Blue_Opossum

Morning of August 1, 2018. Wednesday.

Reading time: 1 min 9 sec. Readability score: 58.



In the first part of my dream, there are associations with lucid dream experiments I did in my childhood. Mainly, it is my development of a field as a setting, to give me open options. It involved closing my eyes while running through the area and eventually opening them after deliberately running for a long time. In one of my most vivid lucid dream experiments of that time, I opened my eyes and found myself at the top of a tower, having no perception of running up the spiral stairs, but recognizing it as the emerging consciousness factor. After looking out over a beautiful landscape, I phased through the wall and flew up and out of my dream, maintaining perfect vestibular system correlation.

In my dream, there is communication with another dream journalist. He talks about his “power” based on what I had written in my journal when I was very young. It involves creating the field setting, running very fast, though while counting to seven, and teleporting to a random location. The results are vague. I am not a dream character, only a distant observer to his antics.

Later, he is writing a response to how another experiment turned out. That one is more like one of those fake personality tests on the Internet and which some Facebook users post the results of (which is ultimately pointless).

In this case, he takes several of the same tests. It involves connecting random dots inside a random circular pattern. The results are different each time, though that is likely because he connects the dots differently each time.

He seems to be annoyed by the different results based on his different choices and starts writing about “apologists for life” in the comment section.

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Morning of August 1, 2018. Wednesday.

Reading time: 48 sec. Readability score: 76.



I am in a setting that is reminiscent of the “Gunsmoke” (television series) set, outside of the Long Branch Saloon. It seems to be morning.

A rendering of the interconsciousness is present. It is an unknown male of about twenty years old who is standing in the street as I sit on the curb. The man does not seem familiar in any way.

He is talking to me about another unknown male who had left the area. I have no focus or recall of a backstory. I have to ask him to repeat certain words and information several times. (This is typical of this stage of the dreaming process. In many cases, I perceive it as gibberish.)

He tells me that the other male had gone to Perth. He has gone to see a band called “Sister Cities.” (I do not know of any group with this name.)

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I am going to assume this is a random thread from the interconsciousness, that may or may not have anything to do with me. It is a different process than when I force a preconscious avatar to respond in a certain way or when I use my mental voice to speak through my emerging consciousness.

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Reading time: 3 min 53 sec. Readability score: 57.



Many specific patterns linked directly to the dreaming and waking process and its autosymbolism have been occurring continuously in my dreams for over fifty years, most occurring one or more times each sleep cycle.

White Helicopter and Clock Tower.

Morning of December 31, 2012. Monday.

A white helicopter flies over a mostly featureless green field. It flies to the left of a clock tower that displays five minutes past ten. There is a vague apprehension of the rotor blades hitting the tower, but this does not occur.

Vestibular system correlation of this nature is by emerging consciousness definition, represented by the clock tower which also correlates to the ultradian rhythm at the end of the waking process.

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Now I will look at other dreams (posted previously) that are a model of the same dreaming and waking process.

In “Brother Earl’s Flying Saucer,” from November 29, 1976, this same waking process renders a spacecraft that my older brother Earl supposedly built. The spacecraft looks much like the Flying Sub from the television series “Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea.” It flies to the left of a clock tower. Regardless of a couple near misses with the tops of buildings, it successfully flies away.

In “Not Quite Paris,” from June 13, 1978, I non-lucidly choose to place my focus closer to the process of vestibular system correlation. In this specific case, it is the Eiffel Tower, not a clock tower, but it is still the reactive representation of the emerging consciousness.

In “Helicopter Ride into the Beautiful Mountains,” from February 8, 2017, the right side of the helicopter I am flying in taps a commercial building, but surprisingly, does not result in a mishap.

In “Failed Flight (Wing Knocking On Eaves),” from October 1, 2014, the wings of the Cessna that someone else is flying is tapping the eaves of a building I am in on the fourth floor. I see it through the windows to my right. Instead of crashing into the building’s exterior wall of which is perpendicular to the section of the building that I am in, it stops and falls.

In “Computer Tunnel?” from September 11, 1983, a low-flying airplane crashed into one of two skyscrapers. I am in a wheat field and run through a tunnel with walls like a printed circuit.

In “The Future Delegates,” from September 11, 1982, while hugging, my “dream girl” (Zsuzsanna) and I jump from atop an airplane as it approaches a burning city and one of two skyscrapers. (Note that this was the precognitive form of Zsuzsanna before I knew of her in waking life, before our contact in 1991 and before we met in 1994).

In “Amusing Helicopter ‘Rescue’ (with Pierce Brosnan),” from May 19, 2016, a miniature version of Pierce Brosnan (as James Bond) in a miniature helicopter “rescues” an effigy of me from the top of a high building. I place a tiny human-shaped pillow (meant to be “me”) into a small bed in the miniature helicopter.

In “School-Bus-Plane Over Ancient Greece,” from November 16, 1969, I am on a flying school bus. Ahead, through the front windows, I see scenes of ancient Greece; the Oracle at Delphi and the Temple of Athena Nike. We seem to be ready to land. There is a sense of looking into the distant past.

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Thousands of other dreams that I have experienced and resolved since early childhood use this same basic template. Astoundingly, most people seem to ignore everything that is in plain sight (no pun intended). They prefer to pretend that the dream has “symbolism” related to waking life when such a process is typically not even viable. (Consider how difficult it is to read in dreams, or for that matter, even think at all other than in lucid states.)

This type of dream is an extension of the flying, falling, or rising dreams, which has nothing to do with real-life factors other than in rare cases. It is a result of the vestibular system correlation of the waking process, as the reactive representation of emerging from sleep and is not symbolic in the conventional sense. A tower or other high building of the emerging consciousness becomes the focal point in some cases, though not always. It is all about correlating illusory physicality and increasing dynamics of the conscious self as in waking life. Whether or not you maintain either non-lucid or lucid dream control, such control has little to do with real life, but the extent of knowledge of the dream state and specific level of sleep.

What does the conscious self possess that the dream self does not? There are many factors. One is the inability of the dream self to viably discern where his physical body is as he or she sleeps. That is a no-brainer, but many people do not even seem to have the slightest grasp of what it means or the nature of related reactive representation in the dream state. They go on to pretend there is a correlation, corrupting the “I am” of the dream state with the “I am” of current waking life, thereby on a path of misconception.

Once anyone of reasonable intelligence dismisses the notion of waking life “interpretation,” or things “indicating” other things (relative to dream self to conscious self) new opportunities and clarity of mind develop. People who only pretend to understand dreams are easily recognized and dismissed. The causes and effects of the dreaming and waking process are more clearly understood, and non-lucidly or lucidly controlled. (Contrary to popular misconception, lucidity and dream control are unrelated, and in fact, many dreamers have less control when they are lucid than non-lucid. That is because of how the reticular formation functions. Many people who talk about “becoming lucid” have no understanding of what the dream state is.) “Bad” dreams become very rare and the potential for prescience increases. However, as can be seen here (with the September 11 dreams), prescience often correlates with the patterns of the dreaming and waking process.

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Morning of July 29, 2018. Sunday.

Reading time: 2 min 29 sec. Readability score: 71.



In my dream, I am in an unknown location. There is one area where many unfamiliar people are sitting at picnic tables.

Zsuzsanna is with me. I am planning on going on a long journey to other parts of the world. There is at least one thread of dream state awareness, though my dream self is not lucid. I remember that I can create whatever I want.

I ask the group if there is anyone who wants to travel with me. A few seem doubtful, as I do not appear to be wealthy. However, I recall that I can produce unlimited amounts of money. Still, when I open my wallet to show a few different people, the bills are play money. Although the imagery changes several times, it is still play money. Each time, the notes are all identical other than when I take them out, and there are about four different types, which look like fake foreign currency.

Despite my anticipation (subliminal RAS mediation), I am confident that things will go as I expect. Only one male seems cheerfully keen on joining us. I tell the people that one of the locations we will be going to is Easter Island. I say that I do not remember its name. (This, of course, makes no sense as I had spoken it.) I am thinking of a name like “Tahiti” or “Tahoe,” which I say to them as well, but I am unsure. They do not respond to my ridiculous state of absentmindedness.

Zsuzsanna and I, and the other man walk near an unknown shopping mall. She is soon walking farther away on my left, and the man is walking farther away on my right.

My dream changes and we are in a strange composite of the Arcadia post office, the Loomis Street house, the King Street mansion, and our present home. The orientation is mostly as the Loomis Street house, except the second storey mixes with the first.

Toward the back of the house, I hear an unknown female voice scream, “Please…someone…help me!” It seems to have something to do with her baby in a pram nearby. That wakes me up. I am unsure if this stems from a subliminal awareness of Zsuzsanna not being home at the time which I did not know until waking up (and perhaps created by way of my own RAS model) or if it was a thread from the interconsciousness from an unknown person. Due to its realism, my guess is the latter, but I have no way of knowing who it was, at least yet.

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(When I had the vivid spoken words and event in a dream about a girl named Isabelle falling off a balcony, including her last name, I thought that was spiritual confirmation of using the name Isabelle for our daughter, which we did, as we had already considered it. However, someone with that full name fell from a balcony at that same time. I had already heard variations of the last name in dreams, Colman, but I was not familiar with it in real life. Our daughter was born on the 26th of November in 2012. This type of event has happened many times before, even with John Belushi and even with more insignificant dangers in contrast to death, such as the fuse box fire regarding my older sister Marilyn and the toaster fire at age four, regarding my sister Carol. I remain uncertain why I happen to be the one to perceive it, though with Zsuzsanna, her “sending” was strong long before we met in real life and determined to be intentional and a viable way of communication we still use, though less since she got her cell phone.)

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Night of July 27, 2018. Friday.

Dream #: 18,848-06. Reading time: 1 min 16 sec.



My dream starts with becoming aware I am watching a series of “Grimm” episodes. I am not focused on specific content, mostly indoor character interactions.

The episode I am watching is meant to feature the Eisbiber (“ice beaver”) played by Danny Bruno (as Bud). Over time, it is Neelix, played by Ethan Phillips, from “Star Trek: Voyager.” Neelix acts like the Eisbiber character. He moves, nods, and shakes like an Eisbiber, but his appearance never changes.

The images become a “real” studio setting with the actors (rather than the characters they play). They are filming in the actor David Giuntoli’s house. Over time, there is no one else around. It seems late at night. I consider I may not know how to get out. I stumble around in the dark in what may be a kitchen (though it is like our kitchen in real life).

Soon, it is light enough to see. David walks out from a room in a white bathrobe. I start to explain to him how I was a tourist who somehow ended up in his house.

He nods, saying (without emotion), “Uh-huh. It’s time to go home now.” He turns to go back into his bedroom. I notice two big spotlights on the floor as I find my way to a doorway. They seem broken.

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The last part is typical RAS modulation, with a celebrity as the modulatory avatar (in a role as a detective, one of the more common forms). It is a typical subliminal “return to bed” directive that occurs at least once in every sleep cycle.

The rest is a reactive representation of the waking process. It includes an association with beavers (as in building a dam, which causes water to lower, with water otherwise being the reactive representation of sleep dynamics). Bud transforms into Neelix as the vestibular system simulacrum. (He travels in space.) The broken spotlights represent my dream’s ending.

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Morning of July 26, 2018. Thursday.

Reading time: 1 min 51 sec. Readability score: 71.



My dream starts with a scenario involving what I think are people working for the EPA. I am present, though I am not originally a part of their group. Something happens to an unknown male. It involves a tree that had fallen on him.

The background story changes. The leader (probably Andrew Wheeler) gives me the job of guarding the man who was injured (probably Scott Pruitt). I am to pretend to be a police officer during his hospital stay. I tell them that I do not have experience doing this. They say that they will give me the proper outfit. I am to stay in his hospital room until further notice. Later, I am wearing a turquoise uniform.

I sit in a chair on the left side of his bed. He does not wake or move at any point. His head is at an odd angle, as his pillow elevates his neck but no other part of his body or head. It appears he might be uncomfortable (even though he is asleep), though I cannot be sure. An unfamiliar nurse tells me, “Well, it’s better to have indigestion than a broken neck.”

As I sit there, I feel confident in my role. Eventually, however, an unknown male walks in, a police lieutenant of about sixty years of age. He stands across from me and talks to the nurse. Although I feel confident in my role, my non-lucid RAS mediation begins to waver. I start to realize that I might have been given an incorrect police uniform from another department. I also consider that he probably knows all of the officers in the area and eventually start to question who I am.

Eventually, the RAS avatar responds to my silent subliminal commands and stares at me. “What are you up to here?” he says in his role as the police lieutenant. He brushes my uniform, and I notice some dust on a few areas of the jacket. I realize that he knows I am not one of his officers and not even wearing the correct uniform for this region.

He does not tell any of the hospital staff that I am an imposter and does not even question me from here. He turns around and walks to the doorway. “You’re going to regret that,” I boldly call out after him. I start to tell him that I am “working undercover.”

Then I realize, looking to my right, that the other man asleep in the bed is me, literally under the covers.

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It is virtually the opposite of a dream from yesterday, where transpersonal interconsciousness avatars were posing as female police officers, and I questioned them (except in that dream, “An Unwarranted Treasure Hunt,” more of my conscious self identity was present). How hilarious can it get?

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Morning of July 26, 2018. Thursday.

Reading time: 1 min 24 sec. Readability score: 66.



I am driving an unfamiliar car. The driver’s side is on the left (implying America). Brenda is on the passenger side. There are no threads of my conscious self at this point. We are going north on Highway Seventeen (the original one).

An outdoor seminar on dreaming is occurring in an area we pass to my right. Brenda cheerfully points and says, “Bobbleheads.” (This is what I call people who talk or write about dreams or their so-called meaning while having no understanding of the dream state.) Something about the scenario seems off, and I try to consider what it is. Brenda’s head is now slumping forward. Her head is Betty Boop’s. I wonder if she is a clockwork girl that has suddenly malfunctioned. For a moment, I consider I may get into trouble for stealing or taking advantage of a movie prop. Her forehead seems to have an electrical outlet (the American type).

Glancing at Brenda (or Betty Boop) again later, I see her changing into different dream characters at the rate of about two per second, cycling through many diverse personas. Finally, “she” becomes George Harrison and continues to talk about Bobbleheads.

We continue on our road trip with a cheerful disposition. We arrive at a music studio. George has a meeting with several music producers. Once in the room, however, it seems to be a class on economics. Going up to the front, where a chart on an easel displays an upward trend (a linear representation of the waking process), I see that all the students are equidistant identical ceramic chicks (yet still living entities), which turn their heads left to look at us. They chirp similar clouds of small triangles, circles, and squares, mostly of red, blue, green, and yellow, of which float about above their heads for short periods of time. They seem to be asking why most humans are unable to communicate with them. (This is emerging consciousness simulacra of which first occurred around age three. What wonderful nostalgia.)

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(Zsuzsanna and I were talking about “Route 66” yesterday, though she has never seen the show.)

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Morning of July 26, 2018. Thursday.

Reading time: 2 min 48 sec. Readability score: 56.



In my dream, most of my current conscious self identity no longer exists. Only one identifiable thread remains for this excursion into the absence of self.

I am about 15 years old again. My mother is alive and present at one point, but I am unaware of my father. (This is the typical absence of viable memory and “means” nothing. In other dreams, I remember my father and not my mother. It is because the dream self does not have viable access to the unconscious mind, contrary to popular misconception. The preconscious has limited access, but the dream self does not. Additionally, the preconscious always knows it is dreaming when the dream self does not, which is why RAS avatars and emerging consciousness simulacra are rendered in the last dream of a sleep cycle to initiate the waking process.)

There is a thread of awareness that I am in bed asleep in reality, though this is a common factor of subliminal presence, not an indication of lucidity, as my dream self is not aware of being in the dream state.

I am writing in my dream journal. As I write, I notice a gentle rain outside. My bed is in the northeast corner of the room, lengthwise to the north wall, the head oriented east. I see the orange grove beyond the carport, though the rendering is different from real life. I am looking through the open jalousie louvers of the carport door. (This setup is likely my subliminal awareness of a doorway representing a dream’s potential exit point, a typical form of reactive representation in the dream state since early childhood.)

As I write, I vaguely recall that other people read my dream journal, but the recall is not full, that is, I do not remember that the Internet (or computers) exists. The thought about other readers is there, yet it does not trigger the emerging consciousness factor or RAS activation until later (and there is not a separate preconscious waking process in this dream, mostly because it is not the last dream of my sleep cycle).

On one level, I am aware I am dreaming. On another level, my dream self does not hold this realization. This enigmatic state has been common to my dreams since early childhood and is not lucidity, but is one of many reasons why I know “interpretation” is not a valid concept. (Other than with factors such as literal prescience, I am aware of the processes that underlay experiences in REM sleep.)

My dream self is perplexed by the recall of how anyone could believe in “interpretation.” (My dream self remains without recall of the Barnum effect as a factor of causation.) Even as a young child, I sometimes went into several pages of why dreams held the causes, meanings, and effects that they did. I was more sarcastic of disinformation agents and empty-headedness at age eight than in my tamer rants as an adult since my 2004 online presence (probably because my mother often shared invalid beliefs about dreams she heard from people in her time, though most of which I still see on the Internet to this day).

As I am watching the rain and listening to its peaceful sound, I write in my journal, “When I am dreaming about rain, it means that I am dreaming about rain. You idiot.” (This is somewhat ironic, as I know water and its specific dynamics typically correlate with ultradian rhythm, the extent of muscular inactivity in sleep, and the dynamics of the glymphatic system. Still, this is in stark contrast to the asinine rubbish that “water represents emotions.” Additionally, even from when I was a toddler, I have always used the essence of water to reinduce the dream state as with its usage as such on virtually countless commercial recordings.)

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This dream mainly came about in response to the typical infuriating nonsense people sometimes leave on my posts on one site (as the site does not have the option to delete or block comments, so I remove the entry and repost it). It is unfeasible for me to post the same extensive paragraphs of information about RAS mediation each time as explanatory notes for a particular dream.

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Morning of July 25, 2018. Wednesday.

Dream #: 18,846-05. Reading time: 1 min 20 sec.



In the morning, Zsuzsanna received a message about a contest from an unknown sender, but I am wary. Although it seems like a legitimate competition at first, it turns out that a gangster had buried a jewelry box near our house (that in my dream is first a variation of the Loomis Street house and near the southwest corner, though the sidewalk is not present.)

Eventually, several unfamiliar men are near our house. They look for their buried jewelry box for the valuable items inside. I see them as intruders and realize at this point that it is not a legitimate contest, but that unknown men were using an area of our yard to hide their loot from other criminals.

I hit two of them with shovels, but I think they might have guns. I want to protect my family, but there is no logic in not letting them get what they want and leave without bothering us, so I wait. My family remains inside our house during this time. Eventually, the gangsters are no longer present.

Our house changes into a version of our present home. Two female police officers are in our kitchen. Each of them is wearing a blue bikini and a black trench coat, which makes me think they may not be real police officers.

I go outside to see them digging in two areas of our backyard. There is a police car parked there, and that could mean they are real police officers. I ask them if they are real cops. One of them looks at me with an annoying glance, saying that people only use the word “cop” on the Internet. I remain unsure if they are real officers, but I slowly wake as it now seems as if they are gardening rather than looking for loot.

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When I was in middle school, a female bus driver, as my schoolmates were boarding, was angry upon hearing someone say “cop.” She said people should not say “cop,” because it was disrespectful.

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Morning of July 25, 2018. Wednesday.

Reading time: 1 min 25 sec. Readability score: 64.



Throughout my life, I have had numerous dreams in which I produced music using a surreal method. Some that were significantly more abstract involved my body becoming different musical notes in a series as I remained in bed.

In this dream, I have a setup where I make music videos for people based on video content they give me or notes on where to find the content. I produce this music by using a machine that looks like a filing cabinet.

I am creating three different tracks (two of which are similar), but two have minimal content and are only eight bars in length. I focus mostly on a reggae track that only has a kick, high hat, and a horn. The horn motif is mostly the same note, but with different duration. I am contemplating the addition of a snare, but I do not get around to adding one.

I arrange the music with each note of each instrument serving as a folder in the filing cabinet drawer. The rendering of the music begins from the front of the filing cabinet drawer. The lowest frequency of each beat is first in each sequence. The usage of timing and rhythm (implying sheet music format) involves reading each note from the bottom of each beat section (that the high hat indicates), moving up. For example, there would be a kick “folder,” followed by a few horn “folders,” followed by several high hat “folders.” It does not sound like a recording I have heard in waking life.

Before I wake, I am seemingly adding sixty-fourth “notes” between a few others that are probably eighths. However, I am likely adding sixteenths amidst eighths instead as I am not thinking clearly. I assume that because each folder features a couple of straight parallel indentations on each side, above where it folds. That would logically make it a sixteenth note. (A sixty-fourth note would have four such indentations.)

Curiously, my method of the folder placement in the drawer seems correct, although it would be difficult in reality. I do not see any sheet music to aid in the validation of the arrangement.

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Night of July 19, 2018. Thursday.



Now I will move on to more specific patterns relating to the nature of the dream state. Having held such a keen interest since early childhood, and never losing that focus, I find it virtually impossible to make much sense out of most sources implying they are about dreams. Even much content on lucid dreaming does not correlate with anything I have ever experienced.

People who have never studied dreams (especially for a lifetime, as I have), or experienced them through every sleep cycle at various levels of liminality and lucidity, and continuously validated reactive representation in the dream state (thus being aware what dreams are actually doing), have no credibility in trying to convince people that their beliefs mean anything. They have no business even writing about them any more than if I knew nothing about cars (other than perhaps what I gleaned from “Archie” comic books) but wrote a book about them (and, since many people know a lot about cars, imagine their reaction). Still, the purpose of this series is not to address such fallacy but to review the nature of the waking process and the various forms of the emerging consciousness and to what extent it can be monitored and understood.

Lucidity, liminality, and subliminal focus vary from dream to dream. Ultimately, it is unlikely for someone to establish full control of ultradian rhythm, as it seems to be affected by diet and amount of exercise. (The WBTB or Wake Bake To Bed method results in disruption of ultradian rhythm but most people who practice it misunderstand this.) I always strive to make the best of what I have. What habits did I have regarding the dreaming process as I grew up?

A habit I have had since I was very young is the “lighting a candle” metaphor in coming out of an uncertain state of semi-consciousness. That eventually resulted in vivid semi-lucid dreams such as the one where I used lightning to set a tall church belfry afire. Some people like to talk about symbolism in dreams but fail to discern the incidental visual associations. I have always been fascinated by hypnagogia as well, where forms continuously transform based on visual similarity, even when I am at least partly monitoring the state. Hundreds of different unrelated images occur in only a short time.

What are some other metaphors (in addition to the “lighting a candle” focus) of the waking process that I deliberately established very early in life? The most obvious and consistent was the opening of a door. This intent always had two results, either vivifying my dream, sometimes exponentially in ways that defy belief, other times merely serving to wake me. These two potentials are always understood while in the dream state whether or not I am lucid, probably because they operate this way in real life. For example, if I want to “escape,” I create a door or doorway and use it as such. If I want to vivify my dream or create a different scenario, I create a door (though sometimes slide an entire wall as if it was a sliding door). It does not even have to be a typical door. For example, in my “Old Shack” dreams, I created and used the abandoned ruins of a rose trellis arched gateway as a doorway back into waking life (to escape from a pterodactyl, which simultaneously transformed into a falling sparrow - events such as this helped me understand more about reactive representation in the dream state).

Another form of reactive representation I created very early in my life was the bridge metaphor. That goes back so far that my mother used to tell me how I relayed this about dreams when I was a toddler. As with doors, I used bridges either to “escape” a dream scenario or to find my way to a different one. Sometimes such associations became mixed. For example, I would open a door inside my house and then see the ocean, as if the hallway was a bridge of sorts (which makes sense, as both represent routes of focus). I would jump from a bridge and land upon a stack of windows. The list goes on.

While there is not that much that can go wrong with a door, bridges can collapse or sink into the water. Staircases and elevators can serve as viable dream state mediation but can go wrong as well. As with cars, elevators are sometimes too small to get inside. They sometimes drop to the floors below before I can enter them. They are also more of a projection of illusory physicality (vestibular system correlation) than as with a bridge or door.

Ultimately, it is up to the dreamer to decide which reactive representation of RAS mediation and modulation serves them in the most viable way. Once the foundation is made and understood, it is unlikely to change. Some people choose to give themselves nightmares or erratic dreams. They may ignore beneficial transpersonal factors as if the interconsciousness does not exist to them. (As an analogy, they might not even have any grasp of why forest ecosystems work or why the food chain is at it is. They might invent a magical process to “interpret” such systems.) Others have learned what the dream state is and how to make the best of it.

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Readability score: 57.

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Morning of July 23, 2018. Monday.

Dream #: 18,844-02. Reading time: 52 sec.



I maintain threads of my waking life, including my recall of Zsuzsanna and our family. There is an unknown woman who has a daughter who is possibly mine. The only way to prove this would be for me to get a DNA test. It is supposedly a painful process, but I am willing to take it by the end of my dream. A positive result will mean the girl will live with us.

At one point, I move my hand over the girl’s temple. It has a soft, raised area. I check my own and find the same feature. I talk to the members of my family about the identifying feature they have as well. I still need to confirm the DNA test. I am wary of it at first.

On one level, there is no logic, as there is no implication I had known the woman even though I am the girl’s father. The girl does not look like any of my real children, so I consider I may be wrong.

During the DNA test, I am ready for the pain, though I do not experience any. A male android pushes a big needle into my left wrist. I am lying on my back on a table. A glass box is above me, where icicles grow from the top.

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Morning of July 23, 2018. Monday.

Dream #: 18,844-06. Reading time: 26 sec.



I talk with our oldest son about audio recordings.

Zsuzsanna had some of her cassettes and 45 rpm records out.

Much of what I say is nonsensical, and although I am unsure of how correct it is, I continue to try to resolve what I am saying. My idea is that music is magnetic and sticks to the nearest objects, which is supposedly a factor in the production of records and cassettes.

Although cassette recordings near magnets can lose their content, I am unable to explain that. Our son appears to be puzzled as I talk about how sound remains on records because of a magnetic field. He does not debate.

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Morning of July 22, 2018. Sunday.

Reading time: 1 min 44 sec. Readability score: 76.



I am living in an apartment in an unusual combination of the Loomis Street house and the King Street mansion. It is oriented as the Loomis Street house though implied to be on a corner; probably the southwest corner of Loomis and Gillette Streets. I am on the second floor until the last scene.

An annoying unknown male is present and keeps talking to me and imposing on me when I want to be with Zsuzsanna. He is the preconscious avatar of this dream. Zsuzsanna appears as she was when we first met. At first, I am passive about his presence. Eventually, I begin to swear at him. There is a point where I see a middle drawer of his desk open and close it so that he does not think that I had been snooping in his room, even though I do not know how I ended up here.

Through a window on the north side, I watch events unfolding outside on the ground below. Two men are working on cutting grass along the curb. One man injures his hand on a shrub. Another man will be taking him to the hospital even though it does not seem that bad.

There is another scene where I want to be with Zsuzsanna, but the preconscious comes and starts talking again. I am annoyed and swear at him again. I see what looks like a shelf facing the doorway of the northeast bedroom (of the Loomis Street house). It may be refrigerated. I notice several green cans of V Energy Drink. (None of us ever drank this in real life.)

In the last scene, Zsuzsanna and I are on a bigger version of the Loomis Street porch. Patrick Stewart as Jean-Luc Picard is present. He continues to grin, although he is seemingly not directly aware of us. I consider it may be a publicity stunt. He starts talking about himself and his body. Borg implants may be around his abdomen. The scene becomes bizarre. A big aquarium rises around him. There seem to be cables holding him up about two feet from the bottom of this sudden aquarium. An impossible amount of water sprays from his crotch area, filling the aquarium up to his waist. The water lowers again.

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That has to be the most unusual form of water lowering waking symbolism I have ever experienced. On a side note, I did not have to use the bathroom that urgently. My dreams most often render a porch as a reactive representation of the waking space. A porch is my most common buffer between dreaming and waking. Vestibular system correlation projects as Captain Picard, as the emergent consciousness simulacrum.

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Morning of July 21, 2018. Saturday.

Reading time: 2 min 5 sec. Readability score: 79.



I am with Zsuzsanna for the first time in my dream. We are as we were when we met in February 1994. However, where she lives is different. The house seems to have only one floor. (There have been many dreams where we were together for the first time, each as an alternate timeline, but typically with blissful associations.)

We plan on going to America to live, rather than remaining in Australia. We are walking through a park late at night, and several unfamiliar people are present. It seems we are walking to the airport. (The area looks like a park I was only in once when I was six years old when my parents and I were traveling from Wisconsin to Florida to live.)

There is a sudden unexpected eerie mood as a creature comes out of the dense woods. An incredibly loud roar echoes throughout the area. It is a big mandrill that emerges from the forest that borders much of the park. Most of the other people look alarmed. Some begin to run. Zsuzsanna and I quickly go in the opposite direction as the others. At first, I think the animal will chase the others, but it looks toward us and charges. We go atop a log that is tipped slightly from a tree stump near another tree. The mandrill starts to eat us both at the same time, swallowing our hands first. I am annoyed at this outcome and subliminally reset my dream to begin from the same point but without the creature.

We arrive at the airport. It is still night. Zsuzsanna is elsewhere for a short time. I am uncertain what airplane to get. An unfamiliar woman who works at the airport and is standing with a few unknown members of the public talks to me. Referring to Zsuzsanna and me, she clearly says, “You are the two special people on this world. Yin and Yang.” She says she is an angel. From here, I wander off and ask if there are angels in the airport, but no one else says much.

Zsuzsanna and I are soon sitting in the back of the plane. In fact, we are so far back, there is only room for us in the area, as it tapers somewhat.

The perception of movement is extraordinarily vivid and like being on a real airplane that is taking off. However, when I look out the windows to my right, we have not yet left the ground. I consider what could happen. The airplane might explode in midair or crash, but I am unconcerned. I continue to feel the movement throughout my body. I notice that we are moving on what seems like a highway bordered by guardrails. It is curiously in the form of a complex winding roller coaster shape that continues to go higher. I do not consider this as odd. The pilot is doing his job well, and I trust him. He makes a sharp turn and continues up the runway. I decide to sleep until we arrive in America. It will not be long before we are in our new circumstances.

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