Blue_Opossum

Morning of January 11, 2014. Saturday.



Throughout my life since earliest childhood, it has been typical for me to have an average of at least one fairly vivid fire dream per week (but usually environmental or on the outside of my body, not internal) - not quite as often as water dreams (but both of which seem to greatly enhance vividness, even lucidity). Recently, they have increased dramatically (the last one being of walking up a burning staircase similar to the scene from “The Changeling”). There are a few different types of fire dreams, including some of very realistic fire and some of a more bluish “cool” fire-like form mixed in with the normal orange flames that has a more positive presence.

In this last otherwise uneventful dream, I am living in Cubitis yet again (with my wife and family). The neighbor’s house to the south has recently been vacated. The very fact that the house is now without occupants causes a fire to start mysteriously (without needing a person to be involved in any way), yet “automatically” as if there is some sort of rule or likelihood that a house must spontaneously catch on fire as soon as there are no people living in it for a few days or so (not sure of the time required). (During a time in La Crosse years ago, vacant boathouses were being burned deliberately, both apparently officially as well as illegally.)

I am looking out the window and watch mostly their carport and part of the front of the house burning for several minutes (after only sensing it will start up with no signs of fire to that particular point), making no attempt to call the fire department for some reason, almost as if it is meant to be, like some sort of natural, expected, and common event. There is only a vague sense of concern that our house might also catch on fire (as the flames become quite large and almost a bit horizontal at some points - the houses are fairly close together as well), but it does not dominate my dream at any point. There is still a vague idea that they have not completely moved out yet and may return to attempt to pick up one or two more things, as I think I see a cooler and a bit of fishing gear on the northern side of their carport, but it looks like it will just all burn up, at least on the inside (being a concrete block home with knotty pine and plain wood panels in only some of the rooms).

Night of January 10, 2014. Friday.



I am in a small room reminiscent, for some reason, of the first part of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven”. An elderly Caucasian male wearing reading glasses is working on a problem. I have seen this before. I look at his desk. A (mostly white with triangular spots) cookie jar in the form of an owl is overturned on a higher shelf to his left. He is writing equations.

“It is two”, I say, “or, if you keep going, two two two two…or if you want…twenty-two.”

“Stop it!” he says. “I can’t get there. I can’t. I won’t! I don’t want to know it all!" (This reminds me of some sort of odd blend of the last part of "The Keep” and “The Changeling” which are otherwise completely unrelated other than there being an annoyed elderly man making a choice between two things.)

I show him some patterns, mostly only personal symbols gathered over a lifetime. “Look, it is Seventy-Seven Sunset Strip." He nods. "My wife’s name is Zsuzsanna…the seven is a seven on a plane, becoming a Z, sort of like the mirrored twos being the heart on the plane, and there are two sevens. The audio reversal of seven is nevus, which means Yin has a seven-shaped scar above her iris - well, on her eyelid. So…Two Zs and two Ss…Zsuzsanna…”.

“Plane?” he asks. “Yes, it’s plain to see,” I say sarcastically. “Plane,” he ponders. Suddenly a woman in the blue and gold Chiquita Banana outfit, shaking shakers and doing a sort of partial tango (in positioning) appears, singing “the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain” twice, before walking into the wall like a ghost. “What the f- was that?” he says (as Melvyn) quickly. “I don’t know,” I reply, “it’s your dream…” Then he is Ian.

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?” he asks, as Ian, “That’s from Edgar Allan Poe…”

“No, it isn’t,” I reply, “it’s from Alice…”

“No!” he cuts me off, slapping his right fist on the desk.

“Actually, the audio reversal of two is ‘hoot’,” I say, pointing to the owl and feeling quite silly. “Hoot hoot hoot.”

“There are kids in the beds!” he says worryingly as Bill (exactly as in the Twilight Zone movie scene). “That is Oliver and Lorenzo, two of my sons,” I say. I can hear their laughing through the walls.

Then I decide to become more serious and review what I know, but he ignores me. I start to say “Two two Timothy two two twenty-two white horse spirit two two” to open the gate to the higher hidden levels of continuity and to morph everything randomly (to a point). “The gate to the higher levels is f-kity f- f- f-kity f-” (censored) he says casually, as Ian.

“No it isn’t,” I laugh. “F and K are somewhat outliers which is why the lowly use those words so often to stay on the lower planes. Just divide any English paragraph into any other one anywhere and you should start to see it.”

“What about the two Zs in Zsuzsanna?” he says sarcastically. “That’s the name of an outlier if I ever heard one.”

“Very clever,” I say, “but the two Zs are actually implying twenty-two." He cannot win. I continue speaking fractal entropy in discernible English "code” (mostly “two two two…”) and the room starts to dissolve in dust-mote-like sparkles and yellowish fire but I am in warm blue light. Suddenly it’s the male voice of the elderly man from the Twilight Zone movie (Bill Quinn, deceased April 29, 1994) from the “Kick the Can” story. He wants to come with me as I start to age in reverse, being younger, as in the movie, but I tell him that he cannot and am holding a “blue flaming sword of truth”. It is kind of an eerie scene, I suppose. The other two during the “revolving character” transitions were Melvyn Douglas (died August 4, 1981), and Ian McKellen, still alive.

“dream journal synchronicity” tag added because of this post being after mine: http://www.dreamjournal.net/journal/...ream_id=190752

Morning of January 10, 2014. Friday.



I go into “another universe” somehow. This other universe has a planet like Earth, but it also seems as if I am back in time, as people are primarily cavemen. However, they are seemingly “civilized” cavemen for the most part - living in little houses all in a row in some areas. There is also a very small population of them, perhaps not even twenty on the entire planet, and all gathered in one warmer region (as they do not have fire or even seem to know what it is).

I meet and have long conversations with either the leader or the most intelligent of the cavemen. He is aware that I am different than everyone else but is not sure of my origin or where I am from for some time (and likely does not know by the end of my dream). We talk about a lot of things and I get the idea that he is learning a lot from me, which will eventually cause the population to be a bit larger - especially regarding survival skills which we also talk about. They seem to be mostly living on a small type of red berry that grows at the edge of the woods near their row of houses (which are in an open area). There is also a perfect line of peach trees across the front of the row of houses. These peach trees are lived in somehow by smaller baboons (there are more baboons than cavemen and some are walking about on the ground). I notice a lot of peaches on the ground, so neither the cavemen nor the baboons are eating them all. It is like a government housing district where all the little houses look so much the same, you would probably have difficulty finding your own house. It reminds me of an area in La Crosse called “the shoe homes” (actually Schuh Homes, I believe) for those lower income people - it would take a lot of extra effort just to find a certain house, as there are several streets with identical houses in all directions. I could imagine a drunk trying to find his way back to his house as even the street corners all looked the same.

I guess technically they are not cavemen - as they do not actually live in caves, but they have the look of the comedic stereotype for the most part. The man I talk to is only wearing a small dark animal fur around his groin area. Over time, he tries to understand more about where I am from - as he does seem educated in quantum physics, unusual theories, astronomy, and so on. I am almost not sure myself (I am not lucid in anyway, oddly enough, even though I seem to be aware I am “visiting them from my world/reality”). I tell him that I am from a different universe, then say a different time, implying both, but he is not sure of the dynamics of such a potential and it seems very difficult to explain in any way. I teach the cavemen how to make fire and how to hunt to some extent. Over time, I believe there is an apple orchard in one area, close to the row of houses. The baboons do not cause any trouble, but do seem a bit dirty and seem to render the peaches less edible or less abundant overall in some ways. I almost get the sense that the other man could learn to use a computer, but they do not really have any inventions yet - but somehow have the perfect little houses to live in, in the “middle of nowhere”.

Although my dream seemed to have peaches, there may also be a play on “apricot” as apricots have become a sparsely recurring aspect of my more recent dreams. It could be relative to a play on “ape-ricot”, not sure, but it seems a conscious comedic association.

Morning of January 10, 2014. Friday.



We are living in some sort of composite of mostly Barolin Street (same directional orientation) and the place in Maryborough on Cheapside Street, but with other differences at times (including the entrance to Stadcor Street with the outside stairs). At first, there seems to be some sort of drama with a rowdy neighbor from the halfway house visiting someone in a separate (fictional) apartment in back of where we live (which looks more like the Barolin Street area at that point). This second male, the friend of the one in back of our place who seems to be in the shower, is yelling about the score of an ongoing soccer game while standing outside in our driveway. The other male makes gasping and apparent drowning sounds (as the shower is also unlikely louder from where I am), but nothing related to that matter continues.

There is a scene where I am trying to record on a cassette tape and the player keeps “eating” it (recurring). I try to fix things up, but the tape keeps going out in different directions in figure-eight patterns. Parts are very realistic with regard to the capstan and such. I get a vague impression that one of the cassettes is my sister’s.

Later, I am in the bedroom with my wife Zsuzsanna. She is lying on our bed (which is south to north unlike the real-life west to east orientation) but I am standing near the north doorway to the hallway that was there in real life (there is also an additional fictional door to the east, which seemingly opens out directly to a downward flight of stairs and gives a feeling of being on the second floor of a building - the house was one floor but high-set in real life but did not have higher stairs in this manner), but something unusual is going on. Another male is in the room complaining about Zsuzsanna’s “supernatural” beauty because it was apparently the cause of his accident. He narrates his story (I am not sure if he is a ghost, or somehow got lost on his way somewhere else). “I was driving down the road at night and this female steps out from the wayside and I lost control of my stick shift…”

“Yes, my wife has had that effect on males,” I say sarcastically. For a moment, he almost seems like an (deceased?) “alternate husband” of my wife’s (although she never had any other long-term relationships or marriages) and seems somewhat disparaging, but not violent in any way. For awhile, he stands around not moving, almost like a statue. Other men appear eventually - a total of about five or six.

Next up comes Burl Ives (in a white suit, and with a cane and top hat) in an objurgatory stance and mood. He starts talking about how Zsuzsanna called up the giant turtle and crashed his helicopter into the “blue lagoon”. He continues, “If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget that big snow storm a couple of years ago.” (This is actually a recurring idea from other dreams where a type of siren or ghost was causing a blizzard, but is actually his line from “Rudolph”.) “No, no, no, that’s Sam the Snowman, not Doctor Paulis,” I say, but more to the wall, “You’ve got your roles mixed up and…you have snowballs!”

“Oh fer…you’ve got a screw loose Magnus!”, he shouts and turns to waddle down the stairs. I want to be with Zsuzsanna in private, but these idiot males standing around are starting to try my patience. The truck driver is still standing in the same spot, staring at the painting of a pirate ship on the west wall which now seems to have a bit of water coming out from the bottom of the frame and running in about four streams of differing lengths down the areas between the vertical wall boards.

Another younger male (closest to the corner of the room) narrates…“I was near shore and this young gypsy girl of unearthly beauty steps out from a caravan, and raises her arms. I thought for a moment she held a lantern to guide my way, but then…my ship was lost on the rocks…” (I briefly reflect on how my wife’s mother directly drank seawater in real life and actually bragged about how healthy it was during the time she was also a vegan, yet her last son was born autistic though has somehow fully recovered in later years.)

“You’ve certainly got your prerogatives in order,” I say sarcastically. “Yes, one girl standing in the night, you are distracted, or maybe it was a Playboy magazine - those oil tankers out there having oil spills that wipe out half the planet…watch out for that bit of venison on your plate…it may be the end of the world as you know it…”

The song “Play Crack The Sky” is sung by a transparent temporary character before my dream moves back towards my own direct focus again.

The most vivid part unfolds. I squeeze my right hand lightly into a fist and this somehow causes the male to rise in the air, about three feet off the floor. He starts to choke and seawater drips from him as he hovers in the air a few feet from me. I turn to walk and somehow he floats in the air behind me and I manage to get him out of the room without touching him. The other men look on approvingly, thinking I had healed him, and line up for me to “heal” them as well. I am glad to oblige…

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Morning of January 9, 2014. Thursday.



This is fairly short in detail, but not that short a dream. Five of my friends from my school days have died (possibly at the same time), including males Steve W and Bill W. There may be only one female in the group - I am mostly only certain of two of the male identities (perhaps a third being John C, who swallowed a tack in fifth grade and he thought he was going to die, but nothing happened to him from that event). I am at a computer at my (seeming) home at one point - I think I am facing south, but it is an unfamiliar apartment. For some reason, my five friends are to be entombed in my house.

I have a small “coffin”, possibly only about three or four feet long, yet somehow all five of the full skeletons fit in the one box longways (not sure why all five are supposed to be put together - they were not related in real life). There is a bit of sadness (not intense) and a vague thought regarding my own mortality. I am to store the “casket” near the computer desk. Logically, to be skeletons, either they had died some time ago (which does not seem to be the case) or some special method was used to both shrink and reduce them to only bone. I also am not even sure if they had been interred elsewhere for some time. This other character (unknown) just shows up and the theme unfolds.

I do notice that their skulls seem a bit “too small” at one point, yet realistically, they were correct size in my dream on afterthought, yet somehow they all still fit full-body in the box. There does not seem to be any logical reason why I am to be the “caretaker” of their bones (other than perhaps that I am the only remaining living one alive of their age or group, or perhaps class regarding a certain grade - unsure). As of this writing, they are all still alive.

In another dream, we are back living at Duffy Street and my father comes by with a few bags of groceries. For some reason, I am not alert to the implications of my dream. Then again, it could have actually been an older version of myself, as, in afterthought, I am not fully sure anymore. Maybe I will look in a mirror twenty years from now and check. The building seemed mirror-imaged (reversed east to west) to its actual design.

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Morning of January 8, 2014. Wednesday.



This is one of those “glowing” dreams (I use the name, as it reminds me of the song “Glow Worm” that my father used to perform, which also used the word “glimmer”) - a type of dream in which everything (even people) seems to be translucent and having light within as well as a viable sensation of bliss and pleasure (both physical and spiritual) - a sort of residual “glimmer” effect in consciousness even for about twenty minutes after waking. These dreams usually seem more multicolored (or of “wrong color”) than so-called ordinary dreams as well. I usually have at least one of these a week since earliest memory but they are often too detailed (or “epic”) or elusive to write about online.

There are two sections to this “glow dream” - the first section relates to being in an unfamiliar seafood restaurant after hours which has about five round tables in one area (although the chairs are not turned up over the tables as would likely be the case in real life if closed - or perhaps I am the janitor and have not completed my work yet). There is an oil painting in a fancy wider wooden frame on the wall, seemingly from the 1800s and of a lobster (recurring). I am trying to determine if it is holding carnations in its claws, as I am not fully lucid (but perhaps twenty-five percent aware). An unknown female is to my right, possibly a “higher entity” or self-reinvented tulpa, though her eyes are copper-colored (slightly shiny and “vibrating” like a “jumping mirror”) sometimes more towards scintillating orange, almost with an unusual revolving and morphing effect (this seems to be directly related to the “kaleidoscope eyes” effect that John Lennon wrote about in “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”). I become aware of a very complex (in terms of the weave) cloth that makes up her white dress, somewhat like a herringbone pattern but with implied alternating directions. There seems to be tiny silvery “flashes” in certain threads here and there, somewhat like the effect of fish scales in sunlight. “Lobster,” I say casually. “What does it mean?” I am speaking more to myself than anyone listening in. There is a sort of feminine giggle, which I realize is my wife - as related to a cassette tape of about twenty years ago (which I listened to again recently), which brings a very blissful sensation, body-wide.

After a time, I find myself in an area outdoors on a white sand beach, but near a jagged bluish-gray (almost metallic) boulder-based area to my right (when facing the ocean). It seems to be near an outdoor restaurant or resort, but the two larger rectangular tables are unlikely set out fairly far from any building and “too close” to the ocean, perhaps (compared to how it would be in real life). I see a very pleasing feminine form moving towards me. It has the “standard” glow dream property of showing several frames of movement at the same time, sort of like moving holographic images superimposed in a linear continuity. Each form seems to be wearing a different erotic outfit (some extremely complex and jewel or tassel-covered) until it stabilizes. It turns out to be a younger version of my wife in a hula skirt (and a lei) of all things, so I assume we are in Hawaii. “Lobsters,” I say, raising a glass I suddenly find in my hand. “Lobsters,” she affirms cheerfully. I focus on lobsters…

Soon, we get our “lobster”. However, it is not actually a lobster but a waist-high sort of dingy robot with hook hands held out horizontally in front of him (for some reason, I get fleeting impressions of a person in a wheelchair with this scene). I get a very strong impression that the robot is confused (but somehow fully human) and that the hook hands represent his status as being in “question mode” - the hook hands (darker/“dirty” silver) being just like question marks - which come out from a larger grayish “arm tube”. These thoughts and realizations last for quite some time, at least five minutes or more. The poor little robot meanders around. It approaches my wife and tries to touch or pull her golden and white lei (which matches her golden and white variegated hula skirt), but cannot come anywhere near reaching that high. It makes very odd baby gurgles and puppy yelping sounds, but with very metallic and hollow tones, reminding me vaguely of R2D2 from “Star Wars”. It continues to meander around and bump into tables (sometimes backing up and bumping into the same table several times as if malfunctioning). We laugh about its random and “confused” state.

I realize more fully that its intent is to express itself in a somewhat diluted “average human” way and it wants to write a revisionist history of me, its “target”. I feel no ill-will as such (though I sometimes do, depending on the environment and in-dream mood, but in this case, it is hard, if not impossible, to be annoyed while in a state of bliss), and even show it to a table and hand it a pencil from the drinking straw (red and white candy cane style with that “accordion-bellows” section for bending down) holder.

“Gack gack gack gack gack,” it writes neatly (but in all uppercase letters). “That’s nice!” I pat the robot on the head and it “barks” and “gurgles” out of seeming frustration of not writing what it intended. It continues to write “gack gack gack” over the page (it is holding the pencil with the hook hand and a thinner section that comes out from the bottom of the tube arm for grip and reminds me of an old-style metallic adjustable table lamp). Finally, it wiggles its arms and leaves the table and “barks” in more loud frustration. Soon, its head seems to be a small model observatory and a telescope comes out and moves about as if it is examining the sky. “It’s spacing out,” affirms my wife, followed by laughter. There are about six other people around, male and female. The robot staggers around - reminding me of a typical drunk in public in their usual discombobulated or drunken stupor that I see all the time on my street.

Finally, I am served lobster on a bed of lettuce. The poor little robot comes over and starts throwing an electrical tantrum, because the lobster is his “brother” (I make the main association with lobster claws and the robot’s hooked hands as well as the exoskeleton). He begins to emit thin smoke, somewhat like the smoke from a cigarette and “barks” and “growls”. Everyone laughs. “This robot thinks it is part of nature and is as far from nature or natural consciousness as something can be,” I say slowly, after about three or four practice attempts. The robot gets very “angry” and spins around, going too close to the rocky area, and falling over and crashing down into the less dense area of the boulders (with a few final somewhat disturbing truncated “barks” and “squeals”). There is a loud sputtering sound, somewhat like a sequence of cheap dud “puffy” caps from a cheap toy cap gun but louder, and a heavier smoke rises. “Nice going, _”. I call him by name, as I become more aware and recognize who he is (or symbolizes). I feel sort of sad that the robot has “died” in such a seemingly purposeless and careless manner and ponder what went wrong in its little robot path in life.

I sit down at the table. Oddly, a nuclear explosion occurs (to the right when looking out at the ocean) being a result of the robot remains (some sort of mechanical nucleus) exploding, but without effect other than causing us to be transparent and skeletal (as with an X-ray) for a very short time before returning to normal. Nothing seems damaged or even moved as we watch the mushroom cloud. “They call it a mushroom cloud…but I think it looks much more like cauliflower,” I say casually (with a brief flash of a lobster holding a small cauliflower head in each claw). One older female is standing in an elegant silvery dress (the only one standing at that point - everyone else is seated at the two tables). “Humans…” she says (ironically in regards to the robot), doing a single quick side-to-side head shake.

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I have added “precognitive” due to some interesting connections with a post that came shortly after mine as well as adding the “dream journal synchronicity” tag.

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Morning of January 8, 2014. Wednesday.



I am in a large building, somewhat like a composite between a residential house and a warehouse, but with library features. There are computers set up here and there near mostly corners.

There is a war going on to the north - which seems a bit “off” as it seems to imply two cultures setting off bombs and such in the same area of where each are otherwise living. It also seems a bit like a part of the north-side of La Crosse. I watch 1940s USA military aircraft fly overheard, dropping strange small doughnut-shaped explosives everywhere, even near their own men, but it is mostly the enemies that are killed. I even see a large loom very close to the building I am in, with about three bodies hanging from it and a couple on the ground. Somehow the loom was supposedly being used to make weapons (which makes little sense). The characters remind me a little of ones from a version of “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves”.

Now and then, there is a slight concern that the bombs will be “too close” to the building, but it is not that much of a worry - and some of the computers seem to be for targeting.

Eventually, a soldier comes in with Usama bin Laden (FBI-based spelling) aka “Osama” (supposedly deceased). In my dream, though, he has a long white beard, yet seems younger. He blows strange “raspberries” at me as a bored, obnoxious child would do. I go into a different room to get something for one of the soldiers and Osama throws four tiny (fictional) “hand grenades” directly at me that he had hidden in his loose garments, so small as to hardly notice the weight hitting me. The soldiers back up, because the explosives are supposedly the most powerful ever made (which means Osama is suicidal here, I guess). They are much like watch batteries (or possibly actually are watch batteries turned into miniature but powerful bombs) with a hole through the center and adhesive on one side (to stick to the clothes of the target, I guess, but not very feasible in the real world due to extremely small surface area), but I note they are also similar to the doughnut-shaped bombs that the airplanes were dropping only much smaller.

I am somewhat annoyed but just fling my arms around, making the “grenades” return to the sender, or rather near his feet. He looks a bit annoyed and surprised at the same time. There is one left on my left arm, which I also fling back. There are no explosions - apparently they only go off when remaining on the target for a certain amount of time (as I believe was the case with the airplane bombs - giving certain soldiers time to make a run for it). There does seem to be a bit of urgency for a short time, but no drama ensues. He is then taken away by the soldiers to be executed. (It is also possible that what he threw at me were I Ching coins, as he briefly seemed to have a Chinese appearance.)

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Night of January 7, 2014. Tuesday.



There are no stronger emotions here; it is mostly of a scenario which I am not actually “in”, although still with deeper depth-perception and within a realistic environment as if perhaps I am floating about in an invisible form. Mostly, it is in a park, on an elevated area, but still with other higher hills around - in late afternoon with a large group of people, many appearing to be wealthy elderly ladies drinking cocktails from regular glasses, but other types of people are about as well.

Mostly, there is the awareness of a trumpeting elephant but with time-stretched and “smeared” (in terms of audio) aspects, a sound I sometimes had in my mind as a child. It repeats a few times. There is no elephant to be seen, though. One of the older women says, “my enemy” regarding the unseen elephant, and this scene is repeated. The elephant’s trumpet seems very close to having the essence of an old-style air-raid siren (but “slowed down” in audio and subtle awareness).

A younger man (in his late twenties, perhaps) with two children on his right, all standing in a clearing of this park (some people prefer the areas with more trees, including the older women) - a younger daughter in a fancy black dress, almost like those you see in ballroom dancing, and her brother to her left (the father’s right side) around the same age in casual clothes. The man has a replica gun in his right hand pointing precisely vertically down at the top of the daughter’s head and she seems completely unaware of this (even though you would think she would feel the touch of it). He clicks it at least once, but it is not a cap gun, just a plastic replica, and it makes hardly any sound. The boy notices this and pretends to be shot himself and falls lightly but gets up immediately (the girl does not seem to notice or care about this, either). People seem almost to be waiting for the end of the world while standing around in this park, but many with a sort of party mentality.

The scene with the replica gun reminds me very vaguely of the final scenes from “The Mist” from 2007 (which has the real gun which is used to shoot his son so the monsters will not get him) but no one gets hurt here.

The elephant never shows up and the world and life goes on. Perhaps it was a practice run. Very uneventful but slightly eerie.

Morning of January 7, 2014. Tuesday.



My family and I seem to be living in a completely unfamiliar larger house in a rural area. Although the environment is not stressful, it still seems somewhat “off” in some ways. It does seem part of a larger one-storey apartment building at times - or two or three buildings very close together or partly connected. It is possible that aspects of this place will turn out to be related to a place we may live or visit (as with relatives) in the future, as that has often been the case in the past (with considerable detail) since earliest memory. There is a point at which I clean up a bit in a back room which seems to be some sort of immediate-outside-access utility room or ground-level open (on two-sides) porch. I pick up a few things and move some potted plants for the most part. There are at least two other older people in the area, a woman and a man (but not living together). Our living area seems to be the biggest, though. Not much happens. I remember a strange argument with an elderly lady that has something to do with getting (and having) more even when one does not want or need more. This is perhaps vaguely related to my wife’s mother, who always spent a bit extra to have a lot more vegetables and fruit, but which always sat around rotting and going to waste. She turned her entire lawns into gardens which then went to weeds and caused problems for the property owners. She even sent us a large box of bananas once (which my wife is allergic to) and they were rotting at the post office. Another time, she wanted to give my wife a large bag of bananas (that were already in a state of decay), but did not seem to know her own daughter’s health history (I guess because she was too busy fabricating it for hospitals and agencies). The idea of having a lot of something which you neither need nor want seems somewhat futile, but the woman in my dream seems to think that is “the” (right) way to live, apparently, an odd twist on “having enough”, I suppose. I feel sort of unusual trying to explain our situation to her (and how we do not want rotten food sitting around everywhere), but I am not sure if she sees me as intelligent.

This, in part, may also relate somewhat to a local grocery store (the only one that does this, in fact, actually the only store I ever saw do this in my lifetime) that tries to sell fruits and vegetables in an advanced stage of rotting (set on shelves in larger plastic bags, often leaking), for not even that much of a markdown. Thus, that one whole side of the store sometimes smells really bad. Can you imagine carrying a large leaking bag of rotting grapes to the checkout and trying to maintain a casual, sane expression, because I cannot.

The other dream related to going to what at first seems like a class reunion. However, I do not know anyone there and they are all much younger than me, so the “reunion” makes little sense. However, it may also be that the newer students are attending the reunion as a sort of courtesy or a celebration of the fact it has been serving the region for so long (as it seems members of the city council are there). There is some sort of yearbook which has very unusual writing in it, including some rather strange and rude paragraphs regarding male genitals (which loosely relates to a real-life event which I will describe at the end of this entry), which one younger male points out in a humorous sense. Time passes and I do not see anyone I actually know. However, it turns out that I am the prom “king” and am paired with LR - she was more like a nemesis in real life in my middle school years. However, I do not see her anywhere, either. I get a vague impression, though, that we will have to go up in front of everyone and that I will have to make a speech. I am not thrilled over the idea of standing up and making a speech, so I decide to leave just prior to when they are announcing the prom’s king and queen. Interestingly, my wife told me that she had been thinking of the movie “Carrie” (with no clues or recent history as such, or making any mention of it to me) which has a paranormal-related prom scene. These “funny” little connections (and seeming telepathy) happen all the time, even steadily after twenty years, sometimes even in a fully conscious state now.

I never went to a high-school prom or class reunion in real life, although I did go to the eighth-grade prom (but not with LR) - and, though I was on two of the lists, did not win any of the titles thank goodness (one for “most talkative’, one for "best-looking”). In real life, at the eighth-grade prom, someone had put on a 45 of Chuck Berry’s “My Ding-a-ling” and the chaperone looked appalled, immediately taking off the record as everyone did a seemingly aggravated collective groan over the act.

Morning of January 7, 2014. Tuesday.



Over the past twenty years, and more so, the past five or six years, I have become more and more “out of the loop” regarding what many people (primarily in mainstream society) are talking about, as if I was on an alien planet - sometimes I try, sometimes I do not - even if they resort to false ideology and clueless (invalid) revisionist history of their target (typical of Internet trolls, of course) - which means nothing, really, but which seems to be all people are capable of at times. This does not disrupt my real life, usually, though, but is an enigma I cannot quite solve. This is also why I do not usually respond to what I would personally call the utterly bizarre - and yet a need over facing the challenges in real life with my wife’s criminally insane mother caused me to go into an active mode for a time, but I have remained passive for the most part - simply because I can easily afford to be and do not have any concern at all of what someone else might think. My dreams are always “informing” me of where I should devote more time, though, as well as the ever ongoing enigmatic composite precognition. In a sense, even the “Pachydermophobiaphobia” dream was quite specific in things (which I did not go into in that particular entry - as my entries are long enough as is, usually). That related to, at one level, a group I belong to that tries to ease the worries of people who are always going on about an impending Doomsday although I am not an admin there and mostly leave it to others to explain things to people whereas I do my usual “jokes”; I mostly just watch in disbelief - rather “the Doomsday of the month” so to speak, and all the scam artists selling people false ideologies. For some reason, the people who believed in all the 2012 Doomsday nonsense are still worried about new and upcoming “Doomsday events” as if they had not learned a thing. So this dream, in part, was combining my old trauma regarding elephants with personal communications on that site with people who are worried about the oncoming (but never arriving) “elephant” - and of course, the trumpet relates to a sign of the Apocalypse.

This dream is fairly short. I see “Under the Dome” - a television ongoing series with more than one season (claimed falsely to be a miniseries by the promoters) written as “Under the Domb”, a play on “Under the Dumb” as I had already seen before. However, in this case, it is actually relating to a second season of what was apparently going to only be of only a few episodes as advertised. This brings back a slightly altered scenario from real-life (but actually only Internet-based) events. It was in regards to two things I saw written by real people on the same page, both of which bordered on almost scaring me with the implications (yes, this happens all the time, but seriously…). This combined loosely with people (adults) out there in the real world that do not actually know what either clouds or wind really are…

The first part related to an attempt to explain to the “real person” (rather than just via a forum) that the picture that was posted showing the positions of the planets and stars (from Earth) was a CGI representation and not meant to have been a detailed painting by a caveman or some such when they honestly asked “how can a picture be that old?” (this phrase actually stayed in my head for days after - it was so strange in its implications of general human ignorance). The other related to a lack of patience on my part when I could not take any more. In real life, I photographed one of my sons doing a science experiment (and I think I have written on this before, so forgive me) with the label of “why isn’t the ice melting?" I did this as a joke, with the answer being "because it is a photograph”. This is because the other person was looking at a person holding an ice sculpture and honestly asked “why isn’t the ice melting?" Being in education is not the reason things like that make my head hurt. It seems really "wrong” to me in ways I suppose others could not imagine.

The other two things I am reminded of before meteors come down and wipe out a camping ground were related to things I read in the newspaper years ago and something I read just recently. The first was one of those letters you read that leave one baffled. Apparently the person thought that water vapor clouds and smoke were exactly the same thing (which I hope I did not imply in writing about my black smoke dream). He actually said that if more people smoked cigarettes, it would rain more (in this region). The other person did not even know what wind was (and indicated such on the IMDb forum regarding the “Under the Dome” series - which again - I had almost forgotten about) and it had to be explained to him; for example hot and cold air meeting and such (which can even be experienced near a radiator to a subtle extent) - as something that does not have to be experienced solely in the great outdoors. At any rate, a cowboy appears and says “look what you’ve done” as the meteors fall with weird lightning (which I absentmindedly try to “catch” like a dropped lifeline a couple times) and wipe out the campgrounds and most of the people (directly related to the “Tonight the Sky Will Fall” theme - where a thinking/aware dreamer causes the end of all things and has to recreate the universe, but with him “playing dead” afterwards). There is the awareness of the Red Rider song “Lunatic Fringe” - one of my favorites by them. However, I see my wife’s glowing (luminous) white figure (like a shadow - but completely white instead) on the horizon, slightly enlarged by about twenty percent. We will be together again in a more enriching way in the “next manifestation of the universe”, it seems (unlike the ending to “Tonight the Sky Will Fall”). Sometimes I approach the wrong subjects at the wrong time out of pure disbelief - and such has been the case since early childhood.

Another “sign” was a movie my wife mentioned just recently in real life regarding a play on “lunatic fringe” - a movie called “The Fringe Dwellers” (which we did not watch) - although it had absolutely nothing to do with the “Chrysalids” theme popping back up again recently - except perhaps in a very subtle way. Without knowing it, my wife’s dream seemed to have the same location as my elephant dream I just recently posted (again, this happens a lot, but often goes unnoticed because it happens so much). “Domb” also seems to be a play on “bomb”.

Morning of January 6, 2014. Monday.



Firstly, there was another weird body dream (the last one being the six-toes one). My nose has troubles. It feels a bit unusual. I eventually move the vomer bone about (the structure is very loose) and it actually seems to fully break (though there was not much left holding it in) and then it all come out like a loose tooth. I am mildly disturbed by this, but not really worried about it to any serious extent. I could probably see a doctor later. After this, I look in a mirror and notice that (dream logic) because my vomer structure is gone (although my nose somehow still looks perfectly normal), my bottom lip is receding and not visible. I am annoyed by my new appearance of having “no bottom lip”, but will have to live with it I guess. (It is still there, but completely tucked under my upper lip.)

Later, I have no money, but owe a whole year of back rent (do not ask how such a thing is possible, as I have no clue; not sure how I have been eating, either). I wander around in an unknown area of La Crosse, heading south, although nothing is that familiar. I think I am going to work for a small retail business or some such. I have no active memory of my real life at any point in the past or present, for the most part, not even much memory/awareness of relatives. I am walking along on an embankment as well as across certain walls and brick fences just off the sidewalk. Eventually, I cannot walk on the walls - as they become narrower and narrower (older recurring) as well as having a few objects in the way here and there. So I sort of lightly float down (a very short distance - only about four feet) to the sidewalk, but do not become lucid with this subtle act of minor vertical “flying”. I end up walking a bit east, and then back to the north. A man at a round table (possibly Morgan Freeman - not sure why I am dreaming of celebrities far more than usual - very unlike me) offers me money - about two hundred dollars. I am reluctant to take it, but eventually am talked into it so I can give my landlady about half. I then end up walking northward again, through some sort of tunnel.

There is a scene that makes little sense in terms of a more realistic outside environment. There is a giant box spring setup (mostly hollow on the underside) outside and across the street from a mostly isolated park - a somewhat desolate area in some ways. The giant box spring is about the size (in area) of the foundation of a small house. (Perhaps it was specially made for some sort of sport.) I am with several unknown younger people. The older car we were in seemed to be having some sort of mechanical problems so we had stopped for awhile. A car with three females goes by, the driver making a comment at one of the other unknowns. Eventually someone shoots at them and it is my obligation to hide the bodies under the giant box spring (one still being alive at the time), closer to an outer isolated higher wall of gray stone, in a section near the edge, where a lot of taller, but wilting weeds are growing between the wall and the long edge of the giant box spring. One of the males (who seems much like the unknown male from the black smoke dream) notices that the box spring is a bit up off the ground in one section, because of the hip of one of the bodies being just a bit too high. He jumps up and down on that area to make it more even. Apparently, members of the public rarely go to that area. It actually does not even seem that dramatic or macabre.

Earlier, there were longer non-lucid dreams of watching the Cowsills perform in various venues, likely due to having watched a lot of older videos of them. There was also one of my own concert dreams (starting off with “Pipeline” as usual) and featuring a banjo player to my right with me playing the bass for the most part, and including the usual songs. “Pipeline”, “Runaway” (Del Shannon), “The Rain, The Park, and Other Things”, “Speak to the Sky”, “Tennessee Flattop box”, “Dear Prudence”, “Ragtime Cowboy Joe” (not usually a part of my dream concert), “Since I Met You Baby”, “Down in the Boondocks”, and several others. Not sure of the song that is playing before it decays.

Night of January 4, 2014. Saturday.



The setting is solely the porch of an older brother’s house in La Crosse (half-brother on mother’s side, Earl) on St. Cloud Street. I have hardly ever dreamt of this particular location, though, even though I had been there quite often. In fact, it took a moment to realize that it was not a composite. The people on the porch include me, a different brother than above (half-brother on mother’s side, Dennis), an unknown relative (but possibly either brother-in-law Verdell or aforementioned brother Earl), and eventually a younger unknown male. There are also people (police or security guards) outside about half a block away at one point, in the last part of my dream.

It is late at night, possibly just before midnight. I hardly ever have dreams about any kind of drug use (especially personal) but this one features some sort of plant that is smoked. From what I have heard/read, I have opposite experiences than others under such conditions and smoking this plant actually makes my dream more and more vivid (and realistic) and stable. I am not one hundred percent sure, but the plant seems to be called “Havarti” (or similar), which is actually a kind of cheese (yet also vaguely similar to my wife’s maiden name). Still, it is not rare for me to have bizarre forms of word misuse in my dreams, as I once dreamt that a “Jacuzzi” (hot tub trademark) was a type of human-like (and somewhat vampiric) monster. I suspect that it may be a corruption of “Havana”, a type of cigar, possibly with an Australian accent corrupting it to “Havaner”.

The unknown male mentions something to Dennis about what he is doing and Dennis seems very annoyed, saying, “There are plants to smoke besides marijuana!“ I actually attempt to smoke a cigarette of the particular plant on my own. What follows is intriguing. After a time, I blow out a cloud of fire and black smoke. Each primarily conical cloud of very thick black smoke is about two feet long and stays in the air in a near-solid but somewhat morphing impression with a narrow "band” of fire directly underneath, but sometimes more around, almost like a piece of rainbow “stuck” horizontally on the underside of the cloud at times. It sometimes vaguely reminds me somewhat of candy corn in afterthought, or perhaps fire agate, and is quite beautiful, each thick “cloud” hovering for a few minutes before dissipating. However, the point/narrower end is opposite to where I am exhaling from and circularly larger near my face, which seems wrong and reverse to what it would be otherwise (similar to if a bullhorn had the larger end towards you).

Each exhale event (which is almost like vomiting but without the unpleasant sensations), which produces the same sort of black cloud and underside-to-circular fire-banding each time, causes a very intense side-to-side vibration in my body and a strange pressure in my head (though the light and thin stream of fire does not burn coming out). (A couple of the clouds do look a bit more like floating holograms of fire agate - even with the "bubbly” surface and eventual morphing shapes.) It is almost like an actual shaking in the environment but restricted to the perception within my body only - I say this because no one else seems to notice any shaking of the porch’s floor or walls. Over time, I seem to smoke about three of these cigarettes with about four or five exhales of each, becoming more stabilized and aware within my dream each time, yet somehow still not being lucid (it is likely too vivid to be seen as a dream, eventually - it is finally easily as real as real life in perceptual terms and body awareness). I am not quite sure what to think but get a slight impression that my body is in a very “high” state of well-being regarding waves of energy moving to their most extreme distances through all tissues and outer muscular surfaces - even all of the integumentary system - very oddly, it also seems my lung capacity is three or four times what it is in real life, which is quite exhilarating when I breathe. I am not even sure why I am doing this. There was a recent dream where a seemingly homeless or poor person was trying to sell me fire agates and a few other types.

Eventually, a young male comes onto the porch. He may be as young as twelve, yet seems to be running from security guards from a business on that street, east of where we are, or perhaps police. He wants to smoke what we are smoking. When he inhales on a full new cigarette, the entire outer surface (except nearest his fingers) becomes suddenly bright red and sizzling with sparking embers - and my brother tells him to take it slowly - but the one entire cigarette had already been used up with that one act of inhaling. There is some talk about why the authorities are after him but it is not quite clear - it may have something to do with being on business grounds after hours or trying to steal something. I eventually relax more and “fade out” from my extraordinarily vivid dream. I am not a smoker (of anything) in real life.

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Night of January 4, 2014. Saturday.



This dream, unknown to me at the time, related directly to my wife Zsuzsanna’s dream and memories, as well as an old photograph negative she had been looking at without telling me.

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I am passive, tolerant, and patient in this dream. (I am not lucid, but it is rather vivid.) I vaguely remember thinking of manifesting a potential scene of romance and love-making, though I do not initiate it. My surroundings seem “wrong” somehow, as if I had come to be in the middle of some sort of fiasco created by a religious person. I am in a public hall at a small gathering of perhaps twenty people or more. It seems to be a group of people in an informal (bucolic) prayer meeting, perhaps in the late 1800s at first, but is more likely in the 1970s. The partially gray-haired preacher is directly to my right and reading from a personal book of sermons (not the Bible) and others are following along and repeating some of his words and phrases. There is no singing. I am seated in the front row and there are three rows of plastic chairs (not pews) I am aware of, of about eight or nine people each. There are also a few people seated on the floor in front of us near the first row only.

I am not one hundred percent sure as to what is in the area before us - as to whether it is a stage (which I do get an impression of and it seems logical). I am not sure as I never look in that particular direction at all (other than the immediate foreground where the girl and a few other people are sitting informally on the floor). There does seem to be an implication of a door on my far right as well as a stage likely being in front of us, but I am only slightly aware of it. All of this, in almost every detail when verifying certain things, matches the area Zsuzsanna was at the age she was relative to the young version of her here, though I had never been there and I did not know what it looked like.

The girl (young version of Zsuzsanna) who is seated on the ground in front of me, informal cross-legged style, seems happy I am there (but seems slightly sad and out-of-place) and turns around to touch my left knee with her right hand. However, there seems to be some sort of strange electromagnetic alteration (invisible barrier) of her intent and she reverses her motion and puts her hand back down as if the act is not physically possible and this makes me feel a bit “off” and both sensually and spiritually denied in my own dream (maybe she is uncertain of her approach).

I am rather annoyed at not jumping into a sensual adventure in my own dream (or even at least comforting the girl spiritually as even that was preferable to this “meeting” as a group, as it seems riddled with dogma and robotic continuity rather than with real consciousness and focus), so I decide to work on some music and start to write the notes down in my music book. The preacher, however, pulls it so that I cannot write properly (but does not touch me directly as if there is a similar barrier as with the girl) and makes a comment I do not recall. Imagine being denied both sensually and creatively - and I see that I have to follow along with the meeting (just to be polite, of course, as if I was viably lucid, I would have changed the entire scenario in a heartbeat) even though I do not belong there. I have no idea why I (or rather my dream self) am this passive. It does relate to Zsuzsanna’s memory and her sense of regret that she shared with me later on. This is more evidence that people can share other people’s memories without being aware of the orientation regarding location and such.

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Regarding Zsuzsanna’s dream, implications in her dream were very similar to mine and left her sad (again, she had been looking at a photograph negative of the group which I never saw and I did not know of the preacher or the location, but these were days where she felt wrong about being near these people, as well as “brainwashed”). In my dream though, I do not sense any “dark energies”. It just seems a bit unusual and wrong, as if any kind of touching, sexual or not, was somehow seen as wrong and one person was “spiritually in charge” of several others.

Zsuzsanna regrets the influence these people had, even getting rid of some of her artwork and even certain music albums and possessions. It was not a religious cult, but probably close to it in some ways. Promoting the idea of “sin” upon a person doing nothing wrong was something I always felt was truly sick and “evil” in itself.

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Night of January 2, 2014. Thursday.



It begins as a well-intended project for humanity. Only the “large” and “tall” metal skeleton of this great building had thus far been constructed. It is three floors high, but certainly does not seem big enough for so many people that may arrive. This cannot be the sanctuary building, though. It looks like a building, but then a “giant man” comes and it turns out to be the beginning of a metal shelf, a set of three shelves (not floors) - and not a very impressive one at that. The man puzzles over a possible subtle slant to one side.

The older man ignores me and goes out to rake his lawn. However, he ends up raking up the roots of all the grass by using too much force, and so, he has no lawn. The pile of grass and roots sits there as three black chickens come to peck in the mess, partly at an electrical cable that had also been accidentally raked up. It starts to spark, and apparently they think it is a snake and chaos ensues, as wings flap and feathers fly, briefly, but chaos returns to the mundane.

He also eventually rakes up some human skulls somehow. Eventually there is smoke, so perhaps he is now burning everything so that the ashes fall back down and he has to rake again, although some of the ash is coming from a factory (in the distance) of sorts. I do not know, seems like a fair bet that it is a cycle of rake, wait for ashes and leaves to fall, rake again. More and more miniature lobsters appear. This looks like trouble. I am not too worried as the last time lobsters appeared, they were holding flowers and seemed to be symbols of friendship somehow. No drama ensues.

The Magnolia League had Brenda W and Tina as members. This was in the 1960s of course - Arcadia - and I contemplate how unusual it is when old patterns and ideas are “borrowed” as if it is something brand new, and yet amazingly oversimplified and the foundation of the original ideas scattered into the wind senselessly (or altered perversely through a skewed personal history), without merit (even “new” songs which are twenty-year-old cover versions and such that people use as an example of “modern” talent…wow) - and the source is not only not recognized but scorned - why “From Noon Till Three” (1976) is one of my favorite movies. Still, a lot of “Big ol’ Ruby Red Dresses” wandering around and many following them as the lawn burns. Brenda called a particular girl by that name. “Leave me alone,” she said. It was the funniest thing ever, because it was just like the song…we spent the whole day laughing about it. The other person did not even get the joke or why I was crying tears of laughter even after school at the library. I even dreamed about it a few times and woke myself up laughing. I guess I was easily amused.

Perhaps this great sanctuary really is a small bookshelf for people to “escape” to. The pages of books can be leaves. The leaves are not raked and discarded, but absorbed forever…

Night of January 1, 2014. Wednesday.



Just recently (on the main dream journal site), I posted an entry about an “unknown” and/or “primitive” sun symbol…a black bird…and so on…

I am walking along as if lost. I am greatly annoyed by the sounds and smells of cars. A young Barbara Steele drives up in a white Cadillac Coupe De Ville. There is no conversation. Eventually it is my wife, then the actress again (what — another “revolving” character already?) Some distant memory comes back and we are near “The Temple of the People”. It dawns on me in some sort of “oh no” realization that the ankh may represent Hathor, a more “divine” version and long-term “code” of my wife ever since I can remember (Hathor, HVathOR, Horvath…) which reminds me of a long letter I got years ago from a person from the Theosophy group which had been typed on a very old typewriter (even for those days) but which I no longer have, I do not think. At any rate, I am handed a comic book from my childhood…“77 Sunset Strip” - which has a symbol similar to the one I dreamed of (and posted) very recently, the Peruvian girl one. Not only that, a similar symbol is shown in a photo in the last publication released by the Theosophy group (which turned out to be eerily postcognitive)…I must be dumber than I thought…Barbara gazes at me as if losing patience with something. I have the “Cowsills” comic I have already posted on…and feel a bit uneasy. “Vola Con Noi,” she says seriously.

I turn it upside down to note the “S 77 is mod” message and ponder it. I had vaguely connected it with “77 Sunset Strip” in the past. I say “is mod…is modern…(long pause, followed by terror)…is MODIFICATION…” and so…“flash”…

I am with my wife as if we first met; for a time I get the impression of only a human-shaped form of light. Later we are at the fountain in Brisbane where we were when we first spent time together in public. The Cowsills sing, “See the sun…” (after a bit of vivid light rain, reflections, and intimacy “raindrops falling on her, she didn’t seem to care…”), “and I knew (chorus: I knew, I knew, I knew, I knew) it was Armageddon (chorus: geddon, GEDdon, geddon)”. But that is okay, we have our own new Universe “emerging” from somewhere(?) and a “new beginning”. I hardly notice the land disintegrating around us. Meanwhile, “Captain Sad and his Ship of Fools” (all of humanity - do not ask how they all fit on one boat) sail off into a black sunset in a yellow sky (that is, the sun is black - it creates a sort of wary perception - almost threatening, like looking at a bee) and a black bird flies above the ship. (The flip side of that 1968 record was “Path of Love”, same year as an Italian release, apparently - “Vola Con Noi” - ‘We Can Fly’.)