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    Blue_Opossum

    From a Boat Trip to an Unsolved Kidnapping

    by , 05-27-2018 at 09:47 AM (75 Views)
    Morning of May 27, 2018. Sunday.



    Typical RAS modulation autosymbolism was going strong in this non-lucid dream but still did not activate the waking process, so I slept a couple hours longer than I usually do (even though Zsuzsanna and our children were up and in the lounge room with the television on at one point). If I cannot rely on RAS to wake me at a certain time with unique dream content (which is what a dream’s autosymbolism is inherently for) at the top of an ultradian rhythm, then I consider that very unusual.

    In the first part of my dream, the setting is a unique new variation of the King Street mansion, the second-floor apartment in the middle of the east side of the house. My non-lucid dream self does not care that it is an impossible setting. I happily sit around on the floor for awhile listening to bizarre fictitious music (on a record player yet) where the lyrics make no sense at all. The “music” seems to have rock elements, but the male vocals are mostly randomly spoken phrases. I hear the audience cheering, so it must be a live recording. At one point, he chants slowly but loudly and clearly, “Yellow bathroom”. (This is a biological hint to my dream self, but I do not feel the need to use the bathroom in my dream.)

    I notice my curtains are open, and I see an unfamiliar male lying on his left side on a ledge, in his underwear, enjoying the wind and smiling. It seems to be late morning. Apparently, he is enjoying the music I am playing. (Of course, this is a liminal projection of how my real physical body is as I sleep.) I am annoyed that neighbors can see in, so I attempt to close the curtain. (In reality, this scene could not be possible either, as the windows had only a view of the front of the house across the street, so there was no side of a house right near the King Street house, though what does my non-lucid dream self care, from a lack of any viable connection with either the unconscious mind or my conscious self.)

    I hear an unfamiliar girl’s voice yelling about my music, and their music is turned on more loudly, even though the male was enjoying my music. (I did not think my music was loud at all.) A different male argues with her and there is yelling for a short time. I go into a different room and I am now in the lounge room of the Stadcor Street house (which only has the first floor) with Zsuzsanna. Now, the events are shifted to the first floor in the house next door as well (and as usual my dream self does not notice the impossible change). I mention something to Zsuzsanna about the music and an unfamiliar male, who can see into our house through our window from his window, loudly says, “You think you can beat me?” I reply by yelling, “Why don’t you leave us alone?” I then yell at no one in particular, “I’m tired of crazy people always living next door to us!”

    I go out to the front yard and bash several unfamiliar males on the head with my Olympic barbel (no weights) and swing it around like a baseball bat until no one else is standing or moving. My dream shifts into reinduction rather than the waking process during the RAS modulation event and I now find myself riding in a skiff tied to the back of a small motor yacht. Curiously, I do not recognize this scene for what it is and no lucidity is triggered, only an elevated vividness. I am now a female (of about twenty-five), though not a female I have any conscious knowledge of. A man tells me to tie an additional length of rope from my boat to the back of his motor yacht (as the previous one had apparently came off and I am now drifting over the ocean). I somehow do this even though the distance would not logically allow it. I throw the rope and pull it lightly, but a large knot seems to make itself with no effort on my part (to my left; reinduction orientation and stabilizing). “That’s a good knot,” says the unfamiliar captain from the other boat. A few other unfamiliar people look on.

    After a time, I am “myself” (though only about twenty-five) and another (unfamiliar) male is sitting to my right. We are still on a skiff on the ocean, but there is no other boat now. We go through an ambiguous area where it seems I am inside a house for a short distance even though we are also on the ocean. I notice many large sharks swimming below us. The water is unrealistically clear. I am wondering if there is any danger, though I do not feel concerned. The other male denies there is any danger and tells me how sharks only eat things that are at its own level in the water. I do not feel any fear, more like cheerfulness (almost comedic) even though there seem to be hundreds of sharks below us.

    Soon, the scene shifts and I am walking with the same male and an unfamiliar female. We are in an unfamiliar town near mostly commercial buildings. After we walk a short distance, the male vanishes. We look back to see someone running in the distance. Suddenly, I am aware that we will be blamed for the kidnapping of the male that vanished. We are carrying small plastic bags. We stop to look inside them. The girl’s bag has the ID of the male that vanished. I know that the police will be here soon and that we are being framed by an unknown person. I take the ID and throw it behind a soda vending machine thinking it will not be found and that I am being careful and intelligent in my action.

    The police arrive and I am still holding one of the small plastic bags. The scene somehow shifts to where I am in a police station (though of more of a restaurant appearance). The police officer is looking at the supposedly kidnapped man’s credit card (made of cardboard), a large sparse clump of hair, and some other items. The officers do not seem to think I had anything to do with anything, but I still tell them we were framed. (The girl is soon no longer present.) “Can you take fingerprints from plastic bags?” I ask. I say, “I know my fingerprints are on them, but they will probably also have the fingerprints of the kidnapper.”

    “Can you take fingerprints from hair,” I ask. “Can you take prints from paper?” A police officer at a counter looks at me as if he is wondering why I am still here. Two other officers look at me annoyingly as well. They are not interested in me at all. I decide to finally leave my dream (in a liminal state, as I am not viably lucid until the last moments) and finally wake as I step through the door. (This last part is quite odd. I am liminally trying to force RAS modulation by way of my conscious self, but nothing happens, probably because the process is often transpersonal in origin in its natural form. On one level, something similar occurred recently, where I learned I was not in trouble for “killing” an unknown male, though my dream self had the opposite focus as to this one and I did not seem to be as fully modulating it myself.)


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