroom. During this time, an unfamiliar male is also in the underwater hall, swimming several feet behind me. Soon, a big catfish (though not much bigger than me) appears and eats the other male after bumping into him several times. I manage to get into the underwater bathroom and close the door behind me. I consider it might be better to use a different bathroom as I am uncertain if the toilet works. My dream self passively integrates with the precursory form of wall mediation (that modulates dream sleep into the waking process). The catfish is still outside the bathroom. It tries to eat me and keeps bumping into the door when I have it halfway open as well as striking my body. After a few minutes of battling the catfish, I swim out into the hall, and the catfish simultaneously swims into the bathroom, signifying escaping illusion to achieve wakefulness. I trap it inside by closing the door. My emerging proprioception (and vestibular system correlation) atypically decreases in the next scene (again, due to the warm weather), similar to the dynamics of a false awakening, where I typically tell someone about my previous dreaming experience, though it is part of the same dream in this case. While upstairs, I see several members of the public present in the lobby that is not underwater. I tell a male tourist (who is sitting on a couch) about the incident, as I do not see a hotel employee, though one soon arrives. He is unfamiliar and about thirty. I tell him in detail about the big catfish eating the other man. However, there is some uncertainty if the body would still be whole or if he would be in pieces, as I recall the catfish was not much bigger than me. I become aware of the existence of my youngest son as a thread of my real identity emerges as I grow closer to wakefulness. My dream’s fictitious backstory now includes my son being at the resort with me, and we both need to find a bathroom. However, I start to lose my sense of self by falling back into passive dream meandering, which results in the preconscious pulling me back into the waking process by creating a post-Naiad simulacrum to increase proprioception again. I realize, as the room grows darker and with decreasing detail with my dulling senses, I had been holding onto something with my right hand and cannot go any farther (or return to slow-wave sleep). It turns out to be the yellow elastic belt of an unfamiliar girl standing at the bottom of a staircase. (Yellow is the color that correlates with emerging consciousness because of its brightness and association with sunrise.) I walk back several feet as my dream vivifies as I once again grow closer to wakefulness. I look at the coil (vestibular system autosymbolism, specifically the cochlea) that covers the palm of my hand, though this is illogical as it implies her belt had an unrealistic amount of slack near the buckle. I apologize to her, making an unlikely excuse that I thought it was the baluster of the staircase I had been holding yet while continuing to walk. She remains cheerful. The stairs are my instinctual cue to wake (though I often use stairs to vivify a dream).
Morning of November 9, 2019. Saturday. Dream #: 19,318-01. Reading time: 45 sec. Bushfires are coming closer to our home, though my dream self does not attain the correct recall of where we live in reality. The location at times resembles a 3rd Street area of La Crosse (rather than anywhere in Australia). I walk through an unfamiliar alley where there are cylindrical metal garbage cans instead of the modern plastic wheelie bins. There are areas where I see only gray ash and smoke. For some reason, dump trucks are carrying big loads of ashes from different locations. (I see this instead of any firefighting.) I am not in danger at any point, but Coelophysis appear at times, running in random directions. The fire is so extensive that it is burning areas never seen by humans. It is from where these dinosaurs are coming (nonsensical dream “logic,” though it is similar to other dreams where deeper in a forest meant longer ago in history). A panda climbs out of the reach of one small fire. Lassie and his owner (a young boy) are looking around for people to help. A fishing boat is sitting in the mud, as the water had lowered.
Morning of November 9, 2019. Saturday. Dream #: 19,318-02. Reading time (optimized): 2 min 30 sec. In this dream, my waking-life identity is partly present. I recall the appearance of the rooms in our present house in Australia and remember the current status of Zsuzsanna and our children, but the rooms erroneously appear on the second floor of the King Street mansion in America (where I have not been since 1994). Zsuzsanna and I are moving a bed and couch back to make more space in the lounge room. I look east out the window over 10th Street and recall my landlady had died, so I consider we will not need to pay the rent we owe. Still, I am uncertain of the status of the house and who else lives here at this time. I falsely recall Leonard S is now living west of the house, about five blocks away. I go out into the hall, wondering if a college student “still” lives across from us. I accidentally bump a switch that turns a radio on. It is attached to the wall that faces the kitchen entrance and is somewhat like a thermostat. I hear static and part of a news announcement, but it is unclear. I try turning it off, but it remains on, so I try again, as I might have moved the wrong slide switch. I look out through a front window and see there is no porch downstairs, which I consider unusual and wonder when they removed it. I walk down the staircase and see the foyer area is different. It is all open now. Walking outside, I see Leonard S standing on a walkway between two deep culverts (a fictitious feature). There is a small tree with an unusual, curved trunk in each of them. They lean towards each other and resemble normal-sized bonsai trees. Their height matches the depth of the culverts. I wave at Leonard with my left hand. “How are ya?” I cheerfully ask. I consider it would be pleasant for him to meet my family for the first time. “What happened here?” I ask him as I point at the culverts. He does not replay. I look around and notice most of the first floor of the house is missing on the left side. It is held up by only a few timbers. I can see the underside of the floor of where I live with my family when I look up and become concerned. I did not expect this. “Looks like this will be my last day here,” I tell Leonard. He does not speak the whole time. I turn and walk back up the stairs. (It is fictitiously direct from the front entrance, without a landing.) I now notice most of the risers are missing, and other parts look splintered and broken. I consider we will have to move soon and wonder how we will get all the furniture out. I wake while halfway up the steps, even though my dream is vivifying (due to vestibular system correlation). I have written this many times, but after over 50 years, I continue to be fascinated by the incredible ways dreams scramble memory while simultaneously creating a false narrative yet while also correlating with dreaming and waking processes, often, as here, structured around vestibular system correlation and imaginary proprioception as a result of emerging awareness of physicality in waking, the main factor of dream content. Leonard is this dream’s vestibular witness. As well as my use of the staircase for proprioception and vestibular system correlation (the most common way I instinctually modulate this process), the culverts are also a factor. The two unusual trees in the culverts represent Zsuzsanna and me sleeping, so there is also evidence Leonard signifies transpersonal communication between Zsuzsanna and me as we sleep, especially as I consider them meeting.
Morning of November 8, 2019. Friday. Dream #: 19,317-02. Reading time (optimized): 1 min. I am sitting at a big counter in an unknown room. There is a mix of technology and ambiguous features. For example, a web page full of thumbnail images covers the left side as if it is a normal rendering, but I soon realize it is a set of small pockets on a sheet of thin plastic, each containing many slides. Each top slide represents a thumbnail image as is currently present on the real web page as on the Internet. The ones underneath are of images that no longer exist on the web page as on the Internet. I am happy to realize this. Beyond the front of my counter, an unknown woman walks by to my right. I tell her not to walk so close to my work area. She remains cheerful and moves away. At this point, it seems I am in a public building, but I know everything on the big counter is mine. I pick up a black-and-white sketch of Swamp Thing’s face (a DC comic book character). I walk into a room where Zsuzsanna is sitting at a desk. Also present, seated a few feet apart in chairs facing the desk, are two people. I hold up the drawing of Swamp Thing’s face, saying how weird it is. I now notice both “people” look like Swamp Thing. I hope I have not angered them. One is male, and one is female, the female on the left, closest to where I am standing. They do not seem angry.
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