lucid

Morning of August 14, 2015. Friday.



My dream starts in an unknown building which seems to be a two-storey halfway house for both troubled and homeless youths and adult recovering alcoholics. Richard B (have not seen him in over twenty years) is leaning out a window on the second floor and hammering nails into the outside of that window frame for weatherization and is being filmed for some sort of instructional video. (I am not sure why he is doing it from the inside rather than having a ladder set up on the outside; it would be more feasible, and in fact, to complete the job would be impossible from the inside.) I clean up a room fairly quickly and there is also some painting of at least one room going on.

At one point, I am lying on a mattress in a large room. I get the impression that my mother (deceased) has kept me awake all night from moving potted plants around and doing other things (such as preparing business letters), which is problematic, as I am too tired to get up and go to some sort of school event or other scheduled meeting (though I am aware it is near the last day of school). However, I am also aware that my going to this event is not necessary or I may be wrong with what I am thinking as I may not have to go after all.

Later, I seem to be about twenty years old or younger and am in a room where the house mother (a male that seems to be my foreman from my old Ford Taurus manufacturing job) is writing on a chalkboard. (A “house mother” is typically a strong stocky male that oversees a halfway house.) He has written on the chalkboard (in cursive handwriting) a message concerning about seven or eight new tenants. I read the writing and note that it starts with “Let us all welcome the new tenants, two of whom are from the Karaoke and Lansing tribes” and this is followed by about seven or eight surnames including mine being about the fourth one. I do not sharpen my focus to read all of it, so it is probably not relevant to remote viewing (although the term “Karaoke tribe” actually does exist, oddly enough - which is apparently a group of people who go around singing in various venues and based in La Mirada, California, which I had not known of previously).

Later, I am in the same room, but only one other tenant is present other than the house mother. I say fairly loudly and clearly, “I am going to test if this is a dream.” The two others do not seem to mind. I focus and, while standing, lift both my knees up and hover in the air, rising to the ceiling in eventually a standing position. “Well, it looks like this is a dream,” I say casually, and the two others nod, smile, and agree.

From here, we all fly out from the building through a window on the second floor. However, I fly too close to the building and bang the right side of my head on the eaves. It does not hurt that much, but I feel a strange vibration, like my head is a bell and has just been rung. I note that the others have flown off elsewhere.

When I fly around, I am astounded by the beauty and clear detail of the fictional setting. I then start to think, well, it is time for an outdoor romantic interlude. I fly down near an area where I notice a younger version of my wife in a turquoise bikini, though there are two young males around that may be her younger brothers, though they do not seem familiar otherwise (in other words, not resembling any of her real brothers). An older chubby lady keeps coming out of the house and going back in (and Zsuzsanna does a couple times as well). I am not sure why my wife is seemingly living here at the time. The lady reminds me of a young version of Clara Peller (from the “where’s the beef?” commercials). Eventually, I take my wife behind a shoulder-high hedge that runs parallel to the house’s property line on the right side of it, but annoyingly, the other three people keep coming out and randomly walking around the hedge. I try to shoo them away, but eventually give up and just do what I had intended. Briefly, my wife seems to transform into a part of the hedge and back again which seems a bit strange, but I do not focus on it, and I fly off again shortly after fulfillment (which is quite visual).

From here, I explore another building with amazing clear details, seemingly on the second floor again. I walk by a room that has a low table (about knee-high) that has an image with a teddy bear on it (and there are many other clear details). It looks painted or like a very large decal. The image is quite complex and I am almost certain in afterthought that it is the print of a postage stamp (though I could not find any image close to it anywhere). The teddy bear is in a sailor suit (blue with thinner white stripes) and there is a lot of blue and beige in the image including a beige border. It is sitting near other toys, including a pull-toy of a duck. Exploring other rooms, the visual clarity is almost overwhelming. (My wife reminded me of a cross-stitch design she did similar to the image that was on the table.)

After all of this vivid imagery and flying around and sensual movement and sharpening my focus at least four times throughout my longer dream (with a strange concern about my in-dream breathing at one point, where I have to stop and catch my breath a couple times), I decide to let it go, as my head is starting to feel a bit in “overdrive” and I wake immediately.

Morning of August 13, 2015. Thursday.



In my semi-lucidity, seemingly very late at night, I am aware that my dream environment is only half-rendered. Thus, without focusing that much, or sharpening my awareness with any intent, I do not really feel like getting up and walking into another part of the house, as I will probably just trip and fly forward and become half-awake, as in typical first-stage light sleep paralysis dreams from night to night. Still, for whatever reason, it does not dawn on me that this dream type does not usually render my present home in any discernible way and is usually an area in a city, outside, where I most often find myself walking down the sidewalk. So, already my critical thinking skills are not functioning.

Not knowing what else to do (again, not being that focused), I continue to work on my computer. Still, I am somewhat suspicious of the technology being feasible in any dream state (where electronic devices sometimes explode into small smoking embers with amazing “realism”). In the back of my mind, I am somewhat aware that this “other world” has Gothic attributes. I feel a slight wariness. I am aware of a presence that is very different to me, like a feature of another world becoming known for the first time. It is very eerie, yet I also somehow sense love and joy at the same time; perhaps some orphan domain of Steampunk consciousness blended with something else.

A strange sound occurs, increasing smoothly in volume. It is every chimney in the (fictional) neighborhood suddenly “singing” in some sort of low-pitched hollow reed-like frequency, somewhat like a sustained pipe-organ note, but layered (overdubbed) to an extreme. Is it wind somehow speedily and heavily flowing through every chimney in the region? It is almost like a ghostly human chorus. Again, the pitch is very low, but some of the layers are slightly off the pitch by enough cent variation to give it a barely noticeable flange effect. The volume of this chimney “chorus” increases until it is “filling the world” with some sort of intended beginning vigil, perhaps. I am not sure how to mentally respond or take note, assuming I should. It almost reminds me of a factory steam whistle slowed down exponentially and layered infinitely. I remain puzzled; I get the ambiguous association of rows of churches with factory steam whistles calling the public masses into uniformity. Then there is silence.

Morning of August 9, 2015. Sunday.



This dream was definitely a form of remote viewing (likely metaphorical or skewed in some other way) since I recognized the perspective and layer of consciousness quite clearly. Although precognitive dreams have quite discernible layers as such (which was one of the reasons I started dream work from age six in the first place), they are often muddled composites (for example, of movies not yet seen or books not yet read combined with personal real life events). However, it did not resolve yet as such. About a year ago, a similar event relating to a website was exact (literal) and another type of “unexplainable” event happens continuously related to similar dream content, which I sometimes tag with “dream journal synchronicity”. Although precognition and remote viewing seem related to synchronicity at some levels, I am still not sure of the mechanisms involved even after experiencing it continuously for nearly fifty years (not just from day to day, but from hour to hour, though particularly more intense in the period from September 1990 to January 1994 in the path to my marriage).

At any rate, once again I dream of a website, in this case, some sort of muddled combination of two websites, it seems, or it could be the one website with a filtered perspective (such as the two versions of the remote-viewed Nancy comic strip I had no way of knowing about seen together as one composite at one point). As remote viewing dreams do not follow the same “rules” as other dreams (in that you can clearly read what you see - and it never changes or distorts - unlike other dream types), I can surmise the meaning on another level, I suppose.

I go to the webpage and in the upper left panel (below the titles and such), is a message in plain text. I have the understanding that the website has been bought or is now under the administration of another group of people. I sense that this other group of people who now run the website do not understand English very well. They have apparently changed the usernames of all the members of the site (including those who have not posted in a long time) for whatever reason.

The text on the screen says (after some generic information about the website changes) “Your new username is Immaterial”. I find that somewhat irritating as this means that none of the posters will know each other at first if everyone has different usernames (though there is no focus on what other usernames might have been changed to).

This could mean several different things. "Immaterial” can mean “unimportant under the circumstances; irrelevant”. However, it could also mean “spiritual, rather than physical”. I can say that my name is already spiritual (even though an opossum is an actual animal). The “blue” is the blue Merkaba and the opossum is my totem (though which I first thought was a fox at around age four as I only saw the eyes in the trees) and the representation as a heart (that is, heart-shaped head). The opossum was also one of thousands of validations in that my dream girl was to have a pet opossum, and of course she did at our first contact (though it was an Australian opossum).

Morning of August 7, 2015. Friday.



A child is at a door and cannot quite reach the doorknob (which is atypically high). I only see her silhouette.

“Here, let me get that for you…” She is gone. I hear the sound of the beanbag chair breaking. It is, as always, remote viewing.

I hate to interrupt an artist. Carroll (who looks eerily like my brother-in-law but only from some angles and only at certain times) acknowledges my presence with a respectful nod.

“What do you see?” He asks.

I find myself in a continuously changing three-dimensional landscape that is like a “real” version of “Zoo Scene”. I see what looks like giant butterflies fly about in and out of the structure. I enjoy the imagery for several minutes.

It becomes the real version. I see something that, once I see it, I cannot “unsee” it.

It is a “shark fin” within the structure that is in reality, the road going away from behind the structure. “A predator…” Carroll acknowledges me respectfully and nods.

“You are not to blame for every disadvantaged soul…or for any life ever taken,” he says.

I would tend to agree. Love and respect. In every place. In every time.

Night of August 5, 2015. Wednesday.



I offer my humble apologizes for the title as it is a rather groan-worthy pun.

I am hovering out over the ocean in late afternoon it seems near what I assume is a four stacker liner. It is quite vivid and I am lucid but decide to just see what is going on and remain passive. Looking more closely, I see a series of portholes on the side of the ship. However, each round porthole is filled with one large human eye in a long perfect series as if either the ship is miniature or the people aboard are giants. Still, this would not be possible due to the fact that human heads could not be in that cramped a space or that close together as implied. I start thinking about what this means to me and remember the pair of large exotic green eyes that moved about on the wall when I was five (in my Rose Street apartment) and how it represented my dream girl before I met her in real life. I tie it in with the liner dreams and reflect on how lucky I have been since early childhood. I relax and feel a sense of peace regardless of the surreal imagery.

I am later walking around noticing there are no people in the immediate setting. I am at first thinking I am aboard the liner, unrealistically rendered as featureless (other than the floor and the portholes) to some extent, noting a series of circular portholes to my right as I am walking by them. However, I notice that the series of what I thought were portholes have somehow smoothly transformed into a series of front-loader washing machines without that much of a change in overall appearance. I am not aboard a ship now. I must be at a laundromat somewhere. I find myself amused at the concurrent transitions around me though wonder if the “giant beings” in the implied ship were some sort of spiritual manifestation related to purity of thought.

Night of August 4, 2015. Tuesday.



Even though I have only seen the “Uhny Uftz” episode of “The Dick Van Dyke Show” a few times in my life (the first occasion being September 29, 1965 on my sister’s television on Rose Street), it sometimes surfaces in my dreams as the autosymbolic model of vestibular system correlation.

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In my very vivid dream, I am in the same setting and scene as the image with this entry, and mostly lucid and in a very peaceful state. I recognize immediately what is going on, and, although the scene is a bit eerie, it shifts dramatically.

Instead of Dick Van Dyke continuing to remain pressing nervously against the windows of his office to see if he can make out the flying saucer presumed to be out in the night sky, he is suddenly on board the flying saucer (apparently alone, though this is uncertain, as I am watching the scenario while incorporeal) looking out over his building and city (even though in the show’s episode, it was only a toy flying saucer). He appears as he did around this time period (though he is now eighty-nine years old in real life). There is an amazingly comfortable sense of peace (even though I sense that he may not fully realize where he is or perhaps reflect he is dreaming). He remains standing and smiling and gazing out happily over the city below.

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I explain this dream type further in “Dreams of Type PRECONAV-VSCPCEL, 01-15”.

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Morning of July 28, 2015. Tuesday.



I enter apex lucidity and allow a generic cafe to form (a typical setting in this state) and allow it to transform in various ways and various color schemes until it stabilizes without using any affirmations or practiced mental forms. I decide to remain passive as some fairly interesting umbrellas form. However, instead of walking around until I trip over something and fall forward out of the state (in a hypnic jerk) I find myself rotating the angle until everything is upside down. I watch the umbrella turn and it reminds me of a carousel for some reason (though no actual carousel appears, or rather, the umbrella does not change that dramatically as features sometimes do regarding wherever the attention flows).

Two unknown girls appear from the periphery of my perspective and seem to enjoy the “umbrella carousel” ride. I think it might be better to just change it into a carousel (and perhaps even right side up) but I do not. For some reason, the gravity seems lighter in this location. Other random characters appear and disappear over time. I vaguely notice people walking upside-down on the “ceiling” (sidewalk) below but I do not feel disoriented. The umbrella cycles through several different styles and colors over time with only happy and passive emotions expressed. I am not that concerned about the world being “upside-down” above me. (I do not feel upside-down as in past dreams where I did different types of maneuvers - it seems of “normal” orientation.)

After about fifteen minutes, the focus shifts into a different dream state where I am in bed (as I am in reality) in our home on W Street. A toy flying saucer, seemingly the same one from the old “Uhny Uftz” episode of “The Dick Van Dyke Show” (first seen at age four on September 29, 1965 in La Crosse) but probably about one-fourth the size, is bumping against the light bulb in the ceiling in the living room (where there is not one in reality as the socket had disintegrated a few years ago) like a moth would do, not doing any damage to either itself or the bulb. I think of my mind as being four and clearly remember thinking the voice from the episode was saying “Oomy Oops” (even hearing my four-year-old voice say it vaguely, or perhaps it was actually my youngest son). That amuses me for a short time, but not for long and I catch myself wandering how I got to that point.

Morning of July 27, 2015. Monday.



After spending intimate time with Zsuzsanna in reality, I then enter the usual “portal” of apex lucidity with the lighter form of sleep paralysis (this being always effortless and automatic but different than the other type, which has sound and augmented touch but no imagery at all and a completely different awareness than the other form), the thin white lines (always starting with a “spark” that seems to “fall”, creating a door or impression of a door) quickly forming a fairly bright and highly detailed outdoor setting, rapidly changing several times (mostly in the background) but then stabilizing. My setting comes as an alternate version and fictional perspective of where the alley behind our house is implied to be (and looking due north). Even though I am blissfully looking into our backyard (and clearly recognize it as such), everything is different. For example, the tall dark wooden fence is a much shorter picket fence and our shed is not here at all. Additionally, the fence squares off and seems to divide the area of where the central line (longways) of the shed would be in reality. This is somewhat amusing (though perhaps I am somehow “seeing” another time period; would not be the first time - for example, after our shed is finished being eaten by termites and new shorter fences are added one day, perhaps). I know exactly what I am looking at…except that it is not really how it looks. I find this familiarity yet typical “wrongness” of rendering quite enjoyable, particularly as it was created so quickly. I have no idea how that is possible, or how it can seem so realistic, but I go with it.

I notice that there is a round wooden card table near the west side of the backyard, a bit closer to the house, as well as at least three bentwood chairs (though I only focus on one of them). I “explode” the chair and table into splinters after playing around with them for awhile, spinning them in the air and such with in-dream telekinesis. Then I reintegrate them back to normal. Breathe in, reintegrate, breath out, explode, and so on. It vaguely reminds me of the motions of bits of straw moving on the surface of a pond. The chair noiselessly (well perhaps with a soft subtle “puff”) explodes into splinters, the splinters spin around…breath in…the chair is perfect again. I decide to let it hover in the air about seven feet above the ground at a tipped forward angle of about thirty degrees while the table continues to float about a foot from the ground.

The environment shifts slightly as I enter a more dynamic state (this is a specific type of dream state that seems to be “between worlds”). Everything is sand falling and holes opening up. I watch the incredible beauty of the transitions. At one point, it looks like concrete blocks have been placed sideways (longways north and south) all across where the parking lot across the street is in reality, each recess originally meant to be a place for an exotic plant, but sand is falling continuously; beautifully. This seems to shift into a new dynamic. Breathe in…miniature waterfalls everywhere; breath out, “sandfalls”. I reach my hand down to check the texture. It shifts between water molecules and grains of sand continuously and evenly with my breathing. I see very clear imagery of small white stones in potted plants. Miniature cycad palms emerge and sink back in at times.

After awhile, in this blissful appreciation of sand falling everywhere and moving and sliding downward (in different colors and textures) over various implied forms and with a slight granular “rustling sound” everywhere in the world, my dream shifts to another type of state and goes “Fantasia” on me. I am aware that instead of the parking lot, it is a very large mandrake garden. The mandrakes (all about four inches high) are ready to crawl up out of the ground and dance, a composite of the brooms moving about from “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” and the guards marching about outside the witch’s castle in “The Wizard of Oz”, though it becomes more like ballet after a time, all uniform, all smooth, all in harmony…except…

One mandrake seems to be struggling with his presumed partner (in trying to pull “her” from the ground). I go over and look and see him in a shallow hole pulling on something, which turns out to be a limp, lifeless carrot, only partially anthropomorphic. He looks up at me curiously. He has a face about the size of my thumb that looks much like a miniature old chimpanzee.

“That’s a carrot!” I shout gleefully.

He blinks and looks worried. “Oh?” he squeaks, with a raspy puzzled voice. He turns and walks away dejectedly as the hundreds of other paired mandrakes dance “perfectly”.

From here, I am in a fairly dark and seemingly undefined “void”. Some sort of “creatures” which are like giant luminous dandelion seeds (about five of them, about a foot and a half tall) lightly brush over the backs of my hands. There is an implied communication. At times, their luminosity changes slightly, becoming dimmer or brighter, mostly at the central area of the span of “tendrils”.

Night of July 20, 2015 Monday.



I meet the “mystery girl”, the life-long “dream girl” at an apartment building (where her half-brother is living at the time) - the building with the same name as my middle name near a road with the same name as my first name; neither name being very common and certainly not that popular with mainstream society. I walk up to her taking in the layout of the building on the second floor, the railing, her beautiful smile. “Now you know for sure. That I really care for you. Only the eye can tell you why”.

The dream girl came from a place called Heaven. She lived in an unlikely house with exterior walls missing, like a cutaway view of a house as I saw in my dreams as a child; a rainforest girl, born on Friday the Thirteenth. She was the flower girl in a Nimbin event. The Cowsills sing “I love the flower girl. Was she reality or just a dream to me?” She was across the ocean though I always could feel her and sometimes tried to make the journey in my dreams. “Nimbin” is an imaginary place, a classmate tells me.

“What time is it when the clock strikes thirteen?” it says on the back of a paperback book of ghost stories. “Time to get a new clock,” writes my sister on the cover in blue ink.

“Why did you…?” I start to say to the “mystery girl”. Why did she copy the drawing of the only other person I suspected might actually exist on this planet in a way that brought on the blue light. She looked over my right shoulder on my desk in her moment of lucidity, the drawing of which she mentally took back with her to copy so that I knew something was going on when she sent it to me years later upon discovering she was real. The dream girl and the “other” (the one who originally drew the image) both had similar first names (Susan and Zsuzsanna/Suzi) and their last names; both seven letters, and vowels and consonants in the same sequence, probably not that important in the scheme of things

“I’ve got the key, I’ve got the secret,” sing the Urban Cookie Collective. “Come with me see a brand new day”, Yothu Yindi sing. Meeting my partner is the biggest joy ever, especially seeing her as the most beautiful girl on the planet since early childhood…Roma Hungarian (gypsy) but with an intriguing and unique Roma-Australian accent.

I mishear “you see that cycad palm” as “you see that psychic come”. When I learn of the real lyrics, I smile inwardly. It is a good thing. “Psychics” cannot exist because the Source will have none of it. The Source cannot be controlled, named, poked, or prodded. You might as well try to control how your food digests, molecule by molecule.

I look at her in the mirror (as if I was looking at my own reflection) just prior to her contact. “…and if it sounds a bit upside-down, it’s from down under…” The cassette is my first treasure from her.

My bride is the only voice I could ever hear more deeply inside of me (and it turns out that she was the one that told me things as I was growing up - such as the package of books in the mail that had been split open and left on a desk downstairs from my apartment before I got to my boarding house and their exact arrangement in an impossible visual “memory” - yet this was also somehow like a feminine memory and her voice at the same time), the only one who can bring the blue light within me, it seems. The only other one who seems to exist with me.

“Blue flame!” shouts my brother-in-law looking at me as if for the first time and twists his head around in his arm chair, almost straining his neck, to see if other people are looking my way. He says he sees “blue fire burning” around my head and shoulders. A few minutes later, he is himself again, short-term amnesia taking root as it always does with “normal” people.

I look upon the face of my “imaginary girl” and her visage is of the same beauty as before we met. The same unique voice and accent - since April 9th, 1994, the 99th day of that year.

Have others, somewhere at some point in human history, lived as I have…or even understood as I have, the makings of their own place in the universe, and where every little pattern and idea that exists seems to be specially designed for the self as some sort of clue or hint? There are no records of such that I know of. Skepticism. Anger. Jealousy. Short-term amnesia. Nervous doubt. Fear of the unknown. This is what makes people human. I have to remember that others are like chicks in eggs. I have to remember that even as a young child, adults were like chicks in eggs to me. Everything I saw around me was ridiculously deceitful but unable to sway what I knew. All those frustrated people of my past watch me walk away.

Morning of July 19, 2015. Sunday.



After smoothly moving into blissful sleep paralysis after love-making, the “portal” begins to form, the thin short glowing lines (some moving as if racing with others in pairs) and asterisk-like sparks coming together into forming the usually generic city streets setting, by far the most common rendering of origin in the last ten years or so. I am too integrated to be pulled back by a hypnic jerk (as is often the case where my first very short lucid dream of many nights is of walking on a sidewalk and eventually tripping somehow and falling forward, with an intense body-wide sensation before I begin to integrate back towards the flow of a new dream creation) and am soon in my dream’s incomplete setting and where parts of the street are not yet rendered. I also had not scripted a dream concept the previous evening so I relax my focus as in a semi-lucid dream.

Shortly, letting my thoughts wander, I begin to remember a brief previous focus on an old dream titled “Yakety Yak” (August 11, 1974) which featured Mad Magazine’s “Spy vs. Spy” character heads and which I had posted on tumblr earlier. As I have learned, it does not take much for a dream to form out of a very short time period (even with full lucidity) involving the focus on even a very old dream or a brief glance at an insignificant and impersonal article in a old newspaper (as with another recent dream).

A white 1974 Cadillac Coupe DeVille convertible comes into the scene from my left side, seemingly driving north relative to my dream’s implied orientation, but south based on my conscious afterthought concerning my house’s orientation, based primarily on the transition of direction from living here as opposed to living in Wisconsin in America (as it seems a bit like a La Crosse setting), something that is fairly common in dreams that utilize La Crosse settings, and which also make some composites a bit ambiguous in directional orientation (assuming a particular dream does not rotate house layouts and features ninety degrees, or sometimes also symmetrically mirror them).

There is some sort of confusion with names; “Coupe DeVille” warping into “Cruella de Vil” and I briefly falsely recall that this character is Cruella de Vil in a pointless “aha” moment. I soon realize that this is not the case and that, regardless of my lucidity, it is typical invalid word association gibberish, as the Spy driver is male.

Soon, however, Spy is not Spy at all, but is now my Revell SnapTite Pteranodon Model from around this same time period (age 13), though there is some transient ambiguity during my focus on the eerie similarity of the heads. As I focus on the memory of how the model’s head swiveled about in reality, its head begins spinning as it is driving (although there is a brief period where the Spy/Pteranodon seems to be shaking his head “no”). Eventually, in spinning so fast, it becomes a helicopter rotary propeller, spinning faster and faster, creating a slight sense of in-dream vertigo as the car and the head smoothly transform into a helicopter, which rises in the air and flies away, leaving a sense of awe but soon decaying into abstract hypnopompic forms.

Morning of July 16, 2015. Thursday.



There is a residual sound, somewhat like an echo; a layered but pure vocalization that is somewhat nostalgic and defining; a single note that resounds from nowhere in particular, a group of young females vocalizing once, somewhat like the first vocalized note of David Essex’s “For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her” but with a younger chorus. It “hangs” in the air like a simple single statement on life and time, like a little cloud. It is the moment of my consciousness coming into existence for the first time.

Grandfather Clock on the “Captain Kangaroo” set is tipped over and destroyed by a dog-sized griffin of primarily orange coloring. A clock cannot bleed (even a minimally anthropomorphic clock), but the glass flies into my arms and elbows in the semi-dark “Captain Kangaroo” set; the Treasure House. I pull the glass out nonchalantly perhaps reverting back to age two when wounded near-fatally with large pieces of glass cutting into my left wrist. I do not care that much; I am lucid, though I just watch the mayhem with a slight twitching of my sleep paralyzed legs followed by a wave of bliss, like a “splash” that grows more pleasurable and quickly rises from my toes to my stomach. It is macabre but somehow amusing in its surreality.

The griffin scratches and pecks at what remains of larger glass and wood pieces in Grandfather Clock’s “chest”.

“That’s enough,” I say rather loudly to the griffin, getting tired of pulling glass and wood slivers out of my arms (especially elbows) and face. Puzzled by my apparent audacity, the griffin turns its head towards me and transforms into a Doberman Pinscher, becoming a bit thinner, running away with its tail between its legs, and shrinking and becoming a mouse, leaving the Captain’s Treasure House.

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What does it mean to dream of a griffin? At the core level, a griffin is a flight symbol. A flight symbol is rendered in a dream in subliminal anticipation of the hypnopompic waking start. Additionally, a griffin is a mix of unrelated animals, which is likely to be a unique precursor factor of the coalescence of the preconscious and emergent consciousness.

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Some of my other dreams that feature griffins (links): (1) Making a Griffin?, (2) R Brand, (3) Malfunctioning Griffin Game, (4) The Temple and the Tomb

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Flashback to reality: Conversations I do not want with the endlessly annoying locals who use terms they do not know the meaning of and saying little that makes any sense. I push an empty baby stroller to the NightOwl Convenience Store as I always do when needing a couple things heavy enough to warrant aid. The unfamiliar cashier looks worried as I come in, unpredictably shouting “where’s your child?” and then seemingly assumes that I left them home on their own, something that other people apparently do from time to time (though I have no idea why an adult would leave a young child on their own). I guess the concept of “with my wife” is not a realistic scenario in the “minds” of the characters of this region.

As I begin to explain (even though there is no reason to have to explain yourself to a random member of the public) how my daughter is home with my wife, another female interrupts by commenting to the cashier, “he sold his child on the black market…I saw it on eBay”. Even though I am a stranger, she is pointlessly joking (albeit in extremely poor taste) as they continue to make other references that make no sense to me. When one addresses me briefly as I am getting the items I need, I simply look back and nonchalantly say “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

As I leave the store, one of the females tells me to make sure I wrap my child up when I take them out on a cold night so that they do not get windburned. I am not sure if she is joking or serious, though I am so nonplussed by her untimely misuse of the word and previous bizarre commentary (especially in walking on a completely windless warm night without a child in the stroller) that I just look at her for a very short time and utter "no idea” and I go on my way.

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Morning of July 14, 2015. Tuesday.



Instead of my first dream of the night being sensual and lucid as usual (probably due to the so-called Tetris effect regarding actual lovemaking), they have remained so for a couple days throughout and as such, have not much of a plot otherwise. Still, one has enough additional detail to perhaps post online as it involves one of those common (to me) imagery-based events that seem very familiar, even nostalgic, yet completely fictional.

Yet again, I am back in my (implied) teenage years in Cubitis. The bed is aligned east to west along the northeast corner against the outer carport door (that door being perpendicular to the main entrance into the living room), which is where it was during the height of unexplainable clearer dreams associated with my wife-to-be before we met.

There is another presence in the room other than Zsuzsanna and I on the west side, supposedly also with a bed in the room; an unknown female, though who leaves in a short time without saying or doing anything other than a straight walk out the door from my room (without acknowledging us), though it does not seem that much of a privacy issue even though it seems possible she may return (though she does not). After an extensive level of intimacy with augmented touch with Zsuzsanna, and even though it is semi-dark, I find myself looking at some sort of “impossible” Warren-like comic magazine/“computer” composite in the same location on my bed (it is not much like an ipad - but more like a normal magazine though with computerized pages), though which transforms into solely a comic magazine after a short time, though mostly in color. Firstly, there is a black-and-white splash page that shows a scene similar to art from near the end of the “Heavy Metal” movie (from 1981) with a female riding a winged creature. There is some sort of ambiguity that implies more imagery can somehow be inserted into the page into any white space with some sort of software routine. Although I contemplate this idea, I do not use it or see any options to do what is implied (or any context menu showing additional art to be inserted wherever - the ground below the winged creature is mostly white and featureless, implying that perhaps figures or buildings can be inserted as well as perhaps something else in the sky).

It soon gets more and more “familiar” (as if I had read through the fictional magazine numerous times in the past) as I turn the pages. There is a page that is somewhat like “Wizards” movie scenes (from 1977) in a typical Bodē-like three-by-three vertically narrow nine panel layout. Eventually, I am looking at what seems to be a very unlikely but “familiar” Vaughn Bodē Erotica comic, yet featuring Disney’s Magica De Spell. She appears to be standing (on the right side of each panel) and engaged in conversation with another female “duck” over most of the nine panels. The art becomes so vivid and detailed (and focused with full clarity upon), I partially forget I am dreaming and start to reflect on the intense “familiarity” of this book. It seems, though, that each page is only a “demo” (or sample) of various other magazines and I do not quite recall if I have all or some of the full copies elsewhere. (Magica De Spell was actually one of the first cartoon characters that appeared in dreams from age four, though only in two-dimensional still images and not really that often). This of course distracts me from my lucidity, though I do eventually shift into other sensual scenes without any comic imagery. I even enter a lucid “false awakening” (which is fairly rare) as if I am more lucid in coming out of another lucid dream. (Typically, concerning non-lucid dreams, my false awakenings are almost always far less vivid than the previous dream, though real movies that use this trick imply the opposite. The fact they are less vivid at least with me, is probably one reason why they “work” as a false awakening in the first place - with less reasoning skills available than the previous main dream.)

Morning of July 3, 2015. Friday.



The prior evening into this morning was completely filled with a different style and route of dreaming I usually take - resulting in different dream types and levels than usual. I remained fully lucid in and out of sleep for several hours (more common when I was around sixteen), fully aware that I am the sole dream-maker and thus without challenge or threat unless I manifest it in-dream (as I did with dinosaurs and such when much younger), with no change in overall focus, yet since I mostly decided to be a “watcher” (and with no scripting or visual conditioning) events just unfolded randomly and without much structure or purpose.

One of the scenes just involved looking at some sort of A4 form, possibly an application of some sort such as that for a patent cover. A child had drawn an airplane over it so that it almost looks as if the airplane is in a faux “bird cage” (in viewing it all as one scene, which includes the otherwise blank horizontal lines of the application). I did not even consider this possible metaphorical play (something related to freedom, I think - or something regarding the nature of lucidity itself) until I made a near-facsimile of the scene in real life, which I find often helps me determine additional meanings or layers. However, this is probably just an association with how our youngest daughter (age two) sometimes draws a picture as such on a blank (but lined like notebook paper) page of my wife’s journal - though does not damage it otherwise.

For quite some time, I am lying in bed with a younger version of my wife and think that I should probably get dressed before I get up (should I get an idea to do anything other than love-making) as, even though I do not really care that we are in a building that is open on at least three sides and there is at least one (unknown) other older female in the area, I should still have some covering - especially as the weather has been cooler lately. The sense of legs touching legs as I rest is quite realistic - the sense of touch being typically augmented to where I am not sure if I even want to do anything else in my dream. On my right near the bed (and seemingly the only internally-rendered wall of the structure), I notice about five pairs of underpants on the floor that I had apparently left there before, which seems a little preposterous for some reason, even considering it is a dream. Mostly, I am questioning why I would just leave pairs there from previous “visits” to this version of my wife, and even so, how could they still be there during waking transitions? I would think that there would be some sort of “automatic cleanup” of dream settings before the next “visit” - even so, I do not recall this exact setting or overall layout from any prior dream - and I know they are mine. I am thinking about taking them “back” (to our real-life home) but then realize that idea is preposterous as well. This shakes me out of my dream to where I cannot find my real pants near the bed, either, but decide to leave it.

Later, when I am almost fully awake out of one scenario, I clearly smell chocolate-chip cookies baking. The scent is so strong and pleasing that I am somewhat puzzled that Zsuzsanna is lying in bed again. She will probably take them out of the oven later. I continue to enjoy the smell, and it is only several minutes later that I realize I am in some sort of hypnopompic carryover and that the smell is not even there. In fact, there is no scent of any kind that I notice after full wakefulness. Hypnopompic smells are fairly rare for me, but this was so pleasant, it colored my mood in a more cheerful sense.

Another scene takes me back to Stadcor Street in Brisbane. I decide to try to talk to an unseen character (to see if someone just randomly appears - something I did a lot in dreams in my late teenage years - even in fully dark settings or abstract spaces) and a young female takes notice, but appears almost out of view on my right (I have to lean out the fictionally-structured window just a bit to see her). The scene is a bit ambiguous as I was sure there was a character meant to be on my left, but this one appears so I talk to her and even tell her that I was trying to talk to someone on my left which makes me feel a bit silly. She is talking from behind a shorter wooden fence about chest-high (and is implied to be my fictional neighbor it seems) and I remain looking out from the window in the main bedroom at the back of the house. Not much ensues; she just seems to wonder what I am doing to my dream regarding the setting and any potential theme or plot and seems helpful.

This scene eventually shifts to where I decide to try to read something, so I turn on my “dream television” to see what happens. I soon see a sequence of binary numbers on the bottom of an otherwise blank (dark) screen and I start to think, oh, how clever, someone (a dream character or perhaps “real” entity) is trying to talk to me in binary. I am somewhat wary of who or what would do this, so I study what I see with full lucidity so that I can perhaps translate it later if possible. The numbers are scrolling across the bottom and just turn out to be “10 10 10 10 10…” as I watch. However, they transform briefly into “01 01 01 01 01…” before fading (or rather, as they are rolling off to the left). I then see my first name with the last letter (“e”) missing. Soon, I see one instance of the number two in the sequences of ones and zeroes and then realize it is pointless - as that means it cannot be binary code. I then consider if it is supposed to be the capital letters “I” and “O” rather than one and zero, as I see something like IPIO at one point, which stands for “i’ll pass it on”. I lose interest in trying to make sense of this gibberish so shift my mind to an outdoor environmental setting.

Soon, I am flying (in a standing vertical position) over a highway with hardly any traffic. I see one car, which I change into a bicycle and back several times as I fly along saying, “I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming” - which I had already known hours before, but just feel like saying it, thinking that it might also accelerate my awareness (though it does not - and my critical thinking skills are still mostly absent). I quickly get bored watching the bicycle transforming to car and back and as such, causing the person (unknown male) riding and driving to zigzag all over the road in confusion. I am probably being a bit mean, so let it go.

Finally, the last scene takes me into my house (though which actually seems more like Barolin Street) where I notice someone has parked his car inside the house (completely impossible in real life of course, though I only see part of the back of it). In fact, he is trying to back out of the room he has parked in (due to me telling him to leave and get his car out of my house), but cannot get it through the doorway, it seems (and I do not consider in-dream that he could not have possibly gotten in that way in the first place). He gives up and goes out onto the porch and sits down and I follow him out, continuing to yell at him to get out (regardless of how much rent he had been paying). He looks annoyed and frustrated.

Morning of June 30, 2015. Tuesday.



I am lucid but not in full control, apparently. I am appreciative of a swamp setting that is not threatening in any way at first, reminding me of my early childhood. A voice echoes “the bog oak necklace!” in a somewhat exaggeratedly dramatic way as if my arrival signifies the beginning of some sort of incongruous “This is Your Life” and “Candid Camera” composite. Not being impressed by an unfamiliar feminine voice (at least this particular seemingly disembodied one), I move onward; half-walking, half-hovering (feet partly dragging).

“The bog oak necklace!” the voice repeats. (There are strange “loud” silences between when the phrase is spoken.) After a time, I realize that the voice had not actually ever been there (even though it had - typical dream logic).

“The bog oak necklace!” says the voice again. It seems someone or something is following me. I am not frightened, just greatly annoyed at this “intrusion” into my own dream setting. I want to get rid of this female so that I can…interact with a female (uh…okay…that makes no sense, but very typical of faux dream “logic”).

“The bog oak necklace!” says the voice yet again, with some sort of strange essence by which it seems it will repeat forever and ever in a sort of implied cycle, at least in this environmental setting - until the end of time. This thought irritates me even more but there is nowhere to complain; no booth, no box to put a note in (which I “rationally” expect to find in the middle of an isolated cypress swamp).

I discover an old radio’s speaker just out of full reach, nested in the limb of a tree. Aha! Now we are getting somewhere. Once I am able to get this speaker out and disconnected, I can get on with my dream and take control.

The wires pull out, but the same phrase repeats from elsewhere. I notice that I am now carrying a microphone, which seems connected to the same wiring that the radio speaker was (though I vaguely recall that you can use a speaker as a microphone when input as such - which I had done in the past to get different effects in tonality and such in dub), but am not sure how far I can get before needing to let go of it.

“The bog oak necklace!” the voice repeats again.

“Stuff your bog oak necklace!” I shout, completely forgetting about lucidity and dream manipulation.

Morning of June 22, 2015. Monday.





I am sitting on the floor in our present home on W Street while my wife is sleeping (though I think she is awake in reality). The living room is more open and seemingly larger. I have a compartmentalized plastic box with either ten or twelve wells which are probably of about one and a half to two inches square. For some reason, I have two types of pills (yellow and blue) arranged in no particular order in the box - that are about the size of the larger oblong vitamin tablets I have seen. I get the impression that one pill type is related to lucidity or doing something to the waking self to enter the dream state more effortlessly. I am not yet lucid at this point. The other pill type is possibly for a similar purpose, though I get the strong impression that it may not be a good idea to take either type. (I have never taken any kind of pill or “aid” to supposedly enhance dreams or aid in sleep - including the time I was woken up in the hospital in the 70s and was asked if I wanted sleeping pills…and yes, that really happened). I am not even sure if the pills belong to me - my older brother Dennis may have left them here (even though he lives in America and has never been to Australia). I place one yellow tablet in my mouth for a short time and bite on it a bit and then decide that I do not feel like taking one after all, though my tongue and the roof of my mouth are slightly powdery, the pill only partly crumbled but not fully broken into smaller pieces.

I get up to go to “sleep” (still in my dream) and I realize that I need to drink some water. When I take a sip from the glass, the water somehow causes the residual powder in my mouth to sizzle and send me into an extraordinary state of perception and in-dream clarity. As I decide to get up again, the palm of my hand flashes very brightly as if with an inner glow just under the skin and I reason that the pill was responsible for this chemical change in my body. This concerns me somewhat regarding my physical well-being, making me even more wary about having any pills around.



As I am then near the foot of the bed, I realize I am in a very vivid lucid dream, yet at the same time, am atypically puzzled about my real-self’s perspective. What happens to my real-self when my dream-self becomes fully conscious? I need to find out, so I zap back and wake up, which of course, was a bit pointless.

When I go into another dream later, it is lucid, but meandering - and I do not attempt to alter anything. I am just walking around in a shopping mall where there are lots of other (unknown) people of various clearer features (a typical scenario for this level of lucidity). Two females, one of whom looks like a thirtyish Jamie Lee Curtis, confidently save some people from being shot by another female with a machine gun. However, prior to that, the would-be shooter seems to keep changing her mind on whether or not to shoot a certain person in extremely brief cycles of mood and anticipation. The main rescued female says something about not saying anything about her rescue to the authorities - with the assumption that one of the rescuers is a vigilante also wanted by the authorities, but the one who looks like Jamie cheerfully asks her why not as they are walking off, implying that she should report her experience - even in describing her rescuers to the police.

Another senseless scene follows where I am with a group of about five or six unknown males and am “playfully” pointing an unloaded AK-47 at random people coming into the mall. No one notices or cares. The conversation in the group seems very important though I am not directly involved. I hear one male talking about being put on hold for ten minutes while ordering pizza in Indonesia. One male seems to become bored and starts doing an odd routine to see if anyone notices. He keeps lifting his legs behind him and over time, is actually almost diagonal (facing downwards and holding himself up with his hands) with his feet propped up on what looks somewhat like an old-fashioned post office desk. No one notices his antics. Eventually, he is in a squatting position on the top of the desk and still no one regards his location - which seems to amuse him. To his right (my left) is another male on the desktop that was not part of the group, who is also grinning.

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