Blue_Opossum

Morning of February 2, 2015. Monday.



At first, I am in a privately owned store that sells primarily older collectable Matchbox cars. The counter is a rectangular area in the center of the large main room with an additional internal area for the owner/cashier who is an older male. I look at the various merchandise, some of which is in square shallow wells in the outer area (over a slightly slanted section) and some of which is more carefully arranged behind glassed-in shelves in lower areas; some of the Matchbox cars with the original box as sold. Many of the die-cast toy cars in the wells are missing smaller areas of paint. In one section, I look at a few different yellow bulldozers, Ground Grinders, and cranes. I pick up one that looks just like a Taylor Jumbo Crane number 11 from the 1960s. (There are also Dodge Crane Trucks and several others.) I get a false memory of it being from the 1970s, but the man mentions something about “optical illusions” when I talk about it and the invalid associated time period (but using a different term, I believe) and I look underneath to see the date 1989 appearing three times in close proximity, including the copyright symbol.



There are other people in the store including two unknown girls that seem to be shopping together. I eventually notice that there is a large flat screen television near the front of the store. It is showing an adult movie but of which is supposedly only a television show (of which I do not know the name of). A lovemaking scene is apparently beginning, but the man’s erection is actually an artificial device but which is otherwise somewhat realistic (and seems to “operate” somewhat like a miniature crane) - this being done relative to some sort of television standard where certain things cannot be shown. This still does not make much sense to me and is apparently a violation of the broadcasting law even as it is. The girls laugh, though more in shock and surprise at the show even though there is no actual nudity.

From here, there is an attempt to rob the store, it seems. The door is then actually locked from the inside with the present customers still in the store - which implies that the store owner must have known that the criminal was already on his way. Being somewhat concerned about this seemingly powerful burglar eventually breaking down the door as he pounds and pushes upon it (apparently with superhuman strength), I use some sort of ability to turn everything into steel including the door and doorway being one solid section.

There is a slight shift and I am outside in the same part of town and a man (perhaps the same robber) makes an announcement, shouting “not everyone here is human” (as if trying to divulge a conspiracy to all the members of the public in the area).

“You got that right,” I say (emphasis on “that”) as I immediately effortlessly fly upwards into the sky (seemingly being the only one in the region who is “not human”), doing this too quickly for anyone else to pose a threat. After flying around for awhile and enjoying the scenery, I land back near the same area. For some reason, I am aware of the robber being a part of a street gang and there being some sort of turf war. I decide to damage “his” area of the street, which is across the street from the store from the first part of my dream. I lift my hand and cause machine gun fire to spray the entire length of buildings on that side of the street. There is no gun; the bullets are just materializing from the motions of my right hand and putting large holes in all the buildings, with a lot of noise.

Later, my wife and another (unknown) female get out of a convertible and have a meal in one of the bullet-ridden restaurants. As I was the one who had done this, I do not feel wary in joining them at a small round wooden table (we are the only ones there other than the owner).

The scene shifts again and I am flying northwards over La Crosse. I fly into the back area of the King Street boarding house, up and over the back stairs, flying through the hallway. Now flying somewhat slowly, I see my wife in the hallway, as she had been looking for me. “Pardon me, just passing through,” I say to the other tenants. She smiles up at me and we leave through the front entrance, her walking down the steps though I am still flying slowly until we leave the building.

Finally we are all sitting in a convertible. My wife (the implied driver) is in the front seat with the other female and I have transformed into the Silver Surfer, sitting in the back seat behind my wife. However, we are all now sleeping until some sort of (scheduled?) event begins in a week or so, which seems related to a new Marvel movie. I soon look at myself (seeing my face as the Silver Surfer’s from semi-disembodiment perspective) and think about waking up and do, even though I was not lucid at any point throughout my dream.

Morning of January 30, 2015. Friday.



Ice is sometimes a positive (even blissful) presence in my dreams though in this case, it is like a destructive entity and actually seems to have “intent”. It is possibly some sort of alien “infusion” into the nature of ice, where it seeks out people and grows in a similar manner as the “creature” in the movie “The Blob”, except that it is not mobile.

I belong to a military group that rescues people from certain locations.

My weapon? A small transparent squirt gun. As hilarious as that sounds, and as questionable as the symbolism can be, it is me being a hero in the various scenes. I fill it up a few times when the water runs out, though the water does come out with great force and lasts a lot longer than would be possible for that size in reality (and so it goes).

We go into what is mostly like a shopping mall during one scene but with more restaurants in one area. The ice is growing near one restaurant and people are told to evacuate. Several times in these types of scenes, I am able to use the squirt gun to “kill” (or at least melt) some of the dangerously spreading “living” ice. My gun is not as big as the team leader’s weapon, but that is to be expected. I seem to be wearing khaki skydiving gear at one point though the team leader is in darker green. At various stages, several people look at me with great respect as I save their lives by using my squirt gun (quite possibly the silliest thing I have ever written regarding dream events).

I am not sure of the direction we are going in; it is possibly south relative to where I live in reality (in orientation based on how I am sleeping), which makes sense due to being in Australia and thus moving towards Antarctica to stop any potential new growth of the particular type of ice. However, there is a very large mound of dirt blocking our way at one point and there is apparently a dam west of it. This dam remains unseen, though. At this time, I can hear my mother-in-law yelling (but cannot see her) about random negative nonsense, including something about her last husband. I certainly do not want to go in that direction (and thus possibly see her) so instead, I move back towards the east area of the hill. I can still hear her hollering in her sociopath rants as I walk primarily northeast with two of my wife Zsuzsanna’s siblings (George and Judy).

The nature of my dream changes. I no longer seem to be in the military’s ice-hunting group. I am just enjoying my walk past interesting buildings in an unknown neighborhood, now mostly walking back north (possibly going back home). My dream then takes on a sort of artificial “jerky” feel as we are walking; like watching a movie with too low of a frame-rate. George calls me by a wrong name (which may be “Clarity”, which is similar to part of my middle name). I do not say anything when he does this.

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Morning of January 29, 2015. Thursday.



My wife and oldest daughter return from possibly the library or shopping (though they are not noticeably carrying bags at the time) through the front door of where we presently live on W Street. When I approach my daughter she seems annoyed and possibly angry about something. The unusual weather from real life (or rather how it has been for several days previously) seems a part of my dream’s environment. It seems to be in the early afternoon.

I go into the backyard, facing east, and contemplate what I should say (or if I should say anything). My wife comes out and I hover in the air vertically, about five feet from the ground. She smiles and acts as if she thinks I may not know I am doing this and even asks me if I know I am floating in the air but I do not say anything coherent. (I have rarely had any trouble hovering or flying in dreams, though I do often become lucid when hovering. Such is not the case here, though I have always been intrigued by how natural it feels to float upwards into the air while standing.)

I soon become aware that my wife and oldest daughter are going out again, though I am not sure where. The large ugly parking lot in the area is back to being a pleasant empty field again. As I fly around, they walk northerly through the field, more to the eastern side of it. I fly down to see if my daughter is feeling well, but she now does not really look like my oldest daughter. She seems several years younger and has shorter black hair. In my dream, I do not coherently think of her as a third daughter though, and I am also not sure of her name (I do not call her by name in-dream anyway, as I recall).

I tell her that I am here and that she is talented and creative, so thus has skills to survive and attain whatever she wants. I tell her that she has always been a good daughter. I move from flying about to walking next to her on her right. She smiles, asking, “A daughter of…God?”

I slowly shake my head very lightly, as I do not care that much about being called “God” - it seems too generic and insignificant as well as with too many humanly diverse and limited religious associations. “The daughter of…everything,” I acknowledge. I tell her that I will be around to help her in any way she wants and then I fly back to the front of our house as they continue to walk wherever they are going.

I then have a bit of trouble closing the front doors (though I am mostly only aware of the main wooden door - the screen door does not actually seem present) due to hundreds of larger jigsaw puzzle pieces lying all over the floor, both inside and outside (in fact, they almost seem to multiply over time as I notice more and more). I make several attempts to get as many back into the living room as possible. Some of them are under the carpet (which is closer to the door than in reality) and I am thinking my youngest son is responsible for not putting them all away and I am complaining aloud even though no one is in the room. I do close the door a couple times, but consider that no pieces should be left outside (especially as it may be raining more heavily soon and water may come onto the porch). I am wondering how many different containers the pieces will fill. As I become more and more annoyed, I realize that I am dreaming and wake in gratitude that I do not have to sort and put away all the pieces (which may have come from several different floor-sized cardboard jigsaw puzzles).

Morning of January 29, 2015. Thursday.



I and my family are living back on Barolin Street (our last address) yet I do not become aware I am dreaming. The house is well-rendered, though seemingly with a longer hallway than in reality.

Somehow, a mostly colorless kit fox gets into the house (there are certainly none around this area in reality). It is only about the size of a cat (and actually seems somewhat catlike at one point). I had seemingly fed it inside the house at an earlier date.

Later on, when I pick it up in the main bedroom, it becomes very aggressive. It bites me on my right hand, leaving a mark in the same area where the talon grows from in another dream of the same morning. It also does not like how I smell, though insists on getting closer to smell more of me. This will not do and I move my hands over my lap in defense. I soon get up and open all the doors, including the side door to the outside and it eventually leaves our house, heading down our driveway into our backyard.

However, I become aware of two surfacing ideas to be concerned about. I get the impression that the fox may kill one of our pets (such as a cat or guinea pig - with the impression that one may have already been attacked or even eaten) and realize it had been so aggressive because it had not eaten for a long time (perhaps a few days). However, I am also wary of the neighbor’s large dog directly next door and how there may be a fight (though one does not occur) if it should choose to approach the fox. I can see the dog through the open doorway and it looks somewhat like a bloodhound, facing my direction. The male neighbors are also talking with each other, about four of them, sitting on chairs near their open side entrance and playing music (though which is not that loud, but there is still a very irritating cacophony of talking and annoying music).

As I walk back to the front of the house however, the noise soon completely vanishes, the perception changing somewhat unrealistically; more like turning the volume down on a radio, with moderate speed. This part of my dream “resets”. I am annoyed by the noise as heard in our living room, but again, it completely vanishes walking a short distance down the front hallway. At another “reset” point when I am walking, I get the strange perspective of walking down the hallway at Barolin Street and quickly materializing in my bed at our present address on W Street as if somehow walking for a short time through a distorted portal between real locations rather than coming out of a dream; an atypical waking perspective.

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There was very subtle precognition here; one (of three) of our guinea pigs died during the morning (though of apparently natural causes, not by being attacked by another animal).

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Morning of January 29, 2015. Thursday.



It seems to be late morning and the weather has changed. It no longer seems to be of a continuous potential for thunder and rain. I am possibly the only one home at our present residence on W Street. The main wooden door is open but the screen door is closed though not locked.

After a fairly short time, two young Caucasian males come onto the porch, though the oldest remains on the top steps near the first porch doorway. The one closest to the front door is perhaps about twelve or thirteen years of age and somewhat chubby and the other perhaps about sixteen and quite skinny. They do not look like anyone I know. I sense that they are up to some serious mischief (possibly with intent to harm or burglarize) and thus I do not feel comfortable about the screen door being unlocked. However, I listen to their spiel for a few minutes while I stand in the living room. It has something to do with some sort of medicine, perhaps, but I am not clear on anything. They first need to do something to my hand, apparently. I am not really interested in this. The younger boy seems to be holding a container as well as some sort of smaller crowbar-looking object with a large hook on it, or perhaps some sort of candy cane and miniature wrecking bar composite.

I try to get them to leave the porch by pushing the screen door out rather violently as well as holding onto it so that they do not get in should they attempt it. Perhaps they are not really all that bad though. They are mostly dressed the same, in yellow and white, including yellow and white baseball caps (worn correctly with the visor in front). It almost does seem like a legitimate business at one point.

The youngest moves forward and lightly jabs the top of my right hand with the hook when the door is partly open, which really annoys me. When I look at my hand, something quite strange happens. A small singular branch-like form grows outward fairly quickly on the top of my hand between my thumb and index finger, twisting about and looking much like a woody vine with a gnarled appearance - about three inches high, with a single talon eventually coming out.

“What did you do to my thumb?” I ask. “I have already had an infection in it.” (This being in reference to the unusual ganglion cysts that started to linearly accumulate in my thumb and wrist in August 1976 as a teenager.) In a way, it reminds me of the spur of a rooster, at least in potential function (or the human equivalent thereof).

Apparently, this is part of the intended demonstration and the “medicine” they wish to sell me will heal this “wart” or whatever it is. I want none of it, though, and do not intend to buy anything. It reminds me of people who invent problems just to con people with “solutions” (and in fact, this is actually what is happening here).

From here, I tear at and punch the first youngest boy (having the new talon helps) and the other male looks horrified. I only vaguely feel that my actions are unjustified. I then move on to him, seemingly causing them both to completely disintegrate or evaporate from my dream, still mentally “punching” as my dream loses cohesion; even as I wake (in fact, I am still “mentally punching” a second or two after being fully awake). My dream was quite vivid, and strangely enough, did not really feel all that negative or frustrating.

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Morning of January 28, 2015. Wednesday.



This is mostly an impersonal dream of going to a college with unknown students with various personality types. I seem to be there almost as a token student who watches the class activities, though I feel somewhat like a teacher at times (but not that defined). There seems to be an odd underlying mood as if the college is a place for additional invasive government-related experiments of some kind, which are not shared with the public.

One year has apparently already passed. There is one outdoor graduation ceremony where someone is killed (by an unknown sniper) and their shirt is covered with blood, which touches me as we are both on the ground at one point (though I am not hurt), a circle of people around us, some waving off others in the area. This scenario is not focused on for very long and there are several shifts.

One room I am in at one point is reminiscent (in conscious afterthought only) of my middle school carpentry classroom, which also had leather-work in the year that followed. There are only about four students in the room (who I lightly converse with). There is one area that also vaguely reminds me of Eco 3 (factory) - though the area is not filled with old tires. There are remarks about nuclear physics. In fact, I make a few comments connecting the flavor and essence of coconut with work in nuclear physics. As nuclear physics and bombs are sometimes plays on sexuality, it makes sense in light of the fact that my wife had the scent of coconut soap on her prior to my dream, which was nice.

Over time, however, I again sense a government involvement in the student being shot earlier. Each larger lab table (of which there are three longer ones in the room) has enclosed two-tiered shelves underneath, and for some reason I open one end to look in - and at this point it seems like one of the last days of school where people are cleaning out their belongings. A picobot, but more like a miniature robotic insect, rectangular and on at least six legs (instead of wheels), is discovered on the upper shelf behind something, but it immediately leaves the area upon being seen. This picobot was supposedly designed to both observe and somehow influence the physics students. (This is nothing new; I first dreamt of something very similar back in 1974 as well as the plot and detailed look of the Tom Selleck movie “Runaway” years before it came out.)

I and the other students follow it down the hall. We eventually come to an open elevator shaft (which seems at least seven floors down) and the picobot deliberately walks into the area and over the edge and falls into the elevator shaft, to intentionally destroy itself, it seems (so that there is no evidence of its programming). It does not explode however. My dream loses cohesion after this.

Morning of January 27, 2015. Tuesday.



I am in a somewhat uncomfortable dream state (likely from being overheated) and in reality am farther down on the bed than usual, somewhat in a sideways fetal position. I am mostly in muddled states of creative thought where I am trying to get my body to “rematerialize” correctly. Usually, it is only about two-thirds the correct size. I am also slightly hovering, shifting into body forms that suggest static statue forms for the most part, but sometimes distracting abstract tangents.

Some of the forms are just too abstract to build on, so this will not do - I cannot exist in an “abstract body”, suggestive of human or not - I might just float around and not have full control that way. I have to live and breathe in an anatomically correct physical body. It is difficult (relative to establishing more mental clarity) and mentally laborious trying to bring all the molecules together so that I may live in my body again after it is correctly remade, sometimes floating about a foot from my bed. At one point, my body is like “The Thinker”, but on his side and half the size of my actual body. Sections of my body in one last session and attempt are still missing as I decide to abandon the process.

Morning of January 27, 2015. Tuesday.



Although bilocation - of which there are different types related to both the dreamer’s perspective and features of the environment - happens all the time in my dreams, there is rarely any direct focus or even in-dream thoughts or reflections on the concept itself. Oddly, in this case there is, possibly because of being more and more focused on dream work over the years (especially in linking hundreds of certain dream types together for more precise analysis).

My dream is relatively short and uneventful. I become aware of my youngest son still being in the house when in reality he should be at the library. I talk to him and he claims he is at the library but is also here in the house. He even mentions the word “bilocated”. At this point, there is no distortion in his appearance and he acts as himself as well. This changes before my dream loses cohesion. I do not challenge his idea about being bilocated and my in-dream thoughts are not that coherent as it is.

Over time, the only dream-like event that occurs is me looking more closely at his face and seeing that it is not rendered correctly (as is typical with dreams). The whites of his eyes appear to be missing and replaced with salmon-colored recesses. His head is also a bit more vertically rectangular. I eventually realize that, as well as being older, he looks nothing like my son - even though he did at first before I focused on my dream’s environment more, though not with full lucidity (and in fact, he does not look realistically rendered at all, yet still not nonhuman). This is a good example of a dream becoming more distorted when you try to focus on a particular character a bit more (similar to when you try to read something in some cases), but of course, it does not always happen like this. There is no significant symbolism or meaning in this; it is simply how dreams work.

Morning of January 26, 2015. Monday.



This was a type of typical “gadget dream” where most of my dream’s details are rendered fairly close to my perspective with the in-dream environment not being that clearly rendered or defined.

I am looking at a toy that I think belongs to my youngest son. I think it may need to be repaired or at least taken apart and checked. I am not sure what it is meant to do. It is like a large plastic device that resembles a suitcase in some ways or perhaps an older toy movie projector. Inside one part is a VHS tape but which functions as a timing indicator perhaps. There also seems to be an 8mm film of Donald Duck which goes all the way around the VHS tape (closer to the outer edges of the containing section) when the device is working, although I have removed and apparently changed certain parts. Over time, the device just seems to serve as a container for some sort of View-Master-like toys in different compartments. The general appearance and inside changes quite dramatically by the end of my dream.

Afternoon of January 25, 2015. Sunday.



This dream seems to be a “repeat” or “replay” of a dream from the 1970s (or at least a fragment thereof), possibly due to seeing the same 70s Avengers comic book again (in PDF format though), though my dream is not directly related to its plot. It involves a more detailed version of Bloodhawk (original version, not the X-Men 2099 one to come up on Google). Actually, there are two Bloodhawk-like characters that fly around, with minor variations.

I am being chased while flying - by the two characters that are somewhat manlike but with claws, wings, and bird heads. They may also have minor dragon-like (or lizard-like) characteristics but do not breathe fire. My dream is rendered realistically in terms of not having a drawing-like feel to it. I do not feel all that threatened.

I fly into what seems to be either a church or an auditorium or some sort of composite of both (as typical features of either are in the environment). All of the movements are quite fast, with an actual mood of perceived acceleration. I am flying down an aisle (which is slanted at about thirty degrees) with one of the strange “bird men” on each side, just behind me (although they may actually be griffins at this point).

Suddenly, I stop and turn around to face my pursuers (floating upright in midair) and raise my arms absentmindedly (but still with seeming intent by my in-dream persona) and unexpectedly, a large burning letter “R” appears about three feet in front of what would be the pulpit, about as tall as a person and with reddish flames, and this scares them off as they rapidly fly back from wherever they came. The flames make a whooshing sound as they sweep upward in forming the “R” and the letter hangs there in midair until my dream ends.

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I looked this one up in my dream records and associations and found that I had summarized in writing: “Letter R can relate to energy in a more complex or visible way.” This is only one potential association I had made but it does seem to fit somewhat and is partly based on how a child naturally imitates an engine (including that of an aircraft) by vocalizing the “R” sound.

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What does it mean to dream of a griffin? At the core level, a griffin is a flight symbol. A flight symbol is rendered in a dream in subliminal anticipation of the hypnopompic waking start. Additionally, a griffin is a mix of unrelated animals, which is likely to be a unique precursor factor of the coalescence of the preconscious and emergent consciousness.

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Some of my other dreams that feature griffins (links): (1) Griffin vs. Grandfather Clock, (2) Making a Griffin?, (3) Malfunctioning Griffin Game, (4) The Temple and the Tomb

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Night of January 24, 2015. Saturday.



I am not sure where I am but I hear at least three girls talking. I am aware of at least two balloons floating about on their own; one red, the other possibly a lighter blue. They are apart from each other, one slightly lower than the other by about one balloon height.

I get the impression that a fairly complex design (such as a funfair scene - including one with a picture of a balloon on the balloon) had been “carved into” or “engraved” on each balloon. There may be some sort of stencil that can be used to do this. Of course, cutting into a hovering helium balloon is not really possible and even if the balloon had slits in the form of an implied drawing, it could not be blown up. (Of course, if the “drawing” was complete where a cut represented each line it would just fall to pieces.)

I puzzle over this, not knowing if it is “real” or not; vaguely confused, but unquestioning.

Morning of January 23, 2015. Friday.



Near the beginning of my dream, I notice that a television show is on which my wife Zsuzsanna watches with me. It is about a miniature man about four inches high living in the kitchen of an elderly lady who acts a bit crazy at times. A raccoon wanders about in the kitchen though the lady and her visiting friends refer to it as their pet rat. It keeps the miniature man from leaving the area while he hides in a paper sack on the floor, though he does get out a few times. It is a bit like “The Incredible Shrinking Man” from 1957 combined with aspects of “The Borrowers” from 1997.

Another woman, possibly the daughter of the elderly lady, is now in our “real” environment. Meanwhile, the older lady dances around on our couch, simulating a Chuck Berry act. We then seem to be on the set of the television show. The unknown woman has several children around the same age, but there is one toddler. A girl standing on a chair near the kitchen sink is bumped into by the toddler and she starts screaming about her hand. I see that her index finger is bent back and is apparently broken. Though she needs immediate medical attention, the mother completely ignores her. I decide that she should go to the hospital but I am uncertain about transportation or where the telephone is.

The scene shifts. Apparently the girl has died in the hospital from her broken right index finger. I am at the hospital, seated at a small table on my own, eating a bowl of small roasted chicken legs (in the hospital’s larger restaurant), which is somehow what remains of the girl. I eat one and a half of them (the taste being “realistic”; that is, it tastes like mildly spicy roasted chicken legs) before very vaguely mentally questioning the reality of the scene, though I do not become lucid. It seems that hospitals do this (cook and serve up people who had died) as part of their normal routine. However, after a time, I feel a bit strange in that perhaps saving the bones can help her somehow as there may be medical information engraved on her bones on how to restore her. There is also a sense that she is alive elsewhere but I am wrong.

Three unfamiliar men question me about the nature of the girl’s mother and what I may have been witness to, two on one side across from me, one closer to me near what resembles a bakery display in a grocery store where you remove what you want with tongs. We are in a different restaurant but still in the same hospital. (An older man is ready to be processed and cooked by a nurse to serve a visiting group of tourists and I get the impression of “pheasant under glass”.) The girl’s death is almost like an implied international conspiracy though the main male asking questions appears somewhat confused as well as very condescending. He says that there was more to it than a broken finger (possibly food poisoning or perhaps additional broken bones).

He starts talking about seeds and I have a false memory about her eating mostly only seeds from fruits and vegetables (some of which have concentrated toxins) and think this may have caused stomach problems. I mention this and the man starts acting condescendingly remarks that he had been talking about grass seed (which could have lodged in her appendix) and poison sumac and such in an outdoor environment. This leads to some sort of abstract illogical contemplation that fruits and vegetables only grow indoors. After a time, I start to call the man crazy and begin to get quite annoyed over his various theories and how it relates to the time zone, banking systems, investment portfolios, and foreign stocks. He also keeps mispronouncing words. The other two males do not say much. They may be Russian and not that familiar with English.

He mentions something about “anacondo” (which seems like a foreign organization for a short time akin to NATO) and I correct him, saying “anaconda” (though “anacondo” seems the male form of “anaconda” which is implied as female as with “amigo” and “amiga”) and I falsely “recall” that the woman had a pet anaconda that ate some of her neighbors. There is eventually an association with the family’s surname being “Langdon” but I am not familiar with it. I falsely “remember” that a female classmate had possibly married a Langdon and they all live on the third or fourth floor of an apartment building in different smaller apartments (even though the previous scenes were seemingly in a larger residence on the first floor) where I am then viewing from the street with Zsuzsanna as my dream loses cohesion.

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Watching a television in a dream can relate to either a dream within a dream or emerging (unintegrated) threads of consciousness of which the evidence here shows that more threads emerge and we become part of the scene. A raccoon is a rare symbol for me but likely means tiredness (due to the dark circles around a raccoon’s eyes. A hospital can be considered as a type of dream sign in some cases because of it being a place with beds. Eating may relate to actual subtle hunger during a dream (just as a need to use the bathroom is sometimes a real need when a dream renders it, though not in every case).

Morning of January 22, 2015. Thursday.



I am “locked” for quite some time into a seemingly perpetual vivid lucid state, especially near the last section, which shifts into higher clarity exponentially - a partial repeat of an earlier state where sensuality was enhanced and sustained for an atypical length of time, but my focus begins to wander a bit. I find myself on Loomis Street, though it is a larger version of the house. A sense of danger automatically penetrates my dream’s perspective at first, but because I am lucid it is more like a folly. It is something to do with a play on “kraits” relative to “crates”.

A smaller black krait (venomous snake) appears in the living room. I pick it up and it eventually bites me but I am not remotely concerned (even feeling the pain) and even study the fang marks on my hand, which soon fade. This dream scene repeats at least six times, as if “resetting” but with minor variations, including the species of krait. Members of my family are there including Marilyn (deceased). I am fully aware of the venomous nature of the snakes, but have no concern, as I see them as in-dream “glitches” or “forced drama”, where the mind typically creates an imaginary problem or pointless fear as a challenge (or for deliberate self-limitation) of sorts.

At one point I cut the snake’s head off after it bites me and it slowly dies, but I put the head back on and it comes back to life and bites me again (a scene likely influenced by a similar event from “Castle of Blood” from 1964 - one of the only movies that ever held my interest over time). Not that impressed, I put the head on the tail and the tail on the head. I am still not impressed. The snake still acts normal at that point.

I go into another room and find a large “crate” which is eventually more like a toy box or hope chest. This is apparently where the kraits came from originally (though it turns out that it is the mattress producing them). The large wooden chest is filled with numerous variations of plastic simulated human bones, including skulls, and some model organs. I am somewhat annoyed that I cannot find real bones in the chest and spend a bit of time looking at the somewhat amazingly rendered pieces, especially with regard to the diversity. My dream then goes a bit strange, more vivid, and highly atypical.

I am lying in a bed near the chest (which is at the head) and the bed becomes like viscous liquid, an actual “primordial soup” though I still automatically float atop it. The vivid perception seems almost “impossible”. From lower within the mattress that is seemingly made of murky water somehow kept in shape arises another krait, in a horizontal stretched-out position, which I pick up and twirl around in my hand and then throw it on the floor, unimpressed. This happens numerous times. I look at a certain area of the surface (which seems slightly magnified) and clearly see almost the exact same shape repeat each time in its emergence and I question whether or not this can even be possible. It also frustrates me somewhat. Somehow, it seems too “perfect” to be able to be rendered in-dream in this manner so many times in a row. However, the snake emergences eventually turn out to be short lengths of burnt rope now and then, or weirder, part snake and part rope a couple times (that is, a rope with a snake’s head or a snake with a piece of rope as the “head”).

Eventually, the “snake” that rises up within reach is actually a small branch, which crumbles slightly in my hand like ash, which I also toss to the floor. Still, there had been something about the imagery forming that seemed like tapping into a part of the mind I had never encountered before. I eventually decide that these “snakes” are just “pieces of shadows” and I seem to be right. I “pick up” the next “snake”/shadow and it does not seem to actually be there even though it moves about somewhat snakelike before separating into several smaller cylindrical ash forms that mostly dissolve. It was almost like somehow picking up the crest of a wave and giving form to it by thought alone.

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It can be seen that the snakes here represent the power of creation and manifestation in the context of dream state alchemy. Within the deep induction looking down into infinity, there is ambiguity in weather they are snakes, burnt branches, or solely waveforms and elongated morphing shadows that are only partially phased into my “reality”.

Morning of January 22, 2015. Thursday.



Of all the “experiments” I have done in my life to influence, enhance, or alter dream states, I have ultimately decided that simple thinking is the key. I have tried a particular focused form of thought enough to know it is the most powerful technique, especially when preceded by “thank you for…” (without even needing belief in a deity). Just listening to something does not seem to do much unless it is with my own special technique and even that has certain limitations in certain states. Needing to hear something seems to limit certain states (plus, I have experienced a vivid lucid state where external sound and its influence is non-existent), likely because a part of the mind is still “grounded” in a particular way. (Once again, I should mention the lucid dreaming fiasco of years ago where I entered the most vivid dream state possible with a shorter audio loop, though once in my dream, solely tried to find the source of the sound to turn it off - the very meaning of “irony”). So what do I do that works? Three-minute very subtle mental affirmation meditations (not spoken aloud, just actively thought) throughout the day and night (sometimes in closer clusters), watching the clock and using an addend of four but only ever counting them as three minutes in my personal journal. In this case, it added up to sixty minutes overall.

In my dream (and the ones which followed) I find myself in a full-body awareness that is no different from being awake other than the senses being enhanced and the depth perception intensified. This used to puzzle me - but I attribute it to being “closer” to one’s internal awareness in sleep. I have never had the slightest concern (as some people claim as possibility) about differentiating from the real world and a dream when awake - and in a vivid lucid dream, that concern is pointless anyway, so yet again, typical mainstream dream literature fails to impress me or even make any sense.

I find myself in a dream environment in a larger room that I cannot identify, though it is similar in familiarity to (but much larger than) the larger southernmost room in the Loomis Street house. I am sitting comfortably on an armchair facing east. As with another recent dream, the increased sensuality, almost to a point where I would otherwise think it impossible, seems the most “automatic” and natural of all dream states, almost as if all nuances of my dream are “instantly surrendering” to a core subliminal whim. In fact, all I do is lift my arms up a bit and my beautiful wife materializes in front of me (only her head at first) and she bends down to indulge in passionate kissing with me for quite some time. The sense of touch is probably double that of reality and I am also amazed by the solid nature of her form.

This is followed by making love on the floor, from the side and from behind, but holding ourselves up with our left arms, in some sort of otherwise physically impossible situation (well, at least for me). During the climax, I notice (as I have in several other dreams) that my wife has sparse reptilian scales around her hips and bordering the small of her back, which does not bother me. However, I soon take this into a forced scenario out of habit, relating to what I feel happens often in non-lucid dreams; that is, the dreamer forcing certain possible conflicts possibly regarding a need for increased “pulsing” energy as such for whatever reason (again, for example, maintaining the knowledge but vague memory that I was solely the one that instigated my own chase dreams even with dinosaurs following me, just to experience the event, although most people do not seem to remember the event horizon of when they planned this themselves, so thus you have people that believe in demons or similar entities - the case seemingly being that a particular section of memory was lost).

My dream is not “fooled” though and I am too vividly integrated with my dream’s environment to be absentmindedly a “victim”. When I try to force a negative association for a dramatic movie-like scene, I illogically in the past tense speak to my wife, saying, “You had scales!” but she just cheerfully lightly laughs and shakes her head and levitates a bit from the floor, “rolling about” in midair and lowering herself again. I ask her “Why did you have scales?” and then I feel idiotic since it was me that gave her the scales in the first place. I try to get her to appear more aggressive, but that fails and she becomes about ten years younger and we make love again, “rolling around” in midair, at times like mists with various tendrils but I also become aware of where I am in reality.

An odd false awakening occurs. I am in the computer room in Wavell Heights though the setup and room layout is different. My dream is almost as vivid as my previous but I am no longer lucid. There is a closed window near where the printer is. The printer seems more like an oversized typewriter. There are also what seem to be kitchen features in the room, including a faucet over the top of the printer (seemingly on the window sill as was strangely the case in our Clayfield apartment’s kitchen). I absentmindedly turn the faucet on (it is more to the right), realize that the printer is then filling up with water (almost in the manner of a sink) and then turn it off. The physical sensations of doing this are greatly enhanced and I briefly contemplate that real life is not this “close” in the sense of touch but do not become lucid again. Once again I catch myself having turned the faucet on in the semi-dark room. I again turn it off just as the water starts spilling over the top of the printer a bit. It then sits there still full, like a full sink, and I am contemplating when it could be used again. I then finally notice that the printer is plugged in, so I remove the cord from the printer itself, which is higher up on the front instead of the back area (this is likely because the back of my desk in reality is open to the path into the room as if it was the “front”). I then go to tell my wife about the event, planning on asking her to help with getting the water out of the printer by using cups, though this does not seem feasible. I do not think turning it upside-down would be a good idea, though.

There is another false awakening, this one more intense, but ending up as some sort of parody of people who preach about the end of the world. Having heard about the supposed approaching “end of the world” in virtually endless scenarios since I was very young, any emotional impact or credibility has dissolved. I am watching a set of four smaller televisions in a column in an extended part of a doorway. Each television has the same show but with slightly different timing (this is based on a real-life event of years ago, where I was changing channels and noticed the same religious show on two different channels but one about a minute ahead of the other and I played around, sometimes getting unintentionally funny phrases with each switch over).

There is a chubby preacher ranting before a live audience, loudly asking “What if the world ends tomorrow?” and he keeps repeating this for a short time with a terrified look on his face. I notice red flashing lights and other people crying out including a few from the choir on the stage. It almost seems possible that the world could end tomorrow but I do not feel afraid. However, he then shouts “What if the world ends the day after tomorrow?” with an even more terrified visage. This does not seem to make much sense as that would be one day later and less to worry about for a short time. However, he keeps going on like this, with his emotional anticipation illogically inverted, going into more and more preposterous and loud unrestrained queries such as “What if the world ends the day after the day after the day after three weeks from tomorrow?” seeming more and more alarmed each time, the longer the potential “doomsday” is from then - completely senseless. The audience keeps gasping and crying out to everything he says. I stand there in disbelief until my dream fades with a strong and clear attitude that it does not even matter if and when the world ends - why keep theorizing as such? This last false awakening seems vaguely influenced by the last scenes from “The Blob” (1988 version) - seen the evening before - where the traumatized preacher is shown as having the power to “end the world” from a piece of the life-form he has in a container.

Morning of January 21, 2015. Wednesday.



I seem to be in La Crosse, but over time, I get a vague idea that I am not where I should be. However, I am not fully lucid at any point even though I regard my environment as if being in a dream. This is a fairly common state since early childhood but it is not of a fully conscious awareness as in vivid lucid dreams or scripted dreams. Another male is following me but is being more of a nuisance than being directly threatening in any way. Still, I decide that something needs to be done. In the back of my mind I seem to understand that I should physically jump out of my dream and try to find a different one. I eventually reach an area that is mostly like a cliff. I get the idea that the other male may just be coincidentally following me due to having some of the same interests, including jumping out of his dream. Still, I want to be on my own. The Dionne Warwick song “Do You Know the Way to San Jose?” keeps playing in the background in this and a couple other dream sections (likely due to having heard it on “Helix”, which my wife and I had watched five episodes of on DVD just before - though I also played it on keyboard when younger).

The area I end up near is like an ocean of fog below me and reaching up to near where I am standing on the cliff. I sense that I am very high up. A version of the Golden Gate Bridge can be seen even though I am likely in Wisconsin near the Black River (for some reason, the Golden Gate bridge has replaced other actual bridges in a particular area in dreams). I also get the impression that it may be a newly bilocated version of the “eternity bridge” (a recurring dream feature since early childhood). I do not recall the bridge being rendered in Wisconsin before. It is normally bilocated from an unknown jungle and rendered over the shed in Cubitis, west to east, though the directional orientation seems the same here. It also seems I may be in a particular location on French Island (Wisconsin), but much higher on a fictional mountain or greatly elevated area. I decide to jump into the thick light-colored mist.



When I leap forward, my body takes the exact form and feeling as if doing a parachute jump, face down, and remains as such for seemingly a few minutes. I do not see anything in the fog as I move downward through it. I feel very good as well as safe. After a time, I take control and am able to fly precisely under my will at a particular held altitude. However, I sense that the other male is still behind me (though by a fair distance such as a full city block at least), perhaps with the intent to ask me a question or set of questions. I do not feel like giving anyone advice or anything so I fly “under” a “dream barrier” of some kind hoping that he goes elsewhere from there. I am not yet sure of his identity. He may be Don K who had appeared in another recent dream.

The “barrier” is a very old larger apartment building that is floating in the air within the fog with the bottom floors missing (recurring concept). I go much lower and then fly under it and through the empty area where the lower floors would otherwise be. The fact that I am flying under a large floating partial building does not trigger higher lucidity, but I do contemplate its nature with false logic. I get the idea that I am then entering another dream region once leaving the proximity of the building and the male following me will now end up elsewhere, far away from where I am going.

My dream shifts into a present family setting. I am aware of the large number of books we have in the house, likely far more than anyone else in the region. I decide that maybe we should give a few away to make some extra room. I find myself looking at an older Donald Duck story (with Huey, Dewey, and Louie) in a book somewhat like a Little Golden Book but a bit larger. I actually end up reading the entire book and contemplate if it should go into the giveaway pile. It is not that coherent. There is a part where ants ruin a picnic and another part where a heron-like bird has the power of invisibility within an arched window and plays tricks on passersby.

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