Blue_Opossum

Morning of April 13, 2014. Sunday.



I am wandering about seemingly on the north-side of La Crosse but not in or near any places of people I know. I am apparently looking for something, but I am not sure what. I am absentmindedly assuming I am near my (fictional) home where my wife Zsuzsanna and our family live (even though they have never lived in America).

I eventually find myself near an area that looks sort of like a very large garage that comes out from an area covering at least half of three different backyards. It is fully open on one side to the east. There are three beds with the head assumed to be to the west wall. There are a couple cars also parked on the south side from where I am, parallel to the beds. I decide to lie down on the northernmost bed to have a rest from all my walking. The beds are clean and seemingly recently made.

A short time later, a car pulls in and parks at the southern end near the third bed. A male and female get out of the car. The girl of about twenty or so comes over and lies down in the bed I am in without paying much attention to me. She is pregnant, seemingly about eight to nine months, possibly nearly ready to give birth. The man comes over but is involved in something else and remains standing. I say something about not knowing that the bed was theirs but no one else says anything or seems to notice. I wake up before I get out of the bed in my dream.

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This dream is mostly a dream sign in itself (a bed being the most obvious dream sign). It also hints that a car in a dream is a residual memory of the dreamer’s bed. In this case, the garage is the liminal space. The otherwise unknown characters at the end are an “opposite” play on my wife Zsuzsanna and me waking up.

Morning of April 13, 2014. Sunday.



In my dream, there are birds talking outside, but it does not seem that unusual at all (as parrots and other species do “talk” after all). These are possibly some sort of large parrot. They are in the trees on the opposite side of the street from our present home. It seems very important to write down the six or seven phrases they are speaking over a longer time period, but I forget most of the phrases except for one. This last one is “sung” in a sort of monotone, which is “Get a raven”, said with each syllable emphasized equally (and note that my family and I did look after a raven for a few weeks a few years ago). I tell my wife Zsuzsanna what the birds are saying (trying to imitate the “croaky” sound somewhat), but then I realize it seems rather strange to claim that birds are speaking English and thus get pulled out of my dream, forgetting what I felt was more interesting than that last phrase.

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I am adding the “dream journal synchronicity” tag (tumblr and a couple other sites that allow longer tags as such) because of this entry posted after mine: The Amazing Talking Birds

Morning of April 9, 2014. Wednesday. (Wedding anniversary; married April 9, 1994.)



I am at a basketball game (yet I have not been to a real one in many years) and over time, I notice people leaving. I focus on the player with the number twenty-two on his top for a short time. Outside, floating above the landscape, I see that a hundred or so people are standing about and form a heart symbol in honor of our wedding anniversary.



In real life several months back, I grouped all the standing villagers (including the hundreds of additional ones converted by the monks) in the expansion pack of “Age of Empires” (Aztecs) into a heart shape, as well as others standing about in a formation that read “I love Zsuzsanna”. It is one of the only computer games I have ever played much in the last twenty years and played around with because of how easy it was to not only win, but to go to extremes with resources and hundreds of extra villagers (or soldiers) long after the game has been technically won (where only one more easy step is required to actually finish it and end the game play itself if or when desired).

Morning of April 7, 2014. Monday.



I am in Cubitis in my father’s original music room (southwest corner of the house). I am not sure of the time. It may be early afternoon.

An unknown girl is in the room and, in fact, it seems to be her room. (Of course, it is possible that a girl, or even a female artist, occupies this room now in real life - I have no way of knowing.)

There are various sets of A2 sheets of paper, mostly in several pads. There are also a couple unfinished cream canvases. She is some sort of well-known artist, it seems, but I do not know her name at any point.

The main scene involves me making art “for her” or to help her with the foundation of a pattern somehow, as she is somehow behind on her drawings or paintings (not sure what the situation is). I end up drawing various curving random parallel lines from the left to the right. That is mostly all that happens. I make at least two, the second being far more sparse, with only a few lines. There is no discernible form or shape.

A little later, I notice a thin dark-haired man in glasses kissing her. I ask her if she has three boyfriends and get a “no” from her. Somehow, I am also thinking of a male at a bus-stop somewhere who is “also” supposedly her boyfriend, but not in actuality somehow. It does not make much sense. It may very vaguely relate to a movie we saw last night, “Le battement d'ailes du papillon”, fairly interesting but a bit contrived (though an amusing look into cause and effect).

Parallel lines “never meet”. This may be a play on the two lines being the girl and I - and us “never meeting” in reality, even though I do not have a clear idea on who the girl might be or represent. However, looking at it in another way, it may mean that I remain (or should remain) in uniformity and balance with the females in my life (especially including my wife and daughters).

Morning of April 6, 2014. Sunday.



This was a night I went straight into fully lucid dreaming and could not help it at all (mild but pleasant sleep paralysis). There are a few different sections. However, none of the dreams were scripted in any way (although I did use pulsing for several hours prior, primarily tulpa beckoning). I find that thinking of a familiar song with a persistent riff will sometimes automatically keep you in a lucid state even if you cannot technically hear it in state. This one was quite intense; an amazing level of lucidity I hope to enhance even more in the future.

The first part was a bit shorter, and I was awakened by movement (my spouse) as well as outside noise. It is how one type of dream has started since earliest memory. I am in a very wealthy-looking room (related to the wooden floor style and so on) and with no other people around. I am present, but without body (my “floating” form). As I float around in “orb” form, I study the beautiful designs in the floor and walls and window types. The only furniture is a beautiful antique table and three bentwood chairs, a little more elaborate than in reality. I know I am dreaming and in “orb” state (which is just a bit beyond “stopped” hypnagogia), so I start to mentally focus on “allowing” myself to become more “in-dream”. My lucidity increases more and more, and the dream “tunes in” with even more fullness and clarity. I almost have a body now. There is a light breeze outside. I notice the French doors are open and I can see a few leaves fall at about a forty-five degree angle.

As I am standing there, in a state of peace and bliss, my thoughts drift just a little and one of the bentwood chairs rises in the air and “straddles” the other one at an angle, but with only a mild scraping and clacking. The rest of the furniture starts to move very slightly and mostly a noise outside takes me out of sleep. This “moving furniture by will in a mostly empty room” has been going on since earliest memory, but was most common in the early 1990s.

Later, I am in an unfamiliar outside environment. I walk up to an incredibly elaborate matte black wrought iron double-gate. Its complexity and beauty cause me to almost forget I am dreaming. I look closer and see a large black rose also made of iron. The rose is about head-height and seems to be part of the locking unit at first.

I become aware that my breath blows out onto the black rose and I actually see it “ignite”, that this, the lower petals glow red, like fire. Several tulpas in elaborate costumes (most with the typical complex tiaras and unusual clothing material in combined transparent and opaque layers) are near me and I sense an overwhelming love. I am not sure if my breathing on the black rose was a good idea, but the petals fly off like ash and float through the air as the embers become dimmer and transform into black butterflies with red spots.

From there, things go a bit weird. More gates appear, moving up and down, each a little different than the previous and each about five feet from the previous.

Over time, I notice the ground rising in certain areas. It becomes a bit more rocky, and about three shades of red glow up through various sections of the ground. I then realize it is about fifty-percent lava and about fifty-percent dirt. I am not concerned. I know I am dreaming and quite stable for the time being. I watch more and more lava push out into the areas near the gates. I take a deep breath and soon, the lava starts to cool and oddly enough, very tiny streams of ice cold water start spraying out from the solidifying lava just like a garden sprinkler. It looks a bit silly (sort of like “fake special effects”) so I start laughing…

Night of April 4, 2014. Friday.



This is one of the only times in recent years I have deliberately tried to focus on a person I did not know at all (other than as an assumed bizarre and relentlessly narcissistic persona), though I have (not by intent) dreamt of the YouTube hillbilly conspiracy theorist a few times (one dream being precognitive of his finding a much younger wife).

In my dream, there is only one main scene of a man riding backwards on a horse. He goes about in circles seeming very delighted and pleased. There seems no threat of injury. This is close to being a “glowing dream” but does not reach that visual quality (that is, a dream where everything seems to glow from within, sort of like a photographic negative but with correct color). He leans forward over the back of the horse, his upper body eventually being nearly horizontal to the horse. His head, with the side of it touching the horse’s back (as if seemingly attempting to hear something - but probably only incidental in appearance as such) is mostly over the croup and his hands open and about the horse’s hips for the most part. He continues to seem delighted as the horse gallops about but he never sees me at any point. He seems very proud and fulfilled over how “well” he is doing in a sort of absentminded, yet totally certain way.

He is dressed informally and has flushed cheeks with a reddish nose and even a reddish chin, with a sort of odd pale complexion as if out of the sun for a long time or appearing to have a continuous “alcohol complexion”. He grins in euphoria. It is almost as if he views the horse as his own body. Even though he is riding backwards, it seems to be how things have “always been” for him, almost as if he is not aware that a horse has a head.

Eventually, he has a very large bed-sheet (or possibly a picnic blanket), wearing it over himself sort of like an implied cape, leaning down closer to the back even more as if the horse were like a bed, with the tail being the head of the bed. Eventually, he covers himself completely (somehow able to hold onto part of it) as the sheet moves up and about almost like distorted wings of an airplane. I stand puzzled and wondering if he will see me, but no. At one point, the sheet waves like a flag. I continue to watch, feeling a sense of hilarity as well as a sincere pity.

Morning of April 2, 2014. Wednesday.



I approach the bed to appreciate the beauty of my sleeping wife and am near the foot of the mattress. Instead of my thoughts continuing logically, I find myself trying to install new faucet handles in the mattress, on the top, near one corner. I am doing this for several minutes before I mentally ask myself what I think I am doing as it makes no sense, and I already had enough of this work just previously. (This was based on something I had spent some time doing prior to sleep.) This, of course, is a good example of the so-called Tetris effect affecting a dream state, often in a distracting way.

Later on, in a different state of vividness, I am back in Cubitis. The living room is mostly empty. However, over time, I am aware of invisible animals. I do see where they are, as they leave a brief cloud of vapor whenever they move and they move quickly. This bothers me a bit, so I try to get someone’s attention (even though there is no one around in my dream’s setting).

I go into my bedroom and experience the Blue Pearl event; it is floating to the west seemingly about three feet from the floor and not as bright or “close” as usual in real life and perhaps somehow external rather than internal. This is actually the first time I have experienced it in this particular way while in a dream state, so it probably is not the same thing as my conscious experience, though there is a similar mood (but much more vague). I see the Blue Pearl as a “portal” of some sort, possibly a “band” or liminal barrier of some sort that serves as a portal or transition; a particular wavelength of consciousness that is akin to a wormhole.

Looking back into the living room, there are more “invisible animals”. They seem to be able to shoot their “hair” out like water droplets (poisonous perhaps?). This is the only thing that is seen for the most part - brief clouds of vapor.

From there, I start to yell louder and louder to get someone’s attention. It is not nightmarish regarding the “animals” as this is one of my typical “I will just keep screaming and see what happens” routines. I am at a state that is halfway between knowing I am dreaming and not quite knowing what is going on or going to happen. Finally, I am awake and my wife says that I had been making strange murmuring noises of which I already knew with this type of dream. I often only get these from a lot of extra walking and other exercise and doing one maintenance task for “too long” on the same day.

Night of March 28, 2014. Friday.



This dream (or connected series) had a lot of unrelated facets without much cohesion, yet still seemed to build a foundation for a different dream that came later.

There is some sort of bizarre event relating to a truck being driven by someone going a fair distance (possibly from one state to another). However, the truck is actually “wrapped” in sections of cloth (all the way around) almost like a mummy - so that the driver cannot see where he is going. At one point, this seems to be because his vehicle needs to be held together as such in this way. What follows is some sort of bizarre argument relating to this and whether or not the truck even has a driver or anyone inside or if someone just did this as a practical joke somehow and sent the truck on its way with either a remote control or some other method. The scene is never really resolved. My brother-in-law Bob is there and seems angry about the events.

After this is a completely different scene. I am at the ocean on a very nice day. Several other people are off to my right, mostly older people. The water off the shore is very shallow, not much more than three feet deep for probably a fair distance. The older men are in the water, sitting down with legs out. No one is fishing. Every now and then, a fish swims by and seems to direct some sort of “energy pulse” to their feet as well as bite off loose skin or supposed toxins. (This is possibly a play on when I was very young and minnows nibbled on my toes from a boat dock.)

After this, I am at sister Marlyn’s house in somewhat of a strange mood. It dawns on me (yet again) that she is “gone from the house” (has died). I end up going to the front door seemingly late at night (that goes out to the porch) for no particular reason. However, it is very different. There is no porch where one should be. Instead, a van is parked very close to the door, lengthwise (facing north). A man and a woman are in the van and mostly in shadow and supposedly there to deliver a package. They ask me if I knew they were there and for some reason, I lie and say “yes” and end up implying to them I had heard something so came to check (when, again, this was not actually the case at all - I just did not want to appear to have been caught off-guard).

Night of March 27, 2014. Thursday.



I am wandering about in an unknown neighborhood (possibly in late afternoon); could be either the USA or Australia, though it is probably meant to be the USA as there is snow about, and the weather would be correct if assuming Wisconsin.

I move my hand over a green picket fence and then a mailbox for some reason (the metal type with a semicircular top). The mailbox seems familiar and possibly to a house of someone I know - but not familiar in afterthought. After a time, I notice that I have the power to make snow and ice over everything. The sound as the power unfolds is very similar to the sound of a boot crunching into new deep snow. I soon notice that the entire left side of the street is a wall of snow and ice with the mailbox just slightly protruding to indicate any sign of man-made aspects ever having been there at all. Eventually, the right side also becomes a wall of snow in a sort of blissful, pleasing awareness.

However, I soon notice that I am walking through a long perfectly round tunnel seemingly made entirely of snow but with a small shallow stream moving through the lower arc just up to my ankles. I guess I made the entire region into being covered completely with snow. I feel very happy. As I have said in the past, snow and ice is one of the most ecstatic and stimulating dream features. Over time, I feel so blissed-out and ecstatic, I simply fall down into the welcoming coldness, with sensations of “melting skin” causing “sweet” body-wide sensations.

After a few minutes, I feel myself being dragged face-down through the cool shallow water. There is an (unknown) girl on each side holding onto each of my arms pulling me along. They are both wearing elaborate golden jewelry in several forms, including large earrings and bracelets and even a collar. I feel slightly embarrassed, mainly because I do not quite know what to say or how to address them. Instead, I mostly just make stupid vocal sounds and comments like “Wherem I goin’?” (instead of the more logical “Where are you taking me?”). Being dragged through the ice like this is almost unbearably pleasant. It is almost close to (but not as intense or fifty-percent unpleasant) as the “painful” feelings in dreams where I walk on train-tracks and become overly aware of the bizarre sensations in the bottoms of my feet - or walk barefoot in the streets at night during a heavier cool rain (in dreams only).

Over time, we enter a large room. For a time, I see a shadow of who I perceive to be my wife (who eventually stands), but she has the associations of a late 1940s “jungle girl/queen/goddess” comic book (I even sense a leopard and a torch on each side of her throne). She is sitting on a throne which at first looks like an intricate and high-backed park bench but which has spirals and spiderweb-like patterns going about the area from it. The area is like some sort of domed cave but with a modern feel, somehow, perhaps man-made. The patterns actually change as I am trying to focus, in breathtakingly beautiful ways.

Over time, I notice a large tornado. However, the tornado is made of variously-colored lines and turns into a “Spirograph” tornado and is mostly nonthreatening. It morphs through various swirling three-dimensional Spirograph designs as I watch and begin to “float”.

Morning of March 27, 2014. Thursday.



Despite the date being March 27, my dream self perceives the date as October 31; Halloween. My dream is set in Rockdale, which is a town in New South Wales where I have never been. (Rockdale is about an hour’s drive north from where my wife was born in Port Kembla.)

My family and I are in a large room that seems to be in a school or educational venue but with associations of an informal party. We are on the leftmost side of the room. There are Halloween decorations present, including paper chains of orange and black. There are also drawings and paintings of traditional Australian Aboriginal art and about one-fourth of the others are of Australian Aboriginal heritage.

The teacher seems to have similar attributes as my wife Zsuzsanna. Most of the students are from about three years to about sixteen. I seem to be young, perhaps around eighteen, even though I am vaguely aware of my conscious self identity, though not enough to trigger lucidity.

On my left, I see a handmade A2 poster, presumably made by some of the students. It seems to be about my heritage, including a family tree. However, in looking more closely, I see it claims that I am from the town of Tecumseh in Ontario, Canada. Other towns are mentioned - mostly variations of “Tecumseh” and my last name (which happens to be an actual town in Missouri). Thus, instead of being a reliable family tree, it is a “travel tree” relating to where people are from or have been (though its details are incorrect).

I am offered to select from a sheet pan (baking tray) of cinnamon rolls. They are made to look like snails. I pick up one of them and eat it. It has a very nice flavor, somewhat like baklava, with a bit of strawberry.

Later, an unfamiliar girl goes outside at the request of the teacher. It seems related to a traditional event. Soon, I and others follow. A tornadic waterspout approaches from the distance, following the road, heading towards our building. It seems threatening, yet there is a remarkable beauty in its shininess and overall appearance. The young girl seems to have goddess-like powers and purpose. She hovers about three feet above the ground, with arms horizontally outwards to each side. She performs a pirouette in mid-air, implying some sort of counter-force as the waterspout moves closer. Its winds throw her into a scaffold, head first (causing brief unconsciousness), though the tornadic forces do become a bit weaker and less of a threat. (This seems to be a variation of a dream from early childhood where I was about to stop a tornado by turning a merry-go-round to counteract it, knowing I would win against it. This part of my dream also seems to have an association with the “Deep Space Nine” episode “The Storyteller” regarding a traditional defeat of a monster cloud by a chosen person. The storm cloud was called “Dal'Rok”, similar to “Rockdale” with the syllables reversed, which is probably not a coincidence as dreams often distort words in this way.)

The girl recovers quickly and gets up to do more pirouettes, each one just slightly touching the outer forces of the tornadic waterspout and making it smaller each time. There is a change in its color each time. I decide to help her. I go and get the sheet pan and throw the “snails” (cinnamon rolls) into the twister. Each time, there is also a beautiful spread of different colors. Eventually, in lessening it each time with both our acts, it dissipates.

I look back and see that other people, coming out of the building, are very happy and appreciative that we have defeated the storm. A few of them even applaud as I wake.

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Although this dream is obviously RAS-based waking symbolism as is usually the case, there are presumably also spiritual associations (Yin and Yang balance) with the affirmation “I am made of the healthiest energies in the universe” utilized with special audio for several hours and before this dream. This also comes from the line “snips and snails” after “what are little boys made of?” and “sugar and spice” after “what are little girls made of?”, thus my preconscious creates snails made of sugar and spice to symbolize balance and unity as related to health, additionally symbolized by the Yin and Yang implication of opposite tornadic forces, first appearing in my dreams as such in early childhood. Although a sustained affirmation directly influenced this dream, I do not consider it scripted (which involves most dream detail deliberately structured beforehand, not just a foundational affirmation).

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Of course, on a mundane level (core symbolism of the dream state itself), a tornado is simply the augmented association with RAS when linked with inner ear dynamics (similar to what triggers dizziness or passing out in real life, the opposite of waking symbolism). This is validated by the snails, which visually also symbolize RAS inner ear dynamics (cochlea, though it is the vestibular apparatus directly linked to balance, though cochlea implants are known to cause dizziness in people who get them).

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Additional personal notes: As it was a waterspout (though on land), this dream fits into the “water lowering waking symbolism”, a factor of at least one dream per sleeping period for over fifty years. However, such waking symbolism is typically not a dream self dynamic, more often occurring on its own or with a passive focus.

Both the teacher and the young girl in the final segment seemed to be different versions of Zsuzsanna, who was also present, though younger than the teacher version.

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Morning of March 26, 2014. Wednesday.



This is likely at least partly the result of generic scripting using “I am made of the healthiest energies…”

What am I really made of? You know, just like the nursery rhyme…

I am in a larger room; it seems like it may be the shopping mall at one point. I see what first is a puppy (or seems to be). I sense my wife is there. I first “recognize” it as my dog “Joe” (from when I was a young teenager) that was part Toy Cocker Spaniel. I call out saying how this is my dog and how he has returned. I sit down and start to pet it.

“No I ain’t, buddy!” says the small dog loudly in an odd chirpy “human” male voice.

Somehow, this startles me and causes me to fall forward on top of the poor little mutt. I then see that it is Lisa M’s dog from my teenage years.

This dog was a plain brown dachshund and was “replaced” by her father without her finding out (at least at the time - not sure what was revealed years later). Anyway, the dog, with difficulty, manages to crawl out from under my body (I find it almost impossible to lift myself up at that point and the pressure of the animal creates a strange unpleasant ticklish push near my chest) and runs around in circles continuing to speak in an odd human voice, though I do not catch much of what he is saying.

This is embarrassing. Eventually, I leave the area casually as the “puppy” is still running around and making various comments to people (possibly sarcastic or perhaps just informative regarding his “dog’s life”) in what sounds more and more like being from the speaker of a portable cassette player. As I walk down the mostly featureless hall, I see at least three giant snails crawling around - about the size of a cat.

My next scripting will not begin with “I am made of…”

Morning of March 24, 2014. Monday.



My wife and family are living in a large two-storey house which is supposedly in Brisbane, Australia yet looks like a variation of sister Marilyn’s house, though a lot bigger. The first part of my dream has a section of near-lucidity as does a section near the ending, but never full lucidity.

I hear a noise outside and look out from the (implied) north side of a room upstairs. As I look down, I see an unkempt man seemingly moving from the outer area of that side of our house - (he looks up with a slightly annoyed look at me; it is quite clear) - to then step through a window in the next house, which is fairly close to ours. The other house seems to be vacant and refurbishing seems to be a thought relative to the scene. I still am not quite sure why he came from our area. A little later, I look out again and see a different unkempt man coming from the same area as the previous. He, as well (after glancing up at me in a perturbed way), steps through the large window of the house next door. It is a very clear scene, but I cannot identify the two males.

My wife tells me that they are using the area inside our walls to gain access to the neighbor’s house due to the closeness of the buildings which seems to sound reasonable at first. It seems that the two men are yelling at each other and I make a note of this to my wife. The fight seems to last a few minutes and seems related to building supplies and who does what with what. A little later, I notice that the entire southern section of the other house is mostly gone so that the inside can be seen. It also creates some sort of distorted imagery that our house is directly connected to it, sort of like a courtyard being in the “opening” of the house that links to ours, yet with a fancy wall of only a couple feet or so and almost looking like a miniature castle at one point.

Later, I am upstairs in a room of my own that seems to be a section from the King Street boarding house. Three men are now in our house doing work for the landlord in the western-most section. A man yells at me “we weren’t arguing, mate…” (followed by something I do not hear clearly or remember) in an Australian manner and thick accent. I am not quite sure how he heard what I had said to my wife.

Later, I notice that the walls of vertical wooden slats (reminding me of our Clayfield apartment) have been recently painted. However, I also am aware that they did not need painting and whoever did it did an amazingly sloppy job, leaving triangular patches of the older coat near ceiling level, which looks very annoying. There are also tacky pieces of furniture added here and there and one room has horrid-looking wall paper, which is green and orange in vertical stripes and has upside-down V-shaped golden patterns. I tell myself that I will redo everything when the other men leave.

Feeling more and more annoyed, especially at the idea of having three strangers in our house supposedly “fixing” the place while merely destroying aspects of it in one way or another, I go to the room the three men are in. The three men are sitting about on the floor, all in informal meditating positions. The one on my far left, at first, looks like Richard B, a second pinhead (after Leonard S) I knew from La Crosse (who would be very old now if still alive). I say the first name fairly loud a few times, but it turns out that it is not him, and a different name is given by a different man (which I do not recall, it might have been “Paul”). He still closely resembles him and does have the same characteristics. He has an extreme slouch as well. I tell them that I will inform the landlord if they keep messing around as they have been doing. A little later, I am back in the adjoining room. Suddenly, I feel vibrations that are amazingly vivid to what it would actually feel like when a wall is transmitting sound caused by someone jumping on the floor. In the other room, the three men are jumping around, singing and yelling, and eventually playing a loud stereo. Their voices are very clear and distinguishable.

My wife gets very upset by both their being in the house at all, as well as their present behavior. It looks as if they had knocked a wall out from one side (west) for no particular reason. They mostly just sing and dance around in a drunken manner. She yells about them and goes downstairs with the apparent plan of not going upstairs again until they are gone (assuming there will still be an upstairs left). Our children seem to feel the same way. Our baby, however, is still wandering around upstairs. There are two large flights of stairs going up from north to the south end and fairly close together (divided only by one smaller room or area, it seems). I am concerned about the baby walking too close to the steps. She actually goes down a couple of the steps as I start to wake with great concern for her safety, but there is no drama. (In real life, she is the most adventurous one-year-old I had ever seen, even managing to climb up on our dresser and do a “tap dance” - as well as walk along the back of the couch.)

This dream seems to have some sort of unusual modern alteration of the “three witches” archetype.

Night of March 23, 2014. Sunday.



This was a recurring nightly dream from several days from this date; quite vivid, and which gave me a rather unusual sense of “childlike security” and comfort for some reason. It involved the cartoon series “The Flintstones” but it was mostly just an alteration of the opening scenes (the scenes involving Fred’s car only); quite redundant, but with subtle continuous variations - by them being underwater (seemingly at or near the bottom of the ocean) and having a sort of “bubbly” audio. Sometimes the car seems to float upwards a bit, and the “yabadabadoo” sounds rather amusing underwater and bubbles flow out from Fred’s mouth. (The real-life theme song also sounds muffled, but clear enough to understand the words.) Of course, it does not make any sense in any way, but seems almost emotionally fulfilling in some ways, regardless of how ludicrous the implications are. It also seems three-dimensional rather than flat as if I am a present but passive part of the “real” environment.

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This is a form of water induction and water mainly symbolizes sleep in a dream (and sleep dynamics based on the nature of the water). There is the added association that one beginning of “The Flintstones” showed them going to a movie theater and waiting for the movie to begin, which validates the nature of this sustained induction (as watching a movie can be analogous to passively watching one’s dream as I am here).

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Morning of March 22, 2014. Saturday.



My wife and I are in an unfamiliar room (seemingly on the second floor) of bluish pastel-painted plaster walls, which seems like some sort of composite between a post office and a large hospital waiting room but also has the slight feeling of a laundromat. The room’s layout is like two squares attached (at the corners) but open about forty percent inward from the corners. Several vending machines are in the room, but there are not any other outstanding features. A beige picnic table is in one corner on the opposite side of the wall where a row of three vending machines stand near where I am. To my left is the only entrance. At least one other vending machine is near the picnic table. (It actually seems similar to a hospital area from real life when my wife had our last child, but not a waiting room, rather a more empty area near the entrance to a larger patients room.) There is some sort of contest announced on the radio whereby a person can win a very large amount of money along with many other prizes and prestige by finding one of three special keys randomly placed in packs of trading cards. (This actually seems more like a “back story” to my dream than an in-dream event, as there is no radio and I do not remember directly hearing about it.) My wife leaves, apparently to go and get something or to check on the children. I am still not quite sure where we are.

I notice an open pack (the wrapper is still on, but the top part mostly torn across) of trading cards near my feet just as I go to purchase a pack from the vending machine. I pick it up and take the cards out (they are similar to the cards Woolworths is presently giving out for each $20.00 spent but slightly bigger - otherwise the wrapping seems very similar). As I lightly thumb the cards, I am happy to see a beautiful shimmering silver key under the third card. I put the cards and key in my pocket. I am puzzled as to why someone would leave it there, or perhaps they had carelessly dropped it before leaving and have not been back yet. At any rate, I still decide to buy my own pack, although the three special keys are said to have been distributed quite a distance from each other implying across the country (We may be in the USA in this dream; unsure). Amazingly, I find a similar beautiful silver key under the third card in my pack. It is mostly the same except for a different milling pattern.

I go and sit down at the picnic table to wait for my wife to come back. I then look to my right and notice another set of cards on the floor near the nearest vending machine. This one, unlike the first abandoned pack, does not have the wrapper on it. I look through them, and again, there is a beautiful silver key under the third card. This one is slightly smaller than the other two and has an elaborate symbol on the head/bow of the key, almost tattoo-like, the Egyptian symbol of a seated woman with a rainbow-like and balance-scale-like arch over her. I decide to keep that one as well and hold the three keys together focusing on their amazing value or potential value.

An (unknown) man comes in, informally dressed, and seems surprised to see me there. At first, it seems he is a maintenance person or a janitor. There is also the idea, though, that he has something to do with the prizes and acknowledgements of the winners. For some reason, I tell him about the cards and the keys, noting how each key was under the third card in each case. I feel a bit wary in the back of my mind and think I perhaps should not be revealing this. However, even upon seeing the keys, he does not believe what happened at all. He seems very puzzled and almost angry. Even if it “did” happen (and he still does not believe it did) the keys would have to be returned to the unopened packs (which makes no sense) or to the people who had lost them. Even the one I actually got legitimately from purchasing from the machine apparently “did not happen”. His state of mind and ideas remind me a lot of ordinary people from real life in a way that borders on hilarity in how people do not believe much of anything that actually happens and instead, try to go “by the book” so to speak (or by something they read somewhere - as if that means anything in light of their real experiences or perception) to pretend to have some level of understanding or even authority on a subject. He leaves to contact the prize authorities to see where each key “really” is and the status of any winners, if any. I am amused almost to the point of bliss at his idiotic doubting behavior (even upon seeing the special keys) yet also am very glad I still have the three special keys and am thinking about getting my wife and family and leaving before he gets back (assuming he even finds his way back).

I then inexplicably find myself in a completely unfamiliar area near a large fancy building which is almost castle-like (but seems more like a public venue in perhaps Beverly Hills). I use the smaller key to get in, but there are also a number of security gates which the keys may also fit, but I do not feel like opening all those doors. There are halls that go off in different directions. Instead, I transform into a snake and am able to slide through the bars of the security doors, albeit feeling quite strange. I have no perception of arms and legs and my “stomach” feels very odd and stretched out over a longer area. I turn back into myself when reaching a wooden door (of vertical slats) whereby the top is rounded rather than straight across. I am then wearing a loose white robe that has a very long red belt tied around my waist and hanging down from both ends. I open the wooden door into an amazing room and my awareness becomes even more vivid and clear. However, there is the astounding feeling that I am outside of my own consciousness somehow. (I should point out that some generic dream scripting I had been doing included the scene of opening a door “into a revelation”.)

The actor, Alexander Siddig, is standing there on the other side of the room in an elaborate prince-like costume. He looks at me in a very puzzled manner. There are a number of other people in the room who are all looking at me in a puzzled or offended manner. They all seem to be extremely wealthy and most are dressed in almost early 1700s style. There is a stage set up on that side of the room, and a few almost bleacher-like or pew-like seats on the right side. A few people are seated seemingly as an audience on each side. At least five others seem to be a part of the play and engaging in some sort of conversation.

“The barriers and security doors are there for a reason,” he stammers almost embarrassingly. “You can’t just…you can’t just barge in on someone else’s dream…how did you get in here…who gave you permission…this is a private gathering and you need to leave now…so just…go…please…” He then starts talking to the others on matters of my intelligence and inability to understand privacy and such, although someone also comments on my “unfair advantage” and how I have disrupted the circadian rhythms of several dreamers in conference. I “know” that he is “real” but I am not sure about the others. I am thinking on whether they are tulpas, higher entities originally developed from tulpas, real higher entities birthed from the higher planes, scripted forms, composite unique archetypes, or probably (seemingly the most likely) other dreamers. I get the impression this was an artful setup to some sort of elaborate romantic adventure. I leave, not wanting to feel like a thoughtless intruder.

As I turn to leave, something strange happens. A larger, much plainer room somehow seems to materialize between the room I “am in” (but which has shifted elsewhere, inter-dimensionally) and the door so that I am now in a different room even though I am still holding the same doorknob to the same supposed area. (I have dreamt of internally morphing houses before, but this creates a very strange awareness).

An older unknown lady of nearly eighty approaches me and starts talking in a very friendly and helpful manner about dreams. She makes personal comments on Alexander and his habits and desires and such. She seems to have the “job” that is some sort of combination of being a maid and guiding other dreamers when they stumble into other dreamer’s dreams without the proper protocol. As I decide to leave, my long red belt, which seems more and more like a long red silk ribbon, gets tangled on the doorknob and in part of the security gate. I tell her to cut it off on her side, but she seems worried about damaging the supposedly valuable belt. To me, it is way too long as it is and I do not mind. She uses a pair of shiny gold scissors to cut through the wrapped-up material (about four layers wrapped around the doorknob) and also is able to cut and pull (with my help) from where it has also (on the other end of the tied belt) wrapped partly around a bar of the security gate - and eventually my belt is much shorter and I can then keep going. I just want to go onto a different dream, hopefully one without snobby celebrities and snobby elite. There might be a play on “key card” somewhere in there.

Night of March 21, 2014. Friday.



There has been quite a bit of rain and the backyard is somewhat marshy. There is an odd “painting-like” feel to the dream as I have often experienced in the past, but it is still quite vivid and realistic in other ways.

I notice three unknown girls in near-transparent white gowns (with a very light salmon-colored “glow” or “air”) and wearing laurels of small flowers. Oh wait, I must be in a dream. Once I think on this, I go back and see three large flamingos pecking about near the old tree near the back fence (the one that was sawed through in real life before we moved here, leaving only the bottom part, and is exactly at fence level as such and looks quite ridiculous and a bit surreal at that). The girls are gone. Then I think, well the girls are gone, and there are only flamingos…therefore I must be awake…well DUH! Can you believe the stupidity here? We have never had flamingos in our yard. White ibises with black heads, yes, but not pink flamingos strutting about the place.

It seems logical that this is reality. I walk over to them but they fly off. Well, now I cannot take a photo - I think I will be able to make a lot of money by sending photos to the Audubon Society from now on (or as long as the flamingos stay in the region). Later on, I see them walking about when looking through the kitchen window, but there seems to be many more at one point. I catch a glimpse of a young man through the spaces in the fence slats near the driveway opposite our house to the south - who appears to be looking into our backyard. Well, how rude.

I begin to open the door and a smaller hand comes around through the partly open door and it has painted red nails. This startles me at first and “looks like trouble”. What is odd is that the door opens on the left side instead of the right, but this does not seem to be any indication that things are not quite right, either. The girl looks remarkable (“quivering” silver eyes), breathing deeply and quite loudly, but I have no clue where she came from. “I’m hungry,” she complains as if it were perfectly normal to say such to a stranger and expect food. Not knowing what else to do, I open the refrigerator. All there is, is eggs; different sizes, different colors. Everywhere. Nothing else. I am not sure what to make of it - perhaps I need to go shopping later.

At any rate, no one is around anymore. I look out the back and the flamingos are dancing about in a somewhat ungraceful manner. (This reminds me of the dream when my wife was somehow a large white egret at one point in some sort of anthropomorphic bird ritual, but that dream was more involving.)

Then it dawns on me. Tommy Roe is our new neighbor, so all the “pretty flamingos” come over the fence and steal…I do not know what exactly, as there is not really food lying about in the yard. The album I had in my youth had “Wild Thing” listed just prior to “Pretty Flamingo” (oddly, there is no reference on Wikipedia to this). So…we have a wereflamingo problem, but I do not seem to mind. However, considering “Roe”, I remember that roe is actually fish eggs and reconsider if the eggs in the refrigerator are somehow fish eggs rather than various types of bird eggs.

“Roe!”…I absentmindedly shout…“like pollywog eggs!”

A disembodied elderly female Russian voice says “Such a face dushka you are a clown!”

This means two things. Firstly, it means the scriptwriters for “The Other” could not speak Russian as “dushka” supposedly is only used for young women (or big guns - take your pick) as a term of endearment. Secondly, I saw “The Other” one too many times…and it did not even have flamingos in it.