lucid

Morning of June 12, 2015. Friday.



I had been posting on a particular dream journal site in real life (and many will know instantly what I am referring to) that has come to have what I “affectionately” refer to as the “raining tilde” glitch (see image). Being that my main dream journal has been on tumblr, I did not focus on how to “fix” this facet of my life experience on another site as it was not really that bothersome. However, once an entity steps in (or whatever “version” of my wife exists on “higher planes”), I can do or “solve” anything I choose, depending on whether I accept the nature of Yin and accept that I am Yang. Real or not, the evidence always speaks for itself whether or not the rest of humanity is remotely aware of it (and typically…no).

While being frustrated at the neatness of an entry in a typical fashion, it suddenly dawns on me that the “magic” (or whatever it is that “made” me in my Yang persona) is always available to me as it has always been. (I did after all marry my dream girl, with countless validations and proof it was what I thought it was since just prior to my birth. It means nothing that humanity is not capable of believing or even seeing at that level.)

A version of Yin sends the Blue Pearl event and I realize I should get to work enhancing my journal on a particular site - because any real effort requires focus. Stupidly (regarding only on the human level rather than omniscient - as omniscience is usually too overwhelming for me, almost like a tidal wave quickly going out and flowing too quickly back), I “solve” the “raining tilde” glitch (again, with the partial guidance of a younger version of Yin) but only partially. I end up editing (making my edited post mostly blank) and filling out all possible tags as quickly as possible with the word “test” (followed by a number) on a large number of recent entries, so it forces out the “raining tilde”, and then I repost the complete entry. I feel quite stupid for not taking care of this long ago and realize it will probably take a few weeks in a few longer sessions to do this (although relating to my extreme typing speed, it is not really bothersome). That is only because I suddenly realized the potential for a more uniform neatness in the particular online journal and would even donate (monetarily) to the site if such a need arises.

Yin tells me that the “raining tilde” glitch was placed in this universe to “test” me, in a metaphorical “rain on my parade” tease (or imposing on my writing - even thinking - in a playful way - which may be a partial association with another dream of this day about pushing the trucks out of our yard) - a metaphor I was familiar with in my youth, and which is somewhat amusing.

I look back and realize that my “Rocket Science” dream featured what was reminiscent of a tilde (although I do not think that is what the fluttering and descending staircase-shaped paper represented). Then there was the dream of the giant derby that rained over the ocean. These ideas are dominant for a time, but only loosely associated with the tilde problem.

After thinking I can at least eventually fix up my journal, Yin slaps me upside the head (which seems to mean that she is wondering why I am editing the entire entry each time) and winks twice. I do not get this, but I do eventually understand there is a game-like nature to eliminating the irritating and completely irrelevant word cloud (word “cloud” apparently being another play on raining in the sense of being annoying - although real rain, I enjoy). Also, I then see how to prevent the pointless and random dream dictionary tags from appearing on my page (because so-called dream dictionaries are a serious offense against any thinking dream worker or any conscious person in general).

Finally, I realize that Yin is referring to two semicolons with her two winks (as used in an Internet emoticon). I then tag with two semicolons and see that I now have the option of closing the repeat occurrence of it - since it actually makes the “raining tilde” glitch - which makes me feel very eerie (even “otherworldly”) in the confirmation (I originally thought it was impossible, as it was not even a real typeable character and acted more as a graphic glitch since it could not be copied as text), which eliminates the original glitch as well (as does all repeating of irrelevant word cloud instances and often completely unrelated “dream dictionary” links). In other words, I now know how the “raining tilde” glitch is mimicked for quick erasure (as well as saving a significant amount of onsite bandwidth over time - due to the impossibly long repeated link sequence that is rendered even if not clicked on). This means that the entity solved three problems at the same time on several levels. How amusing and quaint. Better late than never.

Morning of May 9, 2015. Saturday.



This dream was brought on by anger and frustration as well as a stress headache. For the second day in a row, on the weekend, totally thoughtless workers involved in the National Broadband Network annoyed and stressed out my family by parking next to our house at about six in the morning and playing their radio (of continuous amplified arrhythmic babbling of the announcers with unnatural undertones) and gossiping loudly near our windows for about nine hours. They seemed to only be involved in actual work about ten percent of the time. I have always considered that the surreal level of disrespect, mindlessness, and oppression by the government, authority (including any agency or business authority), and infrastructure, is too bizarre and purposeless to be real, and is actually something I have aligned with other elements of the unexplained and which I consider part of the mysteries I have contemplated since early childhood. Having this view has never gotten me into any trouble because I have never acted upon it, as there is no reason to. It is the problem of humanity itself. I consider myself far luckier than many people, though being with augmented senses and awareness makes it difficult to be near many types of people for the most part, primarily because there is little I can relate to concerning much of the general populace.

My dream gives me the “gift” of destroying much of humanity, though only those who feel they can do anything they want to someone without repercussions or answering for their impositions. It starts out when I begin to grow fangs in the manner of a typical vampire, though there is no in-dream association with vampires. I am aware of the need to protect my family as well. I transform into a large dragon at times and let all of my anger out onto the world. I breathe fire in my human form at times, with enough power to wipe out an entire city block, mostly only in business and industrial areas. I am aware of an intensely loud and low-pitched growling (with various overtones, some even musical) coming from my presence at certain points. It is very clear audio. Normally, any speaking or sounds I make are fairly loud and clear in dreams, but this is extraordinarily forceful, almost like a sound as present and far-reaching as the totality of the world’s sounds itself, and with seemingly at least three different layers of audio events continuing as my dream fades.

It is curious that I dreamt of being a dragon, as I usually associate dragons with chaos, darkness, and disease (lung cancer associated with breathing fire as well as an event of my rare sleep apnea causing my first dream of a dragon) as well as extinction (connection with dinosaurs and the dinosaur age) and purposelessness (in being a mythological form). Of course, the dragon is also associated with evil in the Christian sense, but I have never held much interest in that idea - though in my dream it seems the opposite; it seemed to be a positive life-affirming “judgement” (from God or perhaps humanity itself) rather than the supposed “Devil”. Without the oppressors and the people who feel their thoughtless (and usually pointless, such as loud radios) impositions mean nothing, life is more enjoyable and harmonious. However, people who feel their oppressive acts should be self-controlled (or regulated if they are too stupid to understand) oddly feel as if their “rights” are being violated somehow. Astounding, really, but human nature, apparently.

One of the reasons why I cannot understand how a person, especially someone who is supposed to be working in an infrastructure-related job, could have the courage to play a loud car radio near someone’s house early in the morning, or anytime for that matter let alone for hours after, is that I cannot remotely imagine doing something this insane and risky from my own perspective. Why? Because I know how I feel when this happens, including the real risk it generates (as people have been attacked or killed over similar acts - though this can be acted out in a dream with no repercussions of course). I could not even began to imagine doing the imposing and thoughtless things to people that I have experienced continuously throughout my life by certain other types of people.

Morning of May 8, 2015. Friday.



My dream’s setting, which is meant to represent our home, is rendered with quite a bit of detail, though it does not seem that familiar (even in comparison to various past false renderings of our home as dreams typically do). There is concern about some sort of cable box for television (and possibly with computer connections as well) that is illogically hanging near the window at a slight angle, a bit more than halfway up the wall, in what seems to be the living room. Over time, I put my hand on it and clearly feel intense heat. I can even vividly feel the heat on the palm of my hand from about a foot away. This becomes a concern of course, as it may eventually cause a fire. A small fire soon starts near the box, but we put it out right away with a spray bottle (probably filled with water).

Time passes, the television remains on, and I eventually see reddish orange flashes outside the windows though it is not that late and I think the sun is still out. I go outside and see that the entire front of the house is on fire, but in several different smaller sections near the roof, each area on fire being just above each window, of which there are at least five areas. I get the garden hose and manage to put them all out, but I also note numerous small clean splinters of wood falling to the ground, which I even remark upon in my dream, though this oddly does not seem that problematic, especially as they are so small, almost like the house is “shedding” slightly curved toothpicks.

I realize that the house we live in (in-dream) is not suitable to have cable television - since we seem to be able to have the television on only for a few minutes before the box overheats enough to cause a fire. Strange dream “logic”.

1 minute 36 second read.
Tuesday morning, 5 May 2015.
An Ocean Walk near my Middle School (leg mobility)
Dream # 17,669-01.




It is early afternoon. I am with Zsuzsanna near the ocean. However, with common surreal irregularity, the “ocean” replaces the southeast grounds of my middle school in Arcadia, Florida. I appreciate the beauty of the water’s scintillating surface.

Zsuzsanna walks over an area of the ocean’s surface, and I notice a small school of fish underneath. I get the impression that the water is deep. I walk on the ocean’s surface with her, but we do not go more than ten feet from the “shore.” (The “shore” integrates with the sidewalk that encompasses the large building.)

I see a small shark underneath the water, so I am concerned about Zsuzsanna’s safety. The shark passes underneath her a few times, so I tell her to come over to where I am. She walks atop the water’s surface and is eventually on my left (modeling our sleeping orientation).

She moves away when the shark jumps from the water, illogically floating vertically upright near me, but I do not feel threatened as it taps me on my left shoulder and ear a few times and on the left side of my left leg as it “dances” before returning to the water. (It does not go near Zsuzsanna.) During this time, it had transformed into a grouper about three feet long.

Later, I am on the ground. It has sparse grass and sandy soil. I use telekinesis to attempt to change it. The ground’s surface and the grass move with a rippling effect. I do this for a few minutes until most of the blades of grass move to one area.

Although my lucidness is high, I do not consider how my mental influence has this power solely in the dream state.

I make the ocean’s surface move under my will, but there is ambiguity where water and soil seem to have the same properties. However, it is like a mirage (like looking at something through heated air). I have a false recall of how this type of control of the environment works sometimes, but not always.

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Being tapped by the floating, dancing fish is an incentive to become more aware of my body through increased somatosensory phasing (and leaving REM atonia). That scenario is followed by mentally arranging and separating illusory patterns.

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Morning of April 30, 2015. Thursday.



This was an extraordinarily beautiful dream in every way even though it was about numerous tornadoes. The mood and essence of the imagery was near-ecstatic and the vividness was of the type where it seemed like a real environment in almost every way. It even colored my mood to where I feel a residual joyous nature and optimism.

In the first part of my dream, my family and I are living back on Barolin Street. We have different neighbors (the houses also being closer together than in reality) and across and parallel to the street is only a set of elevated railroad tracks about as high as a one-storey house and about fifteen feet from the street (the rest of the area being just grass). At first, there is a point where I marvel at the wind and its sound. It is a very strange and eerie sound but I am not concerned and in fact feel quite joyous when walking into the living room where my family is. I notice the neighbor’s curtains are blowing nearly horizontally out at least one open window. (I am mostly only aware of the neighbors to the north.)

Looking outside from the front porch later to check on the weather, I look to the south and see a few very light gray tornadoes forming. They are rather small and thin and soon seem detached from the clouds above them and seem both transparent and shiny. They follow a path on the other side of our street, moving in our direction. I start telling my family about the tornadoes but they do not seem as if they will cause much damage or go directly near our house (even though one clips the porch later in my dream). Even the wind they produce is not really that strong even though the sound is clear and loud. An unknown person (not a neighbor) sees me on the porch and as we talk, he says they are crayolas and not tornadoes and therefore supposedly not nearly as dangerous. However, large tornadoes do seem to be forming and going by us on the opposite side of the street. The imagery is mysterious and beautiful and it seems to be nighttime at this point.

A neighbor comes over and begins talking with me about the unusual weather (he seems concerned about what to do) and I mention that there are more tornadoes coming. He seems a bit confused and slightly annoyed and says that he is from New York and had not lived in Australia very long. It seems odd to me that he does not know at all what tornadoes are or what they look like. Although he is friendly, he seems a bit frustrated with our communications over time, not seeming to know anything at all about the region or the culture.

At one point, I notice what looks somewhat like a white squarish airplane on the ground across the street (more to the north) and point it out to him. I notice and describe the yellow and black diagonal lines on each side of the back area. About six or seven men are around it, seemingly picking supplies up from the ground and checking the vehicle. I soon realize that it may not be an airplane but some sort of rescue truck that went off the road. The imagery seems rather ambiguous. More tornadoes pass. One of them goes right across the front of the porch but does no damage.

For several minutes, the weather seems to calm a bit, but then I see another tornado moving alongside the elevated railroad tracks (but still touching ground) and making a loud clacking by pulling at the railroad ties and overall structure, much like the sound of a train moving over the tracks. This seems amusing to me and I even mention this to the neighbor. (I have heard in real life that a tornado sounds like an approaching train.) When I look out again later, I notice that a train has been derailed and is very close to our porch, the yellow caboose (hanging at about a twenty-degree angle) seeming suspended on a portion of ruined railing and debris to the left of the porch door. This part of my dream changes though, as it is not there later on. (I get the impression that I will mentally throw it to the other side of the street though I am not yet lucid.) An ambulance goes north at one point, very clearly and loudly.

At one point, I notice a female and about four or five of her younger children, who are apparently trying to escape by going north of the main tornadoes. At one point, they are lying over the street (heads mostly to the north) on their stomachs but not badly injured. I converse with the mother about what is going on and if they will be needing any help. It seems they will be okay. More tornadoes are coming, all of them beautiful and with almost “musical” howling.

I watch for what seems like a very long time. Even though I thought it had been nighttime at most points, the sky is eventually blue with white clouds to both the north and the south and it then seems to be “suddenly” late morning. However, weird dark clouds, almost like hands and fingers (each finger being a thin tornado, growing longer and sometimes at an odd angle), quickly form out of nowhere and the sky goes very dark again. This seems very strange and beautiful to me, but I start talking about how this cannot be normal weather.

At this point, the neighbors to the north (the unknown male I had talked to earlier, now with his wife and at least three children) come out and we all eventually go into my backyard for some reason, probably over concerns of our houses being destroyed. The male asks me why my wife and I had impersonated him when they had first moved in, seeming a bit amused but also frustrated (and slightly condescending in a religious or moral sense) about our behavior towards him. I have some sort of false memory to my dream’s back story (which had not actually occurred to my knowledge) that we had mimicked things he said in the manner he said them. The idea of saying “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery” to soothe his possible dislike of my family comes to mind, but I do not say it aloud.

In the last scene, I finally start to become lucid. I start to say aloud in my dream that it is a dream because the sky, as well as the weather in general, could not be like this in reality. I look to the south and see the dark clouds forming a penguin shape as if someone was making a crayon drawing in the sky. Other unusual cloud patterns occur, mostly to the southeast. “This is a dream,” I say to the other male’s wife. For a short time, her body becomes invisible as she is walking while her head floats along in midair. My family remains of normal appearance as we are walking around while I point out the impossibilities of the patterns in the sky.

Even though I am lucid at this point and my dream remains as vivid as it had been since the start, it is not a full lucidity, but skewed with faulty reasoning. I know for certain that I am in a dream yet also have this clear idea that everyone else (equally “real” as I am in my dream) is in the “same” dream. Right at the mental threshold of the contemplation of turning this into an erotic adventure, I wake instantly, probably because my dream had already been extremely long at this point. Still, upon waking, I feel joyous, healthy, and energized.

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Again, this dream has the sky becoming as if someone is coloring in a penguin. One of the photographs my sister sent recently (with no way of me knowing ahead of time that she would send me anything) is an old photograph which has me coloring in a penguin in a coloring book as a boy (which had been taken by my mother and sent to her at that time).

Morning of April 5, 2015. Sunday.



I already knew this many years ago, but once again a “popular” dream myth is exposed as just that - a myth - this being the one where you supposedly only dream about vivid sexual encounters if they are not presently occurring in reality. (Besides, common sense would dictate that the Tetris effect would render that idea as ludicrous.) Not only that, the level of conscious dream creation and control is almost a hundred percent save for one unusual distortion.

In my (first) dream, I am, for some reason, focused on a room on Loomis Street, the one with the second refrigerator and which was used both mainly for storage boxes and my last sleeping place before moving to Australia (as well as where I read all the letters from my wife before we met). Though I was last there in early 1994, I recall how my older sister still had at least a couple quarter-filled bottles of shampoo from as far back as the 1950s as well as a stack of old “Dig” magazines from the 1950s. My sister called it the “junk room”. In my dream, this room is far more cluttered than it ever was in reality - so much so, it is impossible to walk through it on the floor. It begins to dawn on me that I am dreaming. Oddly, instead of stabilizing and enhancing my dream and taking control as I often have in the past (even as a toddler), I decide to wake up and look around (without moving in reality), which I do.

During this short wakeful period, I start to make my next dream, which will start in the same location but then change to our present address on W street. After a short time, I am back in the “same” dream, more lucid and with more vividness than ever. This time it is raining indoors. The rain is extraordinarily refreshing and I revel in the sensations for a time as I climb up onto a stack of cardboard boxes on my way through the room. Eventually, I leave this room through a fictional door, either teleporting or simply going into the front room of this house by way of a typical dream composite.

From here, I “summon” my wife, who appears automatically at about the age she was when we first started writing or a few years younger. We indulge in passionate kissing and embracing, the sense of touch “accelerated” (in the manner that all senses are in dreams at times, including internally glowing enriched imagery, augmented “impossibly loud” audio, blissful “smells as simultaneous breathing”, and other perceptions not possible in waking life). The only distortion is, when I am holding her from behind, a “hollow pocket” appears within my dream’s rendering; sometimes in her upper back, sometimes in the air - though this does not distract me from reaching my peak. This seems to represent the tiny degree of control that is lacking in my dream creation and continuity. However, I keep “sealing” it (in an automatic mental sense), whereby it fills itself in somewhat like fluid, like a three-dimensional holographic dynamic recess (spherically inverted) sealing itself up from some sort of minor “glitch” of consciousness - like a “blind spot”, perhaps, but more in line with my view and not always on the periphery. I see this as an environmental “flaw”, not related to the form of my wife - more like a superimposed partial “mini-portal” that I do not place my hand near at any point. Still, it may also be a vague association with “hollow of the back” or even the phrase “holler back” (as a typical in-dream orphaned pun).

Even though we had indulged in making love in reality just a few hours prior, my dream seems to increase my desire and awareness and even seems to “reignite” and increase my physical stamina (almost to a point of disbelief considering I was already just fulfilled), something I cannot help but puzzle over other than my dream self consciousness (in some incarnations) being more viable than the conscious in some ways (certainly not in logic, critical thinking, or even common sense, but more relative to bodily control, physical capability, and cellular function).

Affirmation forms, including “Thank you for telling me when I am dreaming”, “Thank you for making me aware of when I am in a dream”, and hundreds of similar phrases, seem to have almost fully integrated into my normal thinking processes, although I still like to experience non-altered or “unscripted” dreams.

Morning of April 5, 2015. Sunday.



Most of my dreams of today had various levels of lucidity, but some are too abstract to relate correctly. Being “inside” abstract forms is sometimes very comfortable, other times bland and uncomfortable (almost strenuous, in fact).

I am in a typical unconscious state of being aware of needing to have my body on one side or the other, a certain number of minutes on each side, and a certain position, as some sort of important faux system of continuity, mostly abstract (almost like “drawing invisibly” or “painting” internally - even maze-like at times), seeing myself doing this even though I have not moved my physical body as such in reality - checking my sleeping form while disembodied and hovering above myself to see if I am in the “right” position at the “right” time, almost like an attempt to interpret myself as a letter of the alphabet that must change in precise rhythms over time, although with the sense of repeating the “same steps” after a time, which my body seems to do. This seems to last for a very long time (several hours), though likely an illusion and perhaps only lasting a half hour or so. This type of “pre-dreaming” or whatever it is seems more common for me over the last few years.

In my main dream, I am walking about in an unknown city with “friends” I do not know in reality. It seems to be late at night. There is some sort of idea related to gang activity, but nothing dramatic happens. I do have a revolver but do not shoot anyone. The setting is ambiguous. I am walking through alleys but at one point, one becomes an internal hallway and then an alley again.

Next, the most vivid (even beautiful) part of my dream occurs. I walk out through the end of a hallway into a sort of distorted alleyway and become aware of a thin young male sitting at what resembles a comic-strip lemonade stand. It is set back a bit from a large storefront and parking lot. He is apparently a drug dealer and in fact is sniffing a lot from his own creations, though seems very cheerful and passive.

These in-dream “drugs” are small containers of various mixed colors of paint (which a person apparently drinks to get the effects, each color being slightly different), or at least that is what it looks like and what I instinctively believe. There is a very strong smell of paint in the night air as well as an odd organic scent, or rather, likely a chemical fabrication of fruit scents and such; blueberry, orange, lemon, grape, strawberry, and so on. I feel slightly out of place in accidentally arriving at this location (almost like accidentally going into a bar) and somewhat wary, but the unknown male seems very sincere in his service and asks me what he can get for me (inferring a particular mix of particular colors in precise proportions). I cheerfully say “no” (with respect) and continue walking. I really do not feel like drinking paint even while within a dream. At this point, when I look down, I see rivulets of paint flowing out into the parking lot from his area, which I end up walking on (the entire area is covered), all different colors and glistening brightly in the moonlight, swirling and forming multicolored abstract pattens. These completely random and incidental swirls of color flowing out over the parking lot and into the street seem hundreds of times more pleasant to look at than typical graffiti. There are gallons and gallons of paint seemingly being wasted in his business, but it also seems like the remains or “waste water” of whatever process he is working with. There is an intriguing calmness during this scene. (It also seems somewhat odd that so much paint has recently been flowing out from one small area - though not necessarily in a negative context.)

Although I become more lucid, I mostly end up walking around without doing much other than enjoying the night air and sense of peace. (I am still not quite sure what city I am in.)

Morning of April 4, 2015. Saturday.



I am lucid in this dream, though it is not of the level of lucidity that enhances the dream state to full vividness and highly focused dream-self awareness. It starts out at our present address on W street, rendered fairly accurately in layout and overall appearance. My wife is with me for most of the events. Two unknown people (late forties perhaps - male and female though not necessarily a couple), dressed somewhat formally as for a business, are on our porch while there is a storm beginning. A thicker bolt of lightning comes down and strikes them, actually curving around underneath the eaves, seemingly knocking them unconscious. I decide to summon the lightning to strike me to see what will happen (regarding my in-dream state of awareness) as well as thinking it may improve my physical well-being. I am not able to do this though and become somewhat annoyed though not outright angry.

Later, my wife and I are on a crowded bus in a larger city though the storm seems to threaten to tip the bus over. We get off the bus and the other people do as well, though we hold a cheerful disposition. There is a strange sudden heavy rain that blows horizontally (mostly only in one small area of the street, near the corner) and for a moment, almost seems like a large unseen hose spraying from the front of the bus (from near the rear-view mirror). It is not even near us so we do not get wet.

I am later walking down the sidewalk and there is a large gnarled tree that actually moves one lower branch to avoid physical contact with me, which annoys me in the manner of an insult. I then demand (though without projected anger in my voice) that the tree make contact with me and heal me. The branch perfectly forms the shape of a human hand and holds it over the back of my wrist. (This reflects somewhat on a long vivid dream of over twenty years ago where trees on a boulevard reached down to caress my face and express love though the mood is entirely different here.) The mood is not fully positive though, and my lucidity is not that pronounced - though I am still aware that I am making most of my dream’s contents.

Later, it seems to be after sunset and there is still some sort of unusual storm activity (but not directly threatening in any way). My dream takes on a similar mood and setting as previous dreams where I am looking straight up at the sky; the zenith (and almost always with abstract features). It actually seems to take place in the same setting as other similar dreams somewhere in the southwest area of La Crosse. (It is not anything like the “remember the twilight” dreams where I watch lights or other things and events in the sky over the horizon with a nostalgic sense.) The sky is very unusual regarding the cloud formations and I also see various “objects” moving around, such as an orange trapezoid and other geometric shapes now and then, though which seem two-dimensional and not related to a spacecraft of any kind. From here, my dream becomes too distorted to hold cohesion of any kind. The sky; the zenith; becomes a random hodgepodge of abstract morphing shapes.

1 minute 40 second read.

Friday morning, 20 March 2015.

My Bee Lariat in La Crosse (arm and hand mobility)

Dream # 17,623-03.



Introductory knowledge:

Statue precursor: Augustus Ceaser. Statue precursors have occurred in all sleep cycles for over 50 years and correspond with my status of REM atonia (paralysis while sleeping throughout every dream each sleep cycle in healthy people). They do not typically remain in my dream’s narrative after they present but sometimes define the type of mobility that occurs. For example, the Augustus Ceaser statue’s position implies defining an invisible lariat as in my dream’s outcome. A person might also misperceive it as a man with a bedsheet wrapped around his waist, confirming an additional lucidness factor of being undressed while sleeping.

The lucidness factors include vestibular-motor phasing with practicing hand and arm mobility and recognition of imagination while undressed in sleep. Spinning or attempting to spin something is a natural dynamic of vestibular-motor phasing. These attributes are neither “non-lucid” dreaming nor “lucid dreaming,” both misnomers.

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Dream narrative:

I am in the Loomis Street house’s backyard, where Marilyn is also present at one point. The setting’s essence implies an hour before sunrise.

The backyard is full of plants of minimal height. They are yellow carnations or marigolds. I am eventually aware of a swarm of bees attracted to them. At first, I consider they might sting Marilyn and me, but my concern becomes minimal.

I believe I can control air currents. I raise my right arm and hold up my index finger (pointing upward), rotating it in a counterclockwise circular pattern as if defining an invisible lariat. The bees gather into a rotating torus above me, turning counterclockwise. Any bee still on a flower is forced into this pattern.

I contemplate how bees that produce honey benefit people, so I allow some bees to navigate individual air currents to gather nectar. (This standpoint may not have been the case if the flowers had not been yellow.)

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Virtual amnesia results in my dream self not recalling that I have not lived in America since February 1994 or that Marilyn died in 2014.

Failure to think and contrived convenience for vestibular-motor phasing: My dream self does not rationalize that we could go into the house to avoid the bees.

Compartmentalized lucidness factors, virtual amnesia, and the failure to feasibly think are all caused by responding to dream state dynamics as a result of REM sleep, revealing there is no such thing as “dream interpretation” when correctly recognizing and understanding causality.

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Morning of March 16, 2015. Monday.



I am viewing everything from a disembodied perspective and appear to be in Earth’s orbit. I notice at least one satellite fairly close to my implied position. After a short time, a simply framed photograph of my wife and me with happy expressions and from just below the shoulders up, the picture possibly a few feet tall, floats out from near the satellite (and closer to my view) and appears to have something to do with the satellite’s function or intent (though I am not certain if it broke off from the satellite or was found by the satellite). I get a vague impression that the picture may have moved just out of range of the satellite and needs to be in a particular area, but there is no negative association or concern of any kind. Thin lightning or electricity comes upward from near the satellite or possibly from the satellite.

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This dream may be based on associations with The Phantom Zone (as seen in “Superman” from 1978) in terms of imagery, though again, there are no negative implications or associations and the concept is quite different from my dream. My dream implies only a slowly rotating photograph (that moves outward from Earth’s atmosphere) with positive associations and pleasant imagery, whereas The Phantom Zone implies actual trapped people.

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I have supplemented this dream’s details as concluding with return flight waking symbolism, as my viewpoint is towards Earth despite the photograph apparently moving out into outer space towards me. Additionally, the lightning or electricity symbolizes increasing neural activity that signifies the waking transition.

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Morning of March 5, 2015. Thursday.



Johnny Cash sings in the background, sounding somewhat distant yet somehow close at the same time, like an old anachronistic Buick with a loudspeaker atop following me from perhaps a block away. “I ride an old paint, I lead an old Dan, I’m off to Montan’ for to throw the hooley-ann.” The voice is somewhat familiar in a different way, somewhat melancholy, the nature of the “reality” of this deserted 1800s half-defined world. Not much to look at but a pale brick wall in the late evening, a wall that flows past me as I ride a weird clay-like bay roan horse into an eerily empty town. Or so it seems. There are only a few men in the streets of the town, as it is so late at night. Is this Laredo? “I spied a young cowboy all wrapped in white linen, wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay…” (As cold as a clay horse?)

However, without explanation, without a backstory, without even a false memory to build a nonsensical foundation to explain my location and direction, I find myself riding Pokey into an old western town. My clay horse will not behave. His mouth grows and “roars” like the “roaring worm” from “Eraserhead”. Johnny Cash’s singing remains a statement of fact in the background. These cowboys cannot live here. My horse will swallow them.

Eraserhorse will eat everyone eventually, and I cannot do much to stop him.

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This dream utilizes coalescence waking symbolism, a type of waking symbolism where the dream self or other dream features are rendered as being metaphorically “swallowed” into waking consciousness.

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I confess that I was never a fan of “Gumby” and went out of my way to avoid it whenever I could, even as a child. I found it over-the-top irritating. It was like a trend in society to force children to watch certain things as a form of punishment - and many forms of “entertainment” still seem as such.

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Night of March 2, 2015. Monday.



An unknown dark-haired young girl is somehow driving a stagecoach. At times, it seems to be around sunset. I am not certain if I am actually “in” the old west or if it is a strange attempted reenactment of a western scene for a movie or a club. I float, seemingly disembodied, on the right side of the vehicle. The girl somehow remains hovering above the front part of the stagecoach. This is not to imply a strong wind or great speed as it sort of suggests, but a simple ability or occurrence of casually floating in the air (apparently under her own control for the most part) remaining in the same general area relative to the coach and somehow controlling the horses as well. There are no mishaps and no drama. In fact, the girl seems to be mildly amused or at least cheerful about her endeavor. At times, she seems to be a silhouette inside the stagecoach, but this is ambiguous as she is continuously the driver.

Morning of February 9, 2015. Monday.



For quite some time I am looking at old family photographs on my computer. There is one part where there are also videos below the photographs, several full-screen ones, but columned down the screen, all playing at the same time, which is a bit annoying. Still, I manage to learn of an unknown (fictional) teenage girl having been a friend of the family for a long time. Meanwhile, I realize it is a bit cold and the front door to the apartment is open (though we live in a one-family house in reality). The heating is working but I think of telling my wife about the open front door instead of just closing it. (It is the opposite in reality - too hot and with a fan on next to the bed.)

The unknown girl’s name is Stella Womack. This is likely a typical dream distortion, in this case, of “still a woman” (the name being completely unfamiliar to me otherwise though there are people with the name in reality).

Some sort of intense in-dream mystery seems to build. This girl had photographs taken numerous times with members of my family and at a few different addresses we had lived. Somehow, something is not explainable, yet I do not become lucid over this nonexistent person having been photographed and filmed for so long. Perhaps my memory has failed and I had somehow forgotten about her. I decide to talk to my wife and find out more about all the photographs. Perhaps I had somehow just not seen any of these photographs and thus was unaware of her all this time. In the last image I see, she is standing in the kitchen holding a guinea pig and there is also a small dog on the table. Oddly, she has her mouth over the head of the guinea pig, but not so it would be unable to breathe.

My wife is lying in bed and I walk in and talk to her about this Womack girl. I remember another photograph of her standing in a kitchen. I clearly see all the hanging utensils and other details. My wife seems uncertain about why I seem confused over the photographs. She suddenly shouts “you’re dreaming!” From here she either becomes, or is replaced by, a human-sized guinea pig with its jaw hanging open and with wide overly large glassy eyes (with the impression that it was the guinea pig that had yelled and “died” or became completely still). This image remains completely “frozen”. Even though it feels as if I am wide awake now, as “real” as reality, I also have a strange awareness which is almost like coming out of a fog. (This is at least a partial result of the “thank you for telling me when I am dreaming” meditation - but to where it is now a part of my normal thinking - yes, all it takes is simple thinking, as with anything else, which transforms into actual belief and automatic responses over time - though certain mental patterns and “abilities” seem to take over twenty years to hone perfectly with light three-minute affirmation sessions throughout every day, many thousands of which I developed over time since childhood.)

Becoming fully lucid, I wander off into a typical random “let’s have sex” neighborhood - fully aware that I am always the maker of all my dreams (both lucid and non-lucid - something I have accepted since I was very young) - and easily rip the front doors off the first house I come to and throw them into the front yard behind me. Three perfect copies of my beautiful wife are lounging around in the living room. There are at least two other people around, somewhere in the house, but I ignore their presence at first. Obviously, full passive cooperation follows as I sit down on the couch and have one at a time over what seems about an hour. Only one copy is wearing reading glasses, the pair she has used only rarely in reality. Another copy is several years younger.

At one point, another male walks out from the hallway and is standing behind the couch, almost like some sort of brainless Sims character meandering about - as I sense no intelligence or consciousness as I do with my wives. I do not really feel threatened or judged but I am somewhat annoyed by some sort of incoherent muffled vocalization on his part (he seemingly represents the typical imposing nature of everyman) - so I somehow fling my arms backwards, grab him by the shoulders, fold him into a paper airplane, and fling him back into the hallway.

For seemingly about twenty minutes, I relax in my dream between sexual acts, cheerfully admiring my dream’s environment, sitting there and contemplating how amazing it is that I feel exactly the same as I do when awake (though this dream is far more vivid and with more conscious “depth” than typical lucid dream types - as I am in complete “automatic” control and focus throughout). I look around the room. There is a small bedroom on my left side. The hallway on the other side of the room is in front of me. The couch (near the center of the room) faces away from the front door. At no time does the room change size or change in any other way (as is typical in non-lucid dreams and even some lucid ones).

I look up and behind me and see at least four large silver wind chimes hanging from the ceiling; the same direction as the couch is oriented but arranged over the length of the room, north to south. They are crescent moons and five-pointed stars. The ceiling reflects the very slight motions of the wind chimes perfectly, both in the cast shadows and the silvery reflections of each star and crescent moon, which captures my attention for a few minutes, it is so amazingly beautiful and bringing a deep sense of peace. I briefly focus on how it is possible for the movements to be so accurate. In fact, I deliberately study the reflections on the ceiling caused by a particular wind chime and watch the very slight movement which is rendered exactly on the ceiling in shadow and light simultaneously - just as it would be in reality. This pleases me and I amazed by the correct details. I could sit here admiring the designs for hours.

I indulge in lovemaking three times before the telephone wakes me up in the middle of my third climax. It is a sudden shift from what seemed like an alternate reality - but the speed at which my in-dream awareness drops and “breaks” and then rises again as I wake gives me a slight headache. The first lovemaking is “normal” but the second (in reading glasses at first) involves a delay as she is wearing at least two layers of very sheer white cloth over nearly her entire body. It takes a bit of time to “scrape” the pieces off into various small shreds and the visual detail, both bodily and concerning the cloth, is extraordinary - I do get most of the first layer off - still, I lose patience and climax on the outside, still seeing her darker pinkness through the transparent but grid-patterned cloth. The third act involves the youngest version coming back from the bedroom (though she had been in the living room earlier) and this one gives oral - the beginning being almost like a “vacuuming” effect on me and with the enhanced “tickle” and eventual beginning climax - but then the telephone rings in reality.

In my wife’s dream, she was looking at lady’s pajama pants with stars and moons, wondering if she wanted to wear them - not shared dreaming but still a linking element.

Morning of February 4, 2015. Wednesday.



I keep moving in and out of sleep over a couple hours but stay in the same general dream environment and level of consciousness. At one point I open my eyes and watch an animation of a hand-drawn red and blue daisy on the wall above the real telephone (red and blue alternating petals). I do not try to shake it off as the hypnopompic stage it is - I am not getting out of bed yet anyway. It wiggles insect-like at times, and wavy lines “swim” out from it on the wall in all directions (one “jumping” over the phone chord), as the daisy drawing breaks up into its individual smaller lines. I look near the ceiling on the wall in the room to my left. High on the wall is a series of handwritten years (each about four inches high); 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, and so on, in a column, alternating in red and blue writing for each year (for example one year written in blue, the next down in red, the next down in blue, and so on), about seven or eight dates. I am not sure of the relevance.

Over time, I keep turning to either my left or ride side (typically alternating in seemingly “precisely timed” stages) taking care not to bump my sleeping wife and making sure it is done at the right time relating to the “proofreading” system I sometimes indulge in. My task is to read through someone else’s writing - three or four paragraphs, I think; I am not sure of the content anymore. The “paragraphs” are an orange fluffy ball hanging in the air (lit from the inside as if in photographic negative), about four feet up and to the right of the bed. I have to move my essence up and down through it to “download” the English writing. I have to “read” and “reread” this orange-fluffy-ball and mentally correct any spelling errors. It gets rather boring at times…It is almost like a featureless porcupine fish rendered in the wrong area, though it is not close enough to my sleeping body to be that annoying.

At one point, I am lying on a porch at an unknown residence. I am lying there mentally reading through a newspaper that is lying open near where I am, no need to turn the pages - I read it in a dream within my dream. This is not the right newspaper, though; I am actually looking for a CD that came with a particular newspaper, something relating to animal sounds made by students in a special project - I see the advertisement for it being in another newspaper. The front door opens and an older frail man looks out at me, seemingly annoyed at first, but then he offers me a place to sleep, but then I tell him I am okay where I am. He apparently sees me as a homeless teen.

A new “Star Trek” (original series) episode is being filmed in the large parking lot of a shopping mall in La Crosse (near the old Quillin’s IGA area). I am within the story itself at first, as if it is all “real”. I am on the Enterprise and I watch the activities of a Klingon ship from a window at the end of a very small downward-slanted hallway (nothing like this on the actual show in real life) - it is close and I see a lot of detail but it does not fire. Later, I am walking around in the parking lot and see that all the ships are miniature. Does this mean all the actors had been miniaturized as well? I see no larger sets representing the inside of ships. It seems very late at night. After a short time of exploration in the parking lot, I look down at a model of the Enterprise and comment on how much of it is made of cardboard, though in fact, it is actually sitting over a rectangular cardboard “fence” and not with any cardboard in the plastic model itself.

Leonard Nimoy and William Shatner, both seeming only around forty years old at the most, are seated on benches. I ask William Shatner if they are making a new “Star Trek” episode (again, as part of the original series) and he says “yes” quite cheerfully and I say “cool” with a warm sincerity, not remembering they are rather old now and that it is not 1969 anymore.

Afternoon of January 25, 2015. Sunday.



This dream seems to be a “repeat” or “replay” of a dream from the 1970s (or at least a fragment thereof), possibly due to seeing the same 70s Avengers comic book again (in PDF format though), though my dream is not directly related to its plot. It involves a more detailed version of Bloodhawk (original version, not the X-Men 2099 one to come up on Google). Actually, there are two Bloodhawk-like characters that fly around, with minor variations.

I am being chased while flying - by the two characters that are somewhat manlike but with claws, wings, and bird heads. They may also have minor dragon-like (or lizard-like) characteristics but do not breathe fire. My dream is rendered realistically in terms of not having a drawing-like feel to it. I do not feel all that threatened.

I fly into what seems to be either a church or an auditorium or some sort of composite of both (as typical features of either are in the environment). All of the movements are quite fast, with an actual mood of perceived acceleration. I am flying down an aisle (which is slanted at about thirty degrees) with one of the strange “bird men” on each side, just behind me (although they may actually be griffins at this point).

Suddenly, I stop and turn around to face my pursuers (floating upright in midair) and raise my arms absentmindedly (but still with seeming intent by my in-dream persona) and unexpectedly, a large burning letter “R” appears about three feet in front of what would be the pulpit, about as tall as a person and with reddish flames, and this scares them off as they rapidly fly back from wherever they came. The flames make a whooshing sound as they sweep upward in forming the “R” and the letter hangs there in midair until my dream ends.

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I looked this one up in my dream records and associations and found that I had summarized in writing: “Letter R can relate to energy in a more complex or visible way.” This is only one potential association I had made but it does seem to fit somewhat and is partly based on how a child naturally imitates an engine (including that of an aircraft) by vocalizing the “R” sound.

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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) Griffin vs. Grandfather Clock, (2) Making a Griffin?, (3) Malfunctioning Griffin Game, (4) The Temple and the Tomb

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