Blue_Opossum

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.)

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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).

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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).

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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.)

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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.

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