Blue_Opossum

Morning of May 29, 2014. Thursday.



It seems to be early evening; not quite sunset. A limousine has stopped under an overpass (almost fully in its shadow except for a small area of the back) on a seemingly lesser-used road or cul-de-sac parking area because of car trouble. An unknown female gets out and stands near the left-hand side of the car. She seems to be about thirty or so and is standing, but leaning against the door a bit, with one leg up a bit (such as when one is putting on or taking off a shoe in public), implying the number four.

A school girl walks by on the left-hand side and says “Hey Annie” in a familiar way (extremely vivid - almost like an actual event), but keeps walking. The other female does not say anything and is probably annoyed by the car stalling. The school girl seems to be carrying some sort of smaller duffel bag over her right shoulder and seems to be wearing a black martial arts outfit with somewhat shiny golden thread making up some inseam patterns. Nothing else happens, but I get the vague sense that there is a fence on the other side of the overpass at ground-level and an abandoned small factory building to the right in that area. This is probably wrong, as it would not make that much sense for the school girl to go there (unless she plans on climbing over the chain-link fence or the area is used as a hang-out) or the other female either, unless the chauffeur had gotten lost or the other female is interested in old abandoned factories.

Morning of May 28, 2014. Wednesday.



There is a long first section to my dream where my wife Zsuzsanna and I are living in my older sister Marilyn’s house on Loomis Street. (She died this year in February.) It seems unusual that we now apparently own her house, especially as this was a rented house in real life and my sister had lived in a different house for some time after I came to Australia (though this erroneous factor occurs continuously in my dreams, as I never saw the house she had moved to after my move to Australia). I am aware of Marilyn at one point but when I look up she moves swiftly “in reverse” back to the kitchen (as if I were rewinding and resetting my dream). I notice a pile of clothes in one bedroom that belong to my brother-in-law (still alive) and my sister.

Later, I am at the front of the house. I have an old bicycle that I will be riding east down Gillette Street. At this point, I feel very good, though I am somewhat concerned about the traffic. However, there are not many cars after a time. I am able to ride the bicycle without incident. After going east down Gillette Street about two blocks, there is a (fictional) bicycle shop to my right. I still feel very good, but I think the bicycle needs to be fixed up a bit. I go into the store and have the bicycle set up near the center of the main large room so that I can work on it. The owner is behind the counter and does not even seem to notice me (until later).

I have a special bottle that resembles a small cylindrical spray-cologne bottle with a light blue tint. The liquid inside it that sprays out as a mist is virtually infinite. This has something to do with “the practice effect” in that the more I use, the more will be available and the more effective. In this case, it is a mist filled with nanobots that automatically clean, repair, and build even as they continue to improve themselves with a more and more efficient design. I spray the mist on rusty spots on the bicycle and over time, more and more of the rust is gone to be replaced by the original chrome surfaces. I spray it on the seat and the black seat takes on a copper sheen and transforms into a different shape.

The bicycle shop owner comes over with an unknown male customer and I say how the seat will now be more comfortable when riding. At this point, a bicycle seat falls onto the floor from a high shelf behind me. I point at it and say, “What a coincidence. I had just mentioned ‘bicycle seat’ and one fell from the shelf”. The other two males appear to be perplexed.

I continue to spray the mist over the bicycle and it becomes more and more newer-looking. I decide to add a headlight. I spray over the front of the bicycle and the invisible nanobots build a very nice-looking chrome headlight. There is a larger rectangular area on the bottom for a brighter light and two small eye-like squares near the top for signal lights. I also create better brakes and go back over the surface. Eventually, the bicycle, though with chrome aspects, also has copper and gold sections. I study the difference between the copper and gold nuances and I am satisfied. I notice several other features of the shop turning copper and gold over time, including parts of the shelves, checkout counter, and so on.

Eventually, the owner seems puzzled by a section of his bicycle shop, which seems to have partially expanded into a clothing store with craft store aspects more to the east. A few sections of elongated clover-shaped copper and gold felt pieces have ended up on the floor. A few other customers are walking around. It is not quite clear what he is looking at. At one point, it looks like two pieces of golden-colored felt sewn partly together with a bit of stuffing coming out. It seems like a propeller for a large stuffed toy airplane.

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This dream borrows from the science-fiction novel “The Practice Effect” by David Brin and additionally uses the typical dream ability of cleaning and improving dream features.

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For new readers or inexperienced dreamers: Something falling off a shelf is precursory symbolism representing getting out of bed, especially as it is a pillow with composite autosymbolism relating to flight. A shelf is autosymbolism that signifies being unconscious, analogous to being in bed. This dream is autosymbolic of the natural vestibular system ambiguity of REM sleep, biologically resulting in associations with falling, flight, or both. Therefore, it has no relationship with waking life or interpretable factors. An airplane is often only an autosymbolic extension of the physical body during the vestibular system ambiguity of REM sleep. Therefore, it is usually unrelated to waking life. In this case, only the propeller as a pillow is present. A pillow is a dream state indicator that represents increased awareness of one’s real environment while still in the dream state and is sometimes precursory of “The Periphery of Lucidity” as in many childhood dreams, and although my dream becomes more and more vivid, apex lucidity does not initiate. Preconscious RAS mediation remains passive here, as a checkout character being autosymbolism for exiting the dream state, likely due to my (subliminal) willingness to wake and harmonious attitude about RAS factors. In my childhood, I typified this common type of dream event as “failed flight waking symbolism”. Use of the word “failed” does not imply a negative connotation as it is a biological dynamic of waking from REM sleep. Therefore, attributing conscious self meaning or waking life meaning is unintelligent. A bicycle is also relevant to vestibular system dynamics, not as dominant as a fully featured airplane. Gold symbolizes a more viable closeness to the conscious self identity while sleeping.

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Morning of May 28, 2014. Wednesday.



I am on my way to a supposed meeting with an unknown male. I am not sure why. It seems to relate to some sort of business, perhaps even the local black market.

I end up talking to a male who had been sleeping against a concrete wall on a shabby makeshift bed in a cul-de-sac area near a large shopping mall. He is rather large and stocky. Even though he appears to be homeless, he also seems to have enough finances to eat fairly well, though he is dressed informally in shabby clothes. Over time, another male is in the area and also talks with him. The other male does not seem homeless.

The unkempt homeless man seems like a sort of scavenger and street-opportunist and also talks about stealing jewelry and anything else of value from various females who shop in the region. Apparently he has not been caught, although his present sleeping conditions actually seem worse than those of some jails.

Eventually, a young female seems to literally step out of my body as if my body was some sort of “portal” for interdimensional travelers. She is dressed in old-fashioned clothes, almost ballroom-like and she regards the other males curiously. The homeless male asks to see more of her necklace and the girl lifts up the chain so that a larger pendant rises up from behind her fancy lacy blouse.

From here, things go a bit stranger. The rays of light coming from the pendant are too bright to directly look at and there is a very slight audio effect that is somewhat wind-chime-like, almost inaudible, and with a very low-volume higher-pitched continuous tone “matching” it - seeming like two isolated higher frequency bands (with no spanning broadband ranges), but again, almost inaudible. In fact, the rays extend a fair distance, possibly reaching two or three city blocks away. The homeless man covers his eyes a bit but still tries to see the girl and the necklace yet all that is visible for the most part is bluish white light. The girl starts to make fun of human beings (even though she looks like a normal human being herself) and what they do and how they move, seemingly with great pleasure and miming and continues on like…

“Oh look I’m a human; I can walk around on two legs. Then I can sit down. Then I can stand up and oh look I can walk around on two legs again. Then I can sit or stand…”

“Do I have a brain? Yes, I do, but only in my head; I can’t see or even guess what is ahead in my future very far and oh look, let’s just walk into this wall since we didn’t see it coming” (mimics walking into a wall).

“And, oh look, now that I have walked into a wall, I guess I will sleep here from now on with my two legs. But sometimes I will sit or stand and then walk again…”

This is likely exasperating for the other two males but I do not mind it so much. Eventually, an additional normal-looking male (except for the fact that he seems dressed as a swashbuckler) begins to appear in various “pieces” in a holographic form about five feet from our little group…not fully forming by the time I wake. I get the vague impression that it could be a holographic “shell” that I may inhabit when going off for a time with this being.

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Morning of May 27, 2014. Tuesday.



I am somewhat lucidly walking through the Hall of Mirrors at the Palace of Versailles, which is a “repeat” of a dream section from (earliest) 1974, called “Diamond Cave” in I believe the main variation. I am aware of the prominent symbol of my earthly path. Sometimes I tend to view the symbol as two souls joining as one once on the material plane - or “twin flames” that are as such from the beginning of the birth of the first (even if the second has not yet been born).

I see the ceiling vista as the “V”, the horizon outside as the top of the “T”, and the vertical line of the “T” being both the “door” and its reflection that “meets” the viewer in a somewhat illusory sense, almost implying that one is “walking on their destiny” (or “reflection”) before even getting to it. In one version of the dream, I had become more lucid than usual and simply ran and ran through the “endless” hall, sometimes knocking the arm (or other features) off of a figure. In one case, they were endless arrays of male and female Greek statues in static poses.

There are many ways to look at the same lines, symbols only having the “power” they are given throughout life. The “Y with arms” as I called it when young was of course the symbol of the publisher where I first contacted my wife.

Some unworldly people had thought it ominous (just as some are “afraid” of pentagons, hexagon, octagons - and probably are not so sure about circles or squares either), when it is really only a version of the Yen symbol (for Japanese currency) and I have seen it with both one stroke and two when it actually represents Yen in print (just as the dollar sign varies with either one or two strokes, and that goes back to S and C and other forms of Yin and Yang).

Night of May 27, 2014. Tuesday.



My wife’s younger sister Judy has come to the house (though she has not been here in real life very often at all). We are all in the main part of the front room. Instead of a sofa, there is a bed oriented east to west. It seems fairly dark in the room, though the television is on giving enough light to see a little.

I am spending most of the in-dream time trying to stop four stacks of magazines from falling to the floor (as well as possibly falling more towards me and getting messed up or spread over the bed). They could possibly be my wife’s craft magazines (which seems most likely, although there may also be one stack of old Warren magazines such as “Vampirella” or “Eerie”). I am partially lying down but have my arm up across the four piles so that they stay relatively balanced on the soft mattress.

As Judy is talking to my wife (Judy on the right facing my wife and closer to the front door), I notice a number of red marks and bruise-like patterns on her face; around her eyes, nose and mouth - very similar to the seemingly fake infomercial that promotes some sort of skin cream, where women have a similar look - but where the “skin problems” seem mostly done by makeup. I recall this in the back of my mind and how “fake” it looks, though I suspect that Judy may actually have some sort of skin problem at this time.

As she talks about her various problems (likely mostly with her mother and how she let her ruin her life), she talks about “going back to Manuel”.

I find this somewhat intriguing as there are at least four ways to look at it - the usual multilayering of authentic dreams over bland conscious constructs passed off as “dreams” - or faded residual memories of a dream where the multiple layers or important “plays” are lost…

One being that Manuel could be her (fictional) old boyfriend, which is my first impression…

Two being that she is talking about “manual control” (rather than being intimate with a man in a relationship),

Three being as opposed to “autopilot” in paying more attention to things as should be the case in her abusive (over many years) situation.

Four in reference to a paperback “instructional” manual (since my dream featured four stacks of magazines) in needing to study one to gain more critical thinking skills and “advice on life” relative to her problems.

It also turned out to have the usual precognitive layer (relative to my own perspective anyway - or a form of postcognition), as the first thing I saw after waking was the line “Former heaviest man Manuel Uribe dies aged 48” as an Internet news headline I had no way of knowing about (which actually only ties in with a news show regarding a different man who was Australian and could not get out of bed).

The “typical” shorter nightly nap dream - several layers of potential meanings or complex associations, and immediately resolved precognition. It is what it is.

Morning of May 25, 2014. Sunday



I have gone to a second-hand bookstore again and then back to my Cubitis home, which actually seems to be in the area where our Barolin Street house was. An unknown male shows me a book which I “remember” having when younger, though this is a false memory. It is something about myth and magic and has a light brown cover with a few panel-like areas that almost remind me of the arrangement of windows on a Windows computer. A couple areas have writing and another has images. Even though I am “certain” I saw and had the book before in my dream, it is not one that I had actually seen at all in reality. There are also aspects of shiny copper on the cover and the pages’ edges. This may be very loosely related to a memory of when I was sitting with my mother on a bench in Arcadia and reading from a humor magazine (I also had the first volume of a set of encyclopedias called “Man, Myth and Magic” that we had gotten in the mail from the post office). I was reading a line aloud (fairly loudly) “…a member of the jet set” when a fairly unkempt male walked by, slouching, with his hands in his pockets. I had hoped the male did not think me to be referring to him as a joke or sarcasm (as I felt my face get hot), but he kept walking. The idea of “jet set” seems to be related to people who fly in the in-dream association with the real event when I was about ten.

This seems to remind me somehow about my own flying ability - as I seem to recall the textbook-style “key points” that are listed in a panel and call-out boxes on the pages’ borders that ask certain things related to the steps you have done. I go outside and do a sort of fast walking and sort of thrust myself upwards and fly with no real effort (in most flying dreams I seem to be jumping into a “cushion of air” that just allows me to go farther, little different than “inverse swimming” - where the water “swims you” - but with less resistance and more control). I go on flying maneuvers several times and eventually go fairly high and go over water. I land near a beach that has a lot of junk along the shore - an area that people had used to dump larger things like bicycles and appliances, some half in the water. Another younger male is there who is interested in flying (I think he had been trying to retrieve a junk bicycle to fix up) and we fly around for a short time before I see a larger gathering of people. I am wondering why other people are not flying to get to their destination more quickly. Even if you have something heavy to move or take with you, it seems that there is no gravity to the object when touching it and beginning to hover and then moving forward - you could probably even move a house (at least the free-standing kind on stilts common to this region) that way, which I explain. My flying position is the same as it is in many other dreams, sort of leaning forwards a bit diagonally, but sometimes in standing position (rather than like Superman).

This dream does not become fully lucid (as with many flying dreams), but it has the usual lifelong in-dream knowledge of how easy it is to rise up and hover, and then fly fairly fast (although sometimes it is more like teleportation). Some of the other people have success in rising and hovering but not flying that much.

Over time, it becomes more of a mystery that people bother to walk around on the ground than it does to just hover or fly, not that it is more difficult to walk, but why walk when you can get somewhere more “smoothly” and more quickly? All of the people are friendly and there is no aggression from anyone to anyone else. In a way, this may be related to my “orb” form, especially in early childhood dreams - where I often had that form in dreams - I guess because flying does not really require legs, or even a body for that matter - and as I noted before, may be related to being carried around as a toddler in longer periods where you did not have to walk to get somewhere.

This is probably another possible interpretation of flying to add to the others I have studied - in a negative sense, flying can mean “not having support” or a viable income at the time (which one dream years ago revealed directly in actual words) but can also relate to “performing well” or a higher level of success. On the other hand, my flying dreams were more often in “orb” form as a child as I “did not need legs” (or so I seemed to directly reason). So again, it is reasonable in my opinion that some flying dreams relate directly to very early childhood, even infancy (and being carried - or pushed in a baby pram - to wherever you need to go).

On the other hand of course, it is still relevant to the fact that “movement of thought does not require legs”, as well as being of a higher level of freedom.

Morning of May 24, 2014. Saturday.



My brother-in-law seems happy and my sister seems to be alive and with him at the Stadcor Street house in Brisbane (though neither of them had ever been to Australia in real life). They both seem about twenty years younger.

There appears to be some sort of larger spider, nearly the size of a human hand (and I have come to realize that spiders sometimes represent human hands in dreams in a more negative sense - a couple dreams even revealed this more clearly). There are several of this fictional species of spider, all clustered together in a “tunnel” that goes down through the floor somehow, the floor also seeming much thicker than in reality. This is probably loosely related to an association with trapdoor spiders, as the overall look is similar. There is no direct threat, but there is also something about termites falling on my brother-in-law’s head a bit later on. He is also seen walking in the driveway.

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One way to look at this dream is “needing to get my hands on something” that is under the house (which fell between the floorboards). Something under the house might be dirty and have negative associations, distorting the concept of my hand moving through the dirt as a spider.

Morning of May 23, 2014. Friday.



This was a very long and complex dream, difficult to hone in on. I will only include some more prominent scenes.

Throughout this dream, I usually seem to be only about five years of age, at least in size and perspective, although I do seem slightly older at times, but no more than nine.

One setup involves something to do with a school “contest” of some sort. It is not quite defined but does involve the winners being chosen because of how many times they had connected in certain ways, such as by saying “I love you” and so on. The prize is some sort of trophy with a heart on it and a booklet somehow attached to the base of it. I believe it also related to popularity as well as possibly being placed in a higher grade.

After a focus on the nature of my own experiences, the winners turn out to be students that were not even that connected or in a friendly relationship of any kind, at least at any point in my memory. I am not angry for myself or “jealous” that I did not win - it is more about honesty, which I make known in some sort of ignored class speech. The nature of the scene seems to change in unusual ways. I approach a male who is probably about eighteen (he seems to be Steve J, although we were about the same age when in school). It seems that he was the male winner in this case. He says something that I take to be an affront. I somehow float quickly into the air to match his height and then punch him and knock him unconscious almost effortlessly and then feel a bit silly about it as I float quickly back to the floor in standing position. This scene likely relates to a real life event of when he asked to borrow a deck of cards to impress a girl he liked. The cards, when flipped, showed an animation of a rabbit jumping into a hat and then flying out as a dove. On the condition that I let him claim the cards as his during recess, he firmly stated “I’ll like you forever!" The girl, however, was not impressed and merely looked at him oddly and walked away. We remained classmates over the years, but not really friends.

In another scene, I ask a classmate where my "wife” is (not actually as my wife, but as a student). She is about my age in my dream and I am told she is being held after class to finish some extra work (as well as an implication of some sort of disciplinary action), which I believe relates to some sort of art project (the routine of drawing one number two or more on a folded sheet of paper and ending up with either fish, the heart, or the fleur-de-lys depending on the fold and the drawing). I go into the room where she is sitting in a cross-legged position cutting out something from red construction paper, but there is also a yellow notepad next to her and a pen and pencil as well as a few crayons. Another person is in the room (another student) but ignores us after making some sort of comment about her. My “wife’s” eyes are very unusual, quite larger than normal. This does not seem strange at the time. Maybe it is from being so much younger, as it reminds me a little of the cat paintings with the huge eyes that my family had in Florida and were advertised in comic books and magazines. I talk to her for several minutes after asking if she remembered me and by which the answer is “yes”. This question actually seemed to be about her “remembering the future”, which is supposedly more “stable” and visible at times than the past because of the totality of built-up causal effects already unfolding and having more prominence on the “event horizon” than certain fading patterns of the past. She also makes the heart symbol with her two hands (the routine where the thumbs are brought together in a “V” and a finger from each hand curves inward and down, which also implies face-to-face mirrored twos).

Later, I am near the playground on the north edge. There are two groups in sight, fairly close to each other. The coach is talking to two males. A bit west of them is a group of about five students in a violent brawl. One of them is constantly knocked about and knocked onto and over the seesaw. The coach does not seem to notice the big fight at all even though it is almost right next to him (but behind him). For some reason, I decide to go into the area. I have to jump up or quickly fly up to rotate the bolt at the top of the chain-link fence to get into a sort of implied “vestibule” section before another gate can be opened into the grounds. This takes at least three attempts.

Finally, I find myself looking back out through the southwest corner of the grounds and through the chain-link fence to the west, at a limousine which is apparently taking my yet-to-be wife to the airport. I am very annoyed that I will not see her again for many years if at all (the song “Where’s The Playground Susie?” - the Glen Campbell version - held numerous “clues” and connections for me, in a quite different way than the song implied, such as “The puzzle that we never found an answer for” and “But what merry-go-round can you ride without me to take your hand?”). I mention something more to myself, but aloud, about having to create the universe all over again and putting different clues at different points again so that I can be with her sooner. “What…what did you say?” asks an older male in the car in the front seat next to the chauffeur. He seems bewildered and a bit fearful by a child speaking in this manner. I create fire from the palm of my hand and direct it at the front of the vehicle. The vehicle explodes as my yet-to-be wife is able to get out of the vehicle at the right moment. I have decided to take more of an active role in the rest of my life from that point. I am contemplating on whether or not to also wipe out the airplane and airport but my dream loses cohesion around that time.

Morning of May 22, 2014. Thursday.



I am in a small second-hand book store in an unknown location. There are two unknown females behind the counter which is nearly chest high. There is a table with at least eight piles of comic magazines to my right that, although seem a lot like Warren magazines in overall design are actually (fictional) black-and-white Avengers comic magazines which I have not seen before (possibly from the early 1980s). I put several on the counter to buy after going through the stacks, eventually adding up to about a dozen or more. The younger cashier on the right says that she will take off a certain amount of money from the total price if I buy more, so I look over what I had already put on the counter, and look more at the ones on the table. The total will probably be about $23.00 to $24.00 or somewhere around that range.

I read the title “Avengers” on each cover, but I start to focus on only the covers that feature Marvel’s Black Cat character, all in similar full-body layouts for the most part, although she looks more like DC’s Catwoman. Also, I call her “Black Widow” which is yet another character and more to do with the actual Avengers. There are at least a dozen or more of these magazines I decide to get and eventually decide to only get those that feature her on the cover. However, over time, I have to keep putting the covers back on. I notice that when I pick one up sometimes, the cover is missing and still on the table, which I then put back over the rest of the book. In addition to all that, some of the covers remind me (in overall style of art) of Silver Sable.

In the long run, I only refer to her as “Black Widow” in my dream even though it may be a version of the Black Cat though I do not wish to sound ignorant. The cashiers do not correct me if such is the case.

After this dream, I also realized it could have been relative to “The Avengers” television series, which is unrelated to Marvel’s Avengers. The title in my dream matched some stylized titles of the show.

Morning of May 20, 2014. Tuesday.



I am traveling with a few people in a station wagon that looks like the same one my brother-in-law Bob had at one time. My wife is with me. The driver is unknown but friendly and competent at driving. Somehow, it seems we are in a composite area that has a location sense of my backyard in Cubitis. We stop near the front of the large shed (the one my father built) and it seems to represent a charity store. It is closed, however. There are several cardboard boxes and bags of clothes to the right of the doorway, the bags leaning up against the outer wall. It looks like rain, so we put them in more suitable plastic bags as well as adding some more unneeded clothes from the car.

Apparently this is not a public street and a police frog is on its way to our location. The police frog has trouble getting over some clusters of grass so we decide to take the opportunity to leave before he gets to our location even though we not only had not done anything wrong or illegal - we were giving more donations of clothes. The police frog is hindered by a somewhat shallow pond near where the car is parked. He starts moving through the water and drowns. I had thought frogs would be better swimmers.

In another scenario, I have two identical wives (perhaps a few years apart in age, but the same otherwise). For some reason, this really does not seem all that unusual - one may be the one before I met her and the other being the one after I met her. I make love to both of them at different times. There is a lot of realistic physical contact. We seem to be living in La Crosse. My brother Jim is still alive, much younger, and seemingly staying with us for a short time before he goes to another town. I think he is going into the army or marines (he was a marine in real life) as he has a duffel bag near the arm chair in the living room, seemingly in preparation to go.

The two versions of my wife do not seem to ever interact. One starts to talk about her new pregnancy (which is quite a surprise to me) and I start to worry again (as in real life) if her petite size can handle the pregnancy (considering we have five children, though, I would say yes). Still, she would be at far more of a disadvantage than other females and I worry about her health and water retention concerns as she says her hands and feet are quite swelled. I decide that for now, perhaps I should reverse time and undo the present scenario and work out what we will do. This is also because this version of my wife should probably be more free to do more of what she wants on her own.

I find the “two wives” (my wife having had dreams of two of me) or more, and other “two of something” dreams to be rather intriguing. I have also dreamt of having two of the “same” fathers and two of the “same” mothers (and even two or more of the “same” pet cats or guinea pigs).

I spend a bit of time thinking about reversing time. My brother Jim seems late for his journey but does not seem that concerned. I pretend to have some sort of machine (about the size of an old typewriter) that reverses time and I push “invisible” buttons and move some sort of “invisible” panel. I am aware of how foolish this act seems even in my growing lucidity. Jim seems to think it amusing and does not believe that time can be reversed.

However, after a short time, it is a year prior to the in-dream present date as I verify this with a calendar. Somehow, Jim still has to go, but now has time to get to his destination and he seems happy about this. I go out to the front yard with one version of my wife and we embrace for a time. For some reason, I am reminded of “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” where my wife has the “same expression” as the girl from the film. I hear a sort of screeching sound and the mood changes completely. I try to work out where it is coming from and realize that it is my own throat. I try to deliberately make the sound and it is similar, but not as loud. I rise swiftly into the air and fly around in standing position (recurring) and make the screeching sound a few more times as there is a bizarre composite emotion of peace, terror, “finality”, and exhilaration at the same time. I fly over an open field where I see a forest in the distance. This is nothing at all like the real-life location and has no urban features at all. I had just been in a smaller house in the middle of the open field. I deliberately (being mostly lucid) make the sound a few more times with my throat and get used to the exact physical sensations as to how it is done and the different subtle facets of movement and vibration. However, I then realize that I had probably been screeching in real life and so better wake up to say that I am actually doing fine. It turns out that I had not made any screeching sounds, and I have no idea of how I made my throat make the sound that it did, at least at that volume.

Morning of May 19, 2014. Monday.



There is some sort of bizarre sound pulsing like a drawn out male soprano “Weeeeee” (pause) “Weeeeee” (pause) “Weeeeee” in groups of three as such, but a bit layered sounding, as with some sort of extreme detuning effect. I am not sure what this is. It is not a main part of the dream scene, I do not think. Maybe this is going on in another classroom.

This is my fear and moment of pure eeriness. This is reality pausing from negative infinity. When I was six and the bell rang while I was in the basement sports arena, the children running down the flights of stairs which I heard through the doorway of the basketball court always painted an image of terrifying violent geese and the coach seemed like some sort of eerie giant ogre who could pick me up and throw me like a paper airplane at any moment. “That is not how you bounce the ball!” he screams at me, and then does a comedic impression of me bending down and bouncing the ball with only a few inches to spare in the bounce. So much for me trying to look cool. I guess the giant pale buffoon and child-terrorizer never heard of the Harlem Globetrotters. And so I was kept an extra hour and missed math class because this big pale buffoon thought I had a disability and was uncoordinated. Thanks a lot, Harlem Globetrotters…

Charlie Brown is an accident victim, apparently, and a real human being. I am not a child, but neither is Charlie Brown. We seem to be back in school near where I lived on Rose Street. There is a lot of construction paper around as well as bottles of glue, pipe cleaners, and crayons. Charlie Brown seems a bit of a disturbed soul, as if he is planning some sort of revenge. He is wearing the same shirt as always. There seem to be (briefly?) Q-Tips sparsely stuck in his hair, which has something to do with using them to lightly use glue on something. The shirt is as it is, in design, because it is the same shirt as he wore during his accident and never changed it. The black pattern across his yellow top is actually a tire track! (Who would have thought?)

He did not die after lying in the street for days. He finally got up and returned to his life’s routine. (“Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”.)

The class project is of outer space. A lot of stars have been cut out, as well as Saturns and crescent moons.

My area is the “fanciest” (to the far left) for a time. An unknown girl, oddly dressed - sort of like Cat Woman - is also working on the project. I then focus on the fact that she was the “cat burglar” all those years ago on Rose Street. I say “Oh it’s you” and she replies, “Yes it’s me. I have been with you always.” Looking closer, I see it is my wife at around age eighteen. I point and say “Oh look, it’s her…” No one cares. She is not of their path.

Something dawns on me and I approach Charlie Brown. I tell him about a real-life experience, during that exact same time period around the time the “cat girl” was a dream friend. I had been crossing the street while a deck of educational mathematics cards (Whitman flashcards) had fallen from my notebook binder. A few of the cards blew over the street near the intersection and one car ran over one of them. The crossing guard eventually came over and waited until I was able to pick up all the cards, holding off the oncoming traffic. The card with the “two plus two” pattern had a diagonal smudge of dirt across it from the tire of a car that had ran over it. For some reason, I kept these cards until I was about thirty and gave them to my brother Earl’s kids even though they had stress and fold marks. Having returned later on, I had seen them in a large bag filled with rubbish, but did not reclaim them.

I have a false memory of the crossing guard coming out (who was a very chubby female, who looked almost squarish in her uniform) and looking at me and saying “There is a lot you do not remember, Sparks.” Her eyes glow silvery blue. This is a nickname from “Contact” (1997) said by the David Morse character who played the Source in one of my last dreams. I “return” from this “memory” and say to Charlie how I can relate very well to him, implying the tire mark on that card is like the tire mark across his shirt and he looks at me with disdain. He turns around and starts spinning, yelling “I’m gonna be shot outta the cannon!” I look a little closer at his face and notice it is dirty, and his nose is running with the top part of his mouth covered in mucous.

He runs and tears most of the middle section of the space display section (while holding onto the first edge), ripping it across. “All lies!” He says “These aren’t real stars!” For a moment, he looks like the cartoon Charlie brown. He huffs and puffs, running and jogging in short increments as he goes across the room.

Somehow, in no time, he is immediately (more like instantly) in the cannon with his head sticking out. Ed Sullivan’s voice announces “Presenting…a really big shoe…Charlie Brown…the human…cannonball…” The fuse is lit and out and up he goes, like a rocket.

Charlie Brown has high goals. People look and point. It is wonderful for Charlie to go out among the real stars - as he tore up the class project because it was not “real” for him. People are still annoyed. Suddenly terror breaks out. He “pops” in a fizzled shower of small fireworks, fading fairly quickly. The “cat woman” and I kiss intimately, rising into the air and glowing and going higher and higher.

Morning of May 18, 2014. Sunday.



In the first section of the dream, I am with my wife and we are outside in some sort of unusual version of the backyard in Cubitis. Oddly, more to the east, is some sort of unusual version of my sister Marilyn’s house. As is often the case, this composite is unique, not having been a (fictional) location in any other dream. I am only semi-lucid at this point. My youngest son is playing in a narrow ditch oriented east-west. It is a warm day. A black male and his wife and younger son (about the same age as my youngest son) fly down and land farther to the east in a helicopter. Although he carries a gun (possibly just for protection), there does not seem to be any threat.

Meanwhile, I hold my hands up and forward and water emerges with a large amount of force from the palms of my hands and fills the ditch in a short time so that my son can swim in it. Over time, I do unusual tricks with the water; I somehow will the water (with a sequence of hand motions similar to portal rituals) to come up to make a temporary translucent “wall” and enjoy other variations of forms, seeming to have full control of the water molecules. My wife and I enjoy the imagery as I work with shaping the water molecules into various forms, including cylindrical and conical forms that hover in the air for a short time before falling back into the body of water as dispersed drops and with very vivid and clear splashes.

The other man and his family watch for a time. Later, we are sitting on the porch and enjoying a bit of a “magic show” I do, but it mostly only relates to smaller things, such as restoring torn apart envelopes, and restoring teeth broken off a comb. Once I restore everything in the immediate environment, the family starts to leave in the helicopter. However, at this point, my wife says that the pilot and a couple other males are stealing the barbecue she had bought for a neighbor as a birthday present, so, without them noticing I mentally float the box to about roof level and manage to get it on its way by going a little higher and to the back of our house and beyond, assuming it will reach its destination.

The first part of the next section starts with me being in the large, fancy bedroom of a seemingly unknown house. My sister and her husband are there. Apparently, my wife has transformed into some sort of in-dream entity and is much younger, a bit thin (but not unattractively so) and with a more powerful, yet more youthful voice and longer hair. My sister seems to know my wife’s family and how she was “adopted” (she was not in real life) and in fact, had taken over her adoption at one point in the past. This may seem strange, but it directly relates to a dream I had before meeting my wife where she moved past the windows of my room and was then having a very long conversation with my sister (when she was still alive) about me (seemingly not knowing I was watching them), which I will write about later.

I start to feel a change within myself, unlike any I have felt before. It is as if I am the origin of consciousness. There is talk about how people who are “not human” - which implies myself and my wife, have to pretend so much to be of a certain consensus and state of mind for a time to “get along” with humans.

I hold out my right hand to show my brother-in-law a trick. Being able to create fire, air, water (and in the past, grains of dirt) from the palms of my hands, a typical dream ability for me, I focus and “allow” a large reddish-orange flame to move up and grow in size and then after a “whooshing” sound, it fades. I do this a couple times. My brother-in-law explains that he is actually like me in the sense of not being human, and explains that he has to pretend not to be made of ice (apparently being an “ice elemental”). (In real life his IQ was only around 70 and he could not read or write - but sometimes pretended to and often ended up giving letters to the wrong people and pretended to read a newspaper at times - but he still worked long and hard for many years.) Unfortunately, he sounds even less intelligent (entering that Roger-Miller-like intellectual disability but in baritone) showing his “true” ice elemental form than his human form, which I say nothing about and just sort of go along with it.

My sister and her husband are going out, and it dawns on me that this means I am the Source. It is my dream alone. The affirmations I have developed this year have incredible power (and I have learned they affect other people), and it looks like the “gate” was finally “opened”. I am in a state of sensual bliss and peace before I even actively indulge in sensual bliss directly. The thought amuses me greatly. Obviously, there is only one thing to do…

I ask my wife in her present form if she had ever been with a male before and she says “yes” quite passively yet with a discernible degree of assertiveness of experience - which seems quite odd, because the question seems metaphorical and she has only just recently been “born” into the world (and having “instant intelligence” as with the formation of tulpa-based dream character development I had started a few months back). Still, that does not seem to matter. Her name has transformed into “Sharon Rabbit”. I suppose this sounds hilarious because it sounds like a play on “sharing a rabbit”. She has a middle name that I see on an adoption document - and it starts with “C” - but I am not positive of what it is - it looks a bit like “comely” at one point. Sharon Comely Rabbit. Dreams certainly lack more realistic names, do they not? However, I can be certain there really are people called Sharon Rabbit, so ignore my blathering here. (In fact, I had made some sort of remark to my sister about why the surname was “Rabbit” which seemed to relate to having more children than average.)

We lie down on the bed (and the scene plays out almost as if exactly planned but this dream was not scripted at all), and from there, it is a bit too personal to go into the diverse details. I can make notes on some things. The sense of touch (in fact, all senses) was more vivid and intense than in real life as well as being more “focused”. Her silky flowing hair was like intoxicating perfume, building in layers of bliss (almost like a growing echo upon echo effect in sound until it grows into one roaring peak - which modern digital equipment cannot even begin to handle like the old analogue did), and her voice was so harmonious, flowing, and sensual, it flowed into my body and out again as if my body was like a speaker cone or amplifier (rendering most other human voices I have heard in real life seem dull and annoying in comparison - but I suppose that was the attraction in the first place in reality), very hard to put into words (this seems to have been foreshadowed by the dream where my wife’s skin had “ripples” and “waves” like the ocean). There was such a realistic sense of physical connection and orientation - it is also hard to put into words. Even so, this precise level of size orientation and audio and even location did not reflect anything ever experienced in this manner dream-wise. (Often my dreams have odd distortions in size, by magnification or shrinking - often being that my hands seem magnified and cars seem way too small to be able to get into - in the past, houses were sometimes like this, and there are often changes in distance perception as well.) From here, my wife’s real voice joins with the “vibrations” of the in-dream one and I am instantly awake with no discernible difference in perception.

I have validated my work fully and now understand how to do it whenever I want - I guess once again, simple “knowing” and the practice of such paid off (over twenty years more intensely working with word patterns and various types of phrasing and focus at various levels). I thought something was different last night, when I was doing “sending affirmations” (for about six hours - the amount of time some people spend passively watching television, unfortunately) in still states and getting more than the usual “feedback”, almost audibly - often, this “feedback” has a few “negative phrases” or “denial responses” that imply duality such as id and ego boundaries - or seemingly telepathic “break-ins” by other people which are really annoying, but this time, there were none at all. This dream was probably the most “stable” I have had to date and not only that, I was fully myself with no distortions of mood or emotion. My true self, I suppose. Full unity.

Night of May 18, 2014. Sunday.



I seem to be in a large kitchen, though not bodily present, that is, I do not seem to possess my illusory dream self’s body. It may be the set of one of those nonsensical reality television cooking shows (none of which we have ever watched).

I notice more and more heads of lettuce and cabbages on a large table (not a kitchen counter). There seem to be many varieties, of which are mostly green, some leaves having light stripes. I look more closely inside the leaves, mentally willing them to spread (by way of semi-lucidity), and under their leaves, I sometimes see a human eye. This seems to be perfectly natural. I also see a few white plates and large knives.

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Dreams are known to be autosymbolic of the sleeping, dreaming, and waking processes of RAS mediation. Therefore, I can easily determine that this is an incidental playful association with “heads” of lettuce as a secondary factor of subliminal incidental focus on REM sleep (REM meaning Rapid Eye Movement, though the singular lettuce eyes were not moving rapidly due to the lack of temporality in the dream state).

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Morning of May 17, 2014. Saturday.



Dabney Coleman owns a company called “Dreams Inc.”, which at first seems to imply he can travel in the manner of the characters of “Monsters Inc.” to assault females as they sleep or to whisper rather bland suggestions into their ears to win their favor, but this is not directly observed, and he is in a sort of character mix of Captain Yardley (from “I Dream of Jeanie”) and Mark Winslow (from “Modern Problems” from 1981). He has a conference at a large rectangular table with a sort of black vinyl cover and wooden sides of a slightly atypical height and seems to be the only one speaking for quite some time. His goal is to make a movie about dreams, using all of his business associates, but they do not seem to be interested or very trusting of the concept.

For a few minutes, he is somehow seemingly making the large table rise into the air with a certain…body part…and giggles about it and slaps someone on the shoulder. However, this turns out to be a forklift at the opposite end of the table (and of course, most would see the obvious play on “f—k lift” here). Everyone else turns to each other as if to say “what was that all about?" He starts to talk about "Dyspepsia” as some sort of ideal town that the movie is set in - he moves his hands apart (when standing up) like a growing frame gesture (mirrored “letter Ls”) to emphasize this, but for a moment, is more reminiscent of a fisherman bragging about “the one that got away”. This is not as odd as one would think, as, a few years ago they were showing a television commercial which made no sense (nothing new, here). It was supposedly about a woman’s younger son who had a medical problem relating to something similar to dyspepsia and something about a medication, but the woman calls the condition “dyslexia” instead (or maybe it was the other way around). Neither I nor my wife ever worked this out, as dyspepsia and dyslexia are two completely different things (contrary to what the commercial seemed to imply).

The next scene is related to how “all door knobs” are a symbol of his…body part (some sort of twisted connection to “Monsters Inc.” I suspect). Therefore, he reasons, every time someone opens a door, they massage the body part in question. Two of his business associates get up, and instead of opening the door or touching the doorknob, commit suicide by jumping out the open window, falling about forty stories. “Okay, um, let’s move along” he says.

He eventually ends up somehow tying everyone to their chair and saying they are going to be in his movie. He “gently” stabs them with a pencil saying how calm and peaceful his movie will be and how it will bring “world peace”. After a time, it looks as if he is sawing fingers off. The more people protest, the more he reassures them, that, because they are all “crazy” it is their privilege to be in his film.

The film begins with opening credits and he goes around talking and smiling to the people, even though most are injured or deceased. However, he spends more time talking into a mirror and to a couple manikins than the people he dismembered. His movie will begin, he says to himself, as a sort of “better version” of the “Lost” television series. It will begin with a closeup of a certain body part and end with the closeup of said body part (instead of Jack’s eyes in real-life).

As the actual film begins after the last opening credits, it shows a blank screen for awhile, and as Dabney grows restless, the screen remains blank for some time, and everything seems quite peaceful. I notice that the people that were presumed “dead” are actually happily walking around now having a “wine and nibbles” party, whispering softly. Two celebrities, J. J. Abrams and David Morse, enter, and take him away in a straight jacket. “It’s time to go,” says David Morse, and does his Ted Arroway speech (quoted verbatim relative to the real one): “You’re an interesting species. An interesting mix. You’re capable of such beautiful dreams, and such horrible nightmares. You feel so lost, so cut off, so alone, only you’re not. See, in all our searching, the only thing we’ve found that makes the emptiness bearable, is each other.”

When the movie finally begins, it is a scene from “The Golem” (1920) but with the face of Dabney Coleman, who looks quite puzzled and “frozen” when the child hands him a flower (which I believe is an apple in the real-life parallel), until it looks like his consciousness no longer exists at all. (That is, his eyes look “fake” and doll-like rather than “dead”.)

David smiles at me and it strikes me, as his eyes flash bright silvery blue, that it is the Source itself. “Small moves,” he says. I wake with a sense of rushing through a tunnel at high speed and realize what an incredible event that was. There is a residual “blue flame” that lasts longer than usual, and slightly brighter than usual.

Morning of May 17, 2014. Saturday.



There is a town that, if the orientation is relative to La Crosse (which it seems to be in my dream) it is east of where I am presently living in my dream. This seems to be a fictional location but still seemingly on Gillette Street (“Gillette” of course, relative to “close shaves”). There are quite a few people around.

The story is, that worms have all but taken over the next town to the east. These worms mostly crawl up walls and fall on people and “bore” from the back of the neck (being a possible play on someone being “a pain in the neck”, “painfully boring”, and “getting under one’s skin” - and “worm” also sounds a little like “word” - so what I gather from this is - “boring words being a pain in the neck and getting under the skin” which is quite relevant and timely).

There have been a few times in my life where pests almost got the better of me, but not in this case, and of course never in a “real” or life-oriented sense. The worms are known as “Vermicelli Obnoxious”, but when rendered harmless by some sort of special cheese sauce (with some sort of human DNA mixed with earthworm DNA), they turn into macaroni and die as such, yet with a clay-like essence.

I know this sounds ridiculous (even for me), but it really was quite vivid and coherent, though not lucid until just at waking point. A chubby man, reminding me a bit of an unwashed hot dog vendor in a park during an expo (circa 1997) is setting up some sort of “repellent”. The cheese sauce in question seems to repel the worm, so I am not sure how it could kill them if they supposedly always crawl away from it, but such is typical dream “logic”. He checks one larger pot in some sort of outdoor cooking area. The special “repellent” is in a circular pattern, seemingly blocking the apparent space in the pot’s lid from where the handle is attached via screws. He checks the other pot, which seems solid through the lid due to the handle not being attached with screws and instead welded on. For a moment, he seems puzzled, but then leaves it as it is without putting in any special cheese sauce.

I am not sure I trust the circumstances of “saving the town”, but I still volunteer for the dangerous journey into worm territory. Over time, we (the group and I) are walking about in a safer area of the town. However, arguments and name-calling break out. There are three lines of people that remind me of how I was part of a line in the playground at West Elementary with other lines of students for other teachers as we were to return to class. I was part of the last line to return to class (as if it was some sort of punishment) because there was always a particular student that was basically a troublemaker - who tried to claim that this was somehow everyone else’s fault even though he was the only legitimate bully in the entire grade, so the teacher, Mrs. Faison (an older black lady who was my favorite teacher at the time) would walk around until he was “settled” before taking the line of her students into the school (as you can guess, sometimes this took a few minutes or more as he talked to himself, the student in front of him and the student in back of him, saying that he actually was not talking that whole time he was talking - Mrs. Faison showing quite a bit of patience with him, really).

Again, in my dream there are two lines of about eight people each facing each other and oriented east/west, and an additional line, facing south and standing near a sort of park utility building that has a singular awning the length of the building. The whole fiasco of name-calling seems to be related to the first “team” of worm hunters and aid workers or whatever being jealous of the other two teams that actually have done more work regarding direct involvement with more people and “worm attacks” and a higher risk. One male at the head of a line of a team I seem to be in yells something about “showing your feathers” as some sort of metaphor for being “ruffled” I think though I am not sure.

Eventually, the cheese sauce seems to be working and it is safer to go into more previously infested areas of the town. I sit down at a picnic table with several others. A girl, who reminds me of Steve Irwin’s wife (I saw them in real life at a show in Brisbane prior to their marriage and before they became more well-known), is walking around checking out the area nearby and walks back near the table. She looks in my direction and warns people that some of the worms may still be active and stares at me cautiously as I feel smaller, lighter things falling on my head.

I feel a strange knife-like poke in the back of my neck and reach back to pull it out at the same time a fair amount of clay-like “elbow macaroni” falls from my hair as I quickly brush it all out as they all (the worm-creatures) are somehow rendered harmless or dead, most of which are now either pale gray or a sickly pale pink. This was a “close call”, but the one I pulled from the back of my neck seemed to be one of the last worms left in the dangerous “Vermicelli Obnoxious” stage. All the other worms in the town, it seems, have either died or turned into harmless clay-like elbow macaroni. For a moment, I thought I was in trouble, but there was one and only one boring worm being a pain in the neck.

After waking, there is an odd concern about my dream that I did not have in-dream, that being Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Conqueror Worm” - about human mortality and the inevitability of death.