Blue_Opossum

Morning of March 5, 2014. Wednesday.



The first section of the dream is more vivid and blissful compared to the second half. It starts out with watching the very dark nighttime sky (viewing to the north is implied) and seeing green and orange patterns in various locations, mostly above the twenty degree viewpoint. The patterns are unnatural but beautiful. At first, though, it seems to be the result of natural but amazing rainbow effects (with all the rainbow colors only at first) that somehow scatter over the moon and clouds. Over time though, I notice a Yin and Yang symbol made of evenly divided green and orange light (which I first thought was either a reflection of some kind over the moon, or some sort of “reflection” of the “altered” moon from elsewhere); that is, one section of all green, the other of orange, almost like orange and green commas in the sky (one rotated 180 degrees) and connected to each other. There are a couple more isolated solely green or orange patches that are somewhat rectangular but very irregular otherwise. Other clustered patterns of green and orange (often together in equal proportions) are in the sky. Some are superimposed on clouds, others on their own. This all seems to be evidence for alien activity and using the town as a “landing point” or “beginning location”, but not necessarily with a threatening implication.

Later, I seem to be with a few unknown people at an unknown address which is like our last home in Brisbane but somewhat different. Extended from one side is a larger, longer garage-like structure where the driveway would be. I talk about the activity in the sky but there is a man who denies seeing anything.

Over time, upon several occasions when incidentally looking in a particular direction, I see something almost human-like, but much smaller, running through an area of the garden and behind a corner. A couple of times, I almost think I see wings on the “creature” as well (at this point, likely a real-life reference to a draco/“winged” agamid/flying dragon I had for a brief period when young - though I guess it mostly reminds me of a basilisk lizard), but the figure is very indistinct and always moving at about a forty-five degree angle from my forward view. There also seems to be some possible distortion caused by the outdoor light and the fact that the “creature” is zigzagging to avoid being seen (faulty dream “logic” - zigzagging would not actually prevent someone from being seen). There seems to be some drama associated with the viewing and others taking notice, but in the end, it seems I am the only one who regards the forms as unusual or out of place. I start going off on a rant about how the town is supposedly hiding aliens. I am not angry about the aliens, only about the town hiding them from the world or not admitting to their activities, especially regarding the evidence in the sky. Although there are a couple times when the figures seem fairly large compared to other times (about half the size of an adult human), they seem to be smaller and smaller over time. At one point, it seems they may be only about the size of a larger insect (such as a dragonfly or large grasshopper) or perhaps even are insects mistaken for aliens. There is also the vague awareness of the old comic book scenario where a giant shrinks at the same time he is running to appear to be running away much faster.

Finally, I manage to corner an “alien” in the garden (or so it seems at first) and grab it with my left hand. It is actually a baby blue tongue lizard which does not try to escape. I hold it gently in the palm of my left hand. I do not question how lizards could run around upright on two back legs, but this one is smaller than the first creatures I had seen running around and first assumed were aliens. I inform the man that had been denying everything that I had caught one of the creatures I had been seeing (which everyone else eventually claimed that they did not see or at least see anything unusual about - again, taking into account regarding how a lizard could run on two back legs). I hold the lizard up and it actually speaks quietly into my left ear, saying something about the alien presence in the town. For some reason, I do not question this - I guess because some kinds of birds can talk so why not lizards? The lizard is not an alien yet I am aware he knows all about the aliens and will reveal everything to me even though none of the people will. I ask aloud, but softly, where the aliens came from. The lizard says “B'nishia”.

I tell the man that the aliens came from (planet) B'nishia. He looks astounded. “How did you know about that?” he asks tentatively - not about the concept of actual aliens in the town, but about the name B'nishia. He does not seem to acknowledge the fact that I am holding a lizard at all, let alone possibly communicating with it. Not much happens after this.

Originally, when hearing “B'nishia”, I got a strange association with “beneath ya (you)” and “Malaysia”. In addition, I found this about one type of lizard which seemed to be in this dream: “These ‘Jesus Lizards’ can run across water for short distances.”

More here: http://blue-opossum.tumblr.com/post/...ssing-airplane

Morning of March 4, 2014. Tuesday.



I am at the airport in Brisbane, I believe. The seats are far more comfortable, almost like couches. My wife is with me. Our children may be there but not immediately present.

A man of about seventy-five years of age is there and he somehow has all kinds of musical instruments in various locations around the area, most of them guitar-like. He does not play much at first, but I enjoy seeing the various items. Some are in a case, others on their own. He seems very friendly, but I do not know who he is.

One of the instruments is a three-string bass (electric, I think). Another is never taken out of the soft case but may be a miniature violin (about half the size of one in real life) and I ask him about it and the answer seems to be yes. There are a couple music books which have very simple tunes, possibly melody lines only, for folk music.

Later on, I am on another seat in a perpendicular location from the first but probably not that far away from the other location. It is probably aligned east/west, with the back to the north. We talk about different types of guitars and experiences with them. I play a brief, random “song” on one which seems to have seven strings instead of six - playing mostly one note per beat but three on one beat, which seems somewhat discordant. I also note that there are letters to indicate tuning on one, which appears to have too large a gap in the mid-range area, although it may create interesting chords or be made that way as a real-time EQ “notch” for other instruments that fit that range. (This would be more viable for anything other than a guitar, I should think, such as a flute or especially a recorder. Two recorders playing at the same basic pitch, for example, make absolutely horrid dynamics - similar to when two people sustain a loud whistle at the same pitch on each side of you and a very unpleasant swirling “roaring” is heard in the middle of your head.)

There is a point where he has some sort of small accordion or concertina but, for quite some time, plays only the bass side (roots only) as a melody, yet it sounds beautiful and orchestral, almost like a brass band. He plays about three longer songs like this. I ask him if he has seen or heard the bass setting where a very high note is added to the bass root which gives a very intriguing sound to the overall song (when the full chords are played on the bass side) and he acknowledges this fact. I tell him about my father and the number of popular waltzes and polkas he wrote. The old man smiles but does not seem as interested in waltzes (or one-two-three) as straight one-two patterns as found in almost all modern music, other than songs like “Top of the World” by Plant P (Tony Carey), which is a breathtaking waltz mostly on synths, yet almost 1700s ballroom-like and epic, one of my favorite recordings of all time.

Later, he lets me hold a very large guitar, apparently acoustic, and also very old. It is of a very unusual design. The entire neck is deeply indented almost like a series of enclosed backgammon sections (relating to each otherwise implied fret wire, which in this case is actually a higher “wall” for each note range change) all the way to the body. The neck is also too wide to play chords with the left hand. This poses two problems. In addition, I do not see how you could play a chord unless pressing more down over one side of the “wall” from the top and while mostly on the lap (rather than a real chord position grip), but it would not seem to possess the same dynamics at all, as a proper ridge/fret wire would create. I ask him about this, but he seems to know how to play it efficiently, but does not actually demonstrate.

In a very loose association, my mind starts connecting the seeming backgammon wells series on the weird fretboard of the guitar. There is also the hopscotch reference again. Somehow the idea is triggered by the guitar’s double markers on the twelfth fret and how sections change from one square to two side-by-side squares as in the hopscotch court. At one point, the older man appears to pass out from a medical problem, but recovers and seems to be okay. The people he is with make comments on his declining health due to his age, but he seems to be doing okay thus far and I believe even has a concert to go to in another country.

In an additional dream, I am in a kitchen. I think it is our present kitchen, although I sense the orientation is exactly perpendicular to how it really is. This has extreme vividness and clarity for the most part other than not fully grasping a prop to my right at first. I am not certain if it is a cylindrical pencil holder or if it is holding asparagus stalks. It is probably the latter as I cannot see a reason for having a pencil holder that close to the sink. While thinking on that, I move to wash a muffin tray with twelve wells. This is the second time in two consecutive nights that I have focused on the possibly important meaning of an array (the other was eighteen “wells” or facets).

The muffin tin ends up exactly covering the bottom of the sink in a fairly snug and even fashion, though I am able to retrieve it by gripping with fingers in two wells (something similar had happened in real life years ago). I soon notice that the perfectly round and reflective drain is really large (it actually changes size, it seems, getting bigger a few times), up to almost eighty percent of the sink’s bottom in area. It seems to imply bottomlessness or at least a very distant point down into what is somewhat like a “light at the end of the tunnel” kind of presentation. There is a golden glow from way down below. A silvery light also encircles the implied route down in various swirling events. It is actually so large that there is a thought that I could go headfirst into it (yet not in a threatening or dangerous way), but do not, and there is no stronger vertigo, just a sense that I am very close to the portal between “here” and the space of “all light”. Although “down the drain” has a negative connotation, this is actually quite the opposite in what is sensed and felt about the potential portal into universality. It vaguely reminds me of a previous dream where vivid whale-song was emerging from the drain as the water in the sink was moving in a spiral somewhat - with a very blissful awareness.

Morning of March 4, 2014. Tuesday.



These are notes on more vivid, but rather abstract dream occurrences.

I am in an unknown almost entirely dark area and am not sure what is going on, though I am relaxed. I become aware of two three by three unit squares, supposedly on the “ground” or somehow elevated in an undefined space, a total of nine unit squares in each . However, they are actually together as a three by six square unit rectangle. I am aware of a female presence, not “full”, that is, an aspect of a female that is floating or moving over the area, not in body. For a moment, I am vaguely reminded of hopscotch, although the simple rectangular design of three by six squares is not like any hopscotch court I have seen. I focus on the idea of the number of squares, which is strangely difficult, because I incorrectly work out six times three as nineteen at first. I then realize that this is the first full stage of human life and it represents age eighteen in its simple construct. That is probably not the real meaning (assuming there even is any), but that is the meaning I seem to “logically” give it. Otherwise, it is just a six by three grid in a random, unknown space. Perhaps from birth and through life, there is a particular “hopscotch-like” path.

I am aware of a (I think) different female presence than before, which is seemingly “more” my wife at a different “stage”, perhaps. I am fairly certain that she is near me. I hear her speak a seemingly important request, “Calm me in 3520”. This seems to indicate a year in the distant future (although vaguely, I consider the time 3:52). Coming out of sleep into half-sleep without much hypnopompia, I ask her to repeat what she said (although the voice came from the dream - I do not think my wife had actually said anything). My wife is half-asleep in reality but awake enough to speak. I tell her that 3520 is too far ahead to expect to be alive in that year - and that there may not be any people then. She probably has no idea what I am talking about. She does speak aloud though, telling me that it is the year 1920. I tell her she is wrong and that we were not even born or even around then and she seems puzzled. Perhaps it is actually 2035 that relates to the request. I would be seventy-five then.

I fall back into a state where I then seem to be on a version of Deep Space Nine. I am wearing a large amount of (mostly silvery) jewelry everywhere, including a crown. Even though it seems a ridiculous amount of wealth and status, I feel very light in weight, as well as cheerful. Another person (male, I think) is near me. I appear to be fully human but as some sort of implied high royalty who is visiting the space station. We seem to be going through a narrow security checkpoint. Odo is the only character I recognize on the sidelines. No one speaks or complains about an apparent delay. I am the only one allowed to move freely through the area, past the checkpoint, uncertain as to why (even though the other character with me may be my assistant - am not sure). For a time, I then watch myself walking about as a “bejeweled” being. The whole environment is silvery (reflections from my jewels). No drama ensues.

Morning of March 4, 2014. Tuesday.



These are two dreams in the same entry. The first one involves an ability to transform into another person in appearance only. I am not sure exactly how it is done. I do not hold any of that person’s memory or abilities, I do not think, only the body appearance itself, it seems. It seems only vaguely related to a previous dream about relatives “inhabiting” the body of someone who has died during a sort of celebration or acknowledgement/wake period.

In the first part of my dream, I am near a storefront facing a large parking lot. For some reason, I “become” Naveen Andrews (though do not know the name in my dream at all). I am dressed in a black suit and am talking with a few female fans. Most of them are Hindi, one even with a large pot/vase of water on their head. I walk into a building later on and a man asks for my autograph. He hands me some paper and a pen, and then I realize that I have no idea what my celebrity name is. Instead of outright embarrassment and declining to sign “my” name, I write an autograph anyway. It is mostly a scribble of “m”, “n”, and “i” in a redundant series, with no discernible name, but the man seems happy upon attaining it and about our meeting.

I find someone I know as my true self (without changing into myself, though) and ask to borrow a pad that displays all the information on the television show “Lost”. I certainly now want to know the name of the celebrity I am supposed to be, so I know what name to sign when someone else asks for an autograph or when someone might ask if I am a certain person and I would know whether or not to say “yes”. The pad is complex technology with additional three-dimensional pockets and devices on the surface of which is all a viewing field with touchscreen options. The cast is listed in two expandable columns with small passport-like photos on the left of each entry. The first two are Terry O'Quinn, upper left, and Evangeline Lilly, upper right, with Naveen next left. However, instead of Naveen Andrews being listed correctly in the cast, I see that his name is Ruyard Nuttiger. (This name is not remotely familiar or meaningful in anyway - although it could be some sort of association with Rudyard Kipling and “new tiger” and associating Naveen with India.) From there, after learning who I am supposed to be pretending to be, I continue my walk in the public area. One area (originally thought to be some sort of mall) seems like the northern side of my middle school, which I do not recall dreaming of (at least with more correct locational appearances) in quite some time. No drama ensues and I walk eastward.

In another dream, which I would not call a nightmare (the emotions are not that strong or relating to fear), I am back at the King Street boarding house. This dream seems to have a slight association with the last dream of this location in relating to “bugs”/“worms” (virus association, most likely). There is a type of creature that goes through several stages. It is some sort of “termite” (only in a very loose sense of the word as a whole). I am on the Tenth Street side of the intersection. The different stages are very different from each other (I am not sure if some of it is relative to shape-shifting as a sort of temporary camouflage or not). One stage looks a lot like a white sand dollar. A group of “sand dollar stage termites” goes quickly after two other people (male and female), but I think only to protect more vulnerable creatures within other stages (which may be in cocoons). The other people are not hurt as they kick them away. Another is a giant antlion larva (giant “doodlebug”) that comes out from near the steps and then seems as large as a horse on the east outer wall of the house. It does not seem that threatening (but does appear to be in a defensive stance), but is still a sight that fills me with awe. Assuming they only eat houses and trees, I still do not want to be near these “monsters”, including the smaller ones.

There is even one stage where they look like actual termites. Who would have thought? I walk south to leave the area.

Morning of March 3, 2014. Monday.



There is something quite odd going on here in this one. Apparently, when someone dies, their body is then inhabited by a living relative who acts “as them” at some sort of celebration or diverse variant of a funeral and longer wake, I believe over two weeks or so. I am not sure I ever had a dream of this nature or anywhere near it. There are even serious questions brought up (in my own mind) about the practice later on.

Somehow, the situation is relating to two sisters who have passed on in reality (Carol and Marilyn) and my mother. (I am wondering if this is some sort of variation on the “three women” theme I have sometimes had since earliest memory.)

Sister Marilyn is “alive” in body, inhabited by a brother-in-law’s relative, Vickie R. We talk, although there is something very unusual and “new” about the whole scenario. Carol actually seems like herself, but I guess that is relative to the acting skills of the one who is “inhabiting” her. Most of the scenario takes place at sister Marilyn’s house. I do not recall any other specific locations.

Apparently, the relative who inhabits the body of the deceased for all the ceremonies and interaction and such is asleep (that is, their physical body is asleep) during that time period, being that person with the energies of their spirit and mind (even though I also sense that the person who inhabits the relative is somehow also living their waking life normally at times - which does not seem possible in afterthought). However, I have to wonder that if the person who is deceased is actually deceased, then how does their body function at all, especially after a week or two? They seem healthy and normal in their speech and manner. I also am not sure why my two sisters and mother are in this event all at the same time, since they had died at completely different times.

Over time, I start to question how the deceased were no longer alive in the first place, as, in my dream, death makes no sense at all in the way it is portrayed, that is, how could the body be activated by a relative unless the person (the deceased) was forced out of their own body somehow (for example, how could you die if the body was still fully working or “inhabitable” by a spirit or soul or mental energy) - which makes me somewhat suspicious of the practice of this “alternate world”. My mother seems no different, that is, it seems to be actually her, at least most of the time. Marilyn is the only one where the inhabitant is actually identified for certain. However, there is also the idea that my mother’s “driver” is the spirit or energy of someone who has also died prior to my mother, which makes even less sense, making my dream more ambiguous at one point, although this is not certain. Even less sensible, if spirits can survive beyond death, could they just inhabit their own bodies in the way the relatives do in this case and live normally? (For some reason, I am not taking the fact of how bodies age into the equation - dream amnesia, I guess.)

There is not much drama; mostly an unusual suspicion over how people actually die in this alternate world. It is not a strong emotion; I am just wondering what exactly is going on and how long it will last. It even seems slightly like a holiday at one point.

Morning of March 2, 2014. Sunday.



I still have a cold (trying to keep it in the “background” other than with the cough on the first few days), but it is being “knocked back” day by day over seven days (had a lot of exercise today shopping and pushing heavy stuff around) - do not know how I ended up with a cold - as I said before, did not feel it “come in” like I did in the past. I can keep myself “out” of the cold, “in state” (which a special sound pulsing I have used all my life) for several hours or more, but it flows back in each time I “return” (a bit “weaker” each time, though) - so apparently even the universe cannot cure a cold (like it instantly removes a toothache, rebuilt my left forearm nerves and muscle over time, and healed my wife’s right leg from leaking cartilage, and several other things I can be thankful for and one more thing people “do not believe in” but I care not) - or maybe I have not found the exact “trigger” or symbolic phrasing to do it yet. I guess I still have patterns to learn. Exact pattern nuances can be tricky and completely unpredictable (at first) as I have learned - and they never use a word with even the slightest negative connotations unlike all the commercial rubbish out there (such as “I am not” this, “I no longer” that, “I will stop smoking”, “I will lose weight”, and so on - absurd and completely wrong phrasing in every way imaginable - and they actually make money with this fraud).

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In my dream, I am at my sister Marilyn’s house. Though I have validated many instances of legitimate “communication” with my relatives (far outside of what is considered “possible” by other people which of course means nothing to me in light of actual experience) when alive or in the actual state of dying (even of John Belushi), I still wonder somewhat if potential contact after their passing on holds any merit. In the case of my parents, I am certain enough that it was “something more” (and unexplainable by normal means), but not sure about other connections at certain levels. This dream is somewhat “average” (actually much lower than average in the second section) and I do not consider it paranormal in any way in contrast to the precognitive/telepathic ones where I learned about sister Marilyn in the first place in such detail and those were validated at other composite levels (regarding additional and unrelated yet-to-be experiences) with intriguing precision as is often the case.

I go into the front room and call to Marilyn and try to “force” an association and encounter (even though this is not a lucid dream, oddly enough). I seem very mournful. Marilyn was like a “second mother” to me in my later years. She eventually does appear in another room (the smaller northeast one) and comes out and gives me a hug and it seems to go on for some time. She appears as she did when I was about twenty. There is no sense of additional energy or external presence as with some encounters in dreams, not even as much energy as some tulpas, but there is still a deep comfort. In another recent dream, it was brother Jim that gave me hugs (although that was far more vivid with more energy).

Later, I find myself with a need to go somewhere, though I do not recall the details. This dream introduces a brand new composite. My sister’s backyard, instead of leading into the north/south-oriented alley as in real life, leads out directly onto Tenth Street on the other side of town, which is perpendicular to King Street, and the boarding house is there on the corner, appearing much as in reality. It is wintertime (well, it would be there in reality as well) and ice and snow is everywhere. Leonard the pinhead and another person who lived there for a short time nicknamed “Squeaky” are out on the sidewalk, across from each other (“Squeaky” on the front lawn and Leonard on the boulevard). Leonard seems to be picking at loose skin on his left index finger and seems more aware and “present” than in life. (He also actually speaks like a normal person - which is intriguing in afterthought.) Squeaky got his name from attempting to go near the pinhead’s living area (when he was sleeping) without being heard and stepped on a particular board near the doorway that made a loud squeak - and he accidentally repeated this a few times no matter how careful he tried to be.

I ask Leonard about his finger but notice that I should probably be picking up some of the ice from the sidewalk in order to (if only symbolically) “pay back” the owners for ways that they had helped me in the past. I start picking up the ice chunks from the sidewalk and throw the pieces into the yard. They are about the size of a larger hardcover book and larger (and like most “ice dreams”, this part becomes a bit more vivid). Leonard says that his finger is recovering from the pinworm they (I assume legitimate doctors) took out recently. (This makes little sense as pinworms are “small threadlike worms infesting human intestines especially in children”. It is probably some sort of play on “pinhead”.) He talks about the “paraphernalia” they were looking for - a word that I have not heard in a long time (which oddly does not have the definition I am familiar with in the free dictionary site I mostly only use to quickly check spellings, as it gives suggestions for any word it does not have in it). Paraphernalia can be found at a “head shop” and is used by police to describe hash pipes and anything to describe items that are used for illegal drug usage. I am a bit confused though, as I am fairly certain that, other than a can of beer a couple of times a year or so, neither Squeaky nor Leonard used any sort of recreational drug even though there seems a vague concern about such matters at this point within my dream. As I continue to remove the ice, I see a few instances of desiccated dog poo (that had been frozen for awhile, I guess) near the edge of the sidewalk - and decide not to help the owners anymore (who I do not actually see at any time)…

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Obviously, my dream, at least in part, is a play on “trying to get rid of a cold so I can move on” (or to “clear out” the cold/ice to walk on down the street…) and the dog poo represents that the virus’s effects are still a part of my present physiology - even though the “worm” itself is gone. “Paraphernalia” seems the clearest expression from the pinhead, which is possibly a play on “Pariah” in his case. I was his only friend for a time. One of his only day to day activities was fishing (with worms). As such, this may also be related to a distorted fishing concept, which symbolizes emergence from sleep.

Night of March 2, 2014. Sunday.

I am younger and in a stage of collecting stamps. My sister Marilyn (half-sister on my mother’s side) is alive again in the opening of my dream, but her face is changing back and forth from various unusual colors, somewhat reminiscent of how a series of usually smaller and older foreign stamps has the same face on different postal values but with different colors for each; red, yellow, purple, green, and so on, in various shades. She is at a table in her living room and appears to be having a small meal.

Later, during the more vivid and longer part of my dream, I am not certain of where I am, but I own at least one very large cardboard box full of materials mostly relating to a stamp collection. As I dig deeper down into the box, more and more complete letters and catalog-sized envelopes, most from primarily Eastern Europe, China, and India, are visible (with the stamps still on the original mailings - most of them unopened or resealed perhaps). There is also a smaller stamp album where the stamps (Poland, Hungary, and Romania, I believe - those countries often had the most attractive postage stamps during one time period) are displayed in rows held by thin sheets of transparent plastic in no particular order.

The beauty of the stamps and other variously-colored and textured paper materials is impressive to me. As I go deeper (placing some of the materials on an adjacent table), there are several old but unopened A4 manilla envelopes from India near the bottom with at least seven or eight older India stamps (1940s-1950s) in each upper right corner, some with various types of “scribbling” as cancellation/postal marks and other features. Eventually, I also notice black and white graphic novels, similar to the type of the older Warren publications. I do not understand the plot, though, as the writing is mostly all in Sanskrit, although some like a mix of Hindi and Chinese, with only a few English translations written by hand here and there. I feel very peaceful and happy about the box for some reason. There are a few other unknown characters around. I am proud of my collection and enjoying the multicolored pleasures of what almost seems to hold endless potential.

There are a few other pages of comic-book-like papers, seemingly in English, but the individual letters are spread out somewhat web-like and too “blurry” to read (much like ghost frequencies on a spectrograph in appearance). (This part was precognitive. I just recently found a link on the “Wayback Machine” that had a lot of older comic books in PDF format. Most of them are readable, it seems. Some of them, though, were identical in appearance to the effect in this dream, probably from being saved in too low a resolution and unreadable. Also, many turned out to be older Warren publications as my dream implied - I had not used the site in that particular manner or purpose at any earlier time.)

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Part of this is also based on real life. Years ago, as a young teen, I sometimes bought a larger bulk pack of discarded postal materials, usually envelopes and such with the stamps still on them in various conditions - of which I actually preferred to isolating and collecting the individual stamps themselves regardless of the fair amount of space they took up (I even had chests-of-drawers sitting atop other chests-of-drawers for extra storage space). The envelopes were of various colors and intriguing textures and all the various addresses in different languages still on the envelopes and used postcards and such. During this time, I decided to give one of my favorites, an unusual envelope (with several stamps, a few still in blocks) from India with a sort of almost corrugated-like texture and writing all over it, to my sister Marilyn by mailing it to her (Florida to Wisconsin). She liked getting it and asked me where I got it. Apparently they did not have these bulk collections available where she lived at the time. Eventually, I sold a part of my collection for only a hundred dollars when I needed more money (by which in afterthought I should have sold to a collector instead of a company).

Finishing this entry for the online version, I noted this from a website (linns.com, under “Soaker’s remorse”.) “How many interesting, valuable or historically significant old folded letters or envelopes with stamps and postmarks (known as "covers” to stamp collectors) do you suppose have been destroyed by people who did not know what they were doing?“

Interesting. Another play on "everyman” (or “normal” society) I think.

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Morning of March 1, 2014. Saturday.



I am at a wedding (unknown) eventually as part of a band. I am the lead singer and play an acoustic guitar. Three others play. Behind and to my left is someone on a small basic drum kit. Behind and to my right is a bass player. Farther back is someone set up with keyboards including sample players for such as horns if needed. (My dream’s section had repeated with the first song having been done solo by me the first time with no other band members - additional band members appearing is symbolic of going “deeper” into my dream state just as water becoming more and more shallow represents slowly waking from my dream state.) The first song is “Speak to the Sky” with an added four measure intro as well as an additional melodic solo instrumental in the middle and a couple extra verse and chorus events. The next song is “Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da”. The third is by request. A man comes up and asks if we do requests and I say yes. The song is “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes”. It becomes very eventful and almost operatic by the end. There are some nice melodic variations in each song that were not in the original. This is done by shifting the melodic lines up or down, with variations on the chord elements. For example only, C-E-G to E-G-(higher)C (in C Major) or D-D-F to F-F-A (in D minor), using downward variations as well.

Later (or rather right after or even apparently “during” my dream concert), I and my family are together at our home on Barolin Street, though the ages would be wrong for that time (our children are as they are now in reality rather than much younger when we lived there). I am sitting on the couch saying how I had been clearly hearing music (referring to my own dream within my dream). The lyrics were all very clear and correct and I know it is possible to go on for a long time with correct wording in a dream as long as it is somehow related to rhythm or musical memory. I have read stories, even entire novels, in dreams but they do not have the same clarity or stronger dynamics. (Reading an entire novel, though, usually ends with me waking up feeling very stressed and annoyed regardless of the novel itself.)

Soon, there is trouble on the porch. My wife seems to be struggling with someone through the window directly to the right of the doorway. I get one of two large, long metal bars (as I have in real life, but slightly shorter) and run it through the area, knocking the person in the forehead. It is a young white male in a black duster and somewhat formal clothes including a white shirt and dark slacks. There is also a white female and a black female who are part of the “gang” - they appear to be fairly wealthy (unless it is a facade) rather than just meandering or typically desperate “street people”. It is possible that these people represent facets of the virus I presently have (my wife does not have it “yet” and may not get it - but the last several times my family got a virus of some kind, I did not). The “gang” eventually goes away from the area. I notice there is no higher fence across the front of the yard as there was in reality. I ask someone (no one in particular) to “get me my gun” but prefer using the bar for some reason.

Later, I go out with the metal bar and hold it up like a sword or baseball bat. The male now has a rifle but does not use it. I see them at a distance about three houses away. Eventually, they come to the house again. I had been in the kitchen at that later point and when I look out to the porch, my youngest son (who seems to have a lighter variation of the virus in real life) is seemingly being held back from leaving the door area by a hand through the window.

Finally, I decide that enough is enough. I knock all of the “gang members” on the head and somehow put the bar through their body (chest area) even though it is flat and cylindrical (with no sharp point anywhere). That does not seem to be enough, so I “knock them into oblivion” until there is almost nothing left. Two grotesque-looking young males (extra ridges and furrows in their faces - but they otherwise remind me of an actor whose name I do not recall) with platinum blonde hair also approach but I easily knock them to bits as well. Violence. Bah. This cold, while getting better, is annoying. Later, there is a reset and I go back to the concert from the beginning. Good.

Morning of February 28, 2014. Friday.



My brother-in-law Bob (much younger in my dream, possibly only forty, while I seem to be only about twenty) and I are out near what first seems like the ocean, but should actually be the Black River area of the Mississippi in Wisconsin. He tells me that it is too windy to fish, but I am not concerned. I cast my line out anyway and the hook blows back into my hair a few times (but does not get entangled or injure me). Eventually I drop the line closer to shore where it is rocky just under the water. There are several fish about the size of a larger bluegill. They have orange bodies with black stripes and are like a mix of striper, bluegill, and crappie. Bob calls them stripers, I think, though there is possibly another name I do not recall.

We go a short distance north where the water and shore is very different. There are people all in a line along the high bank overlooking darker water and it almost seems like we are inside a huge building. I notice a large fish in the water and so I swing my line down near to where it is. I watch the fish come up and take the bait in its mouth. The water is murky, yet I somehow perceive everything clearly.

“Pull back,” says Bob, “Set the hook.”

I pull back and the weight is extreme. When it comes out of the water, it looks just like Monstro from Disney’s “Pinocchio” movie, angled more upward over time, even with the sketchy (cartoon) appearance. Everyone else is watching. It seems unlikely that I would be able to pull it up and out of the water (especially considering that the embankment is fairly high from the water’s surface), yet I do, and as I do, it becomes smaller and more like a large largemouth bass as I swing it around and to the other side onto the ground. For some reason, I get the impression that people think I had never caught a fish before. Bob does not seem to have started fishing yet, but I consider that there will be more to catch here.

---

The whale is the emergent consciousness precursor, though its transformation into a largemouth bass is typical dream state transmutation by way of RAS mediation and neural gating in subliminal awareness of being in the dream state. My dream also features the common water lowering waking symbolism. The whale appears as the image from “Pinocchio”; Monstro. This is autosymbolic of the dream self being akin to a marionette, that is, not the real conscious self identity in waking life, though with the potential to be controlled within the dream by the conscious self identity. However, in subliminal recognition of being in the dream state, the whale does not swallow me (which would otherwise be autosymbolism for my dream self being coalesced into consciousness), and instead, passively becomes a largemouth bass as the emergent consciousness factor by way of neural gating.

---

This is a fairly short dream yet with blissful feelings in parts.

Two airplanes, at two different times, supposedly vanish during their long flight. Somehow, which is rather ridiculous, they each had about sixty-five thousand passengers. They were not even any type of special aircraft; just a normal 747, I think. Each airplane was also flying directly above the Arctic region or the Geographic North Pole, supposedly a region of its normal route. The mainstream news comes on reporting on the sixty-five thousand people that had disappeared during the flight. The full story is not seemingly revealed in the news, though.

Over time, I consider the one hundred thirty-thousand people that went missing. I later realize that my wife and I must have been on one of the airplanes (the first, it seems). At first, it doesn't seem to make sense. I decide that the people who supposedly vanished did not actually vanish but achieved some sort of closeness to the Source which made them different somehow; not invisible, yet somehow not seen since (by "normal" people).

I see imagery of two silhouettes, mostly from the sides, which seems to be my wife and me (my right side and my wife's left side). Arms move outward and it seems to be some sort of intimate communication but not set to a particular location. There are no locational features or awareness if it is inside or outside. I consider creating some sort of pirate broadcast that reveals the truth about the one hundred thirty thousand people who were now linked to the Source. It doesn't seem that feasible, though, because people might not be able to understand it. I am not sure what exactly happened. Even if the people phased into a different form that could not be detected by others (even though they could interact with each other), the planes would likely have landed, though, just seemingly without the passengers. So, I am not sure if the planes and passengers "disappeared" or only the passengers "vanished" (without knowing of their "condition" until later) while the planes then landed - apparently the pilots did not "vanish", I think. This is not fully clear in afterthought. It may also be some sort of coverup where the authorities know what happened but will not tell the public.

For some reason, this all seems to be a good thing, that is, a positive experience (for the now "hidden") for all on the flights.

Morning of February 27, 2014. Thursday.



I am on the porch of my sister Marilyn’s house in La Crosse (who died recently). My youngest son is there (near the left of the front room’s doorway) but he does not do or say much. There is an armchair to the left of the doorway. My sister Marilyn is only there very briefly near the south end of the porch (farthest left of the doorway). My sister Carol is also there, seemingly younger and healthy (she had passed away prior to Marilyn). She is talking in a fairly fast way as she had in real life. She had a heart attack in real life at a fairly young age (especially for a female), but this was not directly related to her death. I think she is mostly talking about how to communicate with other deceased relatives in the dream state, particularly brother Jim.

Time passes, and my brother Jim appears (who had also died). He appears fairly young and jovial. Prior to this, I had heard an unusual tonal “whooshing” in my left ear in three stages, which seemed to indicate he would appear soon (somewhat akin to a phone ringing, I suppose). He just appears out of nowhere on the middle of the porch. I feel very happy. He gives me three bear hugs though calls me by my surname instead of my first name (something he never did in reality - my surname is different due to having a different father - his father had died as a result of an accident while falling asleep at the wheel or so I was told). My brother-in-law is the only one who ever called me by my surname only, every now and then. My sister Marilyn also had a routine where she called him (my brother-in-law; her husband) by his last name when she could not seem to get his attention when he was commonly blankly “frozen” to the television.

The part with my brother Jim is the most vivid and somewhat exhilarating, with a very happy and enriching mood. It is very good to see him even though it is only a dream. Even when alive, he always appeared in my dreams more than other relatives (excluding my parents) other than sister Marilyn.

An offset scene from this dream (prior to these events on the carport) relate to my sister Marilyn (who had not appeared for very long in the carport scene). There are two somewhat disjointed parts. There is a scene where Marilyn discusses that a vest I made (not much like the one I made in real life) is not legal. It is not legal due to not using a certain kind of gemstone that has been “approved” by one (apparently snobbish) department of government bureaucracy. (Of course, in reality, this is rather absurd as more and more deception and fraud in businesses unfolds as time goes by and hardly anything is ever done.) Supposedly, the gemstones in the partial “vest” (which is a bit more like a woven, mostly woolen “breastplate” that ties up in the back) are not valuable enough to include in a hobby or project even if not put up for sale. These gemstones are in an equidistant squarish arrangement (about one and a half inches apart in each direction) and somewhat of a darker cyan shade, over most of the front. I do not think they are really “wrong” for the project, just not “allowable” by bureaucracy - for example, as a comparison, only being able to use real diamonds in clothing rather than rhinestones, regardless of any claims or actual usage of the clothing in any venue.

Somehow, the above implications are connected to a confusing series of events. Firemen and police are involved. I believe I hide my “unapproved” vest in the basement as well as noticing some sort of weird narrow ramps (two smaller ones, unconnected with each other) in place of the floor’s trapdoor (located in the bathroom as in real life), which I have trouble with. There also seems to be something about a package delivered to the wrong address. I am not really sure why firemen would assume the role of postal inspectors or gemstone appraisers at apparently the same time. I pretend to be otherwise delayed in the bathroom while trying to align the ramps to the floor. It does not make much sense. (In real life, I made the vest in sewing class in middle school where there were only a few other males.)

Later, there is some sort of Keystone-Kops-like misadventure. A female officer is chasing around an artificial (robotic) cat, which is causing problems with traffic and causing firemen to get stuck in trees during attempted rescues (whereas the robot cat just climbs quickly back down each time a firemen is “stuck” in a particular tree). The officer calls the cat a “bot”. Confusion ensues in a highly impersonal way.

As usual, this dream had precognitive layers. Firemen actually did visit our house shortly after my dream but it was related to something concerning the neighbor’s place (of which we had known nothing about). No firemen or fire inspectors had ever been to any of our homes before in all the years I had lived in Australia and also, I had rarely dreamed about firemen in my lifetime.

Morning of February 26, 2014. Wednesday.



Due to a bad cold (first one in years) I was “locked” into a tremendously long and epic dream that seemed to go on for hours. It was too long to post every detail, but will summarize a few more interesting scenes.

A treasure hunter and I go through several adventures in America, it seems, to get a map, a couple keys, and other devices that will supposedly allow access to treasures in at least two locations. The map seems to suggest that one treasure is in a “lost graveyard” (apparently tribal and in an Africa-like location) but there is also an idea it could be in a cavern or deep forest or even in someone’s yard (or possibly in the middle of a public street or venue in an urban area - which would prove to be difficult to get access to). We discuss the legends behind these lost treasures which are mostly old coins from another century.

Because of tentativeness and delay on the part of the other treasure hunter/leader, I get very annoyed (after a long tirade of verbal abuse on my part) and decide to go off on the quest on my own. The others give me all they have regarding a potentially successful outcome including an enhanced mapping of some areas. However, two others decide to come with me (over time, though, they eventually become lost, as I end up on my own again). The two others seem to be old male classmates, Roosevelt I and Ray G (whose birthday was just recently). They seem to reflect a sort of 70s style in dress and hairstyle and one reminds me vaguely of Flip Wilson. At this point, we seem to be going down the steps at the King Street boarding house. My denunciation of the supposedly well-known treasure hunter and adventurer seems to create an atmosphere that he is little more than an average person with no real interest in new discoveries or with any inherent bravery towards the unknown.

The areas I travel through seem to be very unusual in how they somehow connect as a whole and in other ways, are like several different countries (including Africa, Japan, Australia, and the USA), rather in intriguing incongruous clusters, reminding me a lot of Disney World in Florida or perhaps Busch Gardens (I have been to both places in real life) - or more like a combination of both. The detail is remarkable.

In a restaurant (at least one wall open to the outside), I notice a partial setup (not strong or large enough to walk or climb on - more like a staircase railing without the actual staircase) that leads out and up to a cave-like entrance near the ceiling. I discuss features of the area with the female (unknown) owner. Apparently, most parts of that area of the town (or large recreational area) is closed to the public for now. Still, I will find a way to go wherever I want and announce this fact when necessary.

There is a small building that represents a collection of shrunken heads and other objects. The outside of the building is painted in mossy greens and browns and 1930s style circus art. It may be a public bathroom in part.

I am following one of the security guards (female, unknown) to see if she will unlock a door whereby I can get to the next area. At this point, I am closer to the first treasure area. I come out in a hall and notice she goes through a doorway. I go through the doorway and notice a very fetid scent. It is the dung of a large animal - several piles are about on the ground. It turns out that I am in a mostly circular cage that arcs around much of the building section. A large male rhinoceros approaches, charging me. I punch it in the upper part of the face as it comes within reach, and knock it unconscious. An animal-trainer yells at the security guard for going into the building. I tear through the cage as if it was paper and am in a new area.

A mime (in a black top hat and minimal makeup) doing some sort of combination of acted-out, pantomime “magic act” (with no props of any kind) and incidental dancing, I decide to lift into the air with some sort of power of levitation by waving my right hand. He goes about twelve feet in the air, then I drop him. However, he is not only not hurt, but seems to have enjoyed the act, as if he will then have a much larger audience. (In fact, more people begin to watch him.) “Did you see that?” he yells (speaking for the first time ever in any of his acts) as people gather around.

There is a section that seems to be made of small concentration camps of about five different cultures, primarily African and Filipino, but also Brazilian, and in a seemingly ancient tribal state. (In afterthought, I am wondering if these were real concentration camps or some sort of crowded living display of the past in the “park”). I walk past the area and end up near the other end. All of the people of all ages are extremely crowded in an obviously unhygienic way - so crowded, in fact, they cannot move from whatever area they are standing or seated. An older man of about seventy in mostly only a loincloth (but with some arm-jewelry) is seated (in informal cross-legged meditative style) near the middle area of the end (and with mostly younger males, probably relatives) and I decide to offer my “magic” and help. (I seem to have the ability to manifest food and other things, I think, and to transform some things.)

“Magandang hapon po. Kumusta?" I go on to speak in some sort of mixed-up Tagalog and complex gibberish and he seems impressed in some ways that I know his language so well (recurring), but does not want any of my help or magic for the group of people he seems to represent. I guess they "prefer” to live as they do - overcrowded, continuously hungry, and poor (or perhaps not, but just the decision of one man speaking for all - which is not a realistic or fair way to look at things, even though fairly common in movie scenes and in some real-life situations). I walk on.

There is a large hill upon which is a thick forest. The place is “closed” to the public, though. It is not the area where the treasure is at any rate, though I think it may have potential. It is in the middle of more carnival-like areas and small restaurants, most closed for the season. There are old graveyards which are also park-like (recurring) but I do not investigate.

Finally, I come to the area where one treasure is supposed to be. It is not a graveyard, cavern, or forest as originally envisioned. It is an open area in town (a closed outside museum setup, I think, but a few security guards and maintenance workers are walking about) with a large old-fashioned 1930s commercial sewing machine on display. Oddly, it is hanging down to about six feet from the ground on a platform from a setup of cables. Using the map, I try to determine where the treasure itself is to be found. However, the features do not match correctly. The sewing machine has nine main features and the map outlines eight. Also, one device or key I have does not interact with or fit into any feature of the antique sewing machine. This means it is either the wrong location, or the map is fake. I look through the machine after pulling it lower, taking apart some of it, but find no gold or silver coins. A manager of the display seems very upset but I magically restore everything to perfection. There is a loud humming sound and a feeling of achievement and completion and everyone is glad nothing was really damaged.

Soon, either John Larroquette or Alec Baldwin (could never tell them apart) appears in black as a sarcastic villain/nemesis (or competing treasure seeker), almost reminiscent of Mandrake the Magician, showing two old and very valuable silver coins (from the nineteenth century, I think - not sure of the exact type) he had just found, speaking in a glib but somewhat childish and patronizing way - apparently worth the “ridiculous” amount of ten million dollars and apparently the target of one of the maps, though I thought I had the only one. He rubs them between his fingers. I believe one is (original value) a ten-cent coin and the other fifty cents. I have other things to find, however.

The main theme of this turned out to be precognitive (the usual, of course) or remote-viewed or “postcognitive” (or even related to group telepathy) or whatever you want to call it (“Universal Mind” is what I call the Source for the most part - always “playing” in my dreams since earliest memory, sometimes to the point of annoyance). As I was finishing the last sentences here (in the last paragraph), my wife told me (without knowing my dream’s plot) that she just saw something on television where someone found an old tin of coins (in the USA) supposedly worth ten million dollars.

In afterthought. A couple more things I have contemplated. It is likely that the location was mainly integrated with Disneyland in California, the state where the treasure was actually found. My dream was quite specific in the “eight features” (shown as compartments on the map). In reality, a news article says the coins were found in eight metal cans.

Morning of February 25, 2014. Tuesday.



I am in Cubitis, but there seems to be a division set at the eastern end of the carport that implies two different “worlds” or dimensions. It is an unusual scene. There is a repeating event where the living room, which is now some sort of (unknown) business office, fills up with water and drowns everyone and then dissipates. In fact, there is an unusual impression that this happens everywhere in the world around the same time (where all rooms in all buildings are suddenly filled with water) on a continuous basis. This is not related to any God or even to nature, I do not think; maybe some sort of impersonal universal cycle or an act of time itself. There is also a strange notion that mankind had never created or invented anything (or rather, this is how it is to be, little by little, upon each mass drowning and “reversal”); that technology does not exist, because people will not accept the experience of something in a dream (or of seeing a potential future) that they had not known in real life. I am not quite sure what the story is. Even the buildings look more primitive at one point. It is mainly some sort of cycle of man’s inventiveness being “reversed” and even the connection to the Source is being undone in most ways each time.

I later go into the backyard through the “gateway” implied by the east end of the carport. From that perspective, it is more like my real childhood family home in Florida and seemingly early afternoon.

I look up and notice large white egrets standing about on the roof of the carport. In the past, there were sometimes threatening implications with this type of bird (especially darker or larger herons) but these seem nonthreatening. It is likely mating season, as they are gathering in a group and seemingly doing “dances” for each other. Some of them are soon on the ground, as tall as I am, and I almost seem a token part of their group and rituals. I move about with the dancing egrets. There is a strange closeness and an almost sensual nature in the movements at some points. One bird even seems to be my beautiful wife for a time, in some sort of transparent harem-like outfit with sheer “wings” (somewhat cloak-like) pulled out from the side. A couple times I am clearly aware of how their wings are out and I am holding the wingtips as one would hold hands when moving in a circle or line. It seems very realistic rather than cartoon-like or artificial in any way.

There are eventually a couple more (unknown) people in the backyard. We go to the southeast corner of the yard and notice a few smaller birds and animals. There are a couple of skunks that are also sort of “dancing”, moving in somewhat of a zigzag pattern, remaining side-by-side. They are very small but with seemingly coarse fur and seemingly identical in appearance other than being indistinguishably male or female. We watch them for awhile. An old green arm chair is sitting at a random angle near the weedy area back from the train tracks. It may be a home to some of the animals. (In real life, a skunk lived under a refrigerator door in that area for a time).

The mood from the second part of the dream borders on bliss in contrast to the first part which seemed to relate that mankind “had nothing” or would never connect to the Source again to invent new products and such - even the idea of synthesis does not seem possible, as if the mind was only a cycle of repeating memory and nothing else - thus the human race cannot create, “solve”, or move forward in any way - which would eventually mean that even designing a new house would not be possible. There is a strange idea that the scene will repeat without the person having remembered being drowned each prior time (and seems to relate to the selective amnesia people develop with regards to supposed paranormal or unexplainable events). This may or may not be related to being “swamped” by paperwork and repeating the same (at least systematically) tasks each time in office work (except perhaps with less accuracy each time). However, there is also the idea that many people do not use their creative energies because of not truly believing they exist. The time period in the first section cannot be identified. It does not seem familiar at all.

Night of February 24, 2014. Monday.



This seemingly night-long dream sequence keeps repeating at about four different levels. They consist of different ideas but flow in a seemingly important established “system”. Dreaming of a consistent repeating system (often related to a precise physical position you need to be in - or series of positions), “adjusting” to it, and moving through it again, is a fairly common type of dream since earliest memory, though I have never heard anyone else talk about it much. Sometimes it is blissful, other times a bit irritating and repetitive. Sometimes it relates to supposedly going into the “exact same dream” again from where you left off as long as several years ago. It even seems to have something to do with certain folds of the blanket (at certain locations) at times.

The main aspects here…I am trying to mentally emboss a design on the side of the wardrobe. I believe there are several false awakenings. It is like two somewhat oval emblems side by side that have different languages or some such. There is some sort of exotic writing on each, but both different. The one on the right does have something that vaguely resembles a fancy cursive “W”, though, with other smaller patterns. I guess it looks a bit like two different car logos jammed incongruously together.

Also, at times, I am trying to mentally work out the alteration of a waveform and keeping its exact same musical qualities no matter how the tempo is altered (there is software that does this but most is very unsatisfactory - adding annoying and obvious artifacts and obvious “stretching” nuances, especially with drum tracks). It is something like changing the tempo from 115 bpm to 70 bpm and working out the proportion downward by dividing the original by 12 (based on the 12 notes in one octave), in the formula (in this case only) being 70/115 = ?/12, which would supposedly indicate moving 7.3 half-tones (in a granular construct) down to keep the nuances exact. I have not tested this yet, so do not know if it is a viable idea - I have done similar work quite often before, but went by ear mostly. It does not sound very viable - it would be more along the lines of distance from source pitch by percentage, as tempo is not directly related to frequency (in Hz). I know the old sampler keyboards from many years back simply changed the speed of the wave sound, though (both faster and slower, for the entire pitch range), but this was too artificial-sounding (to the point of absurdity - but a nice useless toy for some “musicians”, I guess) to be of much use.

Also, with other several false awakenings, I am mentally creating some sort of “wind tunnel” through the middle of the bed, about a foot up. This has something to do with getting rid of my bad cold (I have not had much of a cold or flu in years - regardless of all the foreign backpackers coming and going to the illegal “hotels” on our street - and did not even feel the “entry” of this one as I usually do). It will supposedly work by sucking up aspects of the virus and pull them into a different dimension.

Through all of this, I am doing some sort of horizontal “slow-motion dance” over an hour or two, whereby my body needs to be in exact positions to maintain the work I am supposedly doing (related to the other three imaginary scenes). I think I am doing this in real life a few times, other times it is only from within my dream.

Morning of February 23, 2014. Sunday.



This was a very long and vivid dream which became “too lucid” at one point. I will mostly summarize the main scenes.

One primary part in the first section unfolding was based on some sort of knowledge about the moon changing position in a rapid, shifted path. I am outside with a relative, I believe my brother-in-law. Eventually, the event begins to unfold, but there does not seem to be a potential of Earth being severely altered or destroyed as was the original concept. The full moon is moving from right to left, horizontally, the path about sixty degrees inclination from our view, and leaving equally bright afterimages of its previous positions, an eventual total of about six closely clustered afterimages of the same general appearance as the moon. This does not continue in theme in any way.

Later, I am in a room watching at least three people (one of them - the clearest - is Colm Meaney, another Hilary Swank, the other Alexander Siddig) hanging various pictures on the wall which are old-fashioned in some ways and modern in others (of an average of about six by eight inches). They are probably about eighty percent Art Deco. They seem a bit too close together on the wall to be an eye-pleasing arrangement as a group - a total of at least seven framed pictures, the frames nearly touching in a couple cases, and two rows in horizontal lines, the right bottom area “empty” if the array is considered as four by two. A couple of times, I create an additional framed picture of my own, hovering in the air before me, and without touching it at all, I quickly float it to the wall (with some sort of “magical” motions of my hands) to hang it near the others, in the lower right corner each time. There is a vague notion that I will alarm the others with my “magic”, but it passes without any major concern or even notable surprise. Minor criticism follows from the others in regard to my input as well as their own setup (such as Colm saying “Well, I think…” and Hilary saying “But I don’t think…” and Alexander saying “Well, I don’t really think…”), going on about the images and their location and orientation to each other (in an artistic sense), and so on, but there is no drama or eventful interaction or communication.

There are a lot of scenes without incident that relate to the “enchanted forest” from the old Harvey comic books. I would say that the dream’s orientation is mostly to the east as is often the case. The “devil” becomes a character, though “he” is only a more creative version of “Grandpa Blaze” from the Hot Stuff comic books and not an overall threat. (He is referred to as “Uncle Blaze” by a couple characters.) However, there is some sort of conflict involving him and mostly human-sized fairies, anthropomorphic animals, and some other minor characters.

I am eventually with some other “magical” characters and seated, facing east. It is like a larger version of the curb at North Monroe, yet with features of the shed (in its complete form) at Cubitis farther back to the west. Soon, some sort of large butterfly, but with wings “full of holes/"with cut-out areas” moves about near us. After a time, it is more like a sheet of paper that has been cut into a complex pattern similar to those I did many years ago - not the paper snowflake ones, but where the fold was different and the result being mostly rectangular with one part being totem-pole-like in silhouette. The pattern is somewhat like that of a doily at times but with more squarish symmetry than center-focused (or by radial symmetry). I catch and hold onto it as others watch. Soon, however, it transforms into a “sheet” of fire. I let it go just as the fire expands with a sort of explosive continuity and it flutters a bit and eventually transforms into Grandpa Blaze (the thinner version). He is soon apparently defeated (or ousted) by forest animals.

Later on, I am in an elevated area somewhat like an isolated larger portico (with Greek features) looking down over valleys and villages, though some buildings are higher up near cliffs and mountain ridge areas. I become extremely lucid and almost overly focused but am eventually concerned about my being “locked” within the dream location even though the area is beautiful, even heavenly. I start focusing on my breathing a bit too much, which actually makes the dream more and more vivid and “solid”. I keep saying, “wow, look at that” regarding the scenery. My voice becomes so loud and clear, I begin to have concern that I am actually shouting in real life and probably being annoying in that case. Instead of, say, jumping from the cliff and flying around or interacting with other characters, I am annoyed for some reason and concerned about my real sleeping body’s physical orientation (a fairly common event). The clarity is a bit too extreme to be just a dream, it seems, and is not a representation of anything I had projected into in any session to my memory (I am amazed by the level of detail in fictional not-seen-before scenery that the mind so commonly produces - the type that shows no sign of otherwise being a composite).

Eventually, I start throwing myself around like an idiot to shake myself out of the dream as I sense it is getting later (late morning on Sunday) and I already had an extremely long erotic adventure earlier in the night in a previous dream. It takes several attempts to “deny” the “reality” of the scenery. I do not normally deliberately do this (especially in a non-threatening dream), but, due to a combination of having the first cold in several years (with a slightly swollen throat which altered my breathing in the dream) and it being later in the morning (along with a false concern of needing to go to the store which closes early - but my wife had already gone), I guess that was partially why.