Blue_Opossum

Morning of September 1, 2015. Tuesday.



I seem to be focused on Loomis Street yet again. However, there are also emotions and realizations associated with our present bedroom on W Street (though it does not quite seem like a typical composite, and yet the setting is limited to the one room, though).

My attention is mostly on an unusual “clock”. It does not apparently serve as a clock though, but some sort of answering machine (though I do not recall having this type of concept appearing in any previous dream).

Only the hour hand is implemented but it does not serve as time-keeping in any way. There is seemingly no minute hand or second hand and the number six, in its proper location, is the only number on the face of the clock.

I move the hour hand to the left (from where it was near the number six), to around where the number eight would be expected to be, and start to hear pleasant music. As I put it in different positions, I hear a lot of very nice music, a lot of it tribal, but with no voices at any point. The audio is very clear (though I do not become lucid).

After spending seemingly at least fifteen minutes listening to very nice music (which apparently is related to being connected to our telephone and plays when we are not home to answer it), I move the hour hand over to the right around where the number four would be expected to be. From around where the number two would be expected to be to that location, there are recordings of my wife or me telling the caller to leave a message, and some of the messages are meant to be in-jokes. I listen to these recordings for a short time (much shorter than when I was enjoying the music) and my dream fades.

Morning of September 1, 2015. Tuesday.



My wife and children and I are living on Loomis Street, it seems (though my wife and children have never been to America). At least that is where my entire dream takes place; in the front part of the house. However, the house is mirrored from north to south - the first distortion of the Loomis Street house in this particular way that I remember. It does not trigger any degree of lucidity that the house is mirrored from my right to my left as such. My family seems to at least partly be living in the first small bedroom.

My sister Marilyn makes an appearance as she was perhaps in the early 1970s (before I even moved back to Wisconsin). She seems healthy and happy. She goes to open her bedroom door and the door mostly falls off the hinges but is still partly attached at the top. She is annoyed and mentions something about how she wanted to listen to Neil Diamond with her door closed (apparently so as not to bother others, including her sickly husband). (This is odd, as she had never listened to Neil Diamond in real life regardless of her huge record, reel to reel, and cassette tape collection.)

I go over and make the offer to fix it, but her husband Bob suddenly shows up as if having just arrived (possibly dropped off by his relatives or perhaps my sister Carol - this is not certain). He insists that he can do it. He looks very ill and begins at the top of the door frame. The hinges are not as they would be in reality. Each of the two hinges in the door frame (the ones that came loose) is held by two silver sets of nuts and bolts, the bolts facing outward from the door frame. He begins to work on the top nut by tightening it with his hands. The other nut below that is there but very loose. The other two nuts (for the bottom hinge) are somehow somewhere in that bedroom on the other side of the door (which is not logical, as the nuts would have rolled into the living room relating to how the door mostly came off, not the other direction). Just as he is tightening the top nut, he drops his left arm (the hinges are on the left side of the door from the living room perspective). He then seems to go into some sort of pseudo-ritualistic trance. I notice that there are dark reddish circles around his eyes and he is wearing no shirt. (He is just in his underwear.) He had arrived in only his underwear and had apparently been in the hospital for a week or more.

He just stands there looking very ill. He starts chanting “Have a headache…don’t care…have a headache…don’t care…” (which seems to mean he does not care about anything in life, even continuing to fix the hinges). I get the strong impression that he is very close to death. I decide that I will manually tighten the other nuts myself, but just as I contemplate tightening the bottom nut of the top hinge, my dream fades.

Zsuzsanna woke with a slight headache and a bit of nausea so it is possible our empathetic link projected into a different dream character (as this has happened before) - even though her character in my dream seemed healthy and happy. In fact, this metaphor (a door not being on all the hinges) does seem to have something to do with empathetic links that need to be strengthened for the health or vitality of both (including at different levels of thought). A door itself is a point between two rooms and often takes a dreamer into different levels of consciousness or awareness.

Precognition unveils. Right after my wife had the television on (and just as I was ready to post this), the first thing she hears is “Neil Diamond…(pause)…No, it wasn’t Neil Diamond”. My wife just smiled at me and said “You’re funny”. Of course, this is a natural event via the Source, like digesting food, not an active “ability” for the most part (at least in this particular case).

Morning of August 30, 2015. Sunday.



I typically do not post audio-dominated dreams online (yet, anyway) and do not even have many archived in digital format though will make an exception here.

This dream starts out in the nightly light stages of sleep paralysis I always experience and usually enjoy. There is no usual “buzzing” or oscillation in this stage and no “rolling waves” as in other levels. I remain in a deep peaceful state but am aware of some sort of energies moving above me and to my right side.

Suddenly, I clearly hear someone say “I’m six years old!” right over me but closer to my right ear. This surprises me but does not quite startle me. I cannot tell if the voice is (or is “meant” to be) male or female, but it sounds like a tulpa learning to sound human, as the voice is in at least three discordant layers of different pitches, slightly metallic and slightly nasal. It almost makes me laugh myself awake at the audacity of this being, however young or old it actually is (as well as the musical quality bringing on an odd cheerful response to my emotion). There is a “fuzziness” to the audio as if filtered somehow, though in another sense, it sounds very natural. The being seems to have others “hovering” around them. She (or he) touches me on the shoulder and near my forehead but then the state of consciousness shifts to another location before I can respond or “speak” (telepathically) with any coherent thought of any kind.

I am then watching a female in her forties standing at a complaint department in possibly a clothing store around Christmastime, seemingly to my right. She babbles bizarrely in accelerated audio and flings several packages to the floor and onto the counter in a strange musical charade that sounds like pieces of different musical measures (late 1960s?) in random sequences. Again, I almost start laughing, but she looks very frustrated (but does not regard me in any way). It is almost as if she can only “speak” in distorted random musical measures mixed with human vocalized gibberish rather than solely human-like.

From here (into a different type of dream state), I am at a construction site, possibly unseen by anyone else (as I am seemingly not noticed or directly regarded at any point). It is the beginning of the foundation and framework of perhaps a four-storey (or higher) building. A man looks up and says loudly, “You better get down here” (emphasis on “down”) to a male on at least the second level of framework - the voice having a tone of authority as well as mild concern and with a slightly musical inflection as if he had said the same phrase often before. This shouting slightly shifts my consciousness and this dreaming stage is over.

Morning of August 29, 2015. Saturday.



The above image is solely representative of a dream and is not meant to imply or reflect any aspect or opinion of a real location.

There is a rural church that comes to mind. It seems I had actually gone there for a time until I realized it was futile (this faux history is only in my dream). I am not sure where it is, though I get an impression it may be in one of the New England states in America. This is a brand new concept that was unveiled to me in my dream’s otherwise meandering forms. Even after waking, I feel as if I have a subtle piece of someone else’s memory somehow, though this is not logical at all because I doubt there was such a church that became like this one.

The church used to have a cross on the front above the entrance. This cross has since transformed into a trident over time, perhaps a year or two. I am astounded by this concept and altered imagery, as it had never crossed my mind at any point before in my life, or perhaps it is because I had not given much thought to the cross in the first place (and I had never been to any church in my life other than for a couple funerals). The only real difference between the cross and the trident is the extended and raised arms - otherwise they are nearly the same. As such, one might think it to be a symbol for praise (to the sky above) or even ascension. Instead, on one level, it is damaging, perhaps; the pitchfork. There can be a fork in a road and there can also be crossroads.How can something “speak” so intimately for the first time? Has it “spoken” before?

This dream left me with a very odd “new” feeling and it certainly can be said that hardly any dreams do that for me these days, at least not in this particular unique way - as if it was “not me” in even the slightest way (related to the idea or faux memory), since it seemed completely “outside” of myself for whatever reason, almost as if I was looking into the mind of another for the first time (though I do not know whom).

Any personal associations likely arose from “Percy Jackson: Sea of Monsters” (in which the trident is associated with the hero) - seen just previously - and the aforementioned absentminded confusion between “fork in the road” and “crossroads”. My dream self can be identified with Percy Jackson and forming a stronghold of differentiated and more intimate and viable spirituality; perhaps a “new house” to explore without the prior scorn of the general populace.

Morning of August 26, 2015. Wednesday.



Dreaming of walking on the surface of the ocean (or in some cases a lake or river), in both lucid and non-lucid dream segments, was more common when I was much younger.

In the first part of this dream, my family and I (as we are now) seem to be living in a large apartment building. It seems to be a very old building which has not been maintained by the owner and is seemingly in a larger city (possibly in America though this is not certain). There are a few other tenants but not any I recognize to any extent, other than getting an impression that Leonard S lives there, perhaps across the hall. I eventually falsely “remember” that we are also renting a small house somewhere in a less urban area (reason unknown - it may relate to either place being randomly problematic at certain times). There is a vague concern about having enough money to keep renting both places (in real life we have only done that in the process of moving and perhaps that is implied in my dream, though the back story is vague).

I am walking through the long hallway at one point and keep noticing, here and there, old hair ties of various darker and lighter colors; some thicker, some thinner and in various stages of wear; that had been dropped. (My hair is presently short so I do not use them for a ponytail, though my hair has usually been very long throughout my life.) The hallway also has a lot of dust and looks like it has not been swept for a long time. I decide to pick up some of the hair ties and also think about sweeping the area as there are also small bits of paper and other debris. When I am in the apartment though, I hear someone else sweeping and get the impression of an older lady starting to maintain some of her building for the first time in years for whatever reason. I also get the impression of dust somehow coming through the mopboard (skirting) area into our apartment though this does not concern me, especially as I vaguely realize that it would not be possible (ironic since I am flying after this).

Later on, I start flying around over various buildings with no particular destination in mind at first. Eventually, I come to the ocean. A huge creature that looks like an orca whale though much bigger emerges vertically from the water and remains upright and mostly unmoving (and is no threat). It does not seem to have any eyes or other features, only the smooth cylindrical body (slightly too long for a real whale). I cannot decide what it is. I still fly around in the area. I eventually walk around on the water near a large dock that borders a building. (I get a vague idea that I created the “unfinished” creature as well as bringing up small islands in the distance beyond, but these vague impressions are not reconciled, including with a subtle secondary unseen presence I am not sure about though I seem to be communicating with “her” somehow as I am flying around - though “she” seems to be everywhere and much larger than me somehow.)

In the last segment of my dream, I remember that many of my relatives have died, including Carol and Marilyn. However, I find myself with an unopened thick small plain envelope that was apparently sent to us by Marilyn just prior to her death. It dawns on me that (due to its atypical thickness for an otherwise ordinary letter) it may contain money, though that is not what I notice when I open it. I take out a large Japanese fan (that is then too large to have fit in the envelope though I do not consider this distortion) that is mostly white. At one point I get an impression that I can talk to her but only because time is quite distorted (and I am not sure where I am in time). It seems extraordinarily odd that people can cease to exist. It does not seem to make any sense of how this is possible, though vaguely, I am also aware of time being in “layers” where people still exist in certain layers and scenarios and I am trying to remember what “time layer” I am in and whether or not I can talk to or visit certain people.

Morning of August 25, 2015. Tuesday.



In my dream (with no implied back story or prior memory of any other event or situation) I find myself absentmindedly looking at an array of thumbnails on my computer monitor, too small to see much detail other than various images of a mysterious figure in black and what may be a closeup of a face in solely one image of the set. It looks like it may be a set of photographs of a young dark-haired Moroccan girl in a mostly featureless room, though it may also be a young version of my wife Zsuzsanna. My thoughts are not that defined and I remain puzzled over the display. The images seem slightly larger at one point, though not based on any technical adjustment on my part (though possibly by automatic magnification, based on purely mental “zooming in” of the dream self’s perspective, this being a fairly common event in my dreams). She is wearing black clothes, including black silky palazzo pants and a kaftan top from what can be seen in the thumbnails, and it looks like there may be a black veil in some images.

When I bring up one image in the top row, I see a young female’s face and it looks rather distorted though still human for the most part. An outline of very small jewels completely encircles her eyes, mouth, and nose area. They look like they may have been deeply embedded into her skin. This puzzles me and for a moment I almost think it is her actual face and that the “jewels” are organic, though I eventually accept that they may be tiny rhinestones. I have no idea who it is at this point. At one time the girl may have been pretty, but now she looks almost inhuman (or “alien” in a cinematic sense) and very odd. My dream fades after this, after seeing only the one larger image with some sort of vague wariness regarding what sort of “creature” she may be (though likely still human for the most part, yet unique in that I get the impression no one else has gone to this extreme in facial alteration, which may be related to some sort of extreme cultural or religious purpose).

Morning of August 25, 2015. Tuesday.



Notes:

It always gives me an extraordinary sense of fulfillment when I get a continuous flow of insight and am able to more fully decode certain patterns in dreams over a lifetime since earliest memory. I am very grateful for the technology that has allowed me to do this; that is, type faster and with continuous editing potential (rather than writing and correcting and rewriting and correcting when I was little), put documents all together in one place, and have a listing and potential day to day timeline of my lifetime from around age four (with sparse family references and records since my birth date in 1960) as well as having access to resources that are able to validate and enhance so many of my earlier records. Not only will I be able to, in about ten years (only an optimistic estimate of course), bring all of my dream records and notes together as I want them, I will also have the ability to do extensive searches with a fair amount of precision. This dream, as odd and unlikely as it seems (even to me at first - I did not expect the flashes of realization when working with it), gave me the required focus somehow to unravel a small and isolated set of dream metaphors and associations going back to 1968 as well as relating to the path to my beautiful soulmate. There are too many layers to get into in this entry (and one would have to understand hundreds of summarized pages of my personal back story to “get” any of it anyway). I can only loosely touch upon some of it. Obviously, there are still limitations to my personal symbols and metaphors being fully decoded. This is mainly because some symbolic associations are rather sparse and fairly rare even at my present age. Still, I feel very happy today with another new breakthrough.

Sewing Machine Bulldozer:

I am mournfully back as I was when I was in my twenties and working for the Onalaska Street Department (not that I was sad at that time - it is just that something seems to be “missing” somehow in-dream). My job at this time was picking up large pieces of eroded embankment (on a fairly difficult inclination) and placing them on the roadside - placing them directly in front of the bulldozer. This was very difficult work and not many could do it for very long. Over time, I begin to be annoyed and tired over why I am even doing this. (It does not dawn on me that I am no longer this age, and do not even live in America anymore.) I am concerned about the speed of the other workers. The bulldozer even bumps me a few times, though not in any harmful way. I grow impatient and realize that I may have missed pieces a far distance back and think that the stretch will have to be worked over again. I do some of the work incorrectly, that is, I bend over to pick up a heavy piece instead of squatting and flinging back. Any sense of weariness of course, is an illusion in-dream. I start to ask myself what I am doing here. Is this where I am supposed to be?

I absentmindedly turn about and put my foot against the blade of the bulldozer. This results in a very strange event. The blade and push frame begin to wobble and very small “plates” fall off the front (reminding me vaguely of “Bathtub with Grill” from June 26, 2015). The exhaust pipe stack begins to move up and down like a “giant” sewing machine needle. It is almost like the tension building up in a cartoon (but not cartoon-like in any way). When I look down, I see that the bulldozer’s blade has actually transformed into an oversized antique sewing machine’s treadle (with floral scroll design), though at an angle and somewhat elevated. My leg is automatically working it to create (and actually sew together, apparently) some sort of clothing within the bulldozer’s cab. It is some sort of gossamer white lacy material flowing out from the side. Around this time there is a very strange mechanical sound behind me and when I dare look, it is a downward rolling “wave” suggesting a ghostly staircase. Soon, it is a luminescent staircase (recurring feature mostly from early 1991 to early 1994). My wife (as she was when we first made contact) in a glowing wedding dress and some sort of oversized tiara (somewhat like a crown) is standing there with a bouquet of flowers. I can see a blue layer of light just under her skin. “I’m not going to be late, am I?” I ask. “I never intended to be la…” (My dream is swept away.)

Connections:

Bulldozer history: I have found some links I did not really fully put together before. “The Dead One” dream (February 13, 1971, age ten - that is, first version of it) had a bulldozer run over Brenda W when I was taking flowers to her late at night on the eve of Valentine’s Day (so that only her hand is seen emerged from the soil and I feel a terrible sense of loss), yet she was resurrected (not in a zombie sense) near the end of my dream, yet “I could not yet have her”. (There were several dreams where she was resurrected, none of them relevant to any zombie lore - more in a divine “ascension” sense.) Brenda was the fully confirmed “stand-in” for my wife-to-be and also appeared in composite forms (such as “The Bad Witch” from March 18, 1978, which had a recurrence on March 23rd - the same date I got my first letter from my wife-to-be in 1991). Other layers - my sister died on February 13th (though the 14th from my perspective at one point in Australia as we are about a day ahead) and my father also died on the 14th of February. I have often associated the bulldozer with mortality and loss as such. Thus, there is very odd synchronicity with only a 1 in 365 chance it would be relevant as such - though it is - and all through my life extremely unlikely synchronicity continued with almost every event and association.

The origins of this (that is, the very seed) may or may not be related to the tree I used to spend time near at primary school. One of my friends used to take palmetto sticks and push sand off the concrete bench, chanting “bulldozer bulldozer”. This was the “same” bench that Brenda was seated in most versions of “Bridge Over a Prehistoric World” (though she also appeared in distorted composites associated with the “dream girl” or “mystery girl” as I preferred).

At any rate, from here, I made somewhat of a breakthrough in one very early version of the “divine staircase”. However, the features are quite different. It turns out to be my “Rocket Science” dream from July 2, 1976. This is not the first version of the implied “soulmate staircase” by any stretch. One of the oldest appears in “The Ghost Marriage” dream from October 16, 1971. I am linking only to the “Rocket Science” dream because of a few odd parallels. Firstly, the white sheet of paper that makes the “staircase” is like a miniature implication of the one in this latest dream (which I never even began to note before for whatever absentminded reason) as well as the commonly recurring ones as already mentioned above. It moved exactly the same way; that is, like a diagonal wave that suggested a complete “pure” or “divine” staircase (phantom or not).

Aside from that, there is also the shared “whirligig” element and the strange “impossible” technology, the “whirligig” obviously being a Merkaba form, but I am not sure what the sewing machine needle and fictional helicopter rotary design “pumping” relates to (well, on a spiritual level that is - some sort of spiritual “motor” or cosmic mechanism perhaps). As most of this had already come about in 1994, it is more like a decoding breakthrough than anything relevant to what may come.

Morning of August 22, 2015. Saturday.



In the first part of my dream, there is a backstory being reviewed with some clarity (though seemingly in a different level of unconsciousness than the rest of my dream). It is an event related to when someone supposedly photographed a shark in a highly unlikely area in a lake, though it is not clear that it is at a lake at first. It seems that at least some people think it was taken in the ocean. The “shark” is shown near some people including two children (male and female), some of them in the foreground and making it hard to identify the animal as a shark. It seems unusual that people would be so close to a shark for the sake of resulting in such a photograph in which it could not be fully identified anyway (as the picture does seem staged). There is only the one photograph.

Eventually, it is revealed that the fish is not a shark but a muskellunge. Somehow, this large fish ends up in our bathtub, where my family and I keep it for a time. It is seemingly at Barolin Street (where we have not lived in years), though the bathroom is a bit different. The big long fish fills much of bathtub, which remains half-full with water until the scene changes later.

Time seems to pass, perhaps a few days. I go in to look at the fish and it is no longer moving. It is much thinner than it was, possibly even dead. It looks somewhat transparent, and the bathtub is now only about a quarter full. I go and get a large bucket of fresh water and pour it in. Eventually, the fish starts moving again.

Later, when I look again, the fish has transformed into an unclothed dark-haired male (of about twenty) of an almost divine essence, though also much like a younger version of me. He gets up, though remains standing in the bathtub. He talks to Zsuzsanna and I for a short time, but I do not recall his words. I do recall asking him how he can understand the human language (and I do use “human language” instead of “English”). I ask him this very close to his ear. He seems cheerful and healthy. From here, my dream fades.

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The muskellunge is a symbol of Wisconsin, where I lived from mid-1978 to the first part of 1994 (as well as when I was very young, from 1963 until 1967). The fish is this dream’s emergent consciousness factor, additionally validated by the fact that it becomes a younger version of me. As I had sustained and vivified my dream deliberately (though subliminally) with water reinduction, this makes my emergent consciousness less like my current conscious self for a time.

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There may also be an association with “The Incredible Mr. Limpet”, a 1964 Don Knotts movie I saw several times in my youth and enjoyed very much, though that in fact involved the opposite plot; a man transforming into a fish.

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Morning of August 22, 2015. Saturday.



Yet again, I am back in my childhood home in Cubitis. The setting, though, is more near the entrance into the kitchen, though still in the living room area. For whatever reason, there is a character present who seems to be a version of actor Anthony Hopkins, who starred in the first movie my wife Zsuzsanna and I ever saw together in a theater before we we married (“Shadowlands”, about C.S. Lewis). He remains mostly standing near the entrance to the hallway and talking to me about how good an artist I am and the aspects of what I am working on at the time. This does not trigger lucidity in any way.

I am seated at a table, making some sort of large drawing with just a few felt pens, yet still get the impression it is related to a painting - or maybe it will become a painting eventually. I make a statement a bit later of how I wish I had more of a variety of colors to work with.

The more the actor comments positively on my work, the more I seem to absentmindedly start adding random lines and what may eventually eliminate the original image. The image seems to be an ambiguous scene, seemingly as seen from a window, but with both winter (as there is seemingly sparse snow) and summer features. There is a bird (unknown species) near the upper middle of the image as well as trees and a sunrise or sunset. Its wings are out as if in flight, though I think it may also be on a branch at one point, as the image changes over time.

There is an unusual nature to my work at one point. I try to focus on it and even “explain” it to the actor (and my wife who is present) before I wake. The concept makes no sense at all, though. It is something like including an additional layer over the image as someone else has also painted or drawn the same scene (elsewhere) but slightly smaller, or something like me making the picture as if someone else were drawing it as a “reflection” into my drawing. (It is hard to explain, as it does not make much clearer sense in my dream, either, though I suppose it could also be related as my image being on an easel within the actual scene but the easel being transparent and showing the scene more realistically through the outline of my less-formed artistic version.)

Although my image was seemingly very well-done in the first part of my dream, I am adding lines (wider apart) over previous lines, removing the more defined nature of the image, supposedly superimposing the art of someone different over my own version. I am starting to think that Anthony will become annoyed with what I am doing (in “ruining” my original work), but he has not commented at this later point.

All in all, this may simply be yet another metaphor for the waking process; that is, my dream becoming less-defined as I am waking even though my dream-self is attempting to clarify or change the dream’s energies somehow. During my work in the mid-1980s, I found that many dreams can be seen in this manner, especially flying dreams, which represent the state of dreaming itself.

Morning of August 22, 2015. Saturday.



It seems I am returning to, I think, fourth grade, though the school is actually the one I only went to the first part of first grade to in reality (before moving to Florida). I am more like a miniature version of my adult self instead of seeing from a child’s perspective.

For whatever reason, a faux “child version” of actor Billy Burke (as he appears on the television series “Zoo”, one of the only shows we watch presently) is also going to school (complete with glasses and a five o'clock shadow). He walks on my left side and I talk with him about what to expect as we head towards the main entrance. In a way, this seems odd due to the fact that I had supposedly gone to this same grade several times before (which is not like any aspect of reality - in fact, they always wanted to put me two grades higher in the earlier grades - though I refused their advice). It is also a slight association with apparently having been the same age before.

As we go into the school, I realize that the school had recently been in some sort of bad weather that destroyed many of the records. In fact, the floors of the halls are still wet, with a few puddles here and there. I see random sheets of notebook paper and partly opened damaged backpacks here and there, the notebook pages of homework and schoolwork ruined by the water. I do not know quite what to think as it seems school will not be held this day even though a lot of students are arriving.

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Only on one level do I associate a real life event from 1966 with this scene. I had gone to the school grounds on what was apparently a day off (my mother not being aware of this for whatever reason) and on my way into the building, I accidentally splashed into a puddle that was deeper than I first thought. Once I got into the building, two teenage boys took me into the principal’s office and went on and on about it being the worst thing I had probably ever done (one boy actually sitting on the principal’s desk, the other in the chair) and how much trouble I would be in for “tracking water into the school” and misbehaving. It was only later that I began to realize that this event did not really make any sense. I was only five at the time and for whatever reason, thought these boys might actually be part of the legitimate school system, perhaps the sons of the principal or one of the teachers. I never reported this incident and simply walked around in the building before going home later, and never understood why the building would be open if it was an actual holiday. It is possible that “Billy” is a play on “bully” here, though I cannot be certain.

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The only other embarrassing event from this time period was dropping all my math flashcards all over the intersection near Rose Street and I absentmindedly ran around picking them all up (including in front of moving cars) while the crossing guard stopped all the cars for a few minutes, me chasing after some of them as the wind blew them around. I actually kept these cards until just after I moved back to Wisconsin, a few of the cards still having tire marks on them.

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Morning of August 21, 2015. Friday.



I was trying to feasibly do two things at once last night; that is, doing a bit of extra research and writing and doing dream-making preparation exercises (involving image projection and affirmations) during the same time period, which of course, lacks the fluidity of natural dream construction and does not result in extended apex lucidity. Granted, it creates lucidity and in-dream full awareness on one level, but via an unusual perspective and while lacking the otherwise automatic settings and scenes. This particular type of dream is very different than other types, where the dream-making self and the sleeping conscious self are not fully linked as in apex lucidity, yet still as if awake at some levels (and seems to be one of the only types where critical thinking skills are vaguely present at times). Of all the different levels of consciousness, this is probably one of the most annoying. Although surreal events can and do happen, there is no telekinetic ability or abilities involving reshaping of energies.

Before going into a fully rendered in-body dream, my focus was a bit unusual. I was in an atypical form of very light sleep paralysis, the type where you can hear audio pulses and see half-rendered dream settings (and even feel light phantom touches), but rather sparse in attention. A young girl’s voice says “hear me…hear me…heal me…” very clearly (actual sound rather than just the felt waveform), which seems almost like “real” contact of some kind. This brings me awake and I ask Zsuzsanna if it was her and she says no, she had not been sending, intentionally or not (and even so, there is often a minor blue flame event when that happens).

Eventually, in-dream, I am back at my computer and I know I am dreaming, yet for some reason, I am strictly limited to my physical form in the chair. Of course, being in my dream, the computer is not behaving as it should. I am trying to get to a particular tab in Firefox, but the mouse is not responding very well.

So what I do, is peal the tab I am trying to get to off of the actual glass of the monitor. Eventually, I notice about four layers, each related to a particular tab in the browser. The computer monitor starts to separate into several layers of very thin and pliable glass (though more reminiscent of plastic in pliability), and it looks like I may have damaged something. I try to push the thin layers of screen back together and my fingers go a few inches into the screen as the thin sheets of glass are a bit out of alignment.

From here, a small white furball with an emoticon-like face, about the size of a white Furby, but with no ears, falls off my desk. It seems somehow alive, as it does hop around a few times, though a bit chaotically. I try to get it to act aggressively or to make a hostile face, but there is no response. It grins at one point and I try to get it to sprout fangs, but nothing happens. This annoys me. Intense emotion is having no effect on my intent to alter dream nuances. I cannot even create a proper “monster”, not even a little one.

I get up and go outside where there are three tyrannosauruses sleeping in our backyard on their stomachs (the biggest facing north and along the east fence opposite the public footpath, the other two facing east and west). It seems just prior to sunrise, but there is enough light to see their overall shape and certain other details. Maybe I can get a dinosaur to chase me. That might be fun. I did it often enough when much younger. I try to mentally will the dinosaurs awake, but that does not work. I kick them. Nothing happens. I jump around and kick them several times (even in the eyes) but they do not stir. Finally, I use my last scrap of mental energy and wake one up. It rises up on two legs but soon is “pulled” back into its sleeping form - like an accelerated series of movie frames, with the residual impression that the sleeping form had not moved and its waking form was only a fleeting ghost image, being pulled back into itself by sparse wispy tendrils.

Instead of relaxing and staying in my dream or trying to step into a preset scenario, I deliberately “walk out of it” through the fence and make a rude gesture to the three sleeping giants behind me.

Morning of August 19, 2015. Wednesday.

Dream #: 17,775-02. Reading time: 1 min 50 sec.



In my dream, my family and I are living on Barolin Street. However, my Cubitis home’s location (railroad track area only) seems to be a part of the setting later.

Billy Bones, the child-sized human anatomy model, has issues. It needs to have its bones and organs put back in after having fallen out. (In real life, building this kit requires strength and patience.)

I begin to consider the fragility of something so expensive, wondering how long it will last. The model falls apart. I decide to get rid of it, though it is too big to put in the bin. I do not want all the separate pieces to get scattered, as I might step on one and hurt my foot.

It is near nightfall. Billy Bones is now a pile of rubble (rather than bits of plastic and metal). There is also an unexplainable organic substance I do not want to touch. There is a sense of bilocation when the area near the railroad tracks seems to be inside our house. I ambiguously perceive I am indoors and outdoors at the same time, though the setting does not have a clear definition as previously.

I eventually decide the best place to leave the mess is in the middle of the railroad tracks a short distance from our home. I should bury it under the rocks of the trackbed. At this point, I notice that the pile of rubble has more substantial pieces of Billy again, including much of the rib section, part of the hand, and possibly a kidney. That annoys me, as I thought the mess would be less obvious to associate with a human form (in case someone confuses it with real bones). My dream fades from here.

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Important: Note where my dream self decided to bury Billy Bones in the last scene. Note the play on “bed” (trackbed). Ultimately Billy Bones is this dream’s sleep simulacrum (the subliminal indication of being asleep). Physicality in the dream state is imaginary and incohesive.

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As an added note, I found it amusing when I knew no one would go on to purchase the integumentary system (“skin”) for Billy Bones (by extending their subscription) which had never been advertised up to that point. Zsuzsanna talked to a cashier at the local newsagency, and they told her that everyone in town canceled their Billy Bones subscription when the bones and organs model was complete. After all, with “skin,” the model would look like a cheap plastic mannequin or dummy in contrast to the bones and organs displaying as an anatomy model as advertised. No one likes deception from a company that wants to obtain as much money as they can get, so Billy Bones remains Billy Bones, not Billy Dummy.

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Morning of August 18, 2015. Tuesday.



This was after my most interesting dream of this date. In this case, it seems Zsuzsanna and I are within an “invisible” geodesic dome (one of the main settings for higher levels of communication, it seems) which is quite large. It would have to be to contain an entire carnival within. The carnival is apparently “closed”. It is late at night. There are blue lights here and there that provide minimal illumination.

My wife and I walk along, half walking, half dancing, so cheerful, not caring that no one is operating this rather odd carnival. At one point, I see a “roller coaster” moving about (though eventually actually more like a monorail) that is actually seemingly alive, glowing a sort of lighter green in contrast to the lights. A giant robotic spider “ride” walks around on its own for a short time, but is no threat in any way. (I even think I hear a human-like groan from it.) Still, there are no signs of any other people (yet).

The fortune-teller booth (from “Batman Forever”) sits in one area. We acknowledge it humorously but minimally as we go around in a somewhat circular path. We puzzle at it as being everyman. It cannot seem to make up its mind about where it wants to “go”. It laughs eerily and artificially but cannot move out of the booth as only its fake arm sways back and forth randomly. It seems “stuck” in its one sad little “role”.

The song “Bad Days” (by the Flaming Lips) plays over and over eventually and our dance-walk seems even more cheerful.

“You’re sorta stuck where you are, But in your dreams you can buy expensive cars, Or live on Mars, And have it your way…”

The watermelon scene in the music video reminds me so much of home…

“In your dreams, Show no mercy…”

Oh sure, it is an awful, terrible song, with awful, terrible music, but it is such a charming novelty and reminds me of the first couple of years I spent with Zsuzsanna.

The “fortune teller” comes out of the booth, now a real man for the first time ever, somewhat chubby and gray-haired, it seems, and dressed normally, informally. He snaps his fingers, kicks his heels, and walks up an elevated path over a hill (seemingly westward). I know that we will never see him again and I never see his face, and he never turns to look back at us.

“And all your bad days will end, You have to sleep late when you can, And all your bad days will end”…

Someone is knocking on 104. Knocking. Knocking. Knocking on the door (just like in the music video at that part of the song). Someone is knocking on our door at 104. (In real life, same number, exact time - synchronized with my dream’s residual rhythm.) It is a parcel delivery for our oldest daughter, which she soon gets.

I have slept later than usual as the real knocking on 104 wakes me.

Oh, Source, you so funny.

Morning of August 17, 2015. Monday.



This is my first stable dream of this time period on this date, a type which is always lucid - every first dream I have had since early childhood has been of this nature, every single night, with no attempt to make it so, and always in the first stage of light sleep paralysis which I enjoy - I do not attempt to control it in anyway during the first stage - I just flow with it and enjoy it even if the imagery should be grotesque beyond imagination. The imagery, I suppose, this time, is somewhat nightmarish (in regards to how others might see it), but not a nightmare at all to me. There is no emotion other than a sense of peace and acceptance. In this state, even being fully in-body, there is no way a lucid dream could integrate or interfere with my real-life state. I mostly just watch. I am not even regarded by the entity that is “making” this domain - even though I sense and know that he is not “of” me in any way.

Some sort of larger-than-life human-like form, fairly pale, somewhat sickly looking (yet still seemingly stronger than any human form), holds an egg. It looks like a typical white chicken egg, though perhaps bigger. Over time, thorns (of about three different sizes) sprout from all areas of its surface, though leaving the egg’s surface fully intact otherwise. At times, the implications “reset”. The being stands as, slightly hunched over, at one point, the thorns growing from the egg seem to become endless briars in a large ominous but colorful landscape of mostly greens, oranges, yellows, and browns. Certainly this place is not for human beings, though I have certainly seen far worse realms. The thorny briars are in various patterns and sizes that sometimes cross over each other and form “gates” and purely organic trellises. Everything is made of briars, including possibly “nests” assuming there are creatures or human-like forms that live here. I realize this realm is probably a human world that relates to frustration or possibly a lack of focus. It is beautiful, but not a place I particularly would want to spend much time in.

I do not challenge the being with the egg (which sits on the palm of his right hand), even though he seems puzzled that nothing emerges from the egg (upon each “reset”) but thorns. If he wants to keep creating infinite briars into his world from it, who am I to stop him. This is his world, not mine.

Morning of August 17, 2015. Monday.



In my dream, I find myself going through some sort of structure, somewhat church-like and fairly large. I do not recognize it as a real setting or composite. For some reason, I focus on the nature of “ordinary” people and puzzle over the functions of their minds, almost as if I am stumped by their potential of understanding something as simple as a half-black and half-white wall. I am trying to work out if typical human beings would understand that half the wall was black and half of it was white, and thus each being fifty percent of the wall. Somehow, I seem to think that this basic, simple realization would not even be accessed by most people and the majority of people would never even begin to understand. I get the impression that hardly anyone would see the wall as half black and half white even though it is, not even in any complex pattern (such as perfectly proportional static), but again a solid half on the left and a solid half on the right. No one would see it as it was.

I move through the environment and encounter a larger room that seems to be the realm of some sort of demonic entity, though not in any serious context. I have hardly ever dreamt of demons or devils in my life, and even when I have, it was always eventually comic-strip-like. (This does not mean I do not believe in the malevolent essences of certain types of people. Some people’s life purpose seems to be to solely cause trouble for others for whatever reason and to lie as much as possible about everyone else.)

No human being on Earth could even begin to “explain” one iota of how I have lived for over fifty years as I have. Certainly a “demonic” form would have no clue, either. At any rate, this “demon” I see from his left as he faces perpendicularly from me towards some sort of implied portal. I barely make out a sketched pattern on the white marble floor (which I think has light blue skewed teardrop patterns) that may be some sort of wagon wheel design (I do not think it is a hexagram or anything of that nature).

There is some sort of distorted plot that I can only basically describe. This more-human essence of what may be jealously and covetousness (and perhaps even static contempt - whereas a person might just as well be white noise in the scheme of things) does not really concern me that much. I had indulged in a long romantic interlude in real life prior to my dream after some “pretend to be human” playing around with my wife, and here this hopeless “demon” is - standing in a very large room, not even facing me, but looking at basically nothing and is actually what he has been apparently doing for centuries. How…boring. Demons, after all, are probably the most boring things in existence (no offense to Hot Stuff the Little Devil, whose dream-like adventures in Harvey comics I greatly enjoyed in my childhood).

I am puzzled.

The demon only halfheartedly acknowledges me. “You,” he raspingly says and does not even turn about. He does not seem very assertive and certainly is not threatening.

I lift my right hand and see a glowing golden latch I am holding for an unknown reason. Oddly, it reminds me somewhat of the piece of the bottom door in my tall metal cupboard from my room in Cubitis (though the difference being it was matte metallic, not golden). I play with the latch for a short time, that is, I move the mechanism about and find it interesting.

“Even if you take this from me, I will just create another one,” I say, which seems to be an “understanding” at the very core of my being. The “demon” seems only mildly annoyed. I deliberately cause the latch to vanish (even though I am not lucid) and cause an identical one to appear in my right hand almost immediately. (I am not sure where the other one went - possibly onto a door somewhere.) I see that the “demon” (who reminds me somewhat of a shabbily dressed homeless person at this point) also has a latch, but it is rusty and frozen (nonworking).

The demon reminds me somewhat of those fake screw heads that have appeared on everything from cassette tape cases to radios and children’s toys. What is the point? One can only gawk in bafflement at the audacity of the inherent falseness where no screwdriver on Earth (even a fake one) would hope to “turn” the fake screw head, a hilarious example of mankind’s silliness. Some people are like that. That is, like the fake screw heads on an otherwise feasible cassette, where they look like an impressive screw head on the outside yet do not function at all.

No drama. My thoughts coalesce into abstract forms.