memorable

Morning of April 7, 2016. Thursday.



There is a backstory to my dream of having collected water from a shallow pond. I am not sure of the setting or its location. My sister Marilyn (half-sister on my mother’s side) is nearby and as she appeared before I moved to Florida in 1967. My family as they are now are also present at one point.

I look into the water and below the surface I see many implied one-celled animals (which you can only clearly see with a microscope in real life). Marilyn also looks on.

I see a glowing transparent centipede, swimming downwards (which puzzles me since I know centipedes are not aquatic), forming a moving staircase shape (like a mobile escalator) eventually going out of sight. The one-celled animals (mainly protozoa) swim down out of sight but are visible at other times.

Eventually, a small fish jumps up out of the “aquarium” which surprises Marilyn. I am somewhat surprised as well, because I thought I had gotten the water from a pond that was not deep enough to be suitable for fish. I am not sure where the fish is after the jump, perhaps on the floor. (A fish out of water represents the dreamer coming out of the dream and as a result, my dream shifts to the waking transition.)

Later, I am holding an antlion larva. Over time, I notice blood on the tip of one of my fingers. It seems that it had been biting me (even though they do not bite in my experience). However, it also seems to instead be the result of a hangnail. Still, I ask my sister whether or not antlions eat people.

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Again, a fish is a projection of the dream self in the dream state (and water represents sleep and the flow of thoughts in the dream state). The one-celled animals may be a reference to minor neuron activity or a subliminal association with other dreamers. An aquarium is a downsized focus on the dream state itself, representing the human mind on one level.

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The unlikely “phasing” centipede swimming in the water represents a shift in consciousness. In this case, as it swims deeper, it forms a symbolic staircase to link to the nonlinear events throughout my life and down into the depths of the unconscious. This is evident by the link to a version of the original childhood “Taboo” dream (sparsely recurring, no more than perhaps four times) and upon checking, I found markers and parallels. It has the same basic setup; that is, looking at an aquarium of (visible to the naked eye) one-celled animals, though this was in third grade in 1970, one version found to be on today’s date exactly forty-six years ago (and which appears to have been partially influenced by the movie “Jigsaw”, about a man finding a body submerged in a bathtub). I have not held antlion larva much since third grade. This ending element represents a typical waking transition because an adult antlion resembles a dragonfly, which is a flight symbol. The bloody finger may be an association with our youngest son’s hangnail. The reference to “eating people” is a reference to coalescence and the dream self merging into whole consciousness during the waking transition (especially the association with “lion” as a lion is often a form of the more aggressive emergent consciousness). Also, an antlion is shaped somewhat like a human thumb, where my youngest son’s hangnail was. The antlion’s mandibles may be an association with the hangnail itself.

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Other phasing staircase references (as the “water centipede” in this dream) can be found in dreams such as “Rocket Science?” (July 2, 1976), where a sheet of typing paper mysteriously “rolls” down from the ceiling (which represents the liminal state between sleeping and waking) and forms a staircase pattern or brief “escalator”. This focus greatly intensified that dream. A similar event occurs in “White Noise Staircase” (February 21, 2014). Identifying phasing staircases may be beneficial, since I believe that it may also be relevant to a deeper bond with the Source and wholeness, as a staircase is a link between sleeping, dreaming, and waking).

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A centipede may be a dream’s rendering of the human spinal cord. In water (as in this dream) it serves as both a reminder of the human physical form as such and immersion in the dream state via the staircase or escalator metaphor. On one level it is the energies of my unconscious awareness returning to the Source. In the first version of “Taboo” from 1970, it was more about “sea monkeys” (brine shrimp) on one level. These “sea monkeys” also represent the human spinal cord.

Morning of March 21, 2016. Monday.



I am with my family mostly as we are now (though I seem to be much younger at one point) where we presently live on W Street, though the house is bigger. Our kitchen is much bigger and has an extra counter running from south to north on the east side of the back hallway, with extra shelves above it. As I walk through our kitchen at one point, I notice a lot of loaves of bread and what seems to be cheap birthday party items (such as unopened packages with paper hats, paper plates, and cheap novelties and party favors and such). I am not sure whose birthday is upcoming.

At one point, there are a lot of Matchbox Cars arranged on different surfaces, mostly in two rows. A couple older males appear in our house eventually, though I am not sure of the reason. There is something about one of them trying to find a certain Matchbox Car, but which is a car from the 1940s. I try to help but I am not sure where everything is. I know I have most of the ones made in the 1960s. I think the Mercedes 300SE may be relevant but I do not say anything, only that I may be able to find what they are seeking (though I do not).

There is illogical setting distortion for a short time where I seem to shift outside and back inside while just standing in one spot (though the view may be implied to be from our window, though as a requisite it would have no screen or curtains), where I am looking at one of the men (who must have teleported there but who is back for the next scene) in a small light yellow golf cart (facing away from the west side of our house on the footpath) which seemingly resembles a downsized Roadster Hot Rod from the 1940s and I remark that I have a Matchbox Car like that, which is not exactly true as I firstly mistake the golf cart for an old car design and then consider I may be thinking about a different model, yet it really just looks like a modern ordinary golf cart upon a closer look. I feel a bit unusual and ineffectual in designating a new golf cart as a 1940s hot rod but the scene shifts again (though the scene itself seems random and like a “glitch” or like a very short dream within a longer and more vivid dream that slightly altered its flow).

Interestingly, Jack Odell (March 19, 1920-July 7, 2007) is present and walking about for quite some time. I am not sure why he is spending his time here for a day or two. We are talking about various aspects of Matchbox Cars (as the time period seems to shift physically only at one level and my collection is not present as it was just previously - though our sons still have many Matchbox Cars in their own rooms) as well as other ideas, including the unfortunate end of product quality and customer service in modern times with poorer and poorer design and less and less longevity and usability in anything made. He reflects on various events. I tell him how I used to keep my Matchbox Cars in a large suitcase. For some reason, I visualize all of them piled atop each other within the suitcase (it was actually a large black typewriter case), but in reality, they were kept in the original box. I tell him about the very first Matchbox Car I was given, which I cannot quite remember the name or number of. I give a couple details about it, including the green boat for the rack on top, and he seems to know what I mean.

“Ford Love,” he says, smiling. (It was actually a Ford Corsair.) I consider that Ford Love is a “real” model and nod hesitantly (since I do not want to call him wrong), but possibly not the one I had, though I do not say anything. He seems happy and nostalgic and I feel I am spending a day in a “realm of good memories” - yet I also seem puzzled as to why such a wealthy and well-known person would spend a day or two at our house, especially in such an informal and friendly manner. There are dream remnants that seem like “echoes” of long periods of conversation, like a subtle “phantom audio” that only some dream types produce.

Morning of March 4, 2016. Friday.

Dream #: 17,973-02. Reading Time: 2 min 33 sec.



This dream is long and about flying, with the theme a comic-book-like adventure with meetings with supervillains. In the beginning, I am the only mutant in the world. After a lengthy meandering segment with me flying around using the term “human” somewhat disparagingly, with increasing emotion, I begin to understand that there are others like me, though this is mostly a farce at first.

I find it amusing that people, mostly in their twenties, are joining a group of supervillains even though they are thus far not only not mutants but have no special abilities. None of them can fly as I can. Still, they seem happy when I meet them.

A young man who is short and oddly dressed cheerfully shakes hands with me and claims he is Mole Man (a Marvel Comics villain). I am his inspiration. Other people will soon follow him but symbolically remain under my command. I acknowledge him out of mock respect (with subliminal dream state awareness) though I do not patronize him, as he is taking it seriously even though, again, he is not a mutant. The situation is inviting and interesting.

Later, I see a young male who is having trouble walking because of a physical impairment of one leg being longer than the other. People are making fun of him. He eventually seems to be spitting small balls of fire a distance from the sidewalk into a little cylindrical rubbish bin behind a business building. Although most of the other supervillains I meet have already chosen their name, I call him “Pyro,” which relates to fire as well as the Marvel character. He asks me, “What about Pyro-Gomdulla?” Curiously, I recall a dream from 1971 and the Gomdulla character (from a comic book), yet do not fully realize I am dreaming. I consider he could become a giant mummy with telekinetic abilities (as in the comic book story) if he chooses that name, so I tell him that Gomdulla is an unsuitable phrase in a different language. He decides to keep “Pyro.”

I eventually fly around with a younger version of Zsuzsanna, carrying her on my left side. (She sleeps on my left in reality.) I start to think others are developing the ability to fly, but this proves to be incorrect. I meet an unknown girl with no pupils or irises. She seems to be like the Scarlet Witch in abilities though with Storm’s overall appearance.

Eventually, it starts to dawn on me that, because supervillains exist, a superhero or two could come into the picture and prove to be problematic (though this thought does not concern me). I assume much of that would be pretense as well. However, there are eventually additional “real” mutants who have unique powers and can fly. I also meet up with Captain Marvel, portrayed as an otherwise normal male in an elaborate white and purplish-blue costume that features various symbols. He cannot seem to fly and is not exceptionally strong. I throw him around, his cape sometimes going over his head, making it difficult for him to see or fight, and I am asking him why he does not fly. Presently, there are two superheroes on Earth, Captain Marvel and one I do not recall, who mostly sit in restaurants and converse in costume.

From here, the differences between heroes and villains seem superficial, as I remain only subliminally (not actively) aware of being in the dream state.

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The presence of Mole Man relates to subliminally perceiving being asleep as “being underground” while, in contrast, Pyro represents the potential for consciousness reinitiation (waking from the dream state). The “living mummy” reference (Gomdulla) relates to being asleep as well (covered by a blanket). The girl villainess with no pupil or iris mostly signifies that my real eyes cannot see while I am asleep.

Optimized 2 minute 30 second read.

Monday morning, 25 January 2016.

Game Frog (fascinating and rewarding real-world outcome)

Dream # 17,934-01.





I am with Zsuzsanna in an unfamiliar convenience store implied to be southwest of where we live in real life, seemingly on Electra Street (though I have not been there in waking life). The checkout counter is in the back instead of near the entrance.

Absentmindedly, I buy an incomplete computer game. At the checkout, I see a small white cardboard frog in the open box. I do not consider the cardboard prop an unlikely computer game item. The game also features a "lily pad," though it looks like a white paper crown. (See the first image if available.)

The cashier (an unfamiliar girl with protoconsciousness essence) calls the computer game's designer at his house, claiming one side of the cardboard frog "needs adjustment."

The faux frog spontaneously "activates" and hops off the counter. It may be a version of Frogger that utilizes the environment as its playing field. I consider it is programmed to cross the street and dodge traffic but would require the player to control it when functioning correctly.

I notice a cat investigating an aisle. The cat spontaneously flies backward because of a function of the game triggered by the frog's location.

I lose interest in buying the game because I do not feel like trying to maneuver an artificial frog through traffic, especially since the game is malfunctioning.

After leaving the store, Zsuzsanna and I see a different cat (unfamiliar) that could be a stray. It has long, light gray hair. I pick it up to carry home to feed it. I soon have a vague impression it may belong to someone who lives near the store.

Zsuzsanna turns left to go through the open hall of a building, through the back, as a shortcut. I assume it has apartments on both sides of the otherwise publicly accessible corridor. I do not follow her. I go around the building, hoping she stays safe, but I am mentally prepared to defend her.

Three unfamiliar men harass her as she does laundry on a porch-like area. She has a nonchalant attitude, but one of them pushes her. I am suddenly holding my Olympic barbell (without weights), and I swing it several times. I strike them all in the stomach until none of them can stand.

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After my dream, our youngest son Oliver found a toy frog and a paper crown on the sidewalk while walking between our home and the shopping mall. (See the second image if available.)

Despite my dream's narrative aligning with the usual processes resulting from REM sleep, its real-world outcome was rewarding.

Animals typically correspond with how I perceive and manage my imaginary physicality while sleeping. A frog correlates with intuitive myoclonic dynamics because its back legs kick. The computer game implication implies cognizance of this process while dreaming, as does the "crown." In contrast to leg myoclonus, abdominal myoclonus results in me striking the men's stomachs "until none of them can stand." (I am not standing while sleeping.)

Anyone with reasonable intelligence and who dreams with lucidness would recognize how predictable REM sleep dynamics predominantly influence dream content over waking-life factors. It is especially discernible here with the first's cat myoclonic response, carrying the second cat near my stomach, the association with laundry (being undressed while sleeping), and the transition to hitting the men in their stomachs.

Protoconsciousness as the store's cashier reporting the frog's problematic attributes to its unseen designer corresponds with the dynamics of my sleeping position regarding myoclonic precursors, as a store's checkout anticipates the ending of a dream or dream segment. These dynamics have influenced hundreds of previous dreams in similar ways.

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Morning of November 29, 2015. Sunday.



In the first part of my dream, I am in an unfamiliar city setting. I walk out from an alley with an unknown male. I somehow (based on an implied back story) had previously lifted three sections of sidewalk, boulevard, and parking lot, complete with trees and vines that hang down. We walk under the hovering features, each about the size of one and a half lots. They are hovering about fifteen feet up. In the back of my mind, I am thinking that it is safe to walk under them since a part of me is likely still focused on them.

The main segment of my dream involves a style of dreaming that began when I was very young. In fact, it seems like some sort of continuation (at least on one level) from “Frankenstein Closes the World” from when I was only four years of age (April 9, 1965). It involves part of the setting being “blocked” like a continuous wall preventing access to a certain direction (in this case possibly north). Over time in my dreams, the number and type of “station keepers” changed. One of my first “station keepers” (as I refer to them) was probably the Frankenstein Monster (Boris Karloff version). That is the one that appears here. There are other elements that were more common when I was very young, including even the first part above with the hovering sections of the city (also beginning around age four). However, I actually “feel” about ten or eleven years of age in my dream.

Part of the situation seems borrowed from the original “Dark Shadows” board game I had when very young. It had a set of miniature plastic skeletons and a cardboard coffin. A recurring situation occurs here where “ancient papers” are found and I realize they had, instead, been very recently printed (this may be a play on a dream freshly rendering something implied to otherwise be “ancient”). In this case, there seems to be some sort of challenge to get into a mock mausoleum (though integrated into the high and long wall) but which at first seems like a “door to Satan”. Even this part stems from when I was very young. The other male, who seems to be interested in some sort of “contest” seems very wary about going up to the “door to Satan”, though in front of the door, there is something related to the contest or a rare potential discovery. I seem to remember that Satan does not exist and decide it is probably an archetype of the subconscious that we will be facing. I then remember that the subconscious does not exist as popularly defined (only different levels of awareness, both internal and external, including the supraconscious and the Source) and feel oblivious to any concerns the other male may have (even though I am not lucid).

As such, I go up to the wall with the recess (or short hallway) and a section of the wall comes out like a drawer, at ground level (this may be a play on post office associations, or a PO drawer since “I hug PO Virgo” is directly encoded in my full name and also the date of the original dream version was on my wedding anniversary years before it became as such). It has a coffin which is about one-quarter the size of an adult coffin. I open it, expecting to find macabre remains of some kind, and there are miniature “real” skeletons, one of a girl in fetal position with long white hair and only about five inches high. There are also a couple cartoon-like (unrealistic) skulls as well as some random debris and cobweb. It still seems somewhat “ancient”, but as mentioned earlier, the “ancient parchments” look freshly printed. This and another dream of this date had precognitive facets related to a false pregnancy (pseudocyesis) - which explains the miniature skeletal girl in the fetal position. Frankenstein, on the other hand (on one level), has become a symbol for normal people in mainstream society in relationship to pop culture, the media, and authority; lumbering and unintelligent.

Finally, I open the “door to Satan” and behind it is an extension of the hallway recess of the wall. Boris Karloff’s Frankenstein monster appears, walking mummy-like. He goes after the other male, but it is rather amusing. Both of them move slowly, somewhat like a slowed-down “Keystone Cops” event (also often written as “Keystone Kops”). I decide to see what is farther down the hallway, but the other male comes back around, moving in an arc around the left side of the wall and coming back from the other direction, with the horror movie monster in pursuit but not threatening me, just in the way. I avoid colliding with the stumbling creature and watch the “chase” passively.

Morning of September 12, 2015. Saturday.



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

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

Morning of August 25, 2015. Tuesday.



Notes:

It always gives me an extraordinary sense of fulfillment when I get a continuous flow of insight and am able to more fully decode certain patterns in dreams over a lifetime since earliest memory. I am very grateful for the technology that has allowed me to do this; that is, type faster and with continuous editing potential (rather than writing and correcting and rewriting and correcting when I was little), put documents all together in one place, and have a listing and potential day to day timeline of my lifetime from around age four (with sparse family references and records since my birth date in 1960) as well as having access to resources that are able to validate and enhance so many of my earlier records. Not only will I be able to, in about ten years (only an optimistic estimate of course), bring all of my dream records and notes together as I want them, I will also have the ability to do extensive searches with a fair amount of precision. This dream, as odd and unlikely as it seems (even to me at first - I did not expect the flashes of realization when working with it), gave me the required focus somehow to unravel a small and isolated set of dream metaphors and associations going back to 1968 as well as relating to the path to my beautiful soulmate. There are too many layers to get into in this entry (and one would have to understand hundreds of summarized pages of my personal back story to “get” any of it anyway). I can only loosely touch upon some of it. Obviously, there are still limitations to my personal symbols and metaphors being fully decoded. This is mainly because some symbolic associations are rather sparse and fairly rare even at my present age. Still, I feel very happy today with another new breakthrough.

Sewing Machine Bulldozer:

I am mournfully back as I was when I was in my twenties and working for the Onalaska Street Department (not that I was sad at that time - it is just that something seems to be “missing” somehow in-dream). My job at this time was picking up large pieces of eroded embankment (on a fairly difficult inclination) and placing them on the roadside - placing them directly in front of the bulldozer. This was very difficult work and not many could do it for very long. Over time, I begin to be annoyed and tired over why I am even doing this. (It does not dawn on me that I am no longer this age, and do not even live in America anymore.) I am concerned about the speed of the other workers. The bulldozer even bumps me a few times, though not in any harmful way. I grow impatient and realize that I may have missed pieces a far distance back and think that the stretch will have to be worked over again. I do some of the work incorrectly, that is, I bend over to pick up a heavy piece instead of squatting and flinging back. Any sense of weariness of course, is an illusion in-dream. I start to ask myself what I am doing here. Is this where I am supposed to be?

I absentmindedly turn about and put my foot against the blade of the bulldozer. This results in a very strange event. The blade and push frame begin to wobble and very small “plates” fall off the front (reminding me vaguely of “Bathtub with Grill” from June 26, 2015). The exhaust pipe stack begins to move up and down like a “giant” sewing machine needle. It is almost like the tension building up in a cartoon (but not cartoon-like in any way). When I look down, I see that the bulldozer’s blade has actually transformed into an oversized antique sewing machine’s treadle (with floral scroll design), though at an angle and somewhat elevated. My leg is automatically working it to create (and actually sew together, apparently) some sort of clothing within the bulldozer’s cab. It is some sort of gossamer white lacy material flowing out from the side. Around this time there is a very strange mechanical sound behind me and when I dare look, it is a downward rolling “wave” suggesting a ghostly staircase. Soon, it is a luminescent staircase (recurring feature mostly from early 1991 to early 1994). My wife (as she was when we first made contact) in a glowing wedding dress and some sort of oversized tiara (somewhat like a crown) is standing there with a bouquet of flowers. I can see a blue layer of light just under her skin. “I’m not going to be late, am I?” I ask. “I never intended to be la…” (My dream is swept away.)

Connections:

Bulldozer history: I have found some links I did not really fully put together before. “The Dead One” dream (February 13, 1971, age ten - that is, first version of it) had a bulldozer run over Brenda W when I was taking flowers to her late at night on the eve of Valentine’s Day (so that only her hand is seen emerged from the soil and I feel a terrible sense of loss), yet she was resurrected (not in a zombie sense) near the end of my dream, yet “I could not yet have her”. (There were several dreams where she was resurrected, none of them relevant to any zombie lore - more in a divine “ascension” sense.) Brenda was the fully confirmed “stand-in” for my wife-to-be and also appeared in composite forms (such as “The Bad Witch” from March 18, 1978, which had a recurrence on March 23rd - the same date I got my first letter from my wife-to-be in 1991). Other layers - my sister died on February 13th (though the 14th from my perspective at one point in Australia as we are about a day ahead) and my father also died on the 14th of February. I have often associated the bulldozer with mortality and loss as such. Thus, there is very odd synchronicity with only a 1 in 365 chance it would be relevant as such - though it is - and all through my life extremely unlikely synchronicity continued with almost every event and association.

The origins of this (that is, the very seed) may or may not be related to the tree I used to spend time near at primary school. One of my friends used to take palmetto sticks and push sand off the concrete bench, chanting “bulldozer bulldozer”. This was the “same” bench that Brenda was seated in most versions of “Bridge Over a Prehistoric World” (though she also appeared in distorted composites associated with the “dream girl” or “mystery girl” as I preferred).

At any rate, from here, I made somewhat of a breakthrough in one very early version of the “divine staircase”. However, the features are quite different. It turns out to be my “Rocket Science” dream from July 2, 1976. This is not the first version of the implied “soulmate staircase” by any stretch. One of the oldest appears in “The Ghost Marriage” dream from October 16, 1971. I am linking only to the “Rocket Science” dream because of a few odd parallels. Firstly, the white sheet of paper that makes the “staircase” is like a miniature implication of the one in this latest dream (which I never even began to note before for whatever absentminded reason) as well as the commonly recurring ones as already mentioned above. It moved exactly the same way; that is, like a diagonal wave that suggested a complete “pure” or “divine” staircase (phantom or not).

Aside from that, there is also the shared “whirligig” element and the strange “impossible” technology, the “whirligig” obviously being a Merkaba form, but I am not sure what the sewing machine needle and fictional helicopter rotary design “pumping” relates to (well, on a spiritual level that is - some sort of spiritual “motor” or cosmic mechanism perhaps). As most of this had already come about in 1994, it is more like a decoding breakthrough than anything relevant to what may come.

Morning of August 18, 2015. Tuesday.



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

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

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

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

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

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

“In your dreams, Show no mercy…”

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, Source, you so funny.

Morning of August 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 3, 2015. Monday.



As promised in my last entry, here are five dreams that I have managed to include simple sheet music with online. With the equipment and technology we have presently, I could probably even duplicate each theme fairly faithfully, though we are working on other projects presently.

In this dream (“Never Go to Waikiki Again” from July 5, 1969), the music is more in the background almost like an in-dream afterthought for the most part and coming during the waking process itself (at least in the first version of my dream).

In this dream (“War of the Serpents” from September 11, 1969) the music seems to mostly be performed with a saxophone, xylophone, and an almost inaudible background orchestra that fades in and out unrealistically (that is, for a real-life commercial production).

In this dream (“Things…From Outer Space” from November 7, 1970), the music is somewhat light and “distant” (in this case I made a recording as a child but am not sure where it is located; possibly at a relative’s house).

In this dream (“Them ol’ Glass Jars” from July 12, 1975), the theme is more musical and sung by a girl’s chorus though the glass jar effect gets louder as I get closer to the waking process.

In this dream (“The Legend of Tony Karoni” from June 27, 1976) the included sheet music represents a very limited rendering of the otherwise layered musical speaking (by the bandits) at the end of my dream (which was very vivid to the point of almost being startling). The harmonics are not included here, thus it is only slightly faithful to my dream. In this case, I am also reminded of how “Yellow Submarine” by the Beatles is off-key in the chorus harmonics (where oddly most people do not notice unless they listen more closely) whereas most sheet music versions I have seen (except for one version that is faithful to what is actually sung) utilize only relevant harmonics to the chord, giving it a completely different sound and mood in most cover versions with not a single change in the notes, which makes me automatically cringe after being used to the Beatles version (even though it is off-key).

Original date: Night of April 10, 1994. Sunday.



As I cannot really relate music heard in a dream to text, I have decided to include an old video of some work we did years ago. The video itself was random scenes mostly from April 8th to April 9th (1994). It used to be linked to another entry years ago, but this has been uploaded to a different site.

In another entry, I will link five descriptive dreams (including from childhood) where I have made a simple sheet music format for them with the entry (although in this case, the music would be secondary, and also had only been ineffectively described previously).

It mostly related to a longer imagery-based dream that featured a variety of elaborate wedding cakes and ceremonies, including Hathor representations. The video mostly came from VHS (except for the boys at the end), hence the “striped” rendering from some copies (and not redone).

If listening on headphones (especially studio-quality monitors), make sure my Daion bass does not bust your eardrums. Thanks. Appreciated. (The track is unmastered though originally was on the old DMusic site when it was still up.) Sparse vocals by wife Zsuzsanna.

Hold in the light when the sun goes down

Defending family on solid ground…

Morning of July 22, 2015. Wednesday.



This title is not that relevant - as the cat itself does not glow, but for some reason it just came into my head as the title (and who am I to “argue” with self-titling excursions into the surreal).

Yet again my dream alters the features and layouts of real locations. This time our bed that is in real life in what would otherwise be the dining room (head to the west) is now in the front computer room, which is adjacent to our older children’s rooms; the head to the east (though feasible, not that likely to be as such - especially as our oldest son’s room has a window in his wall into the room). At the same time, the computer desk is near the window (where the bed was).

I “realize” that I am at 611 North Monroe Street (in America), which I rarely dream about anymore, especially considering I have not lived there since early 1968 (before moving to Cubitis off Highway Seventeen). My cat Tiger (long gone in reality), an orange tabby, is walking about. I “realize” that I am about seven years old but am concerned that Tiger has stepped in paint and is tracking it around the room. He is hesitant and shaking each leg in rotation, just as in reality when a cat steps in questionable liquid. However, the footprints are like a light and almost like a “hole” as well, somehow.

I “remember” after the tracks are giving off an annoying amount of light, that I can “turn off the footprints” (that is, anything glowing in the room) with a special light switch. I move my hand around to feel for it but cannot find it. I vaguely also recall (real memory) that there is a stack of about six or seven comic books on the left side of the toilet tank in the bathroom and am wondering if they will be knocked into the toilet as a result of the cat’s actions. I am trying to remember if this already happened at a previous time and if as such they had been there for several days thus far (which makes no sense of course).

The cat walks up the wall, leaving an even pattern of footprints (which start to look more like upright five-pointed stars than cat paw prints), almost to the ceiling. “Come down from there,” I command. The animal comes down and starts purring very loudly on my chest but seems eventually to be my own breathing (and likely Zsuzsanna’s as well).

My thinking falls into the slightly abstract. I realize that a “star pentagon” is not a pentagon at all but a decagon (as it has ten sides and angles, not five sides and angles). I feel a strange uneasiness over humanity being “wrong” yet again, then realize everything in the world is misnamed and misunderstood anyway, so it does not matter that much.

I approach three (unknown) girls in somewhat plain dresses (sitting on the floor in the form of a triangle for the most part) who seem to be speaking Portuguese and involved in an occult ritual. There is unexplainable luminosity in the setting. Looking more closely, I see they are actually playing Jacks. However, looking again, I see the game box looks suspiciously like some sort of ritualistic system with the box shaped like a hexagon. I then confirm this by the fact that, even though they are playing Jacks, it is on a hexagram painted carefully on the floor. Then I get annoyed once again as I realize that the “hexagram” is actually a type of dodecagon, as it has twelve angles and twelve sides, not six angles and six sides.



“No one knows what anything is,” I say calmly. One of the girls (to the left and closest to where I am standing) turns and looks at me curiously though smiles in understanding and seeming familiarity (with a vague thought she is my wife when much younger). She says, “A minha estrela guia” (“my guiding star”) and I am not sure if she means me or the game piece (Jack) she is holding. Then I realize she may not have said “A minha estrela guia” but “I’m in Australia”, which sounds the same (and it slowly dawns on me that this is yet another “missed clue” or “confirmation”, of millions, about finding Yin incarnate, yet I recall I already have).

I feel slightly nervous and enter a more luminous state of “quivering” (where the foreground and background quickly shift inversely to each other) and see a large electric fan (all white, including the blades) where the rotary keeps changing in diameter, smaller and larger, but somewhat randomly. The fan blades sometimes curve out as if in attempt to touch or at least reach me (with a perceived sense of care and compassion, not as a threat). The imagery shifts in unusual ways. Every now and then, a small narrow crocodile head emerges (again, with no sense of threat, and the mouth remains closed) horizontally and evenly from the center and is seemingly pulled back in. Other things the spinning fan blades become is a cycad palm, a sunflower, and some sort of floral kaleidoscopic design. I watch it for quite some time (with a vaguely perceived buzzing) and eventually shift into a dream where Steve J (an old classmate) and I are walking just below rafters on roof support beams and ceiling joists in a large building. The rafter patterns become more and more complex. This last part, Zsuzsanna says she also dreamt of - though she was the one walking mainly on the hanging beams (without any actual reason or prior cause to dream as such, though this shared dreaming happens fairly often). (However, I did have a lot of similar dreams when about thirteen.)

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 June 28, 2015. Sunday.



(Please note that the image shows sled dogs at rest; not injured in any way.)

This was confirmed as an authentic First Nations ancestral dream (one of the oldest kinds possible, in fact), which came as a bit of surprise to me (considering I have lived in Australia since February of 1994), though does explain why it felt so utterly different than the majority of my dreams.

This was one of those more vivid dreams that seemingly “comes out of nowhere”; that is, in a rare case of not being quickly (personally) resolved and “interpreted” at least to some extent (depending on the dream type and level of consciousness of course, as a number of dream types are literal, persona practice runs, real-self-created-and-directed, environmentally scripted or at least influenced, or solely metaphorical to the dreaming and waking process itself). It did not quite feel like the day to day visual precognition or impersonal remote viewing I always experience.

In my dream, it seems to be late at night or possibly very early morning before dawn. I become aware that I am walking to our front door with my wife Zsuzsanna (at our atypically near-perfect rendering of our present address). (I am not sure of any implied back story, immediate or otherwise.) She opens the door to look out onto the front porch and beyond and says “something is dead out there” (very clear and well-rendered audio with no distortion of my wife’s essence). This does something to my perception, causing my dream to become even more vivid and augmented (in terms of all the five sense). This particular in-dream level of such precise perceptual focus was far more common around age nine. As such, I can almost sense my dream “building itself” as if my dream-self is one step ahead of the potential outcome and casually waiting for the next imagery to unveil (though this does not trigger lucidity for some odd reason and my dream-maker-self is not directly perceived as in other dreams, even in afterthought).

Out in the middle of the street, facing west, are now at least three sled dogs lying on their sides, motionless (and presumed dead), the leader mostly aligned with the line of sight of the stop sign prior to the intersection. I can also see the empty dog sled tipped on its side. I am trying to logically process the scene. I can firstly just make out the shapes as they come into focus, appearing slightly larger and brighter at first (as if slightly out of phase with my dream perspective for a very short time). Soon, the scene is clearly and vividly resolved; rendered very realistically. There is no sign of any other animals or people around.

I try to mentally process what the scene indicates or may indicate regarding the nature of the street and general traffic (though there is no traffic perceived anywhere). Obviously, there are no dog sleds going past our house and down the street in reality. This realization, however, does not even dawn on me in-dream. I am convinced that there has been a “real” event for whatever reason and think about what may have happened to the sledmaster. Did he go to get help? Is he lying somewhere else unconscious or deceased? I am very puzzled over why there is no activity such as police cars or other people at the scene, if just to remove the dogs and wrecked sled. I start to wonder, with additional puzzlement, just how long this setup had remained as such. I consider if the dog sled had been driven over by a semitrailer truck (which does not make much sense though does in my dream).

My dream seems to shift into peaceful “oblivion” without waking, something that is fairly rare in my adult years. It seemed to take place in a “deeper” part of my being than any other dream I have head in my lifetime (though I more recently found out why, relating to the ancestral memory).

Important update: Although I am not a fan at all of so-called psychotherapy (and never have been), I also found this link for anyone interested: http://www.briancollinson.ca/index.p...sled-dogs.html

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.