lucid

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Monday, 14 March 2016.

Holographic Toy Tiger (sleep simulacrum)

Dream # 17,983-01.





My dream's location is my den from the Stadcor Street house in Wavell Heights (where we have not lived for years) in Brisbane in the late morning.

A stuffed toy tiger is on a blanket on the floor in the center of the room. The design implies that the animal is resting on its stomach. (See the image if available. It is similar to one we have in waking life, but my dream's version is less realistic.)

With the back of my hand, I pretend I can touch and feel the intangible hologram. I move it over the periphery of the hologram's imaginary surface. I "know" I am feeling something, but I consider it may be something located elsewhere and not in alignment with the hologram's shape. (I have often had dreams of this implication. It is otherwise a specific type of lucidness to increase my somatosensory phasing response to the dream state, to bring about more vividness and realism.)

Eventually, Zsuzsanna stands in the doorway (in the background), looking into the room. I see her from the other side of the stuffed toy tiger hologram (in the foreground) that briefly moves its head in her direction. I see a flick of its tongue from its profile and feel intrigued, waking at this point.

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The stuffed toy tiger correlates with a thread of lucidness in recognition that my physicality in the dream is unreal. The blanket signifies my realization of sleeping in bed. The toy tiger's tongue moves somewhat because my tongue has some mobility before waking before REM atonia diminishes.

A similar model from early childhood, titled "The Skunk," has the same foundation of causality, although the co-occurrent dynamics are slightly different. I will compare and contrast the content of both dreams here:

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"Holographic Toy Tiger":

A hologram of a stuffed toy tiger in a sleeping position on a blanket signifies my co-occurrent recognition of being asleep in bed. The room is otherwise featureless.

Protoconsciouness initiates as Zsuzsanna in a doorway (background), seen from my side (foreground) of the "sleeping and waking animal."

The outcome reveals my recognition of having tongue mobility before REM atonia wholly diminishes.

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"The Skunk":

A sleeping skunk signifies my co-occurrent recognition of being asleep in bed. The room is otherwise featureless.

Protoconsciouness initiates as an unknown girl in a doorway (background) seen from my side (foreground) of the sleeping and waking animal.

The outcome is that the white area of the skunk's body becomes a question mark to correlate with the essence of being puzzled by the sudden realization I am dreaming.

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Imagine all the people who cannot understand or accept the factual attributes of concurrent dream content causality (as explained here) and seek to corrupt it with the unintelligent misdirection of "dream interpretation."

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Morning of February 7, 2016. Sunday.



This dream, curiously enough, seems to be an offset “sequel” of one of several dreams of yesterday - “Unlikely Meteorite”. It mostly seems an unusual residual offset of the library scene just prior to the sighting of the anatomy chart. Even the same unknown female librarian is present (although she could be a version of my wife Zsuzsanna). This one makes more sense in a more discernible hypnopompic disclosure, when the meaning of a dream is more clearly revealed during the last stage of the waking transition.

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I find myself briefly thinking of a half-finished jigsaw puzzle that featured in “Unlikely Meteorite”. It was seemingly, as originally written, a simplified American clipper ship. However, I find myself in a transition where it simplifies into a modern sailboat. The librarian approaches as I look at the chart, which is now actually not a chart but some sort of three-dimensional model of a male human body encased in glass, similar to the “Visible Man” model kit but lifesize.

The lungs of the seemingly holographic model expand and slowly deflate, then expand again, though after a time, transform into the sails of a sailboat (and I also realize that I am probably “seeing” my own breathing during sleep). I realize that, being that a sailboat is an autosymbolic dream component that can either be a dream self induction (into the dream) or a waking self transition (out of a dream), that it is also a symbol for breathing, especially as a boat is an autosymbolic extension of the physical body (as subliminally perceived in REM sleep). Watching the unusual “sailboat lungs”, I enter a lesser state of waking self perception, visualizing a sailboat on a river (as a waking conduit) to return to my full conscious self - my even breathing carrying me peacefully from my dream, the sails and lungs filling with air, turning, and relaxing, breathing outwards. It almost feels like I “completed a jigsaw puzzle” (a puzzle being autosymbolism for the subliminally perceived ambiguity between fictional dream self and conscious self identity).

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Night of January 2, 2016. Saturday.



In my dream, I am in a field on a sunny afternoon, just outside of the more utilized land of a farm. An unknown male walks along carrying an acoustic guitar, from my left to my right, getting slightly closer but not regarding me in any way.

Inside the guitar is Fox Mulder (David Duchovny from “The X-Files”) looking out through the sound hole and with his fingers (both hands) out and gripping the bottom edge of the sound hole. He looks slightly worried or perhaps is thinking of a way to get out without being noticed. I cannot be certain if he trusts the person carrying the guitar or not. There is no sound; just a sense of curious movement. There do not appear to be strings on the guitar, at least normally arranged, only because I have a clear view of Mulder’s face and his fingers.

This of course is beyond ridiculous; a real oddity. A human being could in no way fit inside a guitar, let alone be so effortlessly carried one-handed by another person (as the guitar moves in a way as it is being carried that would indicate no other weight inside it). However, it seems fairly likely that the guitar represents a casket in this particular case, especially as my father’s headstone has an engraving of a guitar on it, so this is probably a surreal rendering of my thoughts or concerns about mortality. Fox Mulder, highly skilled and having experienced the unexplained, is always “looking for answers” in a world of skeptics (who are often either wrong or instigating a coverup), much like myself on some levels. Since the guitar does not seem to have strings, that is another clue concerning mortality and the inability to “make music” (or to live).

Morning of November 18, 2015. Wednesday.



In what starts out as a typical light sleep paralysis apex lucidity state of a perceived sensual nature, my level of lucidity becomes slightly subdued to where I am not as focused on control of any kind.

I find myself walking near either the Hinkler or Chermside Shopping Center (though it seems more like Chermside in some ways, though we have not been there in years). I end up walking on my own (after absentmindedly turning to the right) through a different narrow fenced area while Zsuzsanna is walking more towards the outer exit from the parking area and outside of the “fence maze”.

There are flowers on either side of each fence section and the fence layout is quite complex, with the sidewalk also going at different ninety degree turns over a very short distance. I get the impression that I will reach a dead end near the shopping center’s outer wall (though this is not certain as there may be a couple openings on the side to the internal parking area sidewalk perpendicular to the street sidewalk), though this does not seem that frustrating. In fact, I feel quite blissful and Zsuzsanna and I smile at each other.

My lucidity peaks again and I wake fairly quickly with a bizarre hypnic jerk where both of my legs (I am on my right side) flex up to where I am in fetal position and then they kick out to being straight again (almost like a sideways kangaroo hop). Presently, I cannot recall any other time when a hypnic jerk involved both legs or was of this movement. Zsuzsanna and I laugh then she tells me she had been dreaming about a waterfall. In the more distant past, this type of dream setting was often annoying. It occurred mostly around the middle to late 1980s, I think (though there were earlier sparse instances), and most often features the “fence maze” at ground level on either side of an overpass, often with the exit gate (to the street or intersection) locked when I get to it so that I have to go back around to try a different path.

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Note: Just as I only experience astounding continuously morphing hypnagogic vision when fully awake and just as I mostly only experience blissful (not frightening in any way as others have claimed) states of sleep paralysis (and always try to intensify the states, usually successfully), my hypnic jerks (which are claimed to occur “just as a person is beginning to fall asleep”) only occur after I have fallen asleep and am in a (often only partially-rendered) lucid dream state.

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Morning of November 6, 2015. Friday.

Dream #: 17,854-02. Reading time: 52 sec.



I am walking with Zsuzsanna and our three youngest children. Our middle son is younger in my dream. We walk east on the south side of a street in an unknown area near a field that is implied to be in Northside La Crosse, several blocks west of Loomis Street. Zsuzsanna is pushing our youngest daughter in a baby pram. Our two youngest sons are in pedal cars. We eventually arrive at an intersection.

Our sons ride down the sidewalk ramp into the street, potentially into oncoming traffic, though the cars are moving slowly and have not reached the intersection. I pull them back and advise them not to cross on their own. Eventually, we all rise into the air and slowly fly over the perpendicular street of the intersection, our sons still in their pedal cars.

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In this dream, I use emerging semi-lucid vestibular system correlation to rise into the air to go above the perpendicular street of the intersection to avoid its oncoming traffic. Zsuzsanna and our three youngest children, ahead of me, also cross in this way (under my liminal intent), our sons in pedal cars, our daughter in a baby pram that Zsuzsanna is pushing. I have often used vestibular system correlation to deliberately initiate the waking process and rise out of my dream.

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Morning of October 25, 2015. Sunday.



I am looking down into the throat of an extinct volcano. This will be fun to jump into in my lucid awareness. I cannot see that far down, but do not expect to be harmed in any way. (It is fairly common for me to deliberately jump from a higher place to then soar about in my dreams. It is often very exhilarating, especially when there is such realistic momentum.)

I jump, falling stomach down, arms out, though now see a giant spiderweb across the whole cylindrical area below. My dream goes into an odd state where I am somehow vaguely aware of my real physical body. I am not interested in any giant spider shenanigans.

After a short time, the giant spiderweb I land on, on my stomach, turns out to be a thin sheet of glass that is somehow stopping my fall. It is full of spider-web-like cracks. There is a jagged hole where my legs are dangling down just a bit. I then consider that it may actually be ice, not glass. Eventually, I get a subtle impression that it is cellophane, but that would seem unlikely regarding the fact I remain suspended on whatever I am on for a time.

The scene shifts to where I am crawling through a horizontal cylindrical tunnel that is getting smaller and smaller. Some sort of “living rock salt” feature (as perhaps of an actual surreal “throat” of a larger creature) around the whole tunnel may digest me at one point. Obviously I do not want this. I emerge near the top of a high hill but am “stuck” inside the outer area of the tunnel to just below my chest. Perhaps I will just remain here staring out over a small isolated town for however many years or centuries. I do not feel in danger, just mildly annoyed that I cannot move. I will not call for help; just wait until I am fully “back” in my real body. I rest my chin in my hand, trying to hold back my aggravation and very minor embarrassment (though no other person had been around at any point).

Morning of September 26, 2015. Saturday.



In my dream, I am focused on my childhood dream girl scenario. Though I now know her in reality as my beautiful wife Zsuzsanna, my long-term memory is not accessible (which in fact is typical in many dream types). I am perhaps about twenty-five years old.

I look to her right and notice we are probably either in an isolated forest or possibly a park. My attention becomes focused on what looks like writing superimposed on the largest tree in the foreground, each letter perhaps about the size of a leaf. I become semi-lucid yet distracted by the idea of “learning” something in a dream state by reading it, which is usually futile.

Just under that tree in the foreground, I see a brighter light, which I am aware is my conscious mind at one level, like a potential portal to waking from the present scenario. This intrigues me. However, the landscape “under” and beyond the tree seems slightly miniature. I am not sure if I can “fit” under the sky if I choose to walk in that direction. I may bump my head on the sun and possibly burn some of my hair off.

The “writing” on the tree becomes more annoying as I “realize” that I am not looking at letters of the alphabet even though I am. For a time, I think I am looking at horseshoes that somehow got thrown into the tree over time by enthusiastic horseshoe players. However, I eventually become aware that I am in fact looking at “letters”, but mostly only “C” and “U” in a random sequence. I reflect that this may be some sort of binary code and consider trying to “interpret” or decode it.

Strangely enough, my dream-self does not even become aware of the play on “CU” (as in “see you”) at any point even though I am quite lucid prior to fading. I decide to move forward to wake. The ray of sunlight reminds me vaguely of a yellow number two pencil from my school days, held up diagonally, writing intricate “shadow writing” over the path ahead.

Morning of September 13, 2015. Sunday.



I am in a seemingly isolated area that feels somewhat elevated (such as some sort of “floating” featureless room), in semi-lucidity, enough to know that my conscious thoughts can make and shape my (unscripted in this case) dream. I think about a snowstorm for no particular reason and I watch a few snowflakes swirl through the air outside, in the darkness of seeming night, seemingly looking west (considering the vague focus and orientation of our real bedroom). I see no land features, just the snowflakes. After a few minutes, I see a blizzard though I do not feel cold at any point. I feel a deep sense of peace for a time, watching the snowflakes swirl around.

I eventually get a vague idea that I am looking into outer space rather than looking outside and into a snowstorm, and then I eventually realize that I “actually” am looking into a “real” outer space scene. Now, stars and planets are swirling around, crashing into each other with brilliant explosions. I am somewhat amused that a simple blizzard transforms into such an amazing chaotic event that seems to imply “the end of the universe”. I start thinking of the scene being reminiscent of “The Wizard of Oz”, where Dorothy is watching all the strange imagery through her window. I even do a vocal “doot-doo” version of the scene where Miss Gulch is riding her bicycle.

I soon get the idea that the little melody of Miss Gulch’s bicycle ride is not really that suitable for the end of the universe, so I try to vocalize “The Ride of the Valkyries” but keep shifting into the “National Geographic” theme. No matter what, I cannot grasp the melody from “The Ride of the Valkyries” without it switching to the other tune. I “realize” that the two pieces have much the same music but with slightly different timing and accented parts. The exact “The Ride of the Valkyries” melody keeps eluding me and I get more and more frustrated that I cannot remember it correctly. In the background, the “National Geographic” theme keeps distracting and even “teasing” me every time I get a little of the other tune correct.

From here, I see that the end of the universe has changed into a basketball game. This seems reasonable, as a sphere is still bouncing about the “cosmos”. I watch passively for several minutes.

“Could you move?” says a young friendly female voice from behind me. Indeed. I find that I had not been looking out a window (even though I was - my dream just typically changed as such), but sitting in front of a large television where a basketball game is being broadcast (and perhaps the other scenes were relevant to a cowboy show followed by a channel changing to an astronomy show followed by it being changed to this basketball game). It is a young version of my wife, seated on a couch and wearing a light pink robe, but in a scenario that implies it is years before we met. “I didn’t know girls watched basketball,” I say. I get up and suddenly stop when I see two people I do not know coming into the room. They are likely token parents of Zsuzsanna’s in this scene. So, obviously, I transform into an antique brass floor lamp. The “father” comes over and pinches my nose and my “bulb”, implied to be at about the same level as my head, lights up the room a bit better. Zsuzsanna has an extraordinarily mischievous grin growing on her face, as she seems to be eating popcorn.

Remembering that I am dreaming (rather than my lucidity being consistent throughout), I decide to try to come out of my brass floor lamp camouflage. This is difficult and I succeed only in wobbling my base while rocking side to side, making a curious clanging sound on the wooden floor. The other male looks around curiously, but then continues to chop some spring onion in the kitchen.

Well, I cannot move as a lamp, so I might as well wake up, which I do.

Morning of September 12, 2015. Saturday.



A small beautiful hand is very well-defined and well-rendered. It moves ever so slightly. I appreciate the three-dimensionality of the fingers being slightly closer to me, though I am more in the center of the room at first. There is a sense of deep peace and an essence of bliss. I find myself in a mostly empty semi-dark room with one four-paned window, open only about an inch. There is a gentle rain outside, some of the droplets seeming to fall on large leaves from the sound of it, perhaps elephant ear plants. A young girl in a white hooded dressing gown is webbed to the wall to the left of the window (on my left) but also a bit onto the actual window, mostly facing the wall but slightly turned to the right. The silky, seemingly glowing spider web covers her everywhere, head to toe, and out to the floor a bit, all but her left forearm and hand (though it seems her left shoulder is webbed against the wall). I notice five very small blueberries in the palm of her hand, none touching each other. I do not know who it is, but I assume, because of the ecstatic nature of the imagery and the strange but pleasant sensations in my skin, that it can only be an essence of my wife.

I take one of the blueberries and eat it and the taste is very sweet. I take a second one after due consideration, and the taste is very slightly different but still nice (as with blueberries in real life, as well as strawberries; each and every one always tastes slightly different from every other). Regardless of being “woven” into the intricate spider web, the girl is seemingly alive and very healthy; just in some sort of “hibernation” perhaps. The scene is not gruesome at all; it is amazingly pleasant (and I see no actual spider at any point, though I suspect it is a redback or black widow that somehow made all the intricate webbing). She does not open her eyes at any point. I consider having a third blueberry, but the sensations in my skin are almost “too” pleasurable, so I leave her with three and I casually throw myself backwards into oblivion, falling into various beautiful abstract images and flashes of pure blue.

Morning of September 11, 2015. Friday.



In my dream, I had been making love to Zsuzsanna in a semi-lucid state and suddenly feel a bit more perceptive than usual in such a situation. She looks beautiful and goddess-like. I tell her that I “brought her here” as an experiment and for her to look around the setting (even though she has already been present in many dreams about Cubitis as well as La Crosse). Outside, I see a beautiful garden and layout. There are unrealistically large coleus blumei everywhere (instead of all the huge prickly pears and ugly caterpillar-infested red canna lilies that were eventually practically everywhere in reality prior to my family’s move back to Wisconsin), some in large plant pots placed in perfect lines along the shed and parts of the backyard. The beauty of the imagery is astounding.

There is a strange “division” of time. Even though I am my present self on one level, “my” house is otherwise empty (other than my own manipulation of the setting and “preserving” of how it was before) and supposedly in the distant past. Lisa’s old house immediately to the south, however, is still technically “cursed” and empty, and the outside covered with several layers of mold and old vines, parts of the front porch blocked up with concrete blocks (and mostly as it presently looks now in real life). I want to look in the house, but my wife does not like the idea. However, my motive is pure and to confirm that the house is in complete ruin and unfit for a human being to even be within several feet of. I do not even care that people apparently cannot enter and leave with their sanity intact. I feel good about the idea of an empty ruined house covered with mold and vines next to “my” in-dream home. It makes me feel alive and happy and with an enhanced sense of privacy.

Somehow though, we end up in town. I seem to be on my own for a time. I do not recognize anyone (even though they are around my age or older). I am in what seems to be a small store. An older male is seated on a chair near the entrance. Even though I do not know anyone in the immediate setting, I ask him if he remembers me. He has no idea who I am. I tell him that I will travel back into the past, meet him and be his friend for a few months, and then come back to the present and ask him if he remembers me then. He seems to agree to this odd concept and arrangement, but it still does not work. He then does not even remember what I had asked him the first time around (before I went to the past). I become annoyed and leave.

I eventually find myself in a tavern. There are quite a few people sitting on bar stools. One of them looks like a very old version of Lisa, perhaps about seventy (which makes no sense as she is younger than me). Her parents look like young teenage versions of themselves even though they are still her “real” parents. Her “mother” says that she has to come home and her “father” does not even want to look at her, though just tells her to come back home while even blocking his face with his right arm for a short time. Not many want to look, apparently, because her face is extraordinarily distorted. I notice that her mouth looks quite bizarre, her teeth two times longer than they should be and metallic as well as being at various random angles. I do not question either the “impossible mouth” or the teenage parents of a very old lady (even though I had been semi-lucid at the beginning of my dream).

Eventually, I am distracted by the behavior of the “parents”, and decide to heal a few people in the area. I go outside and see the same male I had talked with earlier. From here, miniature clouds of soft blue fire float and waver upward into the air from my hands and this is supposed to be “restoring” elements of the town and people somehow. The male seems to become a bit younger (or at least healthier in overall appearance) and more cheerful.

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Morning of September 11, 2015. Friday.



The intersection setting has been more recurring of late, though I am not certain as to why. I suppose it could relate to a metaphorical “crossroads” in regard to trying to solve certain mysteries through extensive research and not really making as much progress as I would like (though I have achieved some amazing new breakthroughs). On the other hand, it could simply be an in-dream metaphor for the choice of remaining either at apex lucidity or choosing to become passive. Although this dream is lucid, it becomes quite distorted, as I mostly remain passive in order to observe, especially things like writing, though which I cannot fully read at any point as it is.

My dream seems to start near an unknown intersection, though vaguely reminds me of Stadcor Street (in Australia) as well as King Street (in America). The setting is ambiguous though and seems to be indoors and out on the street at the same time. In fact, I even willfully shift our location a bit so that the “floor” of the setting seems to move out of the range of any potential traffic (though I do not see any vehicles approaching at any point.) I notice that my wife Zsuzsanna, who is seated on her knees, and who seems only slightly puzzled at my manipulation of “sliding” our dream placement, has some sort of computerized display on the “floor”, probably an iPad, though a little bigger. The fairly large writing is in landscape format.

I try to read it and become completely clear and lucid for a short time, though this does not do much good as the writing makes no sense at any point. I notice the phrase “dog mxtre”, which I take to mean “mixture”, though it is mostly random letters and gibberish. There is something like “coup de gras” but mostly the screen is an incoherent mess of nonsensical words. The phrases do change a few times with one or two actual words here and there, but just when I think I am getting something interesting or potentially meaningful, I realize it is solely gibberish.

During this time I find a newspaper article on events in a park that also somehow relate to sexual acts that are not permitted. There seem to be at least a hundred by-laws that specifically limit the nature of sensuality. It seems very clinical and yet senseless, as if society is ruled by a “mechanical” mentality that does not even recognize the nature or pleasures of organic life. One of the phrases relates how the heel of the foot is not to be used for gratification in making contact with the partner’s bottom (regarding the cleft). I do not go on to read much of the rest of the long list.

From here, I seem to be in a room with my wife, though my mother (deceased October 2, 2002) is also present, along with a few other people in the background. The news is on, on television, and I go closer to watch it carefully, though only semi-lucid at this point. The news announcer is making references to how fantastic and amazing the sound of a snow leopard is. He goes on and on as the screen mostly shows the head of the snow leopard in profile, facing to the right. After several minutes, the snow leopard still has not made a sound, though I continue to watch. As the news announcer goes on and on in praise, there is not much movement of the animal. In fact, it looks a bit annoyed by the presence of the television cameras.

Finally though, it makes a roaring sound, still with its head facing to the right of the television screen. However, it does not seem quite real. The news announcer continues to jabber mindlessly. Eventually, the snow leopard seems to speak in a very raspy and breathy voice, “Hank…has not been…ly…ing” (“Hank has not been lying” - in reference to the implied but false “honesty” of the news announcer), which is very low-pitched yet still with a discernible melody. I am aware however, that the video has been edited quite amateurishly to make the mouth seem to move with the words.

My mother rolls her eyes and subtly shakes her head and looks frustrated and somewhat angry over the news announcer’s attempts to trick people with ridiculous manipulated video and audio.

Yet again, my dream renders unlikely things my wife had seen with no possible way of me knowing. In this case, it was two elements; my wife being endangered by a thoughtless driver while walking near an intersection and also, as odd as it sounds, my wife had recently seen something on her own on television about an owner of a gray and white cat (similar colors as a snow leopard) trying to make it look and sound as if it was talking while it was meowing. However, my wife said the commentator in that case made a note that it was obviously fake due to the owner manipulating its sound as the camera held the same orientation as the image in my dream according to my wife. I have never been thoughtless enough to think something like that could be coincidence, especially as it happens continuously and often on higher levels of precision in imagery and events. I continue to remain baffled, not by continuous precognition and remote viewing since earliest memory but how other people do not experience this (or at least claim not to for whatever reason - it just does not add up).

Morning of August 30, 2015. Sunday.



I typically do not post audio-dominated dreams online (yet, anyway) and do not even have many archived in digital format though will make an exception here.

This dream starts out in the nightly light stages of sleep paralysis I always experience and usually enjoy. There is no usual “buzzing” or oscillation in this stage and no “rolling waves” as in other levels. I remain in a deep peaceful state but am aware of some sort of energies moving above me and to my right side.

Suddenly, I clearly hear someone say “I’m six years old!” right over me but closer to my right ear. This surprises me but does not quite startle me. I cannot tell if the voice is (or is “meant” to be) male or female, but it sounds like a tulpa learning to sound human, as the voice is in at least three discordant layers of different pitches, slightly metallic and slightly nasal. It almost makes me laugh myself awake at the audacity of this being, however young or old it actually is (as well as the musical quality bringing on an odd cheerful response to my emotion). There is a “fuzziness” to the audio as if filtered somehow, though in another sense, it sounds very natural. The being seems to have others “hovering” around them. She (or he) touches me on the shoulder and near my forehead but then the state of consciousness shifts to another location before I can respond or “speak” (telepathically) with any coherent thought of any kind.

I am then watching a female in her forties standing at a complaint department in possibly a clothing store around Christmastime, seemingly to my right. She babbles bizarrely in accelerated audio and flings several packages to the floor and onto the counter in a strange musical charade that sounds like pieces of different musical measures (late 1960s?) in random sequences. Again, I almost start laughing, but she looks very frustrated (but does not regard me in any way). It is almost as if she can only “speak” in distorted random musical measures mixed with human vocalized gibberish rather than solely human-like.

From here (into a different type of dream state), I am at a construction site, possibly unseen by anyone else (as I am seemingly not noticed or directly regarded at any point). It is the beginning of the foundation and framework of perhaps a four-storey (or higher) building. A man looks up and says loudly, “You better get down here” (emphasis on “down”) to a male on at least the second level of framework - the voice having a tone of authority as well as mild concern and with a slightly musical inflection as if he had said the same phrase often before. This shouting slightly shifts my consciousness and this dreaming stage is over.

Morning of August 21, 2015. Friday.



I was trying to feasibly do two things at once last night; that is, doing a bit of extra research and writing and doing dream-making preparation exercises (involving image projection and affirmations) during the same time period, which of course, lacks the fluidity of natural dream construction and does not result in extended apex lucidity. Granted, it creates lucidity and in-dream full awareness on one level, but via an unusual perspective and while lacking the otherwise automatic settings and scenes. This particular type of dream is very different than other types, where the dream-making self and the sleeping conscious self are not fully linked as in apex lucidity, yet still as if awake at some levels (and seems to be one of the only types where critical thinking skills are vaguely present at times). Of all the different levels of consciousness, this is probably one of the most annoying. Although surreal events can and do happen, there is no telekinetic ability or abilities involving reshaping of energies.

Before going into a fully rendered in-body dream, my focus was a bit unusual. I was in an atypical form of very light sleep paralysis, the type where you can hear audio pulses and see half-rendered dream settings (and even feel light phantom touches), but rather sparse in attention. A young girl’s voice says “hear me…hear me…heal me…” very clearly (actual sound rather than just the felt waveform), which seems almost like “real” contact of some kind. This brings me awake and I ask Zsuzsanna if it was her and she says no, she had not been sending, intentionally or not (and even so, there is often a minor blue flame event when that happens).

Eventually, in-dream, I am back at my computer and I know I am dreaming, yet for some reason, I am strictly limited to my physical form in the chair. Of course, being in my dream, the computer is not behaving as it should. I am trying to get to a particular tab in Firefox, but the mouse is not responding very well.

So what I do, is peal the tab I am trying to get to off of the actual glass of the monitor. Eventually, I notice about four layers, each related to a particular tab in the browser. The computer monitor starts to separate into several layers of very thin and pliable glass (though more reminiscent of plastic in pliability), and it looks like I may have damaged something. I try to push the thin layers of screen back together and my fingers go a few inches into the screen as the thin sheets of glass are a bit out of alignment.

From here, a small white furball with an emoticon-like face, about the size of a white Furby, but with no ears, falls off my desk. It seems somehow alive, as it does hop around a few times, though a bit chaotically. I try to get it to act aggressively or to make a hostile face, but there is no response. It grins at one point and I try to get it to sprout fangs, but nothing happens. This annoys me. Intense emotion is having no effect on my intent to alter dream nuances. I cannot even create a proper “monster”, not even a little one.

I get up and go outside where there are three tyrannosauruses sleeping in our backyard on their stomachs (the biggest facing north and along the east fence opposite the public footpath, the other two facing east and west). It seems just prior to sunrise, but there is enough light to see their overall shape and certain other details. Maybe I can get a dinosaur to chase me. That might be fun. I did it often enough when much younger. I try to mentally will the dinosaurs awake, but that does not work. I kick them. Nothing happens. I jump around and kick them several times (even in the eyes) but they do not stir. Finally, I use my last scrap of mental energy and wake one up. It rises up on two legs but soon is “pulled” back into its sleeping form - like an accelerated series of movie frames, with the residual impression that the sleeping form had not moved and its waking form was only a fleeting ghost image, being pulled back into itself by sparse wispy tendrils.

Instead of relaxing and staying in my dream or trying to step into a preset scenario, I deliberately “walk out of it” through the fence and make a rude gesture to the three sleeping giants behind me.

Morning of August 18, 2015. Tuesday.



This was after my most interesting dream of this date. In this case, it seems Zsuzsanna and I are within an “invisible” geodesic dome (one of the main settings for higher levels of communication, it seems) which is quite large. It would have to be to contain an entire carnival within. The carnival is apparently “closed”. It is late at night. There are blue lights here and there that provide minimal illumination.

My wife and I walk along, half walking, half dancing, so cheerful, not caring that no one is operating this rather odd carnival. At one point, I see a “roller coaster” moving about (though eventually actually more like a monorail) that is actually seemingly alive, glowing a sort of lighter green in contrast to the lights. A giant robotic spider “ride” walks around on its own for a short time, but is no threat in any way. (I even think I hear a human-like groan from it.) Still, there are no signs of any other people (yet).

The fortune-teller booth (from “Batman Forever”) sits in one area. We acknowledge it humorously but minimally as we go around in a somewhat circular path. We puzzle at it as being everyman. It cannot seem to make up its mind about where it wants to “go”. It laughs eerily and artificially but cannot move out of the booth as only its fake arm sways back and forth randomly. It seems “stuck” in its one sad little “role”.

The song “Bad Days” (by the Flaming Lips) plays over and over eventually and our dance-walk seems even more cheerful.

“You’re sorta stuck where you are, But in your dreams you can buy expensive cars, Or live on Mars, And have it your way…”

The watermelon scene in the music video reminds me so much of home…

“In your dreams, Show no mercy…”

Oh sure, it is an awful, terrible song, with awful, terrible music, but it is such a charming novelty and reminds me of the first couple of years I spent with Zsuzsanna.

The “fortune teller” comes out of the booth, now a real man for the first time ever, somewhat chubby and gray-haired, it seems, and dressed normally, informally. He snaps his fingers, kicks his heels, and walks up an elevated path over a hill (seemingly westward). I know that we will never see him again and I never see his face, and he never turns to look back at us.

“And all your bad days will end, You have to sleep late when you can, And all your bad days will end”…

Someone is knocking on 104. Knocking. Knocking. Knocking on the door (just like in the music video at that part of the song). Someone is knocking on our door at 104. (In real life, same number, exact time - synchronized with my dream’s residual rhythm.) It is a parcel delivery for our oldest daughter, which she soon gets.

I have slept later than usual as the real knocking on 104 wakes me.

Oh, Source, you so funny.

Morning of August 17, 2015. Monday.



This is my first stable dream of this time period on this date, a type which is always lucid - every first dream I have had since early childhood has been of this nature, every single night, with no attempt to make it so, and always in the first stage of light sleep paralysis which I enjoy - I do not attempt to control it in anyway during the first stage - I just flow with it and enjoy it even if the imagery should be grotesque beyond imagination. The imagery, I suppose, this time, is somewhat nightmarish (in regards to how others might see it), but not a nightmare at all to me. There is no emotion other than a sense of peace and acceptance. In this state, even being fully in-body, there is no way a lucid dream could integrate or interfere with my real-life state. I mostly just watch. I am not even regarded by the entity that is “making” this domain - even though I sense and know that he is not “of” me in any way.

Some sort of larger-than-life human-like form, fairly pale, somewhat sickly looking (yet still seemingly stronger than any human form), holds an egg. It looks like a typical white chicken egg, though perhaps bigger. Over time, thorns (of about three different sizes) sprout from all areas of its surface, though leaving the egg’s surface fully intact otherwise. At times, the implications “reset”. The being stands as, slightly hunched over, at one point, the thorns growing from the egg seem to become endless briars in a large ominous but colorful landscape of mostly greens, oranges, yellows, and browns. Certainly this place is not for human beings, though I have certainly seen far worse realms. The thorny briars are in various patterns and sizes that sometimes cross over each other and form “gates” and purely organic trellises. Everything is made of briars, including possibly “nests” assuming there are creatures or human-like forms that live here. I realize this realm is probably a human world that relates to frustration or possibly a lack of focus. It is beautiful, but not a place I particularly would want to spend much time in.

I do not challenge the being with the egg (which sits on the palm of his right hand), even though he seems puzzled that nothing emerges from the egg (upon each “reset”) but thorns. If he wants to keep creating infinite briars into his world from it, who am I to stop him. This is his world, not mine.