Morning of September 18, 2016. Sunday. I seem to be outside at a fair in an unknown location (though it may be the Bundaberg Showgrounds) though there are not that many people. It seems to be late morning. I am playing an electric guitar in an unusual way, though it does not seem to be connected to an amplifier. I seem to be sitting on the ground and crouched down, though in actuality, in order to get the perspective I maintain here, I would have to be lying on my stomach. The guitar is lying on its back, its headstock pointing southward based on the Bundaberg Showgrounds orientation. I am mostly using an unrealistically large plectrum (pick) that is a little like a banjo pick but flatter. It seems to be broken near the middle but not completely. The crack or “crease” allows it to fold over my finger at times without it being that problematic. I use it differently at different points, including possibly upside-down or backwards. At one point, an unfamiliar female looks on. My music sounds very cohesive and interesting (though somewhat harp-like) and I am actually aware of each note in each series even though my focus and playing is based on distance between notes (such as thirds and fifths relative to the frets, which would be the case anyway if I were using a capo though which I am not) rather than a direct focus on the notes themselves. Still, the sounds seem to be very precise. (It is quite unusual to have such a clear awareness over what is being played relative to use of both hands simultaneously and with the sound seeming correct. I believe that this is the first time such clarity and precision has occurred in this way.) Nothing unexpected or unlikely happens; that is, the guitar itself seems to not be problematic in any way or have loose strings as is often the case in such dreams. I eventually stand up and walk to another area which is mostly undefined. This unfamiliar and unknown area seems to be inside in a large featureless room even though I had not gone through a doorway. Soon, a miniature Darth Vader who seems like a child in a costume is present. It first seems that the guitar may have been his but this soon seems to not be the case. Although I get the impression that he is a teenager of perhaps sixteen or seventeen his size and demeanor is more like that of a six-year-old and there is somewhat of a sketchy cartoon essence about him. Since he is dressed like Darth Vader I do not see his face at any point. Soon, I hear guitar playing that sounds like rapid heavy metal riffs. A very tall chubby male (about three times the height of little Darth Vader and perhaps a foot taller than me) with curly white hair comes in. He is playing the guitar as he is walking towards us but his right hand is moving very unrealistically as he is playing, almost like he is continuously and quickly doing karate chops, though with all the tips of his fingers aligned towards himself, palm up. It looks very odd and it would not be possible to play a guitar like this in reality. He is dressed in a weird costume (almost like a woman’s ball gown in some ways) and reminds me of Melvin Belli as he appeared as the Gorgon in “Star Trek” in the “And the Children Shall Lead” episode. (Although our youngest son was Darth Vader at a “Star Wars” event at the mall and has shown an interest in playing the guitar, there does not seem to be any relevant connections here at all curiously enough.) He starts complaining about the miniature Darth Vader (who is possibly his son though this is not certain). He claims that “Darth” had damaged the guitar by “bending its spine”. This does not really make any sense. The guitar’s “spine” is implied to be the entire length of the back of the guitar (including the neck). Even though I sense that the little Darth Vader is an obnoxious brat (who reminds me of a neighbor from when we lived in Brisbane), it also seems the Gorgon may not understand guitars all that well and as such, the guitar may not be damaged (even though I had thought it might have been me that caused the damage, though I do not actually see any damage). As Darth Vader and the Gorgon both relate to space flight on one level, I have included the relevant flight symbol tags. Still, sometimes I seriously wonder how my dreams come up with this weird stuff. Although the Gorgon appears as the last dream character, he does not seem to have any essence of the otherwise common preconscious personification, especially as my dream becomes much duller at this point rather than much clearer (which does not happen very often).
Morning of September 17, 2016. Saturday. I am with my wife Zsuzsanna looking at a smoother version of Google Maps that is almost like watching clear film footage. The view is being shown as if driving down Highway Seventeen (now called Cubitis Avenue). I show her where Harold M lives, going south at first, although the orange grove is gone. I see the new fence near where I used to live. After a time, I am on the scene without giving my transition much notice. I appear to be just south of my old home, but it seems to be gone. In fact, the entire area seems empty except for one shed closer to the highway. The area seems shaped somewhat like an elongated right triangle. I tell someone else how “my house is gone”. However, a short time later, I notice it is actually there, though appears to be some sort of greeting card store with the entrance to the south (rather than west). Although this puzzles me, I have a interest in continuing north to see how things have changed. I somehow end up at an unfamiliar travel agency in a tall building, near a long counter on the north end of a small room that also features a tall postcard rack, though I am not really interested in a brochure someone gives me. I am now trying to find my way out of the building. I try to go through a doorway, but it seems it is not actually a doorway because it is too narrow for anyone to go through and is more like an open corner of two truncated walls with a narrow glass and metal window. I ask an older businessman how to get out of the building and he points to a flight of steps just to my left. I soon see that one can go either up or down from here. The steps going down appear to lead to an enclosed parking area. I try going up but decide it is probably going to be too steep. I decide to use the front entrance, where I should have left through in the first place. I soon end up in a similar situation in what seems like a restaurant. This time I decide to go down a flight of stairs but I do it by sitting down and then sliding down on my backside. There is an unfamiliar woman with her young daughter and they also use the stairs but the woman seems confused about where she is going. “Get back here,” she says to her daughter, because the bottom of the stairs opens out into an enclosed street, which I then follow into an outside area. Even though using a flight of stairs in a dream shifts my consciousness in a more perceptible way, I do not become lucid. I go past an automobile repair shop and filling station. There are four young men, perhaps only about nineteen or twenty years of age, who are working on a car. I think one of them is Brenda W’s younger brother Albert. I then realize that would be ridiculous since he would be around fifty years old by now. Still, he and the others seem cheerful and happy to see me even though I am probably a total stranger to these four. I then decide that I will actually look for Brenda. “Do you know where Brenda lives?” I ask, giving her full name. They nod happily and say they will show me. Along the way, I notice it now seems late at night. Apparently she still lives in the same house she has all her life. I follow them northward. After a time, instead of four mechanics, they transform into mimes, even being dressed differently with no discernible changing-of-clothes event. I do not really regard this absurd change. They circle around me while making exaggerated up-and-down wing motions with their arms as if they were birds (which in fact is a tertiary dream sign due to the movie and cartoon gag of the circling of birds around the head of someone who has been knocked unconscious, though I do not catch this very obvious clue). They also pretend to be scuba divers and competitive swimmers as we continue along. Eventually, they all hold out their hands close to me as if expecting me to give them coins for their performances. When we reach Brenda’s driveway when it now seems to be late morning after being late at night moments before, I give one of them fifty cents; two shiny American quarters. He tells me to follow the path to house number eight. They go on their way as I very soon see a metal screen door with the number eight written on it in black with a felt pen. I also see the numbers nine and ten written on the door with a felt pen, but those numbers have a diagonal line (which slopes down to the left) through them (to invalidate their previous implied usage as the house number it seems. I see Brenda through the window of the screen door. She is sitting in an armchair. To my right, I curiously see, through a row of windows, a row of open bags of cement, gravel, and sand sitting inside the house but I do not think it to be that unusual. They are vertically propped up against the windows on my side so that I mostly only see the tops. “You can just keep going on to the next house,” she says in her Southern accent and with undisguised sarcasm. She seems younger than she would actually be; about forty. Still, she slowly recognizes me and as she opens the door as I am still standing on the outside steps, I tell her how I am married to a wonderful woman and have five children. This is strange because I still do not have an iota of lucidity. I tell her that I am sorry for not telling her more about things when we were younger. We embrace, but it is not sexual in any way, more as a simple acknowledgement and preconsciousness to waking consciousness transition in liminal space. Brenda was usually a verified “stand-in” for my soulmate (Zsuzsanna) regardless of our real-life relationship. She sometimes formed half of a composite when my “mystery girl” was not more clearly defined as Zsuzsanna (before I met her). This dream seems unusual (especially after all this time) as she mostly seems to represent herself as well as my preconscious personification where she only appeared as such in my childhood dreams, and one dream of 1991 just prior to finding out my “mystery girl” (Zsuzsanna) was actually a real person with appearance, unlikely accent, birth date, birth location, and every single nuance (including unlikely mixed ethnicity) being the same since seen in dreams from earliest memory. I am slightly puzzled over the bags of cement. They appear near windows and may be a dream sign due to their resemblance to the shape of a pillow (thus could be a play on my pillow being subliminally perceived as being too hard or not of “perfect” comfort). However, gravel, cement, and dry sand sometimes represent low-level dehydration. It could be a mix of both, though I was atypically thirsty when I woke.
Morning of September 14, 2016. Wednesday. I am using a notebook computer as well as accessing the Internet in an unfamiliar residence which is apparently where my family and I live. Our oldest daughter is present at one point and she is also using her computer. The large room does not have much furniture and I am seated on the floor, my daughter also seated on the floor on the other side of the room. The common distortion of somehow “using the Internet” in an actual notepaper notebook occurs (where images sometimes move on the paper, though not in every such dream, and in this case, actual type appears rather than handwriting). I try to search for the term “Ghost Riders in the Sky”. I seem to have forgotten how to perform a search, at least in a more feasible manner. I type “Ghost Riders in the Sky” with a small keyboard so that it appears on the notebook paper. I then move the computer mouse across the notebook paper to near the top of the page and watch the image of the print move in line with the mouse. I seem to remember that by doing this, it activates the search. However, nothing happens. I then reason that one has to move the computer mouse more quickly so that it creates a sort of “momentum” as the print on the paper is then somehow “flung” into a virtual but unseen search engine box on the surface of the paper. I cannot seem to do it correctly. I reason that there must be a virtual impetus setting (for the computer mouse) of plus or minus and in a context menu but I cannot remember where it is. I ask my daughter if she can get the search function to work on her computer. She seems to discover that the search function is offline and informs me of this. Still, I decide to try a different computer, which I recall is in a different room off to my right. There is a very large rectangular wooden table that holds six computer workstations (the narrower end of the table parallel to the doorway), both towers and desktops, each with a large CRT monitor, which are arranged as three facing outward on each side. I decide to use the middle workstation on one side of the table; the side where the doorway is then to my left. The search still does not seem to be working after I type in the phrase “Ghost Riders in the Sky”. I notice that the USB cable that is required for the search function to work is at an angle, halfway out of the electrical outlet (which is a white upright surge protector power board with three outlets), but tipped to the left (which is based on two absurd notions; one, that a USB cable needs to be plugged in somewhere for an Internet search to work and two, that a USB cable would fit in an electrical outlet). I adjust the USB cable to push it down fully into the outlet which is on my right. It is in the outlet between where the desktop computer is plugged in (left side) and where the CRT monitor is plugged in (right side). Soon, there is a sizzling sound. I am not sure what is going on. I see an orange glow coming from the monitor without paying much attention to the side of the monitor looking more like a vent with equidistant horizontal louvers. Soon, there are sparks flying out of the outlet along with a bit of fire and more sizzling from the other workstations. I soon realize that I had better turn off and unplug everything. First, I turn off the switch on the power board, but the noise and fiery glow seems to grow and spread and I wonder if I had turned it on instead of turning it off (which is illogical as I had just been using the computer). I go around the table attempting to turn everything off. There is even a power board with three outlets hanging to the left of the doorway at about chest-level, which I also turn off and pull plugs out of. My wife Zsuzsanna comes in. Our youngest son and daughter come in and playfully walk clockwise around the table cheerfully and I tell them that they should leave. Although the fire becomes brighter and the sizzling louder, it does not really spread that far. Each fire mostly remains inside the perimeter of each computer workstation, which is looking more and more like an arrangement of tall vents with equidistant louvers that I mostly watch the fire through. There is hardly any smoke. Soon, the crackling and sizzling becomes a very strange metallic music. It is firstly an instrumental version of “Ghost Riders in the Sky”. The metal of the burning workstations “plucks” the song, though is not that loud. The gremlins (from the 1984 movie “Gremlins”), though remaining unseen, are “singing” - though not the actual lyrics, just “ya ya ya ya, ya ya ya ya” to the melody, though for the chorus, they sing “yippee-yi-ay, yippee-yi-o, ghost riders in the sky…” the title being mostly muttered and somewhat indistinct as they go back into the “ya ya ya ya” verse. As I stand in the doorway, I marvel at what seems a “frozen moment” of perfection (even though I know it will cost a lot of money to replace the computers). The thin metallic plucking of the melody sounds very distinct as each louver of the vents snaps, though the workstations (and vents) still appear as complete and undamaged through the fire. (The equidistant horizontal lines of light have appeared in previous dreams, akin to venetian blinds and relating to the nature of liminal space, including with the potential of greater clarity or lucidity, between dreaming and waking.) Although I consider this a beautiful and unique dream (analogous to the dream-self identity as the phoenix), it carries the same core meaning (and sleeping, dreaming, and waking components and inherent symbols) as the majority of my dreams since early childhood. Firstly, my unconscious dream self seeks to return to whole consciousness (which is often the primary goal of most dream-self incarnations though in many cases the dream self attempts to “escape” from the “interference” of whole consciousness, or does not want to wake yet) through use of computer technology (as only the conscious mind has viable thinking skills or a stable system of logic). The common “return flight” aspect is here, but in this case as the “ghost riders in the sky” (the sky often being symbolic of the conscious mind as being “above” the dream self), where fire is mentioned in the actual song, fire of which represents emergent (waking) awareness (or if one prefers, the emerging sun or light of day). Orange is also a factor of sentience (and the need to wake up) between yellow and red (which also represent states of consciousness when dominant, yellow or gold being the “softer” phase and red often indicating more of a need to wake, in my case, often after sleeping a little too long, relative to circadian rhythms). The color red increases the pulse and heart rate, and raises your blood pressure in preparation for waking. Red, orange, or yellow are typically the final dominant colors in my dreams (depending on the type), where blue typically serves as the opposite, that is, dream induction itself (or the calming of consciousness which transmutes as the “sky” but focuses via the “sun”).
Updated 08-03-2017 at 05:35 PM by 1390
Morning of September 14, 2016. Wednesday. I am at our present address where we live now, though eventually the layout becomes larger and quite different. I am looking for a letter that I had somehow misplaced within moments of reading it. Not only that, I recall at least four other versions of the letter that we had received over the last week or two. It relates to our oldest daughter having some sort of unusual medical concern regarding her back (which is relevant to Zsuzsanna’s younger half-sister, not any of our children) and perhaps needing to stay at a children’s hospice (even though she is an older teenager). I am annoyed, because the issue does not seem real and that it seems more like an incompetent intrusion by the government. I look through a few piles of magazines and random papers, including piles of scholastic worksheets and unused coloring-in-pages (one featuring four rockhopper penguins on ice ledges of different heights), but cannot seem to find any of the copies of the letter. I tell Zsuzsanna that I do not know how all copies have seemed to vanish including the one I had just been reading at a desk. Over time, as our residence slowly expands, I notice that our oldest daughter has gone into the left side of my wardrobe to sleep (while in a standing position). This does not strike me as unusual. I begin to hear her deep breathing through the closed wooden door. I notice Dick Van Dyke (the actor, now 90 years old in reality), who is wearing a black business suit, walking around as if he is looking for something. He appears as he did in the late 1960s. I am not all that surprised and find it a welcoming visit. He stops near my wardrobe and puts his ear to the door. “Your daughter is very special,” he says sincerely, “she creates marvelous poetry”. He continues to press his left ear against the left door of my wardrobe and comments on the rhythm and beauty of her poetry, even commenting on particular stanzas that I myself do not hear, and even though she is asleep. (Our daughter is a very talented artist and she has done professional work for others at an early age, but she does not write much poetry.) I finally start to talk to him by firstly addressing him as Richard. “Richard?” he considers in a puzzled manner, not directly addressing me, but absentmindedly looking at the shelves of what is now a grocery store. My wardrobe is now perpendicular to the beginning of the aisle. “Richard,” he softly mutters, barely audible, and seemingly responding to an incorporeal voice rather than my actual presence. I conclude that I had unduly puzzled him and instead decide to formally address him by his surname. I cheerfully start to say “mister…” but then I somehow forget his surname. He does not acknowledge me at all but seems to be interested in studying the contents of the shelves, picking out a jar of orange marmalade (emerging consciousness metaphor), while I continue to wonder where the letters from the government are (subliminally waiting for my dream self’s ascent into whole consciousness as a letter symbolizes potential threads between dream self and conscious self in non-lucidity). I go through a couple “rooms of our house” and end up near the entrance to “our house”, which is now the checkout area of the Woolworths grocery store. This does not seem strange to me at all. I look through a pile of papers near two different cashiers, but still cannot find a copy of the letter. I am not bothered by the unknown patrons being in our “home” which is now apparently solely a grocery store. This dream was typically precognitive (as there is a precognitive element in nearly all my dreams of one kind or another, often left unappended - in fact, over the last few years, at least one a day based on something my wife or daughter had thought of or mentioned to each other without me having any way of knowing), though in a rather skewed sense as is often the case. Zsuzsanna had returned from shopping with a sheet of paper (given out at the grocery store checkout) that was a coloring-in drawing for the promotion of a children’s hospice (featuring four hummingbirds, not four rockhopper penguins, though still in the same position regarding the birds). I find it amusing how dreams do this all the time, that is, foreshadow forthcoming events, but often in a “cleverly” altered way (though literally or visually exact in many cases). Still, in contrast, there are the typical dream signs and standard components and waking transition. Our oldest daughter has gone to sleep (dream sign) in my wardrobe (secondary dream sign) and my dream ends with a typical waking transition symbol (a grocery store checkout symbolizing the leaving of the dream state). My preconscious personification (here, Dick Van Dyke) ended up “avoiding” me, or “failing to understand” as is often the case, but still lovingly commented on the nature of my family (just prior to the waking stage), the most important aspect of my life.
Morning of September 13, 2016. Tuesday. This dream was extremely long (as is often the case with me), shifting and sifting in and out of different levels of consciousness (only partial semi-lucidity in one segment), and which contained too many scenes to feasibly document (let alone provide the meaning for), but I will include some of the clearer events. The main event relates to my wife Zsuzsanna and I living in the northeast apartment in the King Street boarding house. Of course, the room has to be rendered much bigger than in reality in order for everyone to fit. Not only that, the room is easterly duplicated at least two more times (which, as usual, I pay no notice to). The Jordanaires are visiting us. However, these “Jordanaires” (by which I probably confused with The Andrews Sisters, though there were only three in that group) are actually four dark-haired Caucasian girls sitting at a rectangular table with Zsuzsanna. My sister Carol (August 4, 1943-December 10, 2009; half-sister on my mother’s side) is also present, appearing as she did in the 1980s. For a time, the four girls sing Elvis Presley’s song “Teddy Bear”. Even though it sounds very harmonious and in perfect unison, I eventually tell them to shut up or leave (though I guess I really do not feel that imposed upon). (In a way, this could possibly be considered as a secondary dream sign due to the fact that children sometimes sleep with teddy bears.) “I don’t really like that hooga hooga music,” I explain to Carol (describing the blend of gospel and rockabilly as “hooga hooga” in mocking Elvis’s singing style in songs like “Teddy Bear” and “Don’t Be Cruel”). I then tell her that it is okay to listen to at times and that I sometimes enjoy his music, but I do not feel like listening to it right now. There was another long segment prior to this one which involved looking at a hexadecimal dump of a series of science fiction novels. At one point (as a normal display) I see a listing of three columns with two to three titles listed in each column. The first two columns have asterisks at the beginning of each title which means that they can be read for free. The third column has a price listing at the top which I think is $29.95 for each. I am aware that the writer is a young female. I do not recall the titles as I do not really focus on them that much. I look at the hexadecimal dump and see that there is executable code at the beginning in addition to each story. Although the formatting is not directly executable there are indeed subroutines in the code. I see the string “this story is not available for reading in Australia”. Very curiously, this does not trigger any present real-life status memory and I still perceive that we are living on King Street. Still, I consider reversing the logic of the sequence (“jump if” to “jump if not”) to display the message in America (to then prevent access) and to allow it to unlock in Australia just to be funny. As I am reflecting upon this with a cheerful nostalgia, I look at the rest of the formatting of the story but do not actually read it. I do notice that the margin code seems to be unrealistically wide but I do not puzzle over it that much. I hear Zsuzsanna ask our youngest son “Did you burn your hand?” and I expect that he did and I am concerned. I actually wake up while asking her if she had said this (and she had not but had been talking to him), but only briefly and I immediately fall asleep again. In another scene, I go into one of the duplicated rooms and notice that there are small paper sacks everywhere, some on tables and many more on the floor. At the bottom of each sack is a jelly roll, but most of boysenberry or blueberry filling. I take one out and find it delicious. (In the back of my mind, I even recall the oral sex symbolism without becoming lucid.) In another scene, I have the apartment door open. My (King Street) landlady comes up the steps and holds her hand out as if in expectation for me to give her the money I owe her. I tell her that I will pay her later and she looks annoyed and walks off to Leonard’s apartment. Meanwhile, I had been ready to hand her a green tambourine, except that I soon notice that the membrane is split along one side and coming off around the edge. I throw it onto a huge pile of various toys and junk that comes up almost to my waist. It looks like we have some cleaning to do as the pile fills about half of our apartment. Near the last part, I pick up large oblong pieces of dust from under a table, with my bare hand, which contains hairs and at least one dead grasshopper (a rather odd return flight waking transition, more specifically “failed flight”, with the loose hairs symbolizing the end of the dream state and the fictional “head” of the dream self).
Morning of September 12, 2016. Monday. The most obvious dream sign in a dream is being in a bed (which is not typically a “dream symbol” at all - it is usually just a subliminal memory of having gone to sleep, just as being undressed in public is) and such is the case here. However, it is not my real bed at some points even though the orientation falsely feels exactly the same. I find myself sleeping in Leonard’s bed in the King Street boarding house; a location I have not been to in over twenty years. Leonard’s room is arranged so that there are three beds; two to the east wall and one from the west wall somewhat in the middle on that side. Although Leonard (born August 1945) is only present briefly, there are also two malcontent disaffected college students sharing his room. They are probably only around twenty years of age. The bed I had been sleeping in is in the northeast area of his room (head to the east windows), where a bed had not only never been in reality, but had appeared as such in previous dreams, which causes me to yet again question why dreams “get everything wrong” so consistently like this in regards to layout, locations, and settings in general (even combining settings from two different countries), more especially as my dream self never takes notice of such an overt “mistake” that seems almost intentional as a type of tertiary dream sign which has been a facet of the majority of my dreams since earliest memory. I seem to be ostracized (by the two other males) for sleeping in Leonard’s bed due to the fact that I am not an actual tenant who pays rent at this boarding house at this time. I do not really care. Even though I am not lucid, I decide to get out of bed, allow myself to float up to the ceiling and hover there, facing downwards while very slowly turning about much like a large ceiling fan that is coming to a stop until my head faces east. The sensation and momentum feels perfect and very harmonious. Still, they do not seem amused, continuing to only glare up at me (which I find somewhat amusing), but they do not say much. I contemplate the idea of sleeping up here from now on while hovering downwards as such in the center of the room near the ceiling, slowly turning like a ceiling fan as if in an environment without gravity. Of the tens of thousands of dreams I have documented and closely studied (including with comparing and contrasting similar dreams), there seem to be three types of dream lucidity (not including scripted lucid dreams of which there is no point in posting online) that are nothing at all like typical lucid and semi-lucid dreams (which otherwise come into full control by spoken phrases, or including lately, the written word), and in fact, are so different from “ordinary” dreams as to be “something else”, especially apex lucidity, where full automatic control is manifest for as long as desired (or until the dream colorfully breaks up from needing to wake relative to the biological need to wake). Instinctual dreaming seems to be the most common type of dream for me since earliest memory (and is similar in clarity and mood to a typical non-lucid dream); that is, shaping at least part of my dream with background expectations (which is how some people create nightmares for themselves by focusing on and amplifying their own fearful expectations, without understanding that it is their conscious mind creating this, not the unconscious - which of course has no sentience or awareness) without at all having any level of actual lucidity or questioning my status or perspective in any way regardless of any wrongness or otherwise surreal nature of the setting or events. Two, pretense-based dreams, where whatever I say to another dream character or imply in a dream changes it perfectly based on my pretense even though there is no facet of lucidity at all. For example, I will say that I have valid identification to enter a secret military base (even though I “know” I do not) and it will simply manifest in my dream as such. Three, apex lucidity, something I cannot begin to understand due to its state being so utterly different than other dreams. Fully in-body, perfect clarity and sense of physical weight and momentum, solidity and incredibly realistic ambiance, and full ongoing “automatic” control based on any conscious desire (though conscious expectation is the dominating factor in most dreams anyway). The state is different from scripted lucid dreams (which often end after the last scripted event with the falling jolt waking mechanism as is to be expected) in that no practiced meditative sequence seems required and whole consciousness (though somehow shifted into liminal space) takes over completely (and the perception remaining at this level potentially indefinitely), with all the senses augmented.
Updated 09-09-2019 at 07:36 AM by 1390
Morning of September 10, 2016. Saturday. My wife Zsuzsanna and our children and I are living back at Stadcor Street in Brisbane. It seems to be early afternoon and we have to go shopping for groceries. I am going out the back way, through our kitchen, but the layout is a bit different. The small square area that one needs to go through to get to the back porch is much bigger and there are additional doors, one directly into our backyard and another one onto our back porch. I notice what I first think is our pet black cat in the small room with me but it has no eye, nose, or mouth detail. It is like a three-dimensional shadow and I sense puzzlement radiating from it. I am slightly wary (but not fearful in any way) as the creature jumps up and somehow goes through the area between the central top part of the door and the door frame (and would have to be as thin as a sheet of paper to do this). This would be the door that goes to our back porch (liminal space). I go to the lounge room to talk to Zsuzsanna about this strange event and she calls the animal something I do not seem to be able to hear properly. After I ask her to repeat it a few times, it still sounds something like “wolf-roosh”. My hearing ability seems to become too distorted each time to hear the final part of the term. What I grasp from the term seems odd to me as it was seemingly a cat shadow, without any wolf associations at all. After we do our shopping, the unfamiliar balding male cashier (of about forty years of age) cannot seem to get the cash register to work properly. Apparently he has to press his thumb on a pad to acknowledge he has the authority to use the cash register, but it is not recognizing him. I am thinking that maybe his thumb needs to have a small amount of yellow ink on it to get it to work. I am getting annoyed and I am not sure how we will complete the transaction if the cash register will not work. The checkout area of a store is a waking transition metaphor symbolizing leaving the dream state. In this case, the lack of “yellow thumb” is associated with not being fully conscious. The cash register symbolizes the potential increments of critical thinking during the waking transition as conscious self identity emerges. The threshold event (here an atypical precursor rather than my dream’s final scene) concerning the door, featured a cat shadow in liminal space as the emergent consciousness factor. Curiously, this was borrowed from the ending of “The Flintstones” (which I had seen so many times as a child). Even the essence of the movement (comparative to the sabre-toothed tiger jumping up in the cartoon) was the same. I found that fascinating, especially as the ending theme’s line “…cat will stay out for the night” could be interpreted as remaining unconscious (asleep) throughout the sleep cycle.
Morning of September 9, 2016. Friday. My wife Zsuzsanna, our children, and I as we are now are living in an unfamiliar first-floor apartment. There is a very large window from floor to ceiling that is about ten feet in width. This window is at an angle to the rest of the room (though not like a bay window) and to the left of the front door of our place. I look out onto a sight that appears to be in early evening. It seems to be very close to where the Statue of Liberty should be, so close, I would only have to walk about ten feet to get to the pedestal, though I am wondering what happened to it. There are a few people walking around but there is no Statue of Liberty or its pedestal. There are a few pieces of it here and there on each side of my window view and I get the notion that they are rebuilding it to make it stronger and to last longer. It does not occur to me that we do not live in America and certainly not near the Statue of Liberty. Later, I go to lie down on the couch which has been pulled out into a bed and is near the center of the large unfamiliar room. Shortly after I do, an unknown young male starts to move it. In fact, he even rolls it over so that I go upside-down as well as feel it sandwich me a bit though I somehow stay on it even when I should have fallen out. The sensations of touch, pressure, and motion are very realistic. Eventually, I slide out from the couch onto the floor as he is moving and rolling it about and I start yelling at him, cursing at him and calling him rude names. I kick him out of our apartment while telling him never to come back. The unknown young male is the preconscious personification of RAS (reticular activating system) modulation (modulation, as my emergent consciousness did not establish control until my dream’s last event). This is a biological factor of the dreaming and waking process that has nothing to do with waking life. The Statue of Liberty scene is based on having been in deeper sleep, with the analogy of physicality being “rebuilt”, my dream sustained by a minor thread of non-lucid dream control. A statue is autosymbolism for the physical body not moving while in REM sleep. In this case, my waking process needed an extra boost from the preconscious, which is additionally validated by vestibular system correlation being more sustained than usual regarding the movement of my illusory dream body, as there was curiously no falling start.
Morning of September 7, 2016. Wednesday. Dream #: 18,160-02. Reading time: 1 min 28 sec. I am on the set of a new Indiana Jones movie, but it takes place in an unknown modern city that seems like a part of Third Street in La Crosse, near business buildings. I seem to be the director. There are two beds (as in my recent lions dream), but which are outside across the public sidewalk, perpendicular to it. Kate Capshaw is on a bed on the right from the street view. At first, she is happy about her movie role, but there is an uncertainty of whether she is going to be eaten by a lion. There is the idea that a lion will at least reach over her bed and paw her abdomen. That does not happen. (I am non-lucidly directing the scene). She does not seem angry or afraid. Instead, she only seems annoyed over the idea of having to “really” die in her role. She asks me if I am going to direct the outcome that way, but I am unsure. No lion appears. (“Capshaw” is a distorted association with “cat’s paw.”) I get the impression there is an “invisible duplicate” of her in the other bed related to the filming, but the situation does not make much sense. I am later in the house we live in now, but there is a duplication of the lounge room from north to south. There are two bowls of popcorn, one in each room in the “same” area and I am puzzled about whether there are meant to be two bowls or one. Our youngest daughter is present, but I briefly consider if there is one or two of her and if so, if the “right” one is home. One bowl of popcorn is hers. This dream is like a combination of aspects from one from the 5th (Directing Godzilla with the Book that Controls the Universe) and one from the 6th (The Lions of Coalescence Guide me to “Nature’s Call"). There is the awareness that my non-lucid scripting relates to a movie within my dream. Although there is an artifact association (“Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom”), there is no direct presence of a “dreaming crystal” as in my dream from the 5th.
Morning of September 5, 2016. Monday. I find myself in an unusual balanced composite (more integrated than usual) of my Cubitis family home and the Barolin Street house (to where the Barolin Street house’s porch is integrated with my Cubitis bedroom in atypically smooth orientation). I have a large hardcover book which seems to be meant to be a notebook yet has the look of a novel. I am aware that Godzilla is approaching from the west (Cubitis orientation) and will reach the house within a short time. I am clearly focused and write in the book how Godzilla will not damage the house and will pass by without destruction. As I write with a pencil, more like making annotations above my previous writing at some points, I hear Godzilla approaching. Soon, he is somehow in the house but only about as tall as the ceiling. He does not bother me and instead, ducks down and goes through the doorway. He turns to the left and shuffles through another doorway after hunching down. No damage is done. I find this interesting but I also realize that he may come back in his full size and with a more monstrous presence depending on how I write the events in the book I have. I get the sense of there being an island in the distance (northeasterly), which Godzilla will mostly destroy all the buildings on, yet I am not focused on the idea of a body of water separating it from the region where the house is. I write about how Godzilla will march in a rectangular path so that he will eventually come back from the same direction, but supposedly not near the house. I walk to an area that is like an underground cavern but still seems part of the house (and “actually” above ground). In Cubitis orientation, this cavern would open to the north and is probably analogous to the hallway of that house with a vague bilocation. An unknown dark-haired female approaches me from the mouth of the cave while holding a pillow horizontally (obvious dream sign) with a black gemstone with an emerald cut sitting horizontally on it. It is about six inches long. This character seems like an odd composite of Xena and Kira from “The Dark Crystal”. (There is an association with my wife Zsuzsanna here. Her middle name is Gabrielle, which is also Xena’s friend’s name. Kira is also the name of a “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine” character and “Star Trek” featured in another dream of today.) She seems very concerned about the supposedly inevitable approach of Godzilla and yet is also wondering if the crystal should ever be used to control such creatures, as it is implied to be of great power and may fall into the wrong hands. She talks about hiding it instead, so that no one would ever be able to use it for anything. “It doesn’t matter at all,” I say. “I can control everything in the universe with this book. In fact, I made everything in the universe.” The girl eyes me curiously while seemingly dismissing that the crystal has any consequential aspect at all but seems puzzled and somewhat wary about being an entity I had created or she may be uncertain how I may shape events concerning Godzilla’s approach towards her people or alternate world. I wake before writing any more. This was interesting in that I had total control by what I wrote in the book yet was not even slightly lucid at any point. A book represents the nature of consciousness (or the transmuted conscious mind within the dream state) and the critical thinking skills on the conscious identity side of liminal space. A pillow is an obvious dream sign, not at all a symbol, that is, a residual memory of having fallen asleep (as is a bed and being undressed in public). The crystal seems to symbolize focused lucidity here (as it is dark and sits on the pillow and thus is analogous to the sleeping mind), yet full dream control is still present without lucidity or even a greater perceptual clarity. As Kira has wings and is a muppet, this is an atypical form of the otherwise very common “return flight” waking metaphor which also reflects the artificial nature of the dream state (and a puppet or muppet obviously represents potential dream control). The cave represents the dreaming side of liminal space (or the depths of the unconscious while sleeping) and thus on the primary level the emergence of the female character symbolizes my wife Zsuzsanna waking up next to me. Godzilla was the base coalescence metaphor (dream-swallower for the return to whole consciousness yet also represents heartburn in this case which I had to a small degree after waking, especially as Godzilla hunches down with his left paw on his stomach at one point), yet something within my dream self focus was able to shape my dream differently without being lucid.
Morning of August 29, 2016. Monday. My wife Zsuzsanna and I are in bed, though I do not pick up on the fact that the orientation is quite different. Beyond my feet (I seem to be lying on my back) and not that far from our bed, I notice that three young men of about twenty years of age (possibly younger) had been looking at us through the mail slot on our front door (even though we have no mail slot and in fact I have never been in or lived in a house with this sort of layout). The three males take turns looking at us, which is odd because I think they might also see through the window in the door (although this is not certain) unless they want to remain mostly out of sight. Since I am nude, I am therefore not embarrassed about any implication of having slept in my clothes (as in a few past dreams including a recent one), but I am very annoyed at these imposers. I get out of our bed (without getting dressed) and get my large barbell (my weapon of choice in many dreams) and go to our front door (of a fictional appearance) and shove it through the mail slot to bonk one of them on the head and continue to strike whoever is within reach after mentioning something about this imposition to Zsuzsanna. (Discovering that unknown people, usually younger males, had been watching me as I sleep is a long-term recurring dream situation since early childhood, though usually non-threatening, and is a dream sign of residual subliminal memories carried over into sleep, which typically represent threads of my own conscious mind or in some cases an unexpected environmental noise. In this case, my conscious mind’s “intrusion” into the realm of my dream self is validated by the mail slot, which represents potential communication between non-lucid dream self and conscious self. Because I probably do not want to wake up yet, I subliminally “pretend” it is an intrusion by strangers, though in some cases there actually are real voices on the public footpath from outside our house when we are sleeping.) The scene and setting very curiously shifts to one where Zsuzsanna and I are sitting in armchairs (now fully clothed) in an unknown mostly featureless room with the three unknown males who are sitting on wooden chairs. Three small dogs, possibly chihuahuas, are running around and are seemingly a mild threat though they do not come close enough to bite either of us. I push them away with the barbell and also bonk the males on the heads a few times even though they do not directly attack us. I do not really feel like hurting the dogs and we leave without incident. Later, I am in the backyard of our present home on W Street. Zsuzsanna is sleeping on her left side in a grass cocoon (seemingly intricately woven of thin grass) very close to the west fence. I hear someone talking, probably walking south past our house, and wonder if they are going to bother us by looking through the gaps in our fence. Zsuzsanna looks beautiful. The grass cocoon covers almost every part of her with the appearance of a papoose, with only her face showing through an open oval area. There is a sense of love and peace.
Morning of August 29, 2016. Monday. My dream curiously starts out at the King Street boarding house (where I have not been since the early 1990s). I do have some memories of my present life status but it is distorted and also changes before my dream ends. I start mowing the lawn, but oddly, for whatever indeterminable reason, continue to mow all the way to the north side of La Crosse via the causeway through the marsh (though which is more like normal land in my dream). I may in fact be working for the street department as I did in real life, though that was mostly for Onalaska. I feel very happy and satisfied as I somehow walk all that way, while mowing yet, without getting tired, even somehow casually mowing over some rather large bushes with thick trunks. I feel a bit helpful for others in the area in doing this. Strangely, without even considering it odd or impossible, I end up at the corner of Hamilton Road and Stadcor Street in Wavell Heights (Brisbane, Australia), instead of where I should be, that is, George Street and Sill Street (Wisconsin, America). On this composite corner of the two locations, where we never lived in reality (though we did live on Stadcor Street farther down from Hamilton Road), there is another version of my family, though I am somewhat confused about it as I am also there (rather - “another me”). My “other” son Lorenzo, a child of the “other” us, is playing near the street. About four police officers are near our front entrance talking with the “other” us. Our house resembles a composite of our present home, the Stadcor Street house, and the Barolin Street house. They apparently had brought Lorenzo home after he had unknowingly wandered off. I start to mow “our” front yard, but the officers remind me that my job is to only mow the public areas. From here, I mow along what is either Stadcor Street or Sill Street but which ends in an area similar in appearance to where it would have begun near the George Street turn off, not at the end of the street on the other side. The particular corner lot also seems rotated ninety degrees north to east as well as duplicated to the north. This puzzles me quite a bit even though my memory of the composite could not be right anyway (due to the fact it is a composite and not a real layout). I am not sure where I should continue from here, though it is not quite a dead-end, as there may be an intersection that would imply either Corowa Street or Wood Street (though which would imply Loomis Street is “missing”). As I continue to try to only now work out where I am, I notice a large unlikely feature in the center of the empty lot which now seems to be a park. It looks just like an old mausoleum. This gives me a very eerie sense of mortality and I am soon wary about where I am. Still, I consider that it may not actually be a mausoleum, as why would there only be one in the center of a public park? Looking more closely, I see a large clock face over what would otherwise be the entrance, which seems like a miniature version of Big Ben. This slowly convinces me that it may not be a mausoleum (as why would a large clock face block a mausoleum entrance) but perhaps meant as a city tribute of some kind. I am still in awe over the very eerie and ancient-looking feature and I do not go any farther. (I do not recall the time that was on the clock as I did not note it while in my dream. It may have indicated the real time, though this is not certain).
Morning of August 26, 2016. Friday. My dream’s setting is a unique variation of our present home. There is an ambiguous perception of bilocation, though the essence of my primary environment is extraordinarily vivid. I seem to be in bed, yet I am also looking down to my right at what appears to be the open storage area in the bottom of the couch I slept on as a teenager. (The back of it dropped down for it to serve as a single bed.) This layout would not be possible in reality. It seems to be on the right side of our bed and perpendicular to it. The size orientation is wrong despite the amazing clarity. (Certainly, no couch would fit in the short distance from the right side of our bed to the wall.) It seems smaller than it should but my dream self accepts this feature. Our youngest sons are present in the room. There is a small yellow snake of about a foot long that I consider as possibly venomous. It had somehow crawled inside the couch. The area is perceived as being about a foot below the top of our mattress. There is a horizontal section of the storage space that is slightly apart near the bottom that allows the snake to crawl out through it. I keep touching its head with a stick and it moves back into the narrow space. I feel confident that I can keep the snake at a distance. I use the stick to bump its head and it retreats about four times. Eventually, it somehow jumps out from the area and hits my left shoulder fairly hard though does not bite me. It seems to vanish after this. It is so vivid that not only do I wake up slapping my shoulder in reality, I shuffle around a short time before I am fully awake. Specific colors in my dreams, when they dominate my focus of attention, sometimes correlate with an aspect of consciousness I am most aware of during the waking process. Yellow or gold often occurs where there is more perception of movement and emergent consciousness awareness that serves to dissolve the illusory nature of the dream state in activating viable consciousness. On the biological level, a snake dream of a more vivid and realistic rendering as this is often only reticular activating system modulation to more quickly alert the dreamer into waking up. Being biological autosymbolism as a derivative of RAS, there is no reason to force the pretense of waking life symbolism into such a dream, especially as it was a factor in making me aware that my left arm would have become numb had I slept in the position I was in any longer.
Morning of August 24, 2016. Wednesday. Dream #: 18,146-05. Reading time (optimized): 3 min. I am with my family in an unknown location near a small oval pond of an area of about ten feet by six feet, seemingly late at night. There are no other discernible environmental features. Zsuzsanna is off to my left, our two youngest sons closer to me on my left, our youngest the closest. Our youngest son is fishing, but I eventually help him reel in a fish. It turns out to be a small pale bluegill (even though I had considered that there were no fish in the pond) with the hook stuck on the outside of his mouth on its right side, which is difficult to pull out. The tangibility and sense of movement and weight of catching a fish are amazingly realistic. When I throw it to my right instead of putting it on a stringer, I see a second pond, about the same size as the first, perpendicular to it and about two feet away from it. The water is only inches deep. There is a pile of bluegill about three or four high, almost covering the far half of the side of the pond, most caught within the last day or two. About a third are alive. I wonder which fish came from which body of water, but the second one is not deep enough to fish in now. Later, we walk near a ravine in an unknown location (where there is only part of a guardrail) near an urban area. It seems to be late afternoon. The scene is clear and detailed, with plenty of light to see at a distance. I see puddles far below and three big parallel fish on their stomachs about five feet apart, facing away from us. They are about four feet long and still alive. I tell Zsuzsanna two are sturgeons, but one is an alligator gar, but the imagery changes to feature the opposite. The scene is ambiguous, as they are similar in appearance. We teleport to the area near the fish far below. I warn our youngest son not to put his hand near the mouth of a gar, but he does after patting its back, seemingly preparing to take it home with us to eat. He appears to have cut his fingers. However, this is not the case, and he seems cheerful. We walk through a long but narrow park, adjacent to the road. It is late at night again. There are about five other people around (of questionable repute), and they are setting up an overnight camp in the closed park. They gather under a park shelter nearby. An unknown male in his forties, who may be lighting a cigarette, throws a lit match into the river close to where he is. As a result (and as I vaguely anticipate), the river’s surface somehow catches fire with a bright flash and tall flames, and they are startled but unharmed. Not wanting trouble from the park rangers, Zsuzsanna and our children, under my lead, turn to go back in the opposite direction with a steady gait, though not as if fleeing, but assertively. I am aware that there may be a game warden or two near the boat ramp directly opposite the entrance (where we first came in), but this is uncertain. Now we are going home. It seems to be around the same time as the previous scene. We reach the perimeter of a parking lot, about one-fifth the size of a city block, adjacent to the sidewalk. We may walk through it diagonally from here (off to its right) rather than go around at the intersection. However, the declivity might be too challenging for us to traverse, especially for Zsuzsanna to manage the pram. We walk through a high school instead. Even though it is late at night, students are walking on the grounds. (At least one is wearing an American football uniform.) We use the entrance and the exit but go back around and up to a fence that blocks our way. We walk around it and continue from here as I wake. Dream signature: Water induction, seeking correlation of dream state awareness (fishing), water lowering (melatonin mediation), vestibular system adaptation (walking near ravine), water reinduction (river), lit match and river on fire (precursory consciousness initiation; choice to “go home”; wake), liminal space entry (parking lot), vestibular system correlation (anticipation of walking through declivity; wariness of waking process as potential falling sensation), emerging thinking skills (going through high school), wall mediation (fence).
Night of August 20, 2016. Saturday. I am in an unknown area, but which strongly seems to be the area near the fictional New Moon Drive In from a Huckleberry Hound story. I am not sure how this wonderful childhood impression so clearly comes to me after all these years, but it has happened a number of times previously. There is a very strong happiness permeating my dream for a time. Eventually, I am aware of the Freakies from Freakies Cereal, although there are additional creatures which appear quite different than the original characters. Each one is a different color (including purple, pink, and cyan) and about half my height. One is an octopus-like creature but his limbs are truncated to where they seem more like suction cups or extended “craters” all around his spherical body. Another creature is like an octopus as well but his thin tentacles have numerous additional thin tentacles coming out of them evenly all down the side, the effect somewhat like minimal plant roots. At one point we stand on the roof of an unknown building (possibly meant to be the Rose Street building) watching the sky for Mister Sandman. All this time, “Mister Sandman” (by the Chordettes) seems to be playing. However, the other words are not distinct and the song seems to actually be about the “real” Mister Sandman arriving, possibly by rocket. I wander about in what resembles a fairground setting and there is a nice sense of timelessness and “being in the right place”. Eventually, Huckleberry Hound is seen on the roof of the New Moon Drive In in his crashed rocket (though there had been no focus on any actual crash). He looks about as if puzzled. A number of people approach the building with low-level crowd noises and a positive sense of wonder. I cross a street to see what is going on. I thought this was a wonderful and nostalgic experience. I was semi-lucid throughout most of it though remained passive regardless of the presence of the weird ugly Freakies. I thought it included a very nice “failed flight waking transition” event, a very common waking metaphor (a far more detailed extension of the primary biological waking function). Although I have not included a “water induction” tag, there is an association as the song “Moon River” has the lyric with “my huckleberry friend“ (though obviously not connected to Huckleberry Hound).
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