Blue_Opossum

Morning of May 4, 1974. Saturday.

Dream #: 2,693-02. Reading time: 53 sec.

One of my male classmates (Bobby G) and seemingly another one, (Wayne H), seems to be in my front yard. (These classmates have been obnoxious to me in real life.)

I had a false awakening into this situation and remain unaware I am still dreaming. These two boys may be there to make bullying remarks or cause other problems.

At one point, when I look out through the open jalousie windows, I notice what may be somewhat illegible handwriting, seemingly from a felt pen, on about four or five lower louvers. I am unsure how it got there. It may be something I wrote that might cause me embarrassment, though I am unable to make out the words, only various letters. It may be writing from my dream journal that somehow ended up on the jalousie panes, but I do not recall doing this.

I see Bobby walking away from the front of the house, but I do not know if he read it. It may be that some of the writing became distorted from being wet or partly washed off when my mother was watering the flower box.

There is a reset where there seems to be an unknown dark-haired girl to the right (in my view), but I do not know if she is his friend or concerned about me.

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Morning of April 27, 1974. Saturday. (Just prior to sunrise.)



This entry has been newly researched and fully authenticated in July of 2014 with an additional amazing discovery on September 3, 2014. All of the original documentation is included with only minor additional information.

This dream seemed to be an extraordinarily vivid example of either remote viewing or personal-path-precognition or likely a hybrid of both. To be as meticulous as possible in my dream work for this detailed special entry, I should add here that my consciousness seemed disembodied and floating about six feet from the floor, looking downwards, about two feet out and a few inches to the right of my slightly-open bedroom door. I was seeing the comic strip as if it might be on the newer wooden living room dresser, but it was actually too close to my “eyes” for that to be the case, unless it was involving binocular-like vision as I have often had before in dreams.

Probably one of the most detailed, viable proofs I have had as a younger teenager on something I call “universal mind” (sometimes called “non-local mind”), relative to the supraconscious or “all mind” (and the reality of at least something similar to viable remote viewing) unfolded when reading a Nancy comic strip in a dream at age thirteen when living in Cubitis, Florida before I read it a short time later in reality (same day). (This is a comic strip by Ernie Bushmiller that my mother had a tendency to cut out and save in her scrapbook at times.)

I am still convinced years later in 2014 that this was a paranormal event and not coincidental and there is absolutely nothing that would alter that understanding - it is simply too precise.

Update (September 3, 2014)…To add more to the strangeness, there is a much older version of this gag that was published on a Tuesday in April 22, 1947. That strip has aspects of my dream which also relate to one perspective (but mirrored). I could not have seen this strip before. It adds another layer to something that is already completely unexplainable - and in addition, it was used at the top of a web page that contains the line “Where others find slippery mysticism these authors, Mark Newgarden and Paul Karasik, see cold hard mathematics”. The old version is below - and to me, looks a lot more modern than the much later version. (In fact, I actually thought it was a modern fake due to Aunt Fritzi’s mode of dress. It seemed too preposterous and out-of-place.)



In the dream, unlike many of a similar nature involving the reading of such as a comic strip, I was actually able to discern and understand what I was reading (instead of odd, continuous non-words or unresolved gags as was often the case). Nancy drops some dishes while washing them. Aunt Fritzi, from the other room, exclaims “MORE dishes, Nancy?” (as in breaking more dishes). Nancy replies along the lines of “No, Aunt Fritzi, LESS dishes”. As I was seeing this, the sound of the newspaper hitting the front yard (again, it was still very early in the morning) woke me up. The Nancy comic strip in that day’s newspaper was the same as the one I had just seen in my dream, but with very subtle differences in panel width and arm position in the final perspective.

I should add here that there was a “reset” of the dream that was not as vivid and which seemed like residual “re-imagining” of the prior. In this case, the comic strip was nearly the same except that there was an additional first panel (fairly vertically narrow) showing Nancy standing on a chair at the sink, her profile facing left, actually washing the dishes. This was so clear that I have actually “remembered” the “reset” dream version over the real comic strip.

Perhaps I should also add that my mother would call out “save the pieces!” whenever I dropped a dish (which usually did not break - they were all plastic) in real life, which also happened later on this day, but is not unique to it. Note that seemingly “doubled” precognitive synchronicity was not all that uncommon for me.

Note that remote viewing and precognition often “feel the same” at times. However, this particular type of event given here, which seems specific to seeing something not yet read, has its own precise mood and “flavor”.

It is important to remember that I did not edit the descriptive details and that what I originally thought was “re-imaging” to a certain extent was somehow also “seeing” aspects of the 1947 version (which I had not seen in real life before) but mirrored and blended in with the newer version. This is intriguing to me. This also relates to two of my last dreams that had broken glass in them (in September 2014) - as if the dream was partially “telling me” to look upon this unexplainable event again (although really, there have been thousands of remote-viewing and precognitive experiences in my life that were far too precisely detailed to be coincidence such as with the typical cop-out mentality of “normal” people).

Below is a representation of the in-dream version, but not exact. For example, the first panel was a little more on the side (more towards a profile of the scene). The real question is why? Out of thousands upon thousands of comic strips, why this one and why the synchronicity of layers? It seems related to my accident as a toddler where my wrist and even tendons and such were severally slashed falling on a broken mug that had hit the floor prior to my fall - note Nancy is on a small stool in one version of the strip, similar to the one I fell from. I still do not truly know the forces behind these sort of events. I can say that this is typical of my day to day experiences since early childhood in that unexplainable events of this nature often have additional unexplainable connections for some reason (for example, in this case, the much older strip I could not have known about and related dates), making it even more unlikely to have a typical cop-out “explanation.

Morning of April 7, 1974. Sunday.



I am somehow in the distant past in my “orb” form, though not sure if the implied journey was by time machine, by mental will, or due to some sort of cosmic event (as there is no recalled backstory).

Everything has a sort of strange red glow, not all the same shade, but close. There are reddish dinosaurs such as brontosaurus (apatosaurus) and “cavemen” with red hair living during the same time period. Some of these cavemen, however, are more like stereotypical movie vikings and wearing horned helmets and carrying spears with reddish arrowheads. I have a strange impression that this shade of red is “extinct” and had only existed during these more “primitive” times. The red lava seems to pose a possible threat to this world but I am not bothered.

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Red dominating a dream’s rendering sometimes relates to having slept a bit too long and such seems to be the case here.

Morning of March 31, 1974. Sunday.



I am halfway between full lucidity and still trying to work out if it might be a real-life scenario that I am in as it is very vivid and I have a high degree of mental clarity. I am on my school bus going home (perhaps about two-thirds of the way home in considering landmarks), traveling north. I am seated at about the middle of the bus on the left side (in regards to facing the front of the bus), nearest the aisle (though I remain uncertain if there is a schoolmate seated to my left though the bus seems more crowded than it would be in reality). Classmate Jeanette P turns her head around and looks back at me from near the front of the bus (also the left side and closest to the aisle) and smiles as if she is going to tell me something important (or that is the impression I first get). Instead, she just happily says, “Claude Smith…”. It is not sarcastic or condescending, but the way she says it is still somewhat annoying even though she seems cheerful and friendly. I guess what annoys me is the fact she sounds so assertive and even supportive while making such a seemingly blatant mistake or slight, regardless of her intent.

“That’s not my name,” I reply, sort of passively (while wondering how she had forgotten my last name). I try not to sound angry or as if responding to an affront. My dream fades at about this point and I remain annoyed at the nature of my dream directly after waking. I had not gotten the chance to see her reaction to what I had said (though she was still smiling as I was speaking). No one else had spoken to me at any point.

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There seems to be a specific outer layer of the preconscious where the preconscious personification (in this case Jeanette P) is not viably “with” the dream self, though, as here, not always aggressively so. This is curious, as I would otherwise assume such a “separation” to occur in a deeper level of the dream state. However, the logical probable explanation for this would be that the dream self is not perceived as the conscious self, so thus there is a deliberate lack of communication in the preconscious transition (as it would be biologically problematic to stay in the dream state at this point). I have documented and studied a number of versions of this situation since early childhood. It mostly only occurs in the final waking stage.

The main purpose of many shorter non-lucid dreams (rather than having a whole-self-relevant “interpretation”) and the last section of the majority of dreams in general is to return the dreamer into whole consciousness (utilizing liminal space, “return flight” metaphors, or visual coalescence in many cases). At the raw level, this is done with a falling jolt (or in some cases rising up), the loss of teeth, or something similar to trigger a stronger emotional reaction, such as being undressed in public, both a dream sign and reminder of where the real self is and a situation that might trigger emergent consciousness.

This dream utilizes the common “return flight” in a form I do not tag as such as it just features a seemingly ordinary school bus (though is still “the journey home” waking metaphor). Again, as my dream self identity is not my full conscious self identity (other than in apex lucidity), I am called the wrong name in the last stages of emergence. The emergence stage is validated by Jeanette P being at the front of the bus and “dismissing” my dream self (as my dream self metaphorically “reminds behind” rather than with a coalescence event).

Morning of March 24, 1974. Sunday.

Dream #: 2,652-02. Reading time: 1 min 30 sec. Readability score: 50.



Classmates, including Steve J, Steve W, Ann L, and I, are supposedly going “into the wilderness.” We go to the anticipated location, maintaining a slow-motion leaping that is similar to slowly flying up and down in a vertical position.

We are going to my middle school’s library. I realize I am in my pajamas, but I do not feel out of place. I feel comfortable as I sit down at a rectangular wooden table to read a book. I am eventually aware I am wearing a robe, yet when I look down, I notice it is open, and my legs are bare and exposed (even though I had been wearing pajamas moments before). My classmates do not draw attention to my state of undress and also begin to look at books.

I start to realize that I am dreaming and recognize that I am not wearing clothes because, in reality, I am undressed and asleep in bed. With vague amusement, I try to maintain awareness of what I am reading but fail to do so as I am already slowly waking.

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Known causal factors:

Being undressed in a dream: Subliminal, liminal, or concurrent preconscious awareness and acknowledgment of being in bed in REM sleep.

The lack of linear cohesion and continuity is a result of correlation with the dreaming and waking processes. I am firstly thinking about exploring a forest. Then, there is subliminal awareness that I am indoors in a bedroom (though distorted into the library setting based on an emerging consciousness thread). First, I am wearing pajamas, as in response to the subliminal awareness that I am in bed, then I have bare legs to augment that realization.

Vestibular system correlation had already started (caused by the physicality of the dream self being imaginary and not representing the orientation of the physical body) with the “slow-motion leaping” that is similar to flying. Vestibular system correlation is a precursor of the waking process, which typically causes falling and flying dreams.

Libraries and reading serve as an emerging consciousness factor to hone my awareness of the dream state. It remains one of my most common perceptual triggers to initiate conscious self awareness while dreaming, though it is not always feasible (as the text often continuously changes).

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Morning of March 23, 1974. Saturday.



I am either (originally implied to be) resting or “sleeping” within my dream, with my bed being fully in the southwest corner of my Cubitis bedroom, aligned along the south wall near the one jalousie window, though my head to the east, lying on my right side at first.

After a time, I hear someone say my name from above (but seemingly close to my head), the dream becoming more vivid, followed by “Claude…here are some books” with a loving and intimate intonation. It is my “mystery girl”, but I am not sure where she is, perhaps in another dimension oriented above my bed, with the portal being part of the ceiling itself, though the ceiling does not look any different. Several large old books fall somewhat in slow motion (or somehow held back from falling more heavily as if perhaps by levitation) onto my bed. There is a very clear and strong sensation of weight shifting by the books landing on my bed. For a short time, I consider that the girl will join me, but I do not see her anywhere at any time. There is a vivid sense of antiquity as well as a feeling that these books are also one-of-a-kind. They mostly seem somewhat encyclopedic, some relating to the paranormal or perhaps spiritual rituals. I am somehow somewhat aware that the writing in one book reminds me somewhat of plant roots (which is a recurring concept) even though I do not seem to be looking inside any of the books. This event seems to be happening in the morning. Sunlight is filling my room and I feel a sense of true love from somewhere unknown.

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I am disappointed that they are not there after I wake up, as if I have residual consideration that items from my dreams can materialize in reality with the right focus.

Night of March 15, 1974. Friday.



Flashback to real life. He was thirteen. I was thirteen. Walking from the southwest exit of the school I was surprised by his attack upon me, knocking my books from my arm but not touching me directly. “You’re evil,” he said, “How do you know so much about what’s going to happen?" He seemed so angry and I had no clue what he was referring to other than the fact that certain classmates seemed suspicious of me for no particular reason (likely due to my ethnicity and little else, though many thought I was Asian). We were about the same size. He was born in Queens, New York but came to this small isolated town a couple years before. I never knew this. Until 2014. He was a Catholic. Another thing I never knew until now.

I was totally confused by his unexpected behavior. He had rarely even spoken to me before that day and I did not recall ever seeing him angry before or even that annoyed by anything. I was the last classmate he ever spoke to. I did not know until later. The calmer and friendlier I remained, the angrier and more out of control he got but we did not actually fight or make physical contact at all. He remained standing about four feet away at the closest, facing the entrance of the school, seeming nervous and hesitant. He did not move as I picked up my textbooks and notebooks. I did not have a clue. "Get'im, M,” said another classmate walking by on his way to the bus stop at the end of this school day.

I caught myself absentmindedly giggling as one would laugh at a lunatic on a television show…and of course, this made him even more angry, his breathing more and more coarse, almost as if he had been running for a long time. Eventually, he walked off westerly on his own and off the school grounds, never looking back. Two girls, to my right, the only others around, leaning against the outer wall of the school perpendicular to where I was, gave me an amused look, one whispering to the other and the other shaking their head and looking back at me.

This…made…no…sense. At all. How could a thirteen-year-old boy act so angry? And why?

My dream. It was lucid and almost overpowering. Susan R kept “pushing” at me mentally. “Are you thinking about me?" She kept saying. "Don’t think about M. Think only about me. Please." The imagery was somewhat kaleidoscopic. Her head, her essence, almost seemed like it was on a Ferris wheel. "Please. Are you thinking about me? You must only think about me." It went on for about two hours. I felt dizzy and strange for a time and felt like I was replaying "The Chrysalids” in my mind later on, and actually slept on the living room floor near my door that night and for some reason felt as if all my energy was gone. I was not angry or upset. I was just very puzzled. My mother did not wake me. I had slept there a few times before during a bad storm.

Night of March 16, 1974. Saturday.

In my dream, Susan walks up to me with her arms crossed over her chest. There was a knee-high mist everywhere. “M’s gone…” she informs me. She lowers her head and cohesion is lost.

Night of March 19, 1974. Tuesday.

In reality, I did not return to school on Monday, but on Tuesday due to a mild illness. That was when I learned that M had died suddenly on Saturday; no explanation. I learned this when I asked Roosevelt where he was when I noticed he was not at his desk, only asking because of the previous week’s events - otherwise I probably would not have regarded his empty seat. “He died,” he said sadly. Nothing was said of him after…ever. I did see his photo in a frame in the bank where his mother worked.

A thirteen-year-old should not have so much hate and anger and then just die without cause. This event, for many years, made me even more passive in my communication with people. I thought about it way too much and of course, it took over a year to put it farther back in my mind. Although it was not that often, when people seemed angry with me for no reason, I felt relaxed and calm. In fact, in the back of my mind, I decided that if I were to become angry or aggressive, I could just die suddenly. I have grown out of this way of thinking over the years, but I still do not hold anger very long. It is as if I had been conditioned. In fact, I have learned that even when I “sound” angry (including in writing), I am not, as if people cannot “read” me correctly.

In my dream of this night, I was at my middle school in the homeroom classroom. It is seemingly after hours. I am the only one around, it seems. The room is of an eerie semidarkness.

My attention is brought to two shadowy figures under a large table (almost as if they are indulging in a game of hide-and-seek). They are seated on their knees and clasping hands in silhouette - which I believe is imagery borrowed from a version of “The Newlywed Game”. It is very strange. I sense the female on the left is the “mystery girl” yet I also contemplate it is Susan. The one on the right is “me”. I am watching myself - like an older future version (or perhaps “revision”) of “me”. This seems to be some sort of eerie occult ritual even though it is just a silhouette of two people at the beginning of marriage, perhaps.

A disembodied voice comes through the doorway. “It is alright that M died because his family killed horses!" The voice declares this ominously. A suffocating horse writhes and dies in the classroom directly in front of me, its eyes bulging. A disturbing sound emanates from that area of the room.

I wake in terror…and a year later, I was more at ease.

Night of March 16, 1975. Sunday.

M appears in my room. There is a pale glow all around him. He seems happy. He says things are okay now.

Night of March 2, 1974. Friday.



I am in my room in Cubitis very late at night (possibly a couple hours before dawn). I am in my bed, with my head to the north, and on my right side, my bed along the west wall. I am looking out my window into our large front yard. I maintain a very vivid state of awareness but I am not lucid.

I see a shadowy form move through the sky over our front yard (from the northwest) and land on a branch of one of the three young silver oak trees (aligned north to south and a few feet from my windows), the rightmost one from my viewpoint. I am trying to work out if it is a hawk that has caught a snake or if it is actually a flying snake. It turns out to be a flying snake, but is somewhat awkward in its movements. It has large bat-like wings. I mostly only discern its silhouette against the background of the sky. It flies toward our neighbor’s house to the south. I vividly feel “privileged” to have seen it and also feel a sense of both mystery and increased well-being.

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Resupplemented for a clearer and more detailed explanation on Saturday, 2 December 2017.

My dream starts with me being in bed. This obviously means I have a residual thread of conscious self memory at having gone to bed but without viably remembering I am asleep.

My act of looking out my window directly relates to a subliminal attempt to look through my real eyes or link to my conscious self identity (and recent memory thereof), which is presently inactive to some extent despite my dream’s vividness.

The flying snake is a real-time composite of two RAS-related factors. A snake is the primary mechanism of RAS (though depending on the dream type, a snake may relate to real-life associations, such as a warning about a frayed electrical cord or an intestinal issue - due to its shape and coiled appearance, though if a snake is rendered vividly or realistically as one of the last features, it is likely only RAS and thus completely unrelated to “interpretation”), typically rendered to induce enough emotion to trigger waking (as a biological necessity, including to attend to real physical needs, but sometimes as a result of a real environmental noise of which the source is unknown to the unconscious). Flight is related to inner ear dynamics and the nature of not correctly perceiving the physical body while unconscious.

Because of my near-lucidity (though not viable lucidity), the RAS dynamics are intriguing in this case. The typical perception of “falling” out of the dream state (the natural dynamic of becoming conscious) is transmuted to this otherwise unique feature and as a result, I have a soft, enjoyable awakening from the illusion of the dream state. This is “exit flight waking symbolism”, which is a very common type of waking symbolism (and typically unrelated to real life or the conscious self).

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Morning of February 10, 1974. Sunday. (Could have started to develop the night prior - before midnight, on February 9.)



My original dream journal title of this entry was “Ghosts”. I had somewhat carelessly drawn some of the imagery (the witch, the shirtless man, and the cloaked figure) and took it to school, but no one was interested.

In this very vivid and lucid dream, I had “stepped into my dream” simply by “getting off the couch I had been napping on” (although knowingly remaining asleep) and was heading south through our hallway. There was a very heightened awareness of energy and expectation - my target was the back door of our house that I often went through in lucid dreams, although in real life it was rarely used (much like the carport door from my bedroom). A short, rather small female (perhaps younger than I) walked out of my father’s old room from my right. She was wearing what looked like a cross between a full fancy wedding outfit and a classic Halloween witch costume, but it appeared all in white with a slightly bluish tint in the shadowy areas, including the glowing skin (similar to photographic negatives or tulpa templates where any light seems to come from inside the source if reflected onto it in the normal positive image). I am somewhat afraid, but not fully nervous; it is my dream after all, so I approach her. I notice that she has no eyes to speak of. Mostly, it is only wrinkles where her eyes should be, which go in rows down her cheeks, even though she seems fairly young. It actually looks a little like two vertical rows of gills down from where her eyes should be (much like the underside of a manta ray) - almost down to her mouth. I feel amazing tingling sensations as if sparks are hitting me from her presence alone. The power from her seems to make me fly backwards back down the hallway as sparks move about. She does not make any sound, but there is sort of an awareness of buzzing and a feeling of electricity everywhere. Some words come to mind like “her face was adumbrated” as if part of a story when I had first seen her more closely.

A little later, two other figures appear in the living room, Lyle Waggoner (the actor) and seemingly a man from the 13th century not wearing a shirt and carrying chains (although this is ambiguous, as Lyle seems to be that character at one point - seemingly the vampiric man from “Castle of Blood”). This part is more of a normal dream awareness not remotely as vivid as the hallway part. Lyle has an axe and it eventually ends up on the south end of the couch, but there is no blood or danger at that point, only the suggestion of such. I seemed to wake up (false awakening) into a vivid state of awareness and noticed that there was a pair of scissors at the end of the couch and thought it was interesting how my dream had changed scissors into an axe. However, I was still in the dream state. When I did wake up, there were not any scissors at all, even though I seemed to have some sort of false memory that there was throughout the night. For some reason, it seemed to be closely related to the Barbara Steele movie “Castle of Blood” (Danza Macabra) from 1964 (of which I was a big fan of since very young) but looks more like her character (in dress and presence, anyway) from “The Pit and the Pendulum”, but it did not really share much other than a loose idea about ghosts reliving their last day, which seemed to imply that I was supposedly a ghost in my dream as well, also odd that Lyle (known mostly only as a comedic actor at the time with Carol Burnett) appeared here as such.

There is also another part of my dream that seems to be possibly a different dream or “reset”. It involves another supposed ghost (but Grim-Reaper-like) that is like a green-cloaked figure (no face visible) sitting on the couch. It is non-threatening but I sense the word “abhorrence” in my mind.

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This dream has a very similar subtle “summoning” essence as my “Silver Manta” dream (in that I was aware on one vague level that I was deliberately bringing forth the being). The silvery glowing ghostly witch of course represents the moon as a circadian rhythm event, extraordinarily vivid here and with an odd intense level of lucidity. The main difference between the two dreams is that I do not “defeat” this being to instigate waking, which instead leads to a sense of healing, intense energy, and augmented “moon induction” in continuity. Eventually, this dream becomes offset into other patterns and is quite long because of its nature. The witch ghost and the silver manta are the same unconscious archetype which is evidenced by the fact that the witch ghost also has manta ray gills down each side of her face rather than normal eyes though she also represents the essence of my wife-to-be on one level.

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My wife Zsuzsanna was born on a Friday the 13th and as such, people have made sarcastic comments about her being a witch (especially because of all the unusual events associated with both of us growing up), and that she is smaller than average as with the figure in my dream, but it is probably not directly related, although interestingly, I did come to Australia on February 9th (1994). At the time of the dream, I think there may have been some sort of association with the name Wendy, which was the name of the first “girlfriend” I had when around age six, and not just because of the Wendy comic books I enjoyed (and she had curly dark hair).

Morning of January 27, 1974. Sunday.



I am at my middle school in Arcadia. For some reason, my GI Joe jeep is a lot bigger than in reality, but not quite big enough to really drive around in, it seems; perhaps about the size of a child’s pedal-car toy. However, over time, it moves around seemingly on its own through various areas of the large school’s halls or as if by remote control (though I do not think I have the remote).

My good friend Johnny C is in the middle school cafeteria with me. We are seated near the end of a table. The jeep is there, but there is some sort of electrical problem near the dashboard. An area near the front seat starts to spark and sizzle (which I can clearly hear) and melt a bit (though in reality my GI Joe Jeep neither has the electrical features nor can it be controlled by remote). At this point, I am not sure if the jeep is mine or belongs to an unknown group doing some sort of test drives or experiments in our school. I watch and see it very clearly when it stops in a more open area between tables and see small embers and fire emerging from around the gas pedal and parts of the dashboard.

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Morning of January 19, 1974. Saturday.



I am at my middle school and in the large cafeteria. It seems to be the weekend though (as it is in reality). During this morning, in being here, I discover that most of my classmates have either been replaced by androids or have always been androids (even though their body shape is nothing like that of a real person - too simple and angular).

A girl I know; a classmate; Andrea M, is lying on her back, resembling a trapezoidal form, some sort of trapezoidal prism relative to her torso with only a few defined angles, not really resembling the human form. All of these “androids” (or whatever they really are) are not active in any way. It seems very strange to see the cafeteria filled with all these strange figures, most of which are on their back and not moving. They almost remind me of something you could just make using a fairly simple net (in the geometrical sense) folded about in the right ways. In some ways, they are almost like a type of furniture or could maybe even serve as a trapezoidal “cardboard box”. I do not think any other “real” people are around except perhaps a janitor (and we do not approach each other or interact).

Nothing much happens, though there is an odd level of curiosity as I walk about the large lunchroom.

An android or robot, or in fact any artificial person, especially if inactive (including even a doll, mannequin, ventriloquist dummy, or statue), is a “downgrading” of dream character projection. On one level, it may reflect the lack of awareness (of the conscious self) within the dream state, that is, a lack of conscious self dynamics (or conscious self identification) while in the dream. Characters rendered as such also imply static waking thoughts. The fact they are lying on their back may represent a subtle association of being aware of being in the dream state (yet still non-lucid).

The intriguing thing here is that the form of the “androids”, especially taking note of the closest (female) one, also reminds me somewhat of the shape of certain kinds of bridges as well as suggesting an overpass, of which represents the waking transition (dream self going over the bridge to coalesce into the conscious self).

Morning of January 18, 1974. Friday.



I “wake” (within my dream) seemingly in the middle of the night (in Cubitis). I get the sense and false memory that Eek (the sketchy comic strip mouse) is wandering about in my room. The electric heater is rattling away in the center of my room at one point (it is very cold in reality) and there is at least one false awakening. This “incomplete” awareness (especially of the weird mouse that walks on two legs) seems “wrong” to me and very eerie on one level.

Eventually, I seem to somehow teleport from my bed and immediately kneel down upon taking notice of an odd form on the wall near the floor. Just to the left (less than a foot) of my bedroom door is a toasted Eek. He is stuck to the wall, almost two-dimensional. (There is no hole anywhere in the wall to imply a mousehole.) He may have been set on fire by my heater and thus got stuck on the wall when trying to run away, though he may also have been electrocuted somehow.

There is a level of creepiness as I try to pry him off. I do not want to be considered responsible as having something to do with his demise. Briefly, it seems I am actually just trying to peel a sticker off the wall rather than a “real” dead and somewhat anthropomorphic mouse.

I decide to hide him inside a toasted cheese sandwich (a common breakfast for me), made by my mother as I am getting ready for school. It is somewhat bitter. No charred remains will be found and questioned about.

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Regardless of the level of creepiness (although comedic to be honest), this is frankly quite possibly one of the silliest waking coalescence events ever experienced for this particular dream type (extreme vividness, primarily in a dark setting with augmented tangibility, but no viable lucidity, apparently through a partial awakening followed by an induction into a false awakening).

My dream self is projected secondarily, downsized as a little mouse (that is not “real” so something is at work that acknowledges I am dreaming but not my direct perspective). He did not make it to the door (waking point). He was “burned up by the fires of whole consciousness” (or reality itself and the subliminal acknowledgement thereof within the dream state). Finally, I eat him to represent the waking stage (waking coalescence; that is, the path into whole consciousness from the dream state, the basic goal of the waking transition in all dreams, always rendered metaphorically other than when it is literal, for example, dreaming of waking up and then actually waking up).

From January 15, 1964. Wednesday.



This is an old recurring dream from around ages three to four.

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I am in a large old house with two floors and a large staircase. Some of the design is based on mahogany constructs or veneer at least. There is a familiar smell, somewhat like cinnamon at times, but later, a lot like that seemingly old but strong unusual wood scent (and for me, very nostalgic) that I used to smell when walking by certain old apartment buildings that had a wooden staircase and with an entrance door open to the public at street level. I only know of two locations in real life where I had caught that special scent in such a perfect way - one of them being the Rose Street apartments - which no longer exist, the other being in an area I only walked by a few times in another part of town.

The house is possibly partly based on Evelyn W’s house in real life (on Tenth Street in La Crosse) which was a place I visited as a young child and picked out “Little Red Feather” (which I have included details about in other entries) to keep, as I was given a choice to take one of the toys inside the large “toy box” (actually a large laundry basket) as my own and I chose a red plastic Native American figure in a kneeling position. I should point out that my wife Zsuzsanna had an imaginary friend called “Little Red Feather” (also as a child) long before we met, which is of course, only one of hundreds of very precise and incredible meaningful “coincidences”.

In my dream, an unknown dark-haired and green-eyed lady comes to the house to give me a toy steam shovel. I am not sure why; I do not think it is for my birthday or for Christmas.

Not much happens in my dream, though there is somewhat of a sense of being isolated at times. I sense the woman is “for” me but I will have to grow up and wait a long time before we meet (and she does not remind me at all of my mother in my dream, who I never saw at this younger age anyway). I remember standing around in the semidarkness at one point, wondering when she would return.

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It seems my wife-to-be (who was not even born yet) is somehow already in my path (or at least the detailed essence as such). There was no question on the appearance. She gave me the steam shovel “to dig or build my path to her”.

Night of January 11, 1974. Friday.

Dream #: 2,580-02. Reading time: 38 sec.



This dream scene has been recurring. I approach a cliff on a mostly flat mountaintop and contemplate jumping off. It is only when I am certain I am dreaming and expect to fly. Sometimes I fly horizontally, though in other dreams, diagonally. I sometimes land in a valley without flying as much, almost like a fall, though not alarming or perceived as potentially dangerous (as it is only a dream). Landing in a valley typically causes my level of awareness to change. For me, flying creates an enhanced experience of imaginary proprioception.

In this instance, there is an orange hue everywhere, even though it seems late at night. I am facing east towards what seems like a sunrise, though it eventually seems to be more like past sunset (though in which case the sun would be behind me). I feel as if I am the only one around for miles. I feel a positive sense of “being where I should be.”

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Morning of December 16, 1973. Sunday.



I used to do various “dream experiments” when younger to learn more about how dreams “worked” - as nothing I read about dreams ever held any personal truth for me (especially so-called dream dictionaries, which I read only for entertainment and sometimes to laugh at and scorn and wonder how they came up with some of the idiotic concepts that were sometimes more generic than the nonsensical but harmless “Wishing Well” syndicated daily newspaper feature that was printed next to the comics section along with the equally silly horoscopes).

Anyhow, regarding one such “experiment”, I spent an entire sixteen hours reading the same comic book stories over and over (carefully) to see if I would “dream” them or one of them. The comic had mostly Little Lotta and Little Dot stories. Anyway, the only dream I remembered with more clarity after one REM stage was a brief, vivid still image (as if one panel from a comic book) of Little Dot and Little Lola looking up at a dam that had just burst (as if it was starting to overflow due to a flood as well), with their faces partly in profile, showing great concern.

So much for that experiment. I took it to mean that my mind (at many different levels) had many ideas and that trying to force a particular story (or stories) by repeating it all day and night was like damming up my creativity or otherwise dynamic mental energy. However, in terms of imagery, certain types of somewhat repetitive photo projection certainly works with the right frame of mind and personally viable affirmations (and using viable meditation).