Blue_Opossum

Morning of January 19, 2014. Sunday.



I am about fourteen. School has just let out for the day at a variation of 20 Copeland Avenue in La Crosse, with our school as the Spencer building. The surrounding area is not as it is in real life. Zsuzsanna is near my age in my dream though had been in different classes. I approach her and ask if I can walk her home. I consider her extraordinary beauty. Amusingly, I stutter and seem shy in asking (not at all a conscious self attribute). She is wearing denim shorts and a dark blue top and carrying about three textbooks and a small notebook at her side in her right arm. It takes a few attempts before I make my intent known. Her friend, an unfamiliar girl, is amused and goes her own way, and I walk with Zsuzsanna for the two or three blocks she lives from our school. We walk south as I remain on her right, wearing mostly black, gray, and dark blue, with an open black lightweight trenchcoat. My dream implies that we had never met before this, yet she is my ideal female and I consider that no one else could come close to her essence.

She is living in a white one-storey cinderblock house on a northwest corner of a suburban block (two blocks south of our school and one block east) with her father and two younger brothers of about two years apart in age. Curiously, he seems Caucasian, about thirty, and does not have an accent, which I find puzzling. (I had spoken with her father in real life on the telephone, but never met him). He has a mustache and is wearing a tank top and blue jeans. He sits in a white armchair, facing south and watching television with a can of beer or soda in his left hand, west of where I spend the most time in the room. He is watching “Hair”, though dubbed in Hungarian (which I had joked with Zsuzsanna in real life in it being the only version I saw listed on YouTube). The two boys are playing on the floor. The “father” looks at my unusual clothes and asks me if I am supposed to be some kind of magician or witch and asks me what I can do. I tell him that I mostly consider myself to be a sorcerer.

I hold up my right hand (forearm out but at about forty-five degrees upward or less), palm up, and a loud sizzling comes out as a flame flows from my palm and into the air with a sort of muffled light explosion, and for a moment, a separate higher column of heat and fire is there, which fades fairly quickly. An additional small flame dances in the air, doing figure eights and spinning before dissipating. I do this four times, creating a tiny (hummingbird-sized) “fire girl” that does a few pirouettes in the air. He seems impressed but not alarmed in any way.

I look around and notice that the room is messy. There is a broken glass on the floor near one wall, and miscellaneous books, clothes, opened mail, and toys. I take Zsuzsanna flying for a short time, staying in the neighborhood. The front door is open, so we fly out (and return) through it. I ask her father if I can come by on a regular basis and he seems okay with the idea. However, after leaving on my own, while above the sidewalk about half a block away, I can hear him, with my enhanced hearing, asking his sons to look through his house and make sure nothing is missing as he seemingly thinks I am able to teleport objects from their location to steal them. It does not matter to me, as I look forward to spending time with the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

I continue south for several blocks, flying fast, often in a diagonal orientation. I land on a few roofs to look around and then notice a church gathering with old people. I talk with the elderly people. They seem depressed. I recognize a male I knew when I was much younger (and who in real life is about my age), but he is much older than me here, yet I do not find this unusual. I think that I can find specific people based on their silhouette, with “mental radar” that encircles the planet. I am able to locate a couple people for a couple other lonely people at a church lunch, also finding a lost relative for one of them. I then fly around more.

I am near a small outdoor football stadium and a large hall for local players that is just south of the field, probably implied as a futuristic or built-up version of Eagle Field. There are a few violent gang members at the building who are possibly friends with some of the football players. I am confronted by a lot of tough characters, but I am able to avoid them by flying about in the large room and dodging knives that are thrown at me. I become an anthropomorphic form of fire, somewhat like the Human Torch from the Fantastic Four. I aim at various locations (not directly at any people) and rings of fire spin up from my forearms, around my wrists, and out from around my closed fists in a spiral while other sections of flame columns come straight out in a tube-like fashion. It is a curious sensation with a vivid awareness of pumping and flowing. Finally, I get so annoyed by all the knives flying through the air and having to dodge them, I send them back to the neck or chest of each thrower, a total of about seven. They somehow remain alive but are unable to do anything.

I leave the building and look around outside and decide to sit down in the grass in a meditation position to relax, facing the hall to the east. I hear the coach yell at me from the doorway of the hall, “You may think you are some kind of superhero, but let me tell you, you will feel the cold of winter when it comes, the same as any of us!”

Annoyed by this disruption of my attempted meditation, I hover into the air about five feet while still in the same cross-legged meditation position and hold my arms out horizontally and a bit forward. Cold waves of energy flow from my forearms and out through my wrists, producing thousands of randomly spiraling snowflakes that spread over the entire landscape. It is a beautiful feeling. I feel a vibration through my forearms and a great wind flowing from my trenchcoat and out through my wrists. The blizzard becomes more intense and I feel fantastic and exactly where I should be. The ground is covered with snow and I feel I have made my point. I enjoy the feelings of the icy winds that almost seem to nurture me. They are a welcome contrast from the heat of the previous scene. The coach stands frozen in the doorway in suspended animation and I consider that I might release him in a thousand years or so. I do not see anyone else. I am ecstatic, cold air flowing from my forearms and wrists, almost sensual in nature, creating a beautiful blizzard. I am the foundation and origin of the forces of nature. I get the impression that I could create anything.

I fly over another region, near apartment buildings of up to about four floors, causing them to ice over entirely with a pleasing musical sound of rapidly building-up layers of ice, several layers at a time as the window glass cracks. The buildings turn light gray with frost and cars stop, frozen to the snowy streets. Time passes, and my dream finally starts to loose cohesion as my thoughts change and begin to focus on the layers of ice.

I start thinking of archaeology (which I have held an occasional interest in since childhood). I lift up a large section, about a full quarter of the entire length of sidewalk, and crack it open, concrete and all, and notice that it looks somewhat like an onion, though with the essence of diamonds. I think about what sort of features, including treasures, that could be found in the various layers of ice. I notice that it is night, becoming darker (even though it had been afternoon a short time before). I slowly wake, feeling very happy.

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Several pages of detail (including the numerous common autosymbolic meanings) have been removed from this entry to keep it a reasonable length. In this subliminally lucid dream (meaning, as a result of a specific type of synaptic gating, that my conscious self identity was aware that I was dreaming even though my dream self was not), there was the usual effortless flying and manifestation of unlimited confidence and additional abilities and a more defined control of the vestibular system ambiguity that is an inherent factor of REM sleep. The last scene, with the diamond-like layers, was a subliminal realization of temporality (chronological patterns in the analogy of a timeline along with viable memory), which does not usually exist in the dream state. I used to work on Copeland Avenue near the building featured, but there was never a school there, and Zsuzsanna and I are not close in age as this dream implied, and she has never been to America. The only dream element related to real life is the carryover regarding the “Hair” movie dubbed in Hungarian.

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