lucid

Morning of September 18, 2018. Tuesday.

Reading time: 2 min 52 sec. Readability score: 70.



Still aware of where my physical body is as I sleep, my illusory dream body rises and floats into our lounge room. I remember to focus on our porch for liminal space vivification (enhancement and sharpening of the midpoint between dreaming and waking). However, when I get to the entrance of the lounge room, there is no porch. My dream self is now implied to be corporeal but has distorted physicality. My legs are not viable, so I both fall and partly hover over the stairs, yet I do not wake. I get the impression of another physical form hovering above the ground, of which I bump. It seems to be an unfamiliar male, not very well defined. He is soon gone.

My dream is extraordinarily vivid but does not shift to the highest level of lucidity. The neighborhood is of a different appearance. Directly across the street to the north are more houses. On the west side of the intersection, I see a flaming man on a flaming motorcycle of which is traveling quite slowly. He is going south. The imagery is eerie but wondrous. I feel a sense of otherworldly awe. The fire is beautiful and increases my awareness of the dream state.

I anticipate his approach, as I think he will turn around and come back. He does, but eventually, the fire goes out, and he is walking with his motorcycle on my side of the street. As he is walking to the north side of the intersection, I boldly call out, “You’re Johnny Blaze.” He seems puzzled, and crosses back to my side of the street, approaching me. He is wearing a blue motorcycle racing jumpsuit with white stripes down the sides.

He stands close to me to become Ghost Rider again. I realize he will be able to look deep into my soul and know all there is to know about me. The experience is incredible. It is as if the universe itself is looking into all areas of my existence and personal history. He is a man again, though his eyes are glowing with eternity, infinity, and universality. I notice that flakes of my skin seem to be falling away from the scar on my right thumb, as I look down at it. There is no pain or implied threat.

Instead of any potential threat, he starts whimpering in appreciation of the life I have lived up to now. He hugs me and seems like a new friend. From here, my level of awareness shifts. I become less lucid as my dream changes into a different form, though the Johnny Blaze character is still present.

My mother is present, but I do not recall that she had died years ago. She asks me what is going on. I say, “I knew it was a dream, so I went from there,” regarding my description of falling out the door into a vivified scenario. That is very odd though, as I am no longer lucid (yet saying “I knew it was a dream.”)

As the waking transition starts, Johnny Blaze is no longer carrying the interconsciousness within the rendering. Still, I say, “Watch this,” only loosely expecting Ghost Rider to appear one final time.

Instead, a wall, like that inside a house, intersects the street, and a door appears in it. There is the common indoor-outdoor ambiguity (the sense of being inside and outside at the same time). Some other dream characters, including my mother, Zsuzsanna, and me, go over to the doorway. Beyond it from our side, we see that Johnny had crashed into a row of wheelie bins and fallen over, though I realize he is not the same character as before, as the interconsciousness had left the dream state right after hugging me (in temporary coalescence and unification). He is on the ground, mostly on his back and turned a bit to the left, looking somewhat surprised and annoyed. I wake quickly from here, finding myself in the same physical position as Johnny had been.

I should point out that I had held no thoughts of Ghost Rider, either the comic book or movie for a long time. Johnny Blaze was nothing like Nicolas Cage (or any other known actor) in my dream. He was an unfamiliar man of a more athletic build.

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Morning of September 09, 2018. Sunday.

Reading time: 1 min 18 sec. Readability score: 63.



I do not usually set the preconscious avatar on fire. It depends upon my acceptance of, and resonance with, the waking process (or how annoyed I might be about waking up in contrast to the more positive willingness) and whether or not vestibular system correlation is a factor of the transition.

My conscious self identity is not present at the beginning. It starts with a typical bedroom induction. The bedroom is a variation of Gellibrand Street in Brisbane, where we have not lived for many years.

Curiously, there are several other people in our bed with us, though I do not perceive them as intruders. (Our bed would need to be unrealistically wide to accommodate them, but I do not perceive it as such.) I am aware that the door into the bedroom is open, but it is to the left rather than in the middle of the opposite wall. (I am atypically sleeping on my right side, with my left more exposed to my real environment).

Two unknown males step into the bedroom. I do not know their intent, but I assume it is intrusive. Having a vague memory of my conscious self identity but not my real-life status, I consider what I should do.

Becoming aware that I am in the waking process of a dream, I become annoyed (as I had not used the induction process to sustain lucidity). I take hold of what is left of my dream self’s side of liminal space and create the intersection process, which is otherwise the choice to reenter deeper sleep or to wake. However, the feature is two rivers that cross each other perpendicularly rather than streets (though they are about the same size as urban streets). I mentally tie the preconscious avatar and his partner to a post where the rivers cross, mentally douse them with gasoline, and set them on fire. I deliberately fly up and out of the dream state much to my satisfaction.

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Night of September 13, 2018. Tuesday.

Reading time: 1 min. Readability score: 62.



Vestibular system correlation begins as my dream begins, which is semi-lucid but allowed to render randomly, as I do not make a willful attempt to orient or give willful detail to any of the patchy space. However, a common thought at this stage is choosing the setting of being on a bus, which is not as expansive a process as a helicopter or airplane (or flying unaided).

So the setting stabilizes as a bus, seemingly in late afternoon, but I am not corporeal, as I have not fully “stepped in,” though I am on the right of the bus driver’s seat. There is no driver. An empty child safety seat (baby car seat) is atop the empty bus driver’s seat, closer to the steering wheel. The bus is moving in a setting that seems like an ambiguous mix of a bullring (bullfighting arena) and a Nascar venue. Although it is driving itself, my dream self is still liminally controlling its direction and speed.

The Paul Simon song, “Baby Driver,” is loudly playing from an undetermined source, diffusing through the environment. There is an enhanced awareness of energy and activity. I start to feel very amused and cheerful by the absurdity of the scenario. Most members of the audience are cheering and throwing confetti as the bus circles the area.

I start to wonder why the Paul Simon song emerged, as I had not heard or thought of it in years. Still feeling cheerful, I decide to come out of my dream.

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Morning of September 12, 2018. Wednesday.

Dream #: 18,895-02. Optimized 1 min 15 sec read.



I am in the Loomis Street house on the second floor and mentally form a spaceship out of the front area. Several unfamiliar men are with me.

I operate my jerry-built flying saucer, still made of wood from the house. It rises in the air and enters outer space. One unknown male (protoconsciousness emergence caused by my vestibular phasing response to the dream state) is wary.

I go to Mars and enjoy seeing its landscapes. My illusory sensations of movement (imaginary kinesthesia caused by the vestibular phasing dynamics of REM atonia) are vivid.

“I’m going to the third galaxy,” I tell the others (an association with Earth being the third planet from the sun).

With the silly pretense of metacognitive dream shaping, I cheerfully claim every solar system has at least one planet like Earth, many of which have human-like inhabitants.

I create a planet upon which to land. There are many unusual structures. The “aliens” look like people, but they say “arrow” (myoclonus association) instead of “hello.” I mentally try to prevent them from speaking English, but we hear some short phrases. Because of this, one male passenger thinks we might be on Earth.

I see spiral writing and crosshairs on a computer screen. I read “TTYL” (“Talk To You Later”). I consider I should make the text seem more “alien.” I focus, and it soon mainly contains characters like those from the Netflix “Travelers” series. (It is a science-fiction series about human time travelers).

I summon Zsuzsanna into a bedroom for an intimate experience. My somatosensory response (tactility, physical pleasure, and sense of warmth) increases exponentially. I sit on a bed, and Zsuzsanna sits on me, facing me. The protoconsciousness personification and the other passengers are watching us through a window (with no sense of intrusion). (There is a vague association with the last scene of the James Bond movie “Moonraker” from 1979.)

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Morning of September 11, 2018. Tuesday.

Reading time: 1 min 6 sec. Readability score: 63.



I still had traces of the flu during this period. Vestibular system correlation took on a rather odd form in the otherwise typical transition, an atypical combination of internal and projected awareness. I was semi-lucid but did not maintain focus.

I enter the world of Barney Google and Snuffy Smith by liminal intent. Snuffy has a daughter of about my youngest daughter’s age. Snuffy’s daughter (fictitious as relevant to the real comic strip) walks through a doorway and my dream shifts rather than the doorway association serving as an exit. I then realize it is my daughter standing in the room in real life, but I shift back into the dream state.

Now I am viewing a Hi and Lois comic strip. It features Chip and an unknown girl (partially based on a real comic strip I had just seen previously - see image). They are riding a subway. The girl is on Chip’s left, so this is a typical rendering modeling (in real time) of how I am sleeping with Zsuzsanna with her on my left. On the left of my view of the comic strip are a few odd sketchy characters with stop signs for heads (though otherwise drawn like a Hi and Lois character).

The surreal comic strip is a result of my ongoing semi-lucid thoughts. Eventually, within a larger version of the comic strip, is an insert displaying the external movement of a real subway (like the film of a passing train, although I view its side as if from above). I say “look at that,” (even though the preconscious avatar is not visibly present) and wake slowly, feeling the illusory movement in my body.

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Morning of September 7, 2018. Friday.

Dream #: 18,900-02. Optimized 2 min 15 sec read.




My dream is a meandering but enjoyable adventure, and my real-life identity comes and goes in different scenes. Various timelines, with fictitious associations, are erroneously combined, as is often the case.

I had "fallen asleep" while sitting on a couch in an unknown dark location. Tony, a middle school schoolmate, sits on my left. I am an adult, but I have had no contact with him since my teenage years other than on Facebook in the past several years.

I am later in a big classroom with no student desks. Everyone is watching a male classmate performing a strange dance and transforming into various small objects and animals. He says something about not using chlorine in a swimming pool.

Although I had been in Florida, I am suddenly in Wisconsin. Tony is now sitting on the curb near an intersection. I fly high into the air to look down to see him looking curiously up at me. Later, I am walking with several schoolmates. I have a false memory that Karen and Kenny lived next door to the King Street mansion with no recall I once lived here. Kenny turns to go into the yard even though I thought we were all walking elsewhere.

Soon, I am in the northeast room of the King Street house. I remember my youngest son (though I have three sons), but it is my only waking-life recall. (He has never been to America.) There are miscellaneous items all over the floor. I realize I need to feed our cats. My son has a dish of cat food. Only one of the white cats had eaten. I have a false memory we have two white long-haired cats, male and female. I then "realize" we only have one and metacognitively change my dream's narrative though that is also wrong. (We do not have any white long-haired cats in reality.) I am puzzled.

Later, I dive into the Black River while flying with the false association it is the ocean. I vividly feel and enjoy my movement through the water back to shore. (I am metacognitively aware diving into the water keeps me in my dream.)

I fly around until I hear people talking inside a miniature version of the La Crosse post office but associated with the Arcadia one. Schoolmates are inside; several females and one male. He faces the entrance, sitting on a chair. He is this dream's protoconsciousness or preconscious.

A young version of Zsuzsanna is my fictitious schoolmate. We all sit around talking. I am going to fly home with Zsuzsanna even though it is erroneously La Crosse. The protoconsciousness is somewhat of a bully (which serves as a wakefulness imperative), but it does not bother me. He asks me to give him a dollar.

I hold out my right hand, palm down, and single thrice-folded dollar bills materialize to fall to the floor in front of him. I create many of them as they scatter over the floor. He seems annoyed and holds only one of them, making no effort to pick the others up. I consider it a bribe for allowing my dream to continue and vivify, and it does for a time.

I hold Zsuzsanna to my left (metacognitively modeling our sleeping orientation). I effortlessly and joyfully fly off with her, remaining about ten feet above the sidewalk for about a block and then fly higher.

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Night of September 2, 2018. Sunday.

Reading time: 2 min 28 sec. Readability score: 64.



I decide to create an earth-like planet (a typical exercise) and, within my implied position in outer space, pull it towards me and push it away from my view several times. It relates to a specific type of dream state perception where passive observation and creation are ambiguously the same. For example, I may “pull” the background closer to me rather than enter into it.

In an undefined but “patchy” unlit space, I practice rotating the view to the right about 45 degrees, then to the left. I shake it side to side rather than attempt to move my head. I push and pull the “patchy” undefined space towards me and push it back as I did with the planet exercise. I create a solid green square and make it go side to side (leftmost and rightmost) with little effort. I mentally shake it until it breaks up into smaller squares. There is the usual segment where diamonds rapidly flip over each other.

I create a castle. I open an outer brick wall about two storeys up to practice the manipulation of liminal space division. The hole in the outer wall is diamond-shaped. I mentally pull out the bricks and put them back into the wall several times, with no effort, only expectation of what I want. I spin individual ones in midair while turning all of them in rotation like a tank tread before they uniformly join into a solid wall again. While the hole is there, an unidentifiable female avatar remains motionless inside that room.

I create a rainy alley scene, like out of a 1940s gangster movie. A black 1947 Cadillac Fleetwood pulls up. Three unfamiliar men get out. I decide to make the scenario into something different. Now, three young girls in 1970s jumpsuits approach. The one in the middle ahead of the other two pauses and turns around. I notice her hair moves in the wind like a fire. The imagery begins to spin and shine, the helicopter rotor effect, and turns into a stained-glass spinning kaleidoscopic view, expanding into a different state of awareness, though is three-dimensional rather than a flat field. I joyfully watch this surreal imagery for several minutes.

I hover and fly over beautiful rocky landscapes with rivers of mist.

I start playing around with a four-feet-high egg in the same way I did with the brick wall earlier. Similarly shaped pieces of the eggshell break out and move about in the air in a circular pattern, reminiscent of a mosaic taking itself apart and rebuilding itself, but I will them back into place several times as if the egg had never started to hatch. Each time, only a pair of human eyes is visible from inside the egg, though different each time. (This stage of dreaming has occurred on a regular basis for over fifty years. Eyes are usually the most realistically defined imagery.) I then start to realize that an egg, at least in some manifestations, is the same type of perceptual liminal space division as is a brick wall; pieces of the egg, bricks of the wall, break out, reconstruct.

Eventually, a young version of Medusa is present upon my summoning. I focus on the intricacy of her hair. Hundreds of tiny snakes move about atop her head. There is no fear or concern. I marvel at the detail of her costume and headband. Eventually, the snakes are intricate braids of human hair. A turquoise stone is in her headband. I deliberately suck in and inhale its essence as a mist that has healing properties.

I create another earth-like planet. It cracks into smaller pieces at the top, and I pull cotton out of it.

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Night of August 30, 2018. Thursday.

Reading time: 57 sec. Readability score: 53.



Water induction brings about an association with fishing. However, in semi-lucidity, I focus on something else, and the potential fishing backstory fades along with my rod and tackle. It is a tree stump arising from the center of a lake. (It is the only feature above the surface.)

I start to conceptualize it as something important, but I am not sure of what relevance it is. I think it possibly represents old age. After a time, the water becomes lower.

Over time, I think about the tree becoming whole again, but I do not deliberately try to force the event. The water lowers to where the lake is gone. I become distracted by a shifting of awareness where I now see a bicycle rack as if a feature in an urban public park. The landscape slowly rotates around me.

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Despite the implication of the stump being in the ground at the lake’s bottom, it stems from the Old Man of the Lake, a Crater Lake feature, which vertically floats. The bicycle rack blends the typical association of the liminal space barrier as a fence (otherwise dividing dream self and conscious self presence) with a more linear vestibular system correlation anticipated (in contrast to flight, rising, or falling), though no bicycle is present. Instead, I wake with the entire landscape slowly rotating around me (clockwise) like a bicycle wheel, in addition to water lowering waking symbolism (ultradian rhythm and decrease of melatonin).

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Night of September 1, 2018. Saturday.

Dream #: 18,884-08. Reading time: 48 sec.



I enter a light sleep, with the flu. I am sitting on our couch in reality. I hear knocking (three knocks each time) in two areas of my head over time. I remain aware of my liminal state.

I am vaguely aware of the virtual division between the dream state and wakefulness, which forms as a sash window with no curtains. I am uncertain of the location. The room is mostly featureless. I get the impression of daylight through the window.

I think about vestibular system correlation (and imaginary proprioception) and its role in waking starts. I sense preconscious activity and see Mary Poppins cheerfully looking in through the window. As I remain uncertain if I am on the first or second (or higher) floor, I do not know if she is hovering or standing.

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Vestibular personification is often associated with flight (when the discernment of my physical body is inviable or ambiguous). The instinctual anticipation of vestibular system correlation comes before the personification of it. In this case, I am aware of the process, though not deliberately creating the simulacrum’s identity.

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The relevance is that Zsuzsanna and I lived in Maryborough when we first met, where the author of “Mary Poppins” was born.

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Afternoon of August 20, 2018. Monday.

Reading time: 35 sec. Readability score: 70.



I am squatting near the edge of a pool and holding onto the tail of a barracuda in a Sea World setting. Only its front half is submerged. I know that if I let it go, it has the potential to swim around and bite me. That is not a certainty, but I am unsure what to do. My view is more as if I am watching myself from above and behind and there is no tangibility in this scene. My dream fades without incident.

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I do not usually sleep (nap) at the time of 4:30 p.m.

The reactive representation stems from a more active mental state (barracuda) being incompatible with the lesser level of melatonin (water). My semi-lucid self is aware of this and what it implies. I do not have the biological need to enter deeper sleep at the time, so I liminally create an impasse scenario.

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Morning of August 11, 2018. Saturday.

Reading time: 58 sec. Readability score: 67.



I am in an unknown location at about fifty percent lucidity, but with not as much vividness as in similar states.

The ambiguity of my physicality as perceived within the dream state becomes a representation of a moving vehicle. There is a vague association with my father driving the car (probably because I am a father now and am older), but there are several unknown people present.

The car drives by from right to left. A toolbox somehow flies out from the left side of the car, from the back, as if tossed, though it also seems as if it may have somehow slid out with the door being open as they sped off. It is not that big and is a matte gray color. It lands on the gravel. I am puzzled over this event.

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I had been sleeping on my left side. A car is often a representation of the physical body in sleep as a form of vestibular system correlation. (In fact, the human body is even considered a “vehicle.”) The toolbox comes out from the left side, from the back, oriented towards the intent of the sleeping process. The association is with sleep as a healing process, though I am near waking, so the process is “disrupted.” The biology of the body is not under the control of the conscious will, which is what the reactive representation, in this case, is all about, as coming from the back seat.

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Morning of August 11, 2018. Saturday.

Reading time: 22 sec. Readability score: 78.



Our youngest daughter is coloring in a picture on a cell phone, though I see it from my perspective (as if I am using the cell phone). It is a drawing of a Guinea pig that is facing left. (The setting is unknown, though undefined.)

After a short time, a mouse is atop the cell phone, its back feet hitting the keys (touchpad) and rapidly coloring in the picture, while oriented towards the bottom of the cell phone. There is a loud squeak. The mouse seems to have a cheerful human essence.

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Morning of August 9, 2018. Thursday.

Reading time: 2 min 20 sec. Readability score: 60.



I naturally flow into the state I call apex lucidity. Usually, though, the state has to be reinitiated by creating and going through a door (or window) that is deemed difficult to open or phase through. (I sometimes end up sliding an entire wall like a sliding door before being fully integrated into this extremely vivid state.)

In this case, I effortlessly slide out of the illusion of my dream-rendered physical body into my apex body. From here, I phase through a window onto the ground outside. I look back through the window. The setting is incorrect in several ways, despite the augmented realism. Firstly, it seems to be the Gellibrand Street apartment in Clayfield, where we have not lived in years (and it has not been there in reality for years). Secondly, it was not possible to look through the window from the ground level at that address. Thirdly, rather than the driveway, it seems more like the space north of the Loomis Street house in America. Fourthly, the bed was never oriented this way as in the dream. The bed’s head was always out from the window, never the side. (Since childhood, my dreams render everything incorrectly in as many different ways as possible other than literally prescient threads, which makes me wonder why anyone would bother with “interpretation” in the typical use of the word, especially as dreams are typically reactive representations of the dream state itself.)

Even so, I keep studying the bed where Zsuzsanna and a baby are sleeping. I keep puzzling over the situation because I do not see my real physical body in the bed (which should be to the right of Zsuzsanna and our baby) as I expect to. It makes me uncertain, and I question if I am “still” in my body and ended up falling out the window in reality. (This makes no sense either, as Zsuzsanna would have been blocking me from rolling over and out the window, so that is already the fifth error here.) I am temporarily absentminded and had already forgotten that my original dream body that I supposedly came out of is not my real body either.

Still, I soon gain back my apex state after this brief lapse. Even so, I feel what seems like an invisible cat wrapping around my left leg, impeding my walking out to the public sidewalk. I consider that one of our cats is probably on my leg in reality as I sleep. (Though this was not the case, it was just illusory.) I try to shake it off without waking myself, and I do, curiously, without a hypnopompic kick resulting. I continue walking into an open area that is more like another place we had lived years ago, on Duffy Street. (As I had written in other entries, walking is more challenging and blissful in apex states than flying is in lower states, one reason being that walking is closer to ordinary consciousness in the highest lucid state with a more defined vestibular system correlation that is not as illusory as flying. Therefore, stable walking signifies far more control of RAS mediation than flying does.)

Soon, I shift into the summoning state of lucidity as typically begins every sleep cycle. About six young, unfamiliar servants walk toward me and coalesce into my dream self. Coming out instantly at that point, I decide not to return. I feel energized. Once again, I consider how realistic the state is in physicality and overall fullness of self.

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Morning of August 8, 2018. Wednesday.

Dream #: 18,860-05. Reading time: 40 sec.



I enter an abstract sequence of thoughts. Silas Weir Mitchell (as on the “Grimm” television series) becomes my preconscious effigy. However, no rendering of a proper dream commences. Instead, I get “stuck” on precursory cycles. (Silas plays a character named Monroe, which is an association of where I lived as a child; North Monroe Street.)

Over time, I am aware of a word or words I do not understand, which seem to be German. It sounds like “Stangunghausen.” My mind keeps cycling back to this term and trying to resolve its meaning. I come up with “stage house” a few times. I perceive it as ambiguously relating to the “Grimm” series and something to do with a computer game or perhaps a board game. At times, I also recognize it as a dream metaphor, a stage being autosymbolism for the dream state itself.

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This ambiguous and abstract cycle seemed to last at least an hour. I fully woke about three times and kept sliding back into it.

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Morning of August 3, 2018. Friday.

Reading time: 53 sec. Readability score: 59.



For my dream induction (deliberate entry), I decided to be in a stagecoach in primarily an afternoon setting. It is a relaxed and passive dream self incarnation. The sense of movement is very realistic at this stage of vestibular system correlation (a factor of all dreams at this level of consciousness, though typically related to flight). At times, ambiguity enters the sequence, and it almost seems like I am riding in a fast-moving car, including the external ambiance. I maintain the stagecoach setting as Zsuzsanna and our second-youngest son are seated across from me.

I see dinosaurs through the window off to my left, including a triceratops, and cannot determine if the stagecoach is traveling through time or an animatronics display in what might be a ghost town (modeled after the “Gunsmoke” set). It seems “safer” to make it an animatronics display, though not as adventurous.

I see an orange Volkswagen Beetle parked under low-set branches as if left there long ago. I think of it as “my” old car, but it is a false memory in part. In reality, I only had a big remote control model of one when I was a boy (that my father gave me for Christmas). It ran on real fuel. I mostly made it go in a circle in our big front yard in Cubitis.

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