Blue_Opossum

Night of April 30, 2014. Wednesday.



Before it goes off into another (private) scenario, I am seemingly in the distant future in-dream, yet somehow my wife is much younger, or at least this “version” with long hair (down to her waist) and wearing two thin white pieces of cloth (top and bottom) that are apparently the fashion of this time period, as well as long white stockings.

The house and yard (at our present home on W Street) looks mostly the same, but the grass is a bit greener (not much rain in reality).

There is a sort of wooden platform, which is about chest-high and near the back porch, that is meant to be some sort of small garden or something similar, because there is about two inches of dirt up from the surface and what looks to be a wondrous “miniature forest”, but with mostly leafless trees (yet still somehow very beautiful in the evenness and positions). In a very strange and intense “flash” of bright scenery, I am aware that the miniature forest is actually made up of specially trained stick insects that are all standing on their front legs, head down, and doing elaborate “ballet movements” to simulate the appearance of wind.

Somehow, this seems to relate to erotic energies, because it is similar to a dream of years ago where black caterpillars “stood on their head” along the tops of wooden fences (in front of several different houses and some on mailboxes), which seemed to relate to my dream’s sensual energies relative to other events.

Morning of April 29, 2014. Tuesday.



I am in an unknown region of what may be Waukon, Iowa (this is loosely connected to the other dream about clearing the yard, but not a direct extension, I do not think). It is mostly farmland and I seem to be going north, though it is not certain due to the somewhat unfamiliar nature of the landscapes. This, though, seems to have a vague link to the “Muffler Man and Long Horn Steer” attraction. (See Link) It was supposedly manufactured where my father was born, which I did not know until today. (My dreams do this all the time, that is, reveal completely unknown, even otherwise “unknowable”, information, which I usually leave out of my entries to keep them a little less convoluted, as they are usually convoluted enough already.)

I eventually go into a recurring type of dream state where I am wandering down old back roads; this time in my “orb” form and sometimes in my physical form, depending on the steepness of the hill. I end up at an old farm, which would otherwise be an urban area in reality, I believe. The “long horn steer statue” is actually a living minotaur. The imposing creature is about two feet taller than me, at least, and has a muscular body and a huge head. At least three farmers (who are dressed more as 1940s radio cowboys than farmers) have a hold of him with ropes connected to a large collar as they lead him out of an enclosed area that looks like a composite of an open or half-built barn and a covered picnic area of a park. Other farmers stand around. There is a cow pasture and an area where horses are kept, as well as a cornfield. It is a fairly large area all connected to the same people who seem to share the work and profits.

It seems the farmers are suspicious of me and my visible ethnicity (as was often the case in real life). And of course, they think I am part Asian. However, I tell them that I am American and that I can help them with some sort of magic power that I seem to have at this stage. The minotaur huffs and puffs dramatically, and moves it legs up and down in a sort of “ready to charge” manner, looking a bit silly, like jogging in place. I boldly pet it and move my hand over its huge nose and face in a loving way. It is almost like petting a giant dog’s head and it is right down close to my face as it bends down. It seems to calm down a bit and the men are surprised. It seems the men keep the minotaur as a “pet” to bring “good luck” to their farm and to keep the livestock and crops healthy.

I tell them that I will do all I can to keep the farm in its best state. When I go towards another area where there are horses, I actually hear the minotaur talking to the men in a gruff human voice in a nearly poetic rhythm, “when the crops and livestock are healthiest and the farm is whole again, I will kill the witch” (meaning he, the minotaur, intends to kill me). I am not sure if this is solely out of some sort of jealously on the part of the minotaur (though you would think he would be annoyed at being treated and kept as just a pet and “good luck charm”) or because they (the farmers) do not want to pay me for my “work” (I do not remember what payment was agreed upon).

Instead of doing an in-dream augmented focus and routine of sorts to bring a blessing over the farm, I move my hands in a manner that lifts the group (including the minotaur) into a whirlwind that results in crashing them down into the ground and destroying them. I then lift the horses into the air from a distance and release them into a different farm’s field, although the cows are let out into the road and race along, mooing over their new-found freedom. One man riding a horse (not with the other group) ends up “sitting in mid-air” in a comical manner (appearing as one would on a bucking bronco, but with nothing underneath him) when the horse is instantly shifted out from under him to join the others.

The cornfield seems to remain healthy and will feed or help the other local farmers who had lost money to some sort of government scandal.

I then somehow make large embossed-like indentations in a barn’s roof (almost like footprints made by an invisible foot and rather nosily) of various symbolic forms of master number twenty-two (including the fleur-de-lys, the “kissing swans”, the “medicine bag”, and the “heart on the horizon”).

Morning of April 29, 2014. Tuesday.



My wife and I are living in Cubitis seemingly in the present. However, it looks as it did in the early 1970s for the most part until the shorter trip northward.

In my dream, I wake up on Easter in my old bedroom. When I look out the southernmost window (west wall of room) to the north, I notice two cars parked in the driveway and another one parked north to south in the yard near where the three silver oaks had been (but are not in the yard in my dream). I tell my wife about it and we are both really annoyed at this. The people are possibly visitors of the newer people who moved into the house north of us (Harold M’s old house) on the other side of the orange grove. A little later, I notice a rusty old car body only (with no chassis to be seen anywhere) blocking the driveway near where it opens out onto Highway Seventeen, oriented south to north. This makes me really aggravated, because it means that in order to walk beyond our house, we would have to walk down into the culvert and out again to get to the wayside of the highway (oddly, I do not consider walking through the neighbor’s yard). I say this to my wife.

Later, I go outside and see that there is another junk car (body only, no chassis) also longways blocking another driveway two houses to the south. I wonder what other people are thinking of these other invasive people. I notice that part of the house now actually looks like our present one, which does not seem that unusual at the time; that is, it has the “same” porch and living room at that point, but perpendicular to how it really would be in reality.

After a time, I notice an old (1969?) John Deere tractor heading my way, first noticing it approaching from about four houses south. It has no driver (but travels mostly in an even path) and eventually stops when it crashes with a thud into the southwestern corner of our porch (this is probably a distorted “replay” of when a car crashed into our porch in real life).

A little later, it seems my father is alive and well and living at our address (yet seems only around fifty and fairly muscular - though he was very muscular even in his seventies, when he still sometimes looked to be around his late forties when compared to others). He has some folded papers that he takes out of his left pants pocket which relate to a list of some things (as a receipt) I supposedly bought in 1984 and he seems concerned about all the money I spent but for some reason, I tell him that I did not actually buy any of whatever is in the list, but that it is some sort of “prop” for a stage play or some such. We pick up and arrange some tools in the shed, putting things back where they should be.

We decide to clean up the yard, starting with the tractor and the car body at the end of our driveway. My father somehow effortlessly picks up the John Deere tractor with one hand and arm and I pick up the car body with one hand and arm. It does not seem that unusual that we are doing this. We go north one additional section beyond the neighbor to the north where there is a (fictional) junkyard and place the two items in a pile. The area (same owners?) also seems to serve partly as a lumber company. The owners are walking around and had told us where to put the “junk” and after we set it down, we return to remove the parked cars, which seems a bit “mean”, but also amusing. We receive a fairly small payment.

After this, I enjoy some intimate time with three very passive younger copies of my wife in the southern side-yard who are also all dressed identically in yellowish and white (somewhat bridal-looking, but above the knees) formal ruffled dresses, though I can only seem to “work” with two at a time. There are a few other (unknown) people walking around who I mostly ignore. At this point, my dream intensifies into full lucidity (and lasts a fairly long time) and I have the usual concern about what my real body is doing at the time or whether I am uncovered in reality while in my dream. This does not shorten or negate my dream, though. (At least I am not focused on whether or not my real body is sleepwalking in the street during busy traffic during full dream lucidity, as I sometimes do.)

Morning of April 28, 2014. Monday.



There are three dreams in which there are no seriously more unusual or bizarre aspects as is sometimes the case. Still, they all take place in “wrong” locations relative to now as well as where people had actually been in the past in some cases.

In one, my wife and I are living back at Clayfield in our first apartment. There are a few mixed stacks of mostly plastic-coated place mats, photographs, and maps (I think more place mats than anything else). There are so many, I put some under the bed to go through later. My wife has a stack of smaller “screens” (tapestry canvases) for craft work of some kind. I do not want to get everything mixed up, but technically, it already is. The photographs, mostly black and white, seem to show scenes of people standing around in urban areas; mostly city sidewalks, from possibly New York in the 1930s. The place mats have a slightly different image on each one, but which appears to be the deck of a pirate ship in most cases with not that many features other than a row of small cannons on some. My wife goes out into the hallway from the kitchen and I start calling her because I am concerned about the strange people in the other apartments. I yell fairly loud but am not sure if she hears me.

Another dream involves some sort of video conference with my brother in the USA (Dennis). At the same time as the video conference, which seems related to some sort of party or holiday celebration, he is sending questions that seem of a forum thread in structure, but answering them himself (instead of allowing the others to) with various rude comments. Instead of computer print, however, it seems to appear more like handwriting. People in my wife’s family and their spouses are the ones at the actual location. We are at Clayfield again. The main scene involves a couple girls standing around talking (Bonnie and Kathy, I think). They have stringed wooden beads hanging all about their hair and when they nod or turn their head, there is a loud clacking noise.

In the final dream, my wife and I are living on Loomis Street (in my sister’s old house) though she has never been to the USA. We are having a nice evening, but then all the lights suddenly go off, which seems a bit ominous (rather than just being like a common power outage). I get the idea that it may be because someone cut off our power so that they could then rob us (assuming that there was a burglar alarm, as well as the dark disorienting us - but realistically, we would know our way around in our own house far more than a burglar, especially in the dark). I check outside and someone with an axe appears near the front door. Somehow, I manage to get the axe and keep swinging at “him” (I assume). However, I use the blunt back of the axe so that I do not accidentally chop his head off. Most of the time I miss his head, but he still just stands there. Eventually, uninjured, he seemingly goes to rob the house next door and seems to have the axe back again somehow.

A little later (I think there is some sort of distorted or incongruous “reset” at this point), I look south to the house next door and see someone walking around in the small front yard, which I believe is the same person. The person comes back over to our house and I feel there may be more trouble. My wife is calling the police at this point. It seems to be a younger slightly chubby male with short reddish hair and freckles. However, the person eventually seems to be Karen S (but thirty years or more younger, possibly only from about fifteen to eighteen or so, I am not sure) with rather short hair, who supposedly lives there with her parents (and I assume, her younger brother). In reality, she had never been to Wisconsin let alone lived in that house. The lights are on next door in every room (but I am not sure anyone had been home due to Karen needing to break into the place), so I know our power is off either on purpose or by a blown fuse. It seems strange because the person originally seemed taller than me and slightly muscular, but Karen is actually much shorter than average. She had been carrying a large axe, but does not seem threatening for the most part.

I find out (from her claims) that Karen had been supposedly trying to get into her house through some odd means that is not that clear or does not make much sense, as she said she had lost her keys; something about turning off an alarm and then getting in by breaking a window, but I am not quite sure why our electricity was cut off. Also, she was mostly just standing around or pacing about in the front yard and not seeming to attempt to actually get in that house in any way (being mostly only in the area between the sidewalk and house and never near the front door itself). She is seated on her knees on the floor near our front door and I tell my wife to tell the police that they do not have to come to the house (and somehow I hear the officer talking loudly and clearly over the telephone and seeming annoyed), but for some reason, Karen wants to be arrested, which makes no sense. She is talking about “losing her graffiti” and cries a bit about the wrong things she has done and how no one ever cared about her as she was growing up and going to school, which seems an excuse to be (or pointlessly act like) a juvenile delinquent. (None of this relates to anything real in any way, including any event in the past.) I try to make her less worried, but she insists on being “difficult” - and she says that she deserves all the trouble because of losing her keys and more to do with graffiti. (I get the impression that she is a graffiti artist, which almost seems like a high school class or college course at that point.) Time passes, and the police never show up. I look out into the streets a few times. Everything is dark and quiet.

Morning of April 27, 2014. Sunday.



This was one of those dreams as “realistic” (perception-wise) as life itself and a bit like an aspect of sleep paralysis, but without the main “buzzing” stage of sleep paralysis itself and with all of the senses (I have never experienced sight of any kind in conscious sleep paralysis). However, the most dominant sense in this dream turns out to be touch, which is often of the most vivid dreams overall. This is like many other dreams I have had with some sort of “liminal world” between waking and reality and where the sense of touch is as real as reality, yet not related to what is really going on at the time regarding my real physical body, and it is mostly dark at the most vivid point. Such dreams also have very pleasing energies, even though somewhat distorted in physical orientation.

I am at the computer in the front room and there are a few different noises outside coming in through the open window. (My desk is outward from the northern wall so that the computer screen actually faces the window but I usually have the thinner curtain down to prevent glare on the screen). At this point, it seems to be early morning and everything is bright and with good lighting. I glance outside and notice three vehicles parked along the street (car front to the curb as they often park, rather than sideways). One of the vehicles, a newer-looking green car, is facing our house. Another vehicle is a black truck next door, with a white Australian of about thirty standing near the outside of it, which is unlikely at the time, as most of the people next door and the house next-door to that over the last few months have been Tibetan, Nepalese, Hindi, Arabic, and Asian seasonal workers - often illegally overcrowded (but since the recent investigation by fire marshals and police, there has been no one living there, it seems).

I seem to be working with mandalas and mantras on the computer and typing affirmative dream scripting in very complex but yet poetic structure (as I do in real life). This is ironic because I am already in a dream that is about as vivid and (for the time being) “physically correct” as one can get. I mention in a soft voice to myself about how the “idiot” outside is being annoying by continuously dropping things. At first, I “feel” that he has heard me and is getting very angry, but nothing happens and I realize that was not the case at all but that he is talking to himself about his mistakes in fixing the truck. He drops a carburetor on the street, which for some reason, makes the loudest noise yet and he then goes “Shhhhhh!” very loudly as if he is telling himself to be quiet - he even says “be quiet out there” to himself a little later, but not that loudly. (As almost everything in the known universe in Australia is annoyingly truncated to a form ending with either an “o” or “y” sound - it would have been a “carby” that he dropped before seeing the footy on the telly that arvo, as “carbo” is already taken for carbohydrates - though in fact, this may be my dream telling me that I consume too many carbohydrates which I am sure I do.)

At any rate, it seems fairly amusing that he has shushed himself. However, it soon becomes pitch black in the room as my wife comes in to hold my hand and comfort me regarding the nuisance outside. I very vividly feel her hand and fingers in mine and moving within our clasp and I also wonder why there is not much light, because the computer screen would at least cast light, but I do not sense or see it. I then worry a bit about what has happened to the work I had been doing on the computer or if it is even on (In the back of my mind, I wonder if I had been doing all the work while the computer was off - but of course that makes no sense). However, a very peaceful awareness flows through the extreme vividness at this point. Everything is black, but the sense of touch and hearing (although only a very quiet “rustle” at this point) is amazingly enhanced. I adjust my position in the chair, but everything crosses the threshold from there to reality.

Slowly, I realize that I am actually in bed and I am on my left side facing my wife who is on her right side. My hand is not holding my wife’s hand at all (as it so vividly seemed) but is instead over her bare back. Her hand is intimately against and over my front, which makes me wonder how dreams work that way regarding very altered touch aspects from where the sensations and positions actually are. In a way, considering our actual orientation and where our hands actually are (as compared to my dream), it is quite amusing.

Morning of April 27, 2014. Sunday.



I am part of a Star-Trek-like team that is on a mission to a distant planet (which seems to have no oceans or larger bodies of water) where dessert recipes will be shared as a part of some sort of potential long-term truce between at least the two main groups that had been enemies. There does not seem to be any aliens, though, mostly people who live on other worlds under different laws and cultural foundations. The spaceships do not really seem like Star Trek spaceships, though. They have somewhat of an industrial look, reminding me more of the original “Battlestar Galactica” series (never saw any of the newer version).

There is a lot of focus on two large containers, which are a bit lake mason jars but fairly big. Each jar is full of apricot and pineapple jelly - with chunks of each in each mix. Both jars look like they are holding the same recipe end results even though they supposedly came from completely different cultures with different tastes and ideas about food. The pineapple pieces are about one-fifth of a circular slice. I have some of it from (I think) a different container (for “testing”) and it tastes nice. This is rather odd, as my wife and I had just had a discussion in real life about how we have hardly ever had dreams of eating anything, and even so, how the taste usually seems “off” or different somehow. In this case, though, it tastes exactly as it should (which means there is a first time for everything as my mother used to say).

Over time, there seems to be confusion about why the two desserts taste so similar. There is not any anger at that point, though, just a sort of tentative suspicion, mostly on the part of the team who has landed on the planet (the other, more seemingly militant group, remaining in orbit, it seems). However, the last scene involves the “other side”, which is a man that appears to be Chinese, who suddenly grabs both jars and stands with his team members who are now assuming an aggressive stance. They appear to be standing on a narrower wooden bridge, perpendicular to where the other group’s smaller spaceships (possibly shuttles) are “parked”.

“I fight!” he calls out as his final words of whatever their conversation was about, and still holding the two jars, planning to take both back to his world.

Suddenly, realizing that he had been deceived, the leader of the other group gives orders to shoot them down. Lasers flash out in several beams at the other group from the small spacecrafts as they rise in the air at the same time (some of the men still standing about, though, including the leader), but the members of the other group are already being beamed away safely as the lasers go through them (or rather, through their residual after-image left as the transporting is being completed) with no threat to their well-being. The other leader looks extremely annoyed and disappointed at having lost both containers of apricot and pineapple jelly and also looks worried about the intensifying war on the horizon.

Morning of April 24, 2014. Thursday.



It is late at night, but I am going to walk to the store to buy food and supplies. The house seems to be the one from Stadcor Street but later seems rotated in orientation and is then the one from Barolin Street, but the store is apparently in a perpendicular direction and area as to what it was in real life as well as in the opposite direction from the city. I will be walking there with my two oldest children. It is about five or six blocks away.

I look at a clock high on the wall above the kitchen doorway and I see that the time is about five minutes after midnight. Because the store closes at midnight (a fictitious aspect of my dream only), I decide not to go. Still, my dream resets, changes at least twice, and we are walking in that direction at least twice, without my dream continuing from that point. In one scene, I have two screwdrivers I carry for self-defense.

Later, after another dream reset, when we go out again, it is late morning. My dream self does not consider the time change. This time, we are going to the store we had been in real life (in the correct direction). About six younger males of around sixteen years old are wandering about in two front yards. An unknown light-haired Caucasian woman of about forty years of age is sitting on the steps in front of the house next door to us (on the left from the street viewpoint). She does not seem to care what the boys (all Caucasian) do to her house, even the breaking of a window.

She makes an obnoxious remark about how I do not want the troublemakers in our yard. She looks like Queen Elizabeth II at about forty (other than the hair color). My children and I end up back at our house, mostly to make sure the troublemakers do not get in.

An older unfamiliar man walks through our front yard, which also annoys me. He complains about my complaining. He makes obnoxious gestures and goes to the woman’s house. I call out after him, “Is that what you do all day?” I think he may be the woman’s relative.

Later, the woman is on our porch and she is condescending, though I do not remember the conversation. She is very tall, perhaps seven feet, and homelier than I had originally thought. She has a strange unrealistic body shape. Her teeth are large, square, and paper-like in thinness and texture. There seems to be more than one row, both top and bottom, oriented inward at different angles. I make a comment later to Zsuzsanna, in a short false awakening, that one of the woman’s teeth was as big as my face (like getting the impression of a blank sheet of paper held up in front of my face). Her size does not intimidate me. I think of being face to face with a cow, which is nonthreatening. The impression she leaves me with is a huge crooked smile and a wave of her hand as she leaves. I remain uncertain of her intent, but I shift into the brief false awakening before fully waking.

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The porch setting is typical autosymbolism for the preconscious (RAS) factor as representing the waking process. This is because a porch is liminal space in real life, so its essence is not even symbolic in the superstitious sense.

The focus on the personified preconscious (often rendered as either a celebrity or a complete unknown, irrelevant to my conscious self, though often dominant or authoritative, as that is how RAS functions biologically as the waking alert factor) and her teeth is similar to the very common dream of losing teeth. It has no “meaning” other than an indication that the dream self cannot communicate with the outside world while sleeping, and thus it is a form of autosymbolism simply indicating dream state cessation. Instead of the liminal focus on my own illusory dream state “mouth” and losing teeth to validate it is only a dream, my focus shifts to the preconscious factor (which is due to having held such a deep understanding of my dreams since early childhood).

The absence of the fence in front of the house we no longer live is a dream state factor, as fences otherwise represent the division of the fictitious dream self identity and the conscious self identity in waking life. It is rendered as part of the waking process and as I am not directly near waking (or with liminal awareness of nearing the waking transition) at the point the scene is rendered, there is no fence.[/I]

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Morning of April 24, 2014. Thursday.



I become semi-lucidly aware of my common water induction stage (though semi-lucidity of which does not continue viably), but the swimming pool I perceive seems only about half the depth it should be. (Thus, a precursor of water lowering waking symbolism is already present.) I notice that one of my dumbbells, with weights, is at the bottom of the pool. The water is clear.

I sense that other people are around, a few looking in my direction, yet I do not see them. I find myself handling a large green viper. I am wary but I do not feel as if I am in immediate danger. Unseen people seem to come closer to my apparent public performance. Eventually, I look at my hand and see only a small green caterpillar crawling on the back of it. I am puzzled, trying to recall what it originally was that I was holding.

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As a caterpillar is associated with butterflies and moths, it is probably a precursor to vestibular system correlation (including in cases where the ear “flutters”), offset from what started as RAS modulation (the snake, which is the most common biological form of the waking alert factor as RAS modulation). Non-lucid dream control came into the sequence as it often has in previous dreams. I had non-lucidly transformed the RAS modulation factor as well as the potential vestibular system correlation.

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Morning of April 22, 2014. Tuesday.



This was another longer dream with different scenes, yet only two are clearer.

One scenario was unusual and involved my brother Dennis. My family and I are wandering through a large park with unusually equidistant (by about ten feet) rows and columns of old, large trees. For some reason, we climb them at different times and sit on the branches. It seems to be fairly late at night. A couple trees do not seem suitable to hold the weight on certain branches, and I think about hovering just above the branch enough to still make it seems as if I am “in” the tree. One particular tree does not seem to have any branches to sit on, as the angles of at least two larger branches directly upright from the trunk go out to about forty-five to sixty degrees.

Another scene involves Buddhists, but with some aspects of Krishna-based dress and decorations it seems, at some sort of small mall center to help distribute food and such to poor people in the town. Over time, I hover and fly in a cross-legged meditation position (which I think is my least common way of flying, actually). It seems slightly difficult to do at times, but I manage well. The monks mostly ignore me as they go about their work, inducing handing brochures to people walking through the hall of the shopping mall. At one point, I seem to be wearing a robe which hangs down, almost touching the floor. This does not seem problematic for the most part. In some ways, my movements seem to involve muscular effort to go certain directions even though I am only floating in the air.

Morning of April 21, 2014. Monday.



This was a very long and convoluted dream (nearly novel-length) with many scenes and aspects. I will try to include mostly only the main scenes, yet even so, it will end up being a much larger entry. They do seem like completely separate parts upon first look, but I did not wake during any part which actually seemed to continue from the previous.

In one, my family and I are in the house at Stadcor Street in Brisbane. However, it also has a general look of the first floor (where the owners lived) of the boarding house on King Street. This is mostly relative to the additional windows and side door. There is a powerful storm of heavy rain, leaves, and wind. It seems that it will be very destructive. I notice our youngest son and youngest daughter outside (although very close to the window and under the eaves, so seemingly safe from the main downwards force) and yell for them to come into the house. They somehow come into the kitchen from outside (fictional entrance) and I then notice that the weather is actually uneventful now - and it is as if the “storm” was only somehow a vertical “layer” in one area or perimeter. A few other people are around then, mostly unknown. My wife’s brother Simon and his old girlfriend show up with laptop computers in the kitchen. I have my own computer, but oddly, it is able to change into different forms based on what website you go to or what commands you send. For example, at one point, it is only like a thin piece of vinyl which I continue to use as such. I complain to Simon about how the browser changes everything and how it is hard to type on thin, wavy surfaces, as well as the overall concept of typing on a sheet of plastic seeming utterly idiotic and problematic regardless of its “more advanced” status. Apparently, after a few more commands or particular website view, my original large monitor will rise up, self-built, and be “normal” again and the keyboard will revert to a normal one.

Later, I am outside at what almost seems like a rummage sale or garage sale setup, but hardly anyone is there. I meet with an old friend, David S (the place seems to be his), and we sit at a large makeshift table. We get into talking about our school days and he shows me some copies of schoolwork he still has that is still in the notebook. The writing is rather sparse over the page and seemingly in different styles. I ask him about where he went to school during certain time periods, which does not make much sense as he supposedly did not go to my school in the earlier years but only in the higher grades. The reality is actually the opposite of my dream’s conversation.

Later, I seem to be in the community center near Schuh Homes (where blocks of housing looked so much the same from one to the next, I never worked out how people could find their own house or even the right street), where I had only been once in real life for a group rummage sale. A few classmates from my early years are there, including Susan R (the “other”) yet again. I have this strange blue static electricity coming out of me in larger bolts, which sometimes happens in dreams with Susan. However, we are all still only in our early teens. My wife is also there. Susan’s mother tells me that I am married and there can be only one Yin and Yang, so I should not approach her, as the universe has been formed as such and it would cause a greater imbalance and thus cause people’s minds to shift into a more chaotic and “unaware” state than they already are in. (In reality, she is also married but still living in Florida according to two other people I know.) However, I still talk to her for awhile. The blue lightning continues to move about from my body, mostly from the palms of my hand, fingers, and arms, sometimes breaking a window. She is crying for some reason, probably more out of strange memories of the so-called paranormal (or perhaps my supposed “tampering with the timeline” - very curious and coincidental that Facebook has something called a “timeline” now and this is how I found out about her present-day status - thus once again a childhood dream is “resolved”), assuming the “selective amnesia” and “veil” has not become a major part of her thinking as with most.

There is a short, bizarre scene later on where an unknown male is pretending to be a newborn baby to somehow get access to (or eventually inherit) a younger female’s wealth. As she is driving the convertible and holding him, she seems to realize he is not actually a baby (due to how long his body is - not sure how she is able to hold him horizontally across her lap and drive at the same time) and soon throws him out of the car onto the street. He is annoyed but somehow uninjured, and is then planning his next move, which is integrated into the next odd scene.

Later, my wife and family and I are living in some sort of odd composite of Cubitis and the (rotated - perpendicular to real orientation) Stadcor Street house - which later has features of my sister’s house in La Crosse. We have a very large front yard that has mostly a gritty sandstone surface. Somehow, the house next door (where the aforementioned con artist lives) seems to integrate into at least one room of our house (a fairly common dream distortion). It is a tad confusing, as I am not sure where the other person’s room ends and mine (relative to my childhood bedroom) begins. There is a curtain that can be drawn across one doorway but I am not sure if my room continues around the corner of that area of the house, as I do not even know what items are mine. There are a lot of items on the floor there (so many that you would not be able to walk through without stepping on something or knocking something aside). It reminds me vaguely of the armory (actually used as a game room) in Arcadia. I notice several even stacks of playing cards on the floor - with the design on the back that shows a drawing of a “flapper girl” in an intricate web-like design around an oval framing her, from about the waist up. She is drinking from a cocktail glass and seen slightly from the side (but not in profile). The design appears in at least two colors. It almost looks like two people had been playing a game of “War” (in the card game sense).

Eventually, when I am outside, an eighty-year-old lady starts talking to me. Apparently, I have a lot of various small items of hers that somehow blew into our front yard. However, the con artist next door has a lot more of her possessions that were taken deliberately. I look down and notice an old pair of smaller attached identical postage stamps that are a grayish green and seemingly showing Queen Elizabeth in profile. This may or may not belong to the older lady. I do give her some things, which are different stamps and a few other items (including a pen, I believe). Her dog is also in the other yard, but I cannot get to it from where I am.

Later, the other male has two smaller moose heads in the game-trophy-type design, which are not actually real moose heads, but some sort of antique novelty whereby the mouth opens and a man and woman move about in a circle on a platform, as with a novelty clock. One is slightly bigger than the other. He puts them on the wall right next to each other, decides it does not look quite right, and arranges them differently (this is similar to a previous dream where people were not quite satisfied with paintings put up too close together).

Eventually, I discover skin coming off the palm of my right hand as it is sore and red at first (possibly caused by the blue lightning coming out from earlier or in handling some of the antique novelty items). However, it seemingly soon turns out to be “worse” than first thought - but that concern passes. Without much effort in trying to get the extra skin off that is flaking around the wound, the rest of the entire skin of my hand and fingers comes off in one larger opaque “sheet”, but like a light soft layer of fine material. It then seems okay and not what was originally believed. My hand looks perfectly healed and fresh underneath.

Finally, a recurring image; a human “eye” that is actually made up of a black “fetal sack” (or some sort of developing “egg”) as the pupil, and lightning forming parts of the pattern of the iris, with the sclera being the less defined “background noise” of the path of an individual. This represents the human eye as attaining particular forms of focus (via “lightning”) and processed into the “egg” of the individual - until one’s mind is more aware.

Morning of April 20, 2014. Sunday.



This dream is fairly long but does not have a coherent plot or theme. It mostly involves slowly going from an unknown city (which may be part of a composite including La Crosse and Brisbane) into an unknown forest, which then becomes a bit denser, although it seems to have a few old abandoned buildings. As I do so, I feel better and better.

There is one setting prior to going into the woods to the east that appears to be my sister’s house but which is actually some sort of school or is at least set up as such. Somehow, I am apparently a young student (possibly sixth grade, though later everyone seems a bit younger) but am not directly active in any class even though I sense I could be or should be. Instead, I walk around noticing that the area looks more like some sort of complex display of various interesting colorful magazines and puzzle books. Some are upright on stands and others are arranged evenly, spread over tables in playing-card-like spans. For some reason, I feel very cheerful at this point even though in the back of my mind I think I should be spending more time directly taking any classes at the scene.

The teacher and students are all unknown. As I am walking along, a few seemingly cheerful students follow me. They seem to care a lot about me (or my destination) and I make a sincere comment of how I wish I was much younger again. This seems to create a strong presence of believing that people of the same age get along much better and that this part of my dream is somehow unique in that it is supposedly unusual for people of different ages to socialize at all.

At any rate, the sense of cheerfulness is quite elevated. A bit later, we go into an area that is somehow associated with Yakov Smirnoff. This could be some sort of rude juvenile play on words, though it is a name I have no real clue about even though it sounds vaguely familiar (something from many years ago, perhaps). I am thinking that it may be a famous tennis player or skier, or more likely a political figure, I begin to reason. My dream then distorts the name into “Yarkov Smornov” and I eventually get the idea that the name or anything similar to it is completely fictional (though it is not - he is actually a Soviet-born American comedian that I really have never seen much of in my lifetime). Thinking on it, I notice that “Yakov’s” reversed letters read as “V Okay”, but that association is not complete to the scenario and why the name came up from “nowhere”. Because of this, it may have actual relevance to something in the near future, but on a very impersonal level.

Morning of April 18, 2014. Friday.



This was an extremely long and complex dream with a lot of impersonal “distorted” scenes in that they are hard to describe, but I hope to summarize the main parts and aspects.

The main scenes seem to involve a tribal gathering in a large field. It is mostly like a yearly pow-wow, I think, but also with a smaller public presence (mostly as a partly interactive audience). Before any people arrive however, I am hovering around in an upright (standing) position. I do this with some sort of mental focus and allow myself to rise a few feet from the ground. I also do a bit of chanting and singing related to nothing in particular. I move faster at times, and when I move faster above the ground, I slant slightly forward on the diagonal, up to about forty-five degrees but no more than that.

As more people arrive, including several chubby Caucasian women in strange pastel dresses and a few business men (and seemingly at least one athlete), it almost seems like a (American) football field - the grass is very short. The area is unfamiliar for the most part. The tribal groups are from different parts of the country. I am not that desiring of drawing attention to myself as the “main attraction” so to speak, but I still continue to fly about in a standing position, eventually moving my forearms and wrists in inverse rhythms with each other to “imitate” some sort of bird-wing presence (which, as birds do not have forearms and wrists to move in this particular way, is only indicative of an attempt to be ritually bird-like, it seems). As I do this, I do seem to be a part of the festivities. One male is critical (not in a negative sense) of my movements in that he asks me if I am only using the energy in my arms or in my whole body and bones. I am not quite sure how to respond.

At one point, a male native of about forty comes up to my left side as I am hovering and doing my bird-wing ritual movements. I am at about the level from the ground where my hand is about neck-level regarding his position when my arm is nearly down to my side. He then begins to measure my fingers as well as study the fluidity of my hand’s movements as if I am in some sort of testing or judgement situation. (He only does this with my left hand, and remains on that side.) He continues to study my hand and its motions very carefully and even pulls a longer thinner hair from my skin and seems very preoccupied with the “perfection” of my presence and movements. For some reason, this makes me very clear on the length of each finger regarding my own perception of my body. I still do not become fully lucid, though.

Later, I am sitting on the ground and notice someone who seems to be a composite of two girls I have not seen in over twenty years. One was an alcoholic that had gone through a few programs (and who I worked with at Eco 3) and the other had bad burn scars all over her body (and who was in some of my college classes). However, facially, she looks the most like Jeanne C (the former mentioned above). I ask her how she is but she mostly only makes odd gurgling sounds but does say my first name. Over time, I notice a lot of physical distortions, like strange folds of skin on her neck, almost like pockets. Her head seems to sink down into her body almost like a turtle.

Over time, others are also doing a similar ritual of “flying” and supposed bird-mimicking, but only on the ground. I am the only one that can fly.

After this, I seem to go north into an urban area where some men (about three or four) are looking at a large map rolled out on the ground outside a residential building and by which they may be able to find a lost valuable treasure or important artifact. Strangely, there is a scene where the older hippie-like male (who had the map in his apartment for a long time) is soon watching a small movie of himself finding the item when he was younger - which plays out on the surface of the map in the area where he supposedly found it like a sort of paper-thin miniature video display. “That’s it,” he says. He plans on going to the location to finally get the item or items. Apparently, this was the first time the video display hidden in the map was somehow activated. This seems strange in afterthought, as the map was supposedly from the 1800s and would not have such integrated technology - unless it was actually some sort of shared vision caused by staring at the map.

Soon, he sends one of the other men and apparently his best friend to a nearby bar and grill to “distract” the people on the outdoor bar stools for some reason by getting drunk and disorderly so that no one will see the other man leave to get the treasure. This seems to be because it is fully open to the outside right in view of where they had been looking at the large map. The other male orders some sort of special weird concoction of lumpy red powder that needs to be sucked through a small cylinder (both ends open), which is about finger-sized in length and diameter. The bar waitress makes a rude comment about his ability to consume this item properly and helps him by holding the cylinder horizontally as he sucks the lumpy red powder into his mouth. Not much happens after this. The unknown male has about four cylinders full and is almost ready to fall over and draw attention away from the other man planning to go and get the treasure or important artifact.

Morning of April 17, 2014. Thursday.



The setting is very similar to our backyard, and it probably would be our backyard were it not for a group of Aboriginal Australian girls moving from near the front of the house along the side, seemingly coming to talk to me (perhaps I am trespassing). They are mostly dressed in blue jeans and casual blouses and tank tops. It seems to be late afternoon. I am only semi-lucid and I am thinking of some sort of “trick” (in case I am absentmindedly trespassing and thus to avoid a confrontation by going over to what appears to be a public-park-like area) which involves walking through the tall wooden fence (which looks very similar to the one we have in real life). I move one slat on the fence (so that it is only still attached near the top by one nail) that is almost to the end of the backyard (perhaps the fifth slat back from the end corner) and am able to step through sideways with just a little difficulty. However, I end up in an area (which may either be a public park or another backyard, though seems almost like a woodland area) that also has a large group of Aboriginal Australian girls who seem a bit annoyed at my antics or appearance from the other yard (it is possible that the two groups are having a feud with each other).

An older female of about seventy or so, with white hair, asks me if I have seen her husband. There is some sort of short conversation she continues with, with me, relative to whether he has been “left alone” (I am not sure if he was supposedly on the other side of the fence or had disappeared or become lost - I get the impression she means that he might have even died) which seems a bit odd and with an ambiguous meaning; that is, “being left alone” in a negative sense (and not having a partner to share life with) and “being left alone” with a positive implication as in not being bothered. I am trying to work out the odd ambiguity as my dream looses focus, the older lady’s eyes being quite vivid and intense and I am not sure what to say because I am confused about the meaning. I say something like “People have never left me alone in my life,” (coming off as a bit sarcastic) which does not sound quite right, as I am supposed to be talking about her husband, not myself, though I have no idea who he is or about anything else that is going on.

Morning of April 16, 2014. Wednesday.



This was a fairly long dream, but many of the details are not quite clear (assuming they were clear from the beginning). My wife and family and I are seemingly living in my sister’s older house on Loomis Street. It is a bit different, though, and has an extra broom closet in one area near the kitchen. We are visited by an unknown male who dies somehow and by which it seems he should then be hidden in the house (in the fictional broom closet) until it is decided what should be done.

Sometime later, Art Carney shows up as his Norton character, but a bit older than that character implied on “The Honeymooners”. I believe he is looking for the other man relating to some money he owes him (to be paid by him soon) or some such. Art Carney also dies somehow (not violently) and is hidden under a mattress for a time.

Because of the house filling up with bodies, perhaps we should move to a new address, I reason, so we start putting our belongings in a few boxes. I am not sure when and where we are moving.

A little later, an older detective shows up and starts asking questions. I am not sure how he knew that the two men had been to our house, and it had only been a very short time since they were reported “missing”. Looking closely, I notice that he appears to be Art Carney and thus had not died in my dream earlier. He is wearing glasses and appears to be wearing makeup to alter his face in a very similar manner as Tom Hanks at the beginning of the movie “Cloud Atlas”. I say to him, “oh, you’re Art Carney” thinking it is amusing that he “died” in my dream, and is now pretending to investigate the situation as if it is some sort of game or scene from a movie that is being rehearsed.

However, he denies that he is Art Carney (even though it actually is him or at least a fictional twin) but is not threatening in any way. My dream starts to decay after this (perhaps because I was able to “see” who he really was), but this was the most vivid scenario.

This is related to several real-life events and facts that are very cleverly linked to things I am well aware of (including a relentless Internet troll who seems obsessed with me for whatever reason). Carney is a play, apparently on “Carnivore”, and is also related to the “Emperor Norton” dream about the “village idiot” (as Art Carney played a character named Norton who worked in the sewers - again, on “The Honeymooners” television show - but not relative in any way to Emperor Norton even though there is an incidental association here). It is also relative to the Art Carney movie “Harry and Tonto” as well as the term “carnal knowledge”. The number of multiple layers and associations are fascinating, but in that regard, the “show is over”, thus the deaths in my dream. I no longer need to waste time focusing on the “village idiot”.

Morning of April 14, 2014. Monday.



This was a very nice and peaceful dream and it lasted longer on average than other dreams of this type, though not as nice and relaxing as my recent tidal wave dreams that seemed like healing sessions as well as this dream did (mostly as water is autosymbolism for REM sleep and the absence of emotion and the release of physical tension). It is very vivid and my dream self is rendered as corporeal, enjoying all the nice giant snakes swimming around in the ocean. There are at least six or seven of them. They move their bodies about in complex patterns, rolling in the water, seemingly enjoying themselves. The head of the black and red one, which is about as big as a car, comes very close to my face and then turns and goes about its business.

I am mostly, at least at the beginning, on a European powerboat. I am not sure if it is around dawn or dusk at first. It may be dusk, as I did listen to the Charlie Pride song, “The Snakes Crawl at Night” probably too many times as a child. “When the sun goes down, then the snakes will pla-ay…” though he was not actually talking about snakes in the song at all, but when you are that young, you do not understand a lot of things.

I like these giant snakes, especially the black and red and purple ones. They are fun to play with and ride around on and are more assertive and confident over normal-sized ones (an association with the movie “Dinosaurus” seen several times as a child, though it was a brontosaurus that the boy rode, not a giant snake), which sometimes just slither off or hide. I am reminded of Cecil, from “Beany and Cecil”, which I used to watch on my older sister Marilyn’s television as a child.

Eventually, there are less and less giant snakes and I assume they are swimming off into the sunset, which is quite beautiful.

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Obviously, not all snake dreams are healing dreams, but the fact that I was lucid in this case utilizes that understanding, as my conscious self identity is inherently extant to a viable degree in such dreams. For me, snakes and snakelike creatures have often been autosymbolism for stomach cramps due to the similarity of the shape and coiling as with the human intestine. However, they are often in more realistic scenarios as simply the waking alert factor of RAS modulation that even monkeys probably dream of as such (and I doubt monkeys ever dream of snakes as healing factors or as representing other monkeys).

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