memorable

Morning of February 5, 2014. Wednesday.



I am walking through a large vineyard with my beautiful wife Zsuzsanna in possibly mid-afternoon. I am uncertain of the location or region. A sense of love dominates the mood.

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Night of February 4, 2014. Tuesday.



Being meticulous in my dream state at times, sometimes to the point of over-thinking in several layers at once, I verified something that caught me by surprise in a sort of sudden realization. While working on the foundation of a new track which I do plan on eventually finishing, I ended up confirming a dream concept to an extent, anyway. By chance, I used a filter that produces a supposed “swirly” effect - and in this case, I am not even sure if it uses the source audio when rendering, as it mostly sounds the same in every case for a particular setting regardless of the supposed source (then again, it depends on the perimeters or intent of the effect). I say this because some functions do use the source audio for certain - which can vary to quite an extreme - yet always sounds the same in each case, or at least hard to distinguish.

In this case I was playing with an effects VST for no intended reasons other than to see the images that were produced by the frequency bands at different speeds and pitches and such, and by which I integrated the first 1.71 seconds of the audio of the hybrid dubstep foundation. What resulted verified my dream - that is, the image that almost looks like an om symbol repeating throughout. This is not a very good image of what actually comes out, though, I wanted to post a better image - but its difficult when being in lower formats. It is also true that an image of a word or symbol can be deliberately translated into sound, but such does not seem the case here, as the perimeters are far too extensive for me to have just coincidentally put in the perimeters that just happened to make the symbol appear - there are 362,880 variations relating to “shaping” forms in this particular way - as well as the functions being programmed rather than stored as audio information as with some VSTs. (This is true and can be verified by the fact that the editor is one hundred percent manual with no additional waveforms or audio information stored anywhere - therefore the om symbol was not intended at all by the original programmer who could not have possibly known all the thousands of potential variations in settings - unless he knew the actual functions for it and buried it among thousands of other potentials - which, frankly, seems unlikely and unrealistic, even a bit unreasonable and pointless, though not impossible).

However, and it is a very big “however”, it seems that the function actually did use the source audio here upon realistic examination - and it is fairly obvious that it did from the visual details in some areas. In that case, there is no way the programmer could have known what would result in this instance. The missing bands in the larger image near the higher ranges are not my mistake, but it was like this in the original percussive track. I used an exciter to make it less problematic as well as having to additionally notch out more bands from horrid metallic “ringing” in the original audio that threw off the average dB (spike-wise) in a rather ridiculous way as I have seen a lot in tracks on the Internet.

I do know of so-called producer packs with deliberate images in the sound (although it is fairly rare), but this was not the case as, again, it is an effect-only manifestation. Obviously, the majority of people would not even “hear” the om symbol image, as unless you are familiar with something like this, it might as well not even exist. This is obviously true even for dreams for millions of people, who remember nothing in many cases.

I inset the actual om symbol for comparison - but as I said, this image is not all that precise or even very visible - as it is a lower resolution with a different rate and detail than the original event (which I did not try to duplicate until today - so probably “lost” a perimeter somewhere).

Morning of January 31, 2014. Friday.

Dream #: 17,210-01. Reading time: 1 min 20 sec.



I am in the “last cave,” the last form of existence bordering the world. I approach the wall to perhaps move on to “higher” awareness. There is a purple glow from the cave wall, a circle around the letter “M,” and two back to back instances of the letter “L” (representing our last names), which is also an upside-down “T.” It burns for a time, a “cool” fire. It also seems like an elevator button at the same time it is a lock (that I have a key for). (“M” can also represent an upside-down “W,” depending on the font or style.)

“M” is Virgo, the 6th (Yin) sign and 13th letter, Zsuzsanna born on the 13th and a Virgo. The upside-down “T” is Sagittarius (me), the 9th (Yang) sign and my birth on the 20th (T being the 20th letter). It is within the circle often reserved for the S and C (our first names when anglicized) or 6 and 9 of Yin Yang. No faux system (such as astrology) means anything, yet can form patterns to discern personal recognition.

“M” also came from the symbol for “water.”

“T” is the second (2 again) most common letter in English (after “E”). It is also the last letter of the Western Semitic and Hebrew alphabets..

T over M - “cross over the water,” a play on going to Australia to marry my twin flame Zsuzsanna

It represents TWO, approaching entropy of the English language (a coincidental letter pattern that spells “two”). The “W” (or “M”) splits into two instances of the letter “V,” the Gate itself, the Master number 22, and the bottom half of the Heart (in continuous cycles, also face to face twos). Even my last name means “the two.”

It is layer upon layer, and all the strength of every member of the human race cannot move or change it.

I am unsure where I will go. It is a phasing point that allows access to higher dimensions of any range.

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Morning of January 30, 2014. Thursday.



I am in an unknown theater. There is a repeat of this dream with slightly different orientation but most of the same scenes. My wife is there, but only shows up a bit later on in one version. The unusual nature of this one (which I do not recall having before) is that she asks if the movie is still visible from the seats we end up sitting in. I tell her “yes”, but the really strange part is - I expect to “watch the movie” along the side of the chairs, on the arm of the chairs, to my left, rather than the screen. This makes very little sense, yet seems to be normal within the scenario. Also, a female entity had been present in the row behind us. I do not approach her or speak to her. She almost seems like a different version of my wife in the sense of a “higher” form. (My wife is the only real person - as far as I know - who has ever appeared in dreams in any “higher” way, several times as a “goddess”. The “other” had appeared with the blue flame around her, but usually not in a more powerful sense of actual interaction.)

Later, it does not seem to be a movie we are at but some sort of stage show using advanced optical effects and other tricks. The stage itself seems to show a “miniature giant”, that is - a scene representing a giant interacting with an elf or some such, but with both being normal-sized people being projected (some sort of mirror trick) into the setup from elsewhere. The “giant” is not even a foot tall. I seem to be there to help, but place a part of the stage in the wrong area for a short time so that only part of the people are visible for a time. It is unusual, as the actors seem to actually be there in that small size (but I know it is an optics trick). The “play” had something to do with the old Sinbad movies.

This relates to a sort of childhood nostalgia at a very deep level, a combination of “The Ed Sullivan Show” with Topo Gigio (the mouse puppet) and the introductory scene of the eohippus from “The Valley of Gwangi”. It is an elusive reckoning and “hidden” composite memory - a sort of unraveling of associations. Both represent a small, mythical (although the eohippus existed in prehistory) creature (seemingly) tentatively coming out to be with the “giant” humans. A sort of subtle magic mixing reality with altered form and movement. Both also had their own very little “house” that they lived in when they were not a spectacle for the humans. On a very subtle but meticulous note, there was a vague link to a new drink I tried in real life called “Shasta Fiesta Punch” (this is the first time I have seen Shasta available in Australia - at least in this region). Shasta is the character from “The Horse and His Boy” (relating to the eohippus) and there is also “La Fiesta del Topo Gigio” (the mouse). This rather vague synchronicity is near-invisible, but it is there. However, it still begs the “Which came first?” question. Did I select that particular Shasta flavor because of some vague hidden memory, or was the dream already formed for the evening for the most part? No way of really knowing - but I do know my “stunned” childlike enjoyment of the eohippus scene probably manifested from my unaware association with Topo Gigio. In fact, doing research, I have seen the male observers at one point, were in the exact same stance, leaning slightly to the left with right fist on hip.

The other dream involved being a teenager living in Cubitis yet again. My brother Jim (deceased) is there. He seems cheerful. I am cleaning my room and putting furniture exactly in its place and putting things in order, but somehow the room seems much bigger, although in after-thought, it was actually the correct size (as in reality).

I note that the grass, for about five feet from the highway (there is no traffic), is completely dead and even waxy as if supposedly (by whatever implied “science” this dream is using) from some sort of extreme heat and curling about in complex patterns (yet seems longer and somehow more “vibrant” than the rest of the lawn). The rest of the lawn is also dead and brown and yellow, but without the ominous waxy sheen and a bit shorter. This seems to imply that the Earth has gotten too close to the sun. I notice that all of the houses on the opposite side of the road (from the one just south of the S family house) are gone and with no trace of human habitation or presence. I get a vague impression that we should not be living there, but we decide to risk it. This is likely from something I have read a few times about how a lot of areas people presently live will be uninhabitable. It really is not that logical, though. Why get rid of cement-block shelters in such conditions even if people did not actually live there?

In one other longer, convoluted dream, there is not much of a plot, I do not think. I know there was something about a rope “ring” or something in the middle of a large but open “room” (relating to a support post, possibly) in or near a different building, seemingly west of the home of a heavy-set man with a large family (including a lot of older relatives). There is some talk about this “ring”, which may be used to tie horses to, or perhaps something else - there is talk about its length and such. It does seem to be a composite area, borrowing from a room from my sister’s house but shifting it into a neighbor’s backyard somewhat. I know there was also a scene where I was carrying a matte-black revolver around (but not snub-nosed). I am fairly sure it was a Smith & Wesson 17-8 .22 which I have never owned or handled to my memory.

Before I get into the most recent dream, see the link of the older childhood dream from Wednesday, 22 January 1969 below unless you read that one first. (link).

There is a lot left out of the man online summary (including several important details), but anything I decide to include, I will do after the next section.

Dream of Wednesday, 22 January 2014.

I am on a dock in late morning. The weather is good and the water is calm. I am not sure of the region or even if the dock is near a lake or the ocean. My dream is extremely vivid, though. There are six wooden posts that hold the dock, three on each side. The dock is in good condition (for example, no rotting boards or potential hazards). The only other person on the dock (or in my dream) is a girl about five feet away at first, facing me, but she walks closer and then turns as if waiting for me to speak. She is wearing a beautiful red sequin dress, which goes to her knees.

For a moment, I tend to think it is Brenda W, my female classmate (and verified archetype of my at-the-time unknown future wife), but then it dawns on me that I “may” be married. (Even though it is vivid, I am not fully lucid or fully aware of my present life, as is often the case.) I walk to her and she spins, becoming a miniature tornado or “dust devil” form. She does this off and on several times, and it is quite extraordinary and realistic in how I perceive it. I go to touch her arm and she does it several more times, sometimes even rising in the air about three feet and lowering again, going to different parts of the dock without actually walking (both closer to me and farther away). This, of course, is what the cartoon Tasmanian devil does (although I am not focused on that knowledge at all in my dream).

When she is the whirlwind, the sequins sparkle even more. At times, she seems slightly puzzled as if she thinks I am “slow” at understanding something, but does mostly smile the entire time and is completely non-threatening. Eventually we both go closer to the actual beach, but she finally rises up into the sky by the time I make contact with the ground at the end of the dock. I feel a very strong sense of bliss and love and familiarity, even though this is a completely new dream in one sense, or so it seems relative to memory and records. I myself was a whirlwind in dreams at times, but this is quite different in mood and the particular level of perception.

The meaning behind it all (these dreams were forty-five years apart!):

Important notes on dream of Wednesday, 22 January 1969:

Brenda would say “nine-thirteen” in my dreams at times (the total of which is twenty-two, the “master number” and sign of entropy), including this one in relationship to the clock on the wall in the semi-dark office. This is my wife’s birth-date (American form, as in Australia it would be written with the day first).

Brenda W was evading the Yin force (the “wild weasel”), because she was not the Yin force. My dream was seemingly informing me that Brenda was only an archetypical “stand-in” for my (unknown-at-the-time) future wife. The creature being at the door represented the “door” of the future, yet I was not ready to open it.

Brenda would say “nine-thirteen” in my dreams at times (the total of which is twenty-two), including this one in relationship to the clock on the wall in the semi-dark office. This is my wife’s birth-date (American form, as in Australia it would be written with the day first).

Additionally, in real life, Brenda had the purse with the metal clasp that was a skeletal clock with the writing “wait for me” on it (which appeared in my dreams a good number of times). Obviously, this was another clue that Brenda was a stand-in archetype until the real Yin was known. (There would not be a reason to “wait” for Brenda as she was always already with me when she carried that purse. In fact, I often pondered this fact in the back of my mind as a child.)

My dream’s business building was actually of the G. Heileman Brewing Company in La Crosse, which I dreamed of even when living in Florida (Brenda had never been to Wisconsin), and here, the events occur at night in a mostly empty building (after nine o'clock at night). In my young adult life years later…I actually worked there in maintenance and cleaning (precognition).

Other than cowering behind the left corner of the desk at one point (as the creature knocks against the door), we assume the divine marriage position (Brenda and I) which is sitting on our knees facing each other and clasping hands with forearms at about forty-five degrees, which is an implied superimposition at enhancing the “heart on the horizon” and the entropic portal (that is, entropy of the material world, but closeness to the “divine” - or oneness). However, this is interrupted by the true Yin force “knocking at the door” - or “beating at the door” as the “wild weasel”.

The Tasmanian devil (more specifically the cartoon character in my childhood) represents the Yin, the Virgo, and my wife of course, for a number of reason, too many to even get into here. Some basics: represents the southern hemisphere, more specifically Australia or Tasmania. The “dust devil used as a methods of transportation” for the cartoon character, or the whirlwind or “miniature tornado” is of course the Yin force (in this case, as I am Yang), the spiral of 6 (Virgo), negative implications regarding the Coriolis effect and storms turning in opposite direction in the northern and southern hemispheres

Funny additional notes:

“Believing it to be a type of opossum, naturalist George Harris wrote the first published description of the Tasmanian devil in 1807, naming it Didelphis ursina…” [Wikipedia]

“Wild Weasel is a code name given by the United States Armed Forces specifically the US Air Force to an aircraft, of any type, equipped with radar-seeking missiles and tasked with destroying the radars and SAM installations of enemy air defense systems.” [Wikipedia]

Important notes on dream of Wednesday, 22 January 2014:

Why a red sequin dress?

Sequins resemble fish scales here - the siren/mermaid theme (Jennie Haniver).

“The Lady In Red” by Chris de Burgh, one of my favorite songs after my marriage.

Wendy the Good Little Witch.

Going back to the old Pepsi logo as a symbol of Yin Yang, Yin is red, only as in my experience of the Blue Pearl.

The first time I saw a Tasmanian devil in real life was with my wife very shortly after we were married.

As on a calendar, both dreams were on the very significantly numbered day of twenty-two, and in the “middle” of the week - indicating balance-seeking.

Six posts represent Virgo (the sixth sign, here, as a “cute” play on actual “sign posts”) and Yin. (old yin or “yin changing into yang” is 6, old yang or “yang changing into yin” being 9). So six is Virgo, Yin, my wife. It also represents the six points of the Star of David and of course, much more (including the six letters in my first name in proportion to the nine letters in my wife’s first name - the true, non-anglicized form).

Why a dock?

Throughout my childhood, I had recurring dreams (and real-life periods) of standing on a dock as if waiting for someone from directly across the ocean, as well as dreams of attempting to get to her. Having done a lot of research and looking at angles and maps and such relative to where I was in Florida in these dreams, sometimes in El Jobean, sometimes other locations, I worked out I was directly facing (to the exact degree) where my wife was born in Port Kembla. Of course…she was doing the same thing, which shows in her poetry, even when very young.

This validates yet again that one of the main reasons for dreaming is to find and resolve (and after the marriage or partnering, continue to validate and reaffirm) the true partner (“twin flame”) of the self (either the Yang or the Yin).

The reason my understanding of where the dock was (lake or ocean) did not matter was because it had already been resolved - thus, could have been anywhere, as it has already come to pass in reality.

Why the puzzled look on Yin’s face at times and the on and off whirlwind transformations?

It dawns on me that, as I had learned to mentally control, fully, the so-called spinning girl illusion in real life (of which there is a lot of ridiculous controversy and primarily misinformation above all, from - well, to be honest - annoying simpletons), that Yin was “playing” with me; that is, in an endeavor to see if I could will her spinning direction to change in my dream as I am able to do with the so-called illusion in real life (assuming I could bring all the clues together). In other words, another dream character was not only trying to bring out my lucidity, but my enhanced conscious control as well, which I find intriguing. Yin going up into the sky can represent both higher spiritual existence, as well as waking up from sleep.

My wife thinks it might have been Lake Tahoe, even though she had never been there, as she said she was focused on this for some reason.

Morning of January 21, 2014. Tuesday.



I think I am in the same apartment as the manticore dream, but the layout is different and seemingly a bit bigger. Burl Ives is a chubby version of Sigmund Freud. Whatever next? Well, I guess this is my “celebrity year” after all. Somehow, though, he is also a Russian man named Ion Nocalov. None of this makes any sense, of course, but why should it? In my mind, I can easily see Sigmund Freud and Burl Ives as the “same person” for several reasons. Both are sort of a “doubting Thomas”. In the case of Burl Ives, he denied Magnus - but came to know the truth. In the case of Sigmund Freud, I can say with a good degree of certainty that I do not agree with a single thing he has ever written on anything. And as for Ion Nocalov…well…I do not know who that is. He seems to be getting ready to leave and has a cigar stuck in his face and is putting on a shabby burlap-bag-like coat over his pristine white suit. He pauses, looks at his waistcoat watch, and writes some notes on a yellow pad on his desk. I get the impression it is my desk and my apartment, and he seems to be imposing in astounding ways, but I do not say a word. For a moment, I hear ocean waves, so we may not be on Third Street in La Crosse, even though I am almost certain.

A fire nymph runs around the room. I am astounded. Burl does not notice. I point. He looks. She is gone - how annoying. After a time, I notice that there is a Scrabble tile holder on the desk, with Scrabble letters that spell out “Sigmund Fraud”. I am amused that Ion/Sigmund/Burl has not noticed this blatant error.

I put my hand into the fire upon the next appearance via the “abdomen”. It does not burn. Burl aka Ion is talking on the phone. He keeps saying “what?" I thought he had been responding to me as I am speaking but this is not the case. For a moment, I think he catches a glimpse of the girl of fire from the corner of his eye. "I’m calling the fire department,” he says loudly. I can hear the old-style rotary noises as if he is dialing about twenty numbers or more - which is quite ridiculous, as emergency numbers are of less digits, not a lot more.

The fire nymph grabs a TV remote and turns on a very large television. Assuming it is the La Crosse apartment, it is the southern wall. “My name is Mok, thanks a lot” sings an animated “Lou Reed” (I recall a precognitive dream of his death on October 27, 2013). I have not thought of this “song” at all in at least twenty years or more? IMDb reports it is from “Rock & Rule” from 1983. The IMDb plot summary (errors corrected) is “Angel, a member of a punk rock band in the apocalyptic future, is kidnapped by Mok, a legendary super-rocker. Obsessed with a dark experiment, Mok plans to use Angel’s voice to summon a demon from another dimension. The rest of the band follows Mok to Nuke York in an attempt to get her back.” (“Nuke York”? Oh brother.) I can honestly say that I saw this at least once over twenty years ago but have not thought about it at all since I saw it. In fact, I think I forgot all about it for the most part (except for that annoying “song”) an hour after I saw it.

“What’s this sh–?” asks Burl aka Sigmund aka Ion. “I don’t know,” I say with my jaw hanging open. “Mok doesn’t even rhyme with lot.”

“Well, that’s really stupid,” he replies, talking through his cigar, and turns off the television.

Suddenly, the west wall (an internal division) explodes outward and the fire girl is on a black horse, sort of swaying as if listening to a slower song, with the horse breathing misty tendrils. “F–k me!” says Burl. He sounds almost like plaster “speaking”…or what plaster would sound like if it could talk. There is a roaring and a “quivering” in the environment that is not quite right, like being inside of a can someone is shaking. “Dragon! Dragon!” he yells, leaving the room. “It’s not a dragon, it’s a horse,” I say calmly, but he is gone. I decide to risk it and walk into the imagery. It is almost like feeling my way around in a dark room as I am not oriented to the environment “correctly” somehow - more like the top part of my body and the lower part of my body are in two different frames of reference.

I find myself on the horse behind the nymph. We fly over pools of beautiful glowing lava and “lava falls”, forest fires, arctic regions, blizzards, the ocean, both stormy and calm, including the rolling waves at El Jobean, and lakes glowing orange from reflected sunlight as the sun is setting. It goes on and on. It reminds me vaguely of other dreams where there is a clear physical awareness, yet at the same time, the world is moving when the body is mostly in one point in space.

I am back at North Monroe street as a boy (Florida). It seems very odd to move about, taking longer to get somewhere with shorter legs. I look over the small stack of comic books on the tank in the bathroom. There was “The Cowsills”, the “Hot Stuff” one where he is shooting at a three-headed ogre (apple on each head?) with his trident, a Walt Disney one with Magica De Spell and something about hiding inside a brick fence or wall, I think, and a Bugs Bunny one with Daffy Duck.

My older brother Jim (deceased) is smiling and sitting on the couch along the south wall in the living room when I tell him of the great Russian psychologist, Ion Nocalov, who thought that all horses were dragons.

Then the dream changes a little as he tries to copy the name I say, acting as if it is a clever invention. “Vola Con Noi! We can fly!”

Added note: If it was not for this quite vivid dream, I would have surely lived the rest of my life without ever thinking of “Rock & Rule” again. Funny how things can be “hidden” like that, yet remembered to some extent with “cues”. This is actually one of the only movies presently that I had “forgotten” so much of this way in my lifetime. I wonder what that says about the movie.

The mashed up image is with other fairly recent entries, was going to use it in an additional notes entry, but will include it with this one.

Important additional note: One of the most absurd things I have ever read regarding Freud was how a particular person apparently did not have a “wish fulfillment” dream (according to that dreamer’s view) and this was determined by Freud to be a “wish fulfillment” dream anyway, because it was the “wish” of the dreamer to prove that not all dreams were wish fulfillment relative to Freud’s theory. This was so pathetic and absurd that it instantly (in my mind) demoted Sigmund Freud to the level of a cartoon character. It is probably one of the most absurd things I have read on dreams.

Morning of January 21, 2014. Tuesday.



I am on the second or third floor of a large old building, likely part residential and part commercial, seemingly on Third Street in La Crosse, the street (and seeing it from the same building) where, in 1991, a large group of teens turned over a police car and set it on fire after the Coon Creek Canoe Races. Over time, it seems much like my (half - on my mother’s side) brother Dennis’s old apartment, which I have not dreamt of that much (and presently have no online references to it yet). I am sitting at a desk near the window, which faces west. I seem to be working on some documentation of some kind, perhaps an educational report for state government (one is due soon in real life). I seem to be somewhat distracted, though, as if my mind is trying to clarify where I am, but in a very subtle way.

I hear about four teenage girls joking about on the street below. I think it is late afternoon. I look out and see they are looking up at “my” window. “Rasta rasta come out and play,” one says. None of them are familiar. “Oh no, he’s looking,” says one, running off but in a playful manner. (I am not Rastafarian, by the way - though I strongly relate to and understand the concepts of the “Babylonian system”, though older-style dub reggae is some of the only music I can truly get into other than styles my father performed as well as wrote.)

Over time, I hear them talking and apparently planning or plotting something, but I am not sure what to make of it. I do not think they are left-over spectators of the canoe races. They seem to be “fans” of some sort, though I cannot quite make the connections and am not sure of their intent. I sit with my chin resting on my left hand, thinking.

“Come on, I came all this way and you’re not coming down? What are you doing up there?” It seems one is a “leader” of sorts.

I look out again, and am almost hit with a small package tied with a large blue ribbon that comes through the open window and lands on the desk. I read some writing on the package that clearly says “Dread” (supposedly addressed to me) and part of a note that says “Dear Dread”, which is interesting as the two words have the same letters. I am vaguely aware that I have dreadlocks, but only in a very loose sense and only a bit in back (my wife usually combs this out in a personal screaming session when my hair is pulled). I am not sure what to do. I had been working on yet another new style of dub with special types of frequency bands, but have not finished anything yet, due to my overly meticulous associations so far this year - even with inaudible phasing - nuances I often think of that most people do not even know exist. Curiously, these girls seem to know about my special abilities regarding sound manipulation, which only a very small number of people apparently know about if the huge amount of misinformation (even from “experts”) on the Internet is anything to go by. Still, it is hard to believe anyone younger could respect or understand that area of knowledge, so I am somewhat suspicious of their motives. I am also somewhat annoyed by their seeming lack of self-control in public.

These thoughts pass through my mind, rather than anything relative to lucidity or even having fun of any kind. (I do not directly notice any musical instruments in the room - there is nothing studio-like about the room as it is more like a home business office.) I open the rest of the package and find that it is a larger hand puppet that is apparently a manticore, although its head is more lion-like at first. I notice that the letter has some rather unusual but precise anagrams of “manticore”. Looking at the list, I see:

Romance It!

Man erotic!

Cream into!

All of these being anagrams of “manticore” seriously puzzles me as if it was by design somehow, but almost as if everything that exists is a potential path to a different meaning. Another girl (possibly a version of my wife) who appears to be some sort of very shy “live-in secretary” is sitting at another desk near the middle of the room. I am thinking of going through business letters that I need to check, but my mind is wandering and thinking of inter-dimensional polarity reversal in “key” areas. It is as if I “almost” know how to open a gate or portal by inverting certain linear patterns so that others are then extant. I am trying to work out “zero pairs” into the concept and cannot quite get it, probably because I am thinking in fifth-dimensional ways, which is impossible to resolve. I am thinking of layered XOR functions (almost like a “she loves me, she loves me not” series, trying to work out if the end result will be a positive variable or a negative one), but then dismiss it, as the universe is not a computer, so that would not work.

I put the manticore hand puppet on my right arm and admire the highly detailed homemade handiwork. It is soft and velvety and looks as if it cost a lot of money in special or rare materials It also seems to have dreadlocks as a mane, but in a subtle way. I sense my wife as a shadow on the wall, but the “shadow” is white and somewhat glistening instead of black (recurring) - likely based on the concept of photographic negatives. She walks around “on” the wall (that is, a “shadow” without a visible source) and my mind starts wandering again in concepts of fractal geometry and what connects where and what “door” goes where. Meanwhile, I start to play around with the hand puppet, moving it a certain way, its lion face becomes more of a man’s face by some sort of rolling section of material. Moving its mouth by way of my hand motions inside the puppet, large rows of sharp “teeth” come out, resembling shark teeth - and I play about making its mouth open and close, watching the teeth sway about, which are a bit like plastic or real bone attached to the velvety material and row of silk to simulate the “lips”. I continue to look at the remarkable complexity of the puppet, still thinking of the skills it must have taken to make it, thinking that the girls may have good intentions and respect for me.

I decide to go downstairs, perhaps just to enjoy the outdoors or go for a walk. I put the puppet and letter on the desk. The cowardly lion from “The Wizard of Oz” touches my arm and says “D-D-Don’t go out there, d-duh, I wanna live, ehuh-ehuh…like dis…I don’t wanna see what’s out there”. I am annoyed by this “poor excuse for a lion/man” and say, slowly, going closer to his face, “Are you…supposed to be…Martha Washington?” and walk down the stairs. His sobbing becomes less audible behind me.

Four girls are on the staircase near the doorway. The main one says “My name is Micra. I’m the one who gave you the note.” (It dawns on me that “Micra note” is also an anagram of manticore.) “Hello Micra. Would you like to tell me what is going on?” She has orange “vibrating mirror” somewhat kaleidoscopic eyes (normally such eyes are more silvery and highly reflective in dreams). In fact, they all have orange eyes, and with the small black stripes of their irises, I am thinking of tigers, but not quite in a threatening way…Tangerine Dream has a song version of the poem, and it flows somewhere in the distance…

“Tiger, tiger, burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare seize the fire?”

She (the main “tiger girl”) touches my arm and fire emerges. The fire does not hurt, but I see my skin peel away, turning curly and black, flaking off, to reveal a bluish light underneath with differing “fibers” of darker and lighter. It reminds me vaguely of those “pills” that you light, and ash grows out swiftly, forming an “ash snake” - they used them for cheap Fourth of July celebrations going by various names, I think, such as “Magic Black Snake”, “Cobra”, and “Python” - not only that, dreadlocks remind me somewhat of these “Magic Black Snakes” and my own “hair” is transforming as such. Eventually I fly up into the air moving over the street watching them run and wave, looking up. The entire environment starts to resonate and cracks like ice, sizzling in vertical wave-like patterns into crumbs of concrete and destroyed buildings and streets - and four smaller lights fly away in different directions, the scene somewhat like stage curtains self-pulling apart to reveal what is really behind it all, and at the same time, being a giant manticore’s mouth opening up (but very spectral, almost ice-like in appearance) and “letting me out”. I am vaguely aware of the concept of the phoenix. The “comet rain” (yet another manticore anagram) spreads and becomes more pastel-like.

My new “bat wings” carry me into a realm of stationary lights, somewhat abstract.

I fade into the real morning. My wife moans next to me, complaining about the heat.

“Cremation” is also an anagram of manticore…

Additional layers of association: An old Tommy Cash record with the song “Free Man”, including lines such as “The king of the jungle is a lion, but you kill his freedom once he’s in a cage” and “If you only want a puppet then go buy one, if that’s how it is then I can’t stay”. Another song was “Four Strong Winds” with the line “You could join me if I’d send you down the fare”. This was our original plan but I moved to Australia.

The four girls are the “four strong winds” of freedom, perhaps Earth, Air, Fire, and Water as well.

An episode of “Grimm” called “The Good Soldier” (season 3, episode 11) features the manticore, which I not only did not know of prior to the dream, it has not aired here in Australia yet…we only just saw the last episode of season 2 - I will count that as precognition (or remote viewing?). It is one of the only newer shows we watch.

Morning of January 19, 2014. Sunday.



I am about fourteen. School has just let out for the day at a variation of 20 Copeland Avenue in La Crosse, with our school as the Spencer building. The surrounding area is not as it is in real life. Zsuzsanna is near my age in my dream though had been in different classes. I approach her and ask if I can walk her home. I consider her extraordinary beauty. Amusingly, I stutter and seem shy in asking (not at all a conscious self attribute). She is wearing denim shorts and a dark blue top and carrying about three textbooks and a small notebook at her side in her right arm. It takes a few attempts before I make my intent known. Her friend, an unfamiliar girl, is amused and goes her own way, and I walk with Zsuzsanna for the two or three blocks she lives from our school. We walk south as I remain on her right, wearing mostly black, gray, and dark blue, with an open black lightweight trenchcoat. My dream implies that we had never met before this, yet she is my ideal female and I consider that no one else could come close to her essence.

She is living in a white one-storey cinderblock house on a northwest corner of a suburban block (two blocks south of our school and one block east) with her father and two younger brothers of about two years apart in age. Curiously, he seems Caucasian, about thirty, and does not have an accent, which I find puzzling. (I had spoken with her father in real life on the telephone, but never met him). He has a mustache and is wearing a tank top and blue jeans. He sits in a white armchair, facing south and watching television with a can of beer or soda in his left hand, west of where I spend the most time in the room. He is watching “Hair”, though dubbed in Hungarian (which I had joked with Zsuzsanna in real life in it being the only version I saw listed on YouTube). The two boys are playing on the floor. The “father” looks at my unusual clothes and asks me if I am supposed to be some kind of magician or witch and asks me what I can do. I tell him that I mostly consider myself to be a sorcerer.

I hold up my right hand (forearm out but at about forty-five degrees upward or less), palm up, and a loud sizzling comes out as a flame flows from my palm and into the air with a sort of muffled light explosion, and for a moment, a separate higher column of heat and fire is there, which fades fairly quickly. An additional small flame dances in the air, doing figure eights and spinning before dissipating. I do this four times, creating a tiny (hummingbird-sized) “fire girl” that does a few pirouettes in the air. He seems impressed but not alarmed in any way.

I look around and notice that the room is messy. There is a broken glass on the floor near one wall, and miscellaneous books, clothes, opened mail, and toys. I take Zsuzsanna flying for a short time, staying in the neighborhood. The front door is open, so we fly out (and return) through it. I ask her father if I can come by on a regular basis and he seems okay with the idea. However, after leaving on my own, while above the sidewalk about half a block away, I can hear him, with my enhanced hearing, asking his sons to look through his house and make sure nothing is missing as he seemingly thinks I am able to teleport objects from their location to steal them. It does not matter to me, as I look forward to spending time with the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

I continue south for several blocks, flying fast, often in a diagonal orientation. I land on a few roofs to look around and then notice a church gathering with old people. I talk with the elderly people. They seem depressed. I recognize a male I knew when I was much younger (and who in real life is about my age), but he is much older than me here, yet I do not find this unusual. I think that I can find specific people based on their silhouette, with “mental radar” that encircles the planet. I am able to locate a couple people for a couple other lonely people at a church lunch, also finding a lost relative for one of them. I then fly around more.

I am near a small outdoor football stadium and a large hall for local players that is just south of the field, probably implied as a futuristic or built-up version of Eagle Field. There are a few violent gang members at the building who are possibly friends with some of the football players. I am confronted by a lot of tough characters, but I am able to avoid them by flying about in the large room and dodging knives that are thrown at me. I become an anthropomorphic form of fire, somewhat like the Human Torch from the Fantastic Four. I aim at various locations (not directly at any people) and rings of fire spin up from my forearms, around my wrists, and out from around my closed fists in a spiral while other sections of flame columns come straight out in a tube-like fashion. It is a curious sensation with a vivid awareness of pumping and flowing. Finally, I get so annoyed by all the knives flying through the air and having to dodge them, I send them back to the neck or chest of each thrower, a total of about seven. They somehow remain alive but are unable to do anything.

I leave the building and look around outside and decide to sit down in the grass in a meditation position to relax, facing the hall to the east. I hear the coach yell at me from the doorway of the hall, “You may think you are some kind of superhero, but let me tell you, you will feel the cold of winter when it comes, the same as any of us!”

Annoyed by this disruption of my attempted meditation, I hover into the air about five feet while still in the same cross-legged meditation position and hold my arms out horizontally and a bit forward. Cold waves of energy flow from my forearms and out through my wrists, producing thousands of randomly spiraling snowflakes that spread over the entire landscape. It is a beautiful feeling. I feel a vibration through my forearms and a great wind flowing from my trenchcoat and out through my wrists. The blizzard becomes more intense and I feel fantastic and exactly where I should be. The ground is covered with snow and I feel I have made my point. I enjoy the feelings of the icy winds that almost seem to nurture me. They are a welcome contrast from the heat of the previous scene. The coach stands frozen in the doorway in suspended animation and I consider that I might release him in a thousand years or so. I do not see anyone else. I am ecstatic, cold air flowing from my forearms and wrists, almost sensual in nature, creating a beautiful blizzard. I am the foundation and origin of the forces of nature. I get the impression that I could create anything.

I fly over another region, near apartment buildings of up to about four floors, causing them to ice over entirely with a pleasing musical sound of rapidly building-up layers of ice, several layers at a time as the window glass cracks. The buildings turn light gray with frost and cars stop, frozen to the snowy streets. Time passes, and my dream finally starts to loose cohesion as my thoughts change and begin to focus on the layers of ice.

I start thinking of archaeology (which I have held an occasional interest in since childhood). I lift up a large section, about a full quarter of the entire length of sidewalk, and crack it open, concrete and all, and notice that it looks somewhat like an onion, though with the essence of diamonds. I think about what sort of features, including treasures, that could be found in the various layers of ice. I notice that it is night, becoming darker (even though it had been afternoon a short time before). I slowly wake, feeling very happy.

---

Several pages of detail (including the numerous common autosymbolic meanings) have been removed from this entry to keep it a reasonable length. In this subliminally lucid dream (meaning, as a result of a specific type of synaptic gating, that my conscious self identity was aware that I was dreaming even though my dream self was not), there was the usual effortless flying and manifestation of unlimited confidence and additional abilities and a more defined control of the vestibular system ambiguity that is an inherent factor of REM sleep. The last scene, with the diamond-like layers, was a subliminal realization of temporality (chronological patterns in the analogy of a timeline along with viable memory), which does not usually exist in the dream state. I used to work on Copeland Avenue near the building featured, but there was never a school there, and Zsuzsanna and I are not close in age as this dream implied, and she has never been to America. The only dream element related to real life is the carryover regarding the “Hair” movie dubbed in Hungarian.

---

Night of January 10, 2014. Friday.



I am in a small room reminiscent, for some reason, of the first part of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven”. An elderly Caucasian male wearing reading glasses is working on a problem. I have seen this before. I look at his desk. A (mostly white with triangular spots) cookie jar in the form of an owl is overturned on a higher shelf to his left. He is writing equations.

“It is two”, I say, “or, if you keep going, two two two two…or if you want…twenty-two.”

“Stop it!” he says. “I can’t get there. I can’t. I won’t! I don’t want to know it all!" (This reminds me of some sort of odd blend of the last part of "The Keep” and “The Changeling” which are otherwise completely unrelated other than there being an annoyed elderly man making a choice between two things.)

I show him some patterns, mostly only personal symbols gathered over a lifetime. “Look, it is Seventy-Seven Sunset Strip." He nods. "My wife’s name is Zsuzsanna…the seven is a seven on a plane, becoming a Z, sort of like the mirrored twos being the heart on the plane, and there are two sevens. The audio reversal of seven is nevus, which means Yin has a seven-shaped scar above her iris - well, on her eyelid. So…Two Zs and two Ss…Zsuzsanna…”.

“Plane?” he asks. “Yes, it’s plain to see,” I say sarcastically. “Plane,” he ponders. Suddenly a woman in the blue and gold Chiquita Banana outfit, shaking shakers and doing a sort of partial tango (in positioning) appears, singing “the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain” twice, before walking into the wall like a ghost. “What the f- was that?” he says (as Melvyn) quickly. “I don’t know,” I reply, “it’s your dream…” Then he is Ian.

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?” he asks, as Ian, “That’s from Edgar Allan Poe…”

“No, it isn’t,” I reply, “it’s from Alice…”

“No!” he cuts me off, slapping his right fist on the desk.

“Actually, the audio reversal of two is ‘hoot’,” I say, pointing to the owl and feeling quite silly. “Hoot hoot hoot.”

“There are kids in the beds!” he says worryingly as Bill (exactly as in the Twilight Zone movie scene). “That is Oliver and Lorenzo, two of my sons,” I say. I can hear their laughing through the walls.

Then I decide to become more serious and review what I know, but he ignores me. I start to say “Two two Timothy two two twenty-two white horse spirit two two” to open the gate to the higher hidden levels of continuity and to morph everything randomly (to a point). “The gate to the higher levels is f-kity f- f- f-kity f-” (censored) he says casually, as Ian.

“No it isn’t,” I laugh. “F and K are somewhat outliers which is why the lowly use those words so often to stay on the lower planes. Just divide any English paragraph into any other one anywhere and you should start to see it.”

“What about the two Zs in Zsuzsanna?” he says sarcastically. “That’s the name of an outlier if I ever heard one.”

“Very clever,” I say, “but the two Zs are actually implying twenty-two." He cannot win. I continue speaking fractal entropy in discernible English "code” (mostly “two two two…”) and the room starts to dissolve in dust-mote-like sparkles and yellowish fire but I am in warm blue light. Suddenly it’s the male voice of the elderly man from the Twilight Zone movie (Bill Quinn, deceased April 29, 1994) from the “Kick the Can” story. He wants to come with me as I start to age in reverse, being younger, as in the movie, but I tell him that he cannot and am holding a “blue flaming sword of truth”. It is kind of an eerie scene, I suppose. The other two during the “revolving character” transitions were Melvyn Douglas (died August 4, 1981), and Ian McKellen, still alive.

“dream journal synchronicity” tag added because of this post being after mine: http://www.dreamjournal.net/journal/...ream_id=190752

Morning of January 10, 2014. Friday.



We are living in some sort of composite of mostly Barolin Street (same directional orientation) and the place in Maryborough on Cheapside Street, but with other differences at times (including the entrance to Stadcor Street with the outside stairs). At first, there seems to be some sort of drama with a rowdy neighbor from the halfway house visiting someone in a separate (fictional) apartment in back of where we live (which looks more like the Barolin Street area at that point). This second male, the friend of the one in back of our place who seems to be in the shower, is yelling about the score of an ongoing soccer game while standing outside in our driveway. The other male makes gasping and apparent drowning sounds (as the shower is also unlikely louder from where I am), but nothing related to that matter continues.

There is a scene where I am trying to record on a cassette tape and the player keeps “eating” it (recurring). I try to fix things up, but the tape keeps going out in different directions in figure-eight patterns. Parts are very realistic with regard to the capstan and such. I get a vague impression that one of the cassettes is my sister’s.

Later, I am in the bedroom with my wife Zsuzsanna. She is lying on our bed (which is south to north unlike the real-life west to east orientation) but I am standing near the north doorway to the hallway that was there in real life (there is also an additional fictional door to the east, which seemingly opens out directly to a downward flight of stairs and gives a feeling of being on the second floor of a building - the house was one floor but high-set in real life but did not have higher stairs in this manner), but something unusual is going on. Another male is in the room complaining about Zsuzsanna’s “supernatural” beauty because it was apparently the cause of his accident. He narrates his story (I am not sure if he is a ghost, or somehow got lost on his way somewhere else). “I was driving down the road at night and this female steps out from the wayside and I lost control of my stick shift…”

“Yes, my wife has had that effect on males,” I say sarcastically. For a moment, he almost seems like an (deceased?) “alternate husband” of my wife’s (although she never had any other long-term relationships or marriages) and seems somewhat disparaging, but not violent in any way. For awhile, he stands around not moving, almost like a statue. Other men appear eventually - a total of about five or six.

Next up comes Burl Ives (in a white suit, and with a cane and top hat) in an objurgatory stance and mood. He starts talking about how Zsuzsanna called up the giant turtle and crashed his helicopter into the “blue lagoon”. He continues, “If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget that big snow storm a couple of years ago.” (This is actually a recurring idea from other dreams where a type of siren or ghost was causing a blizzard, but is actually his line from “Rudolph”.) “No, no, no, that’s Sam the Snowman, not Doctor Paulis,” I say, but more to the wall, “You’ve got your roles mixed up and…you have snowballs!”

“Oh fer…you’ve got a screw loose Magnus!”, he shouts and turns to waddle down the stairs. I want to be with Zsuzsanna in private, but these idiot males standing around are starting to try my patience. The truck driver is still standing in the same spot, staring at the painting of a pirate ship on the west wall which now seems to have a bit of water coming out from the bottom of the frame and running in about four streams of differing lengths down the areas between the vertical wall boards.

Another younger male (closest to the corner of the room) narrates…“I was near shore and this young gypsy girl of unearthly beauty steps out from a caravan, and raises her arms. I thought for a moment she held a lantern to guide my way, but then…my ship was lost on the rocks…” (I briefly reflect on how my wife’s mother directly drank seawater in real life and actually bragged about how healthy it was during the time she was also a vegan, yet her last son was born autistic though has somehow fully recovered in later years.)

“You’ve certainly got your prerogatives in order,” I say sarcastically. “Yes, one girl standing in the night, you are distracted, or maybe it was a Playboy magazine - those oil tankers out there having oil spills that wipe out half the planet…watch out for that bit of venison on your plate…it may be the end of the world as you know it…”

The song “Play Crack The Sky” is sung by a transparent temporary character before my dream moves back towards my own direct focus again.

The most vivid part unfolds. I squeeze my right hand lightly into a fist and this somehow causes the male to rise in the air, about three feet off the floor. He starts to choke and seawater drips from him as he hovers in the air a few feet from me. I turn to walk and somehow he floats in the air behind me and I manage to get him out of the room without touching him. The other men look on approvingly, thinking I had healed him, and line up for me to “heal” them as well. I am glad to oblige…

---

Night of January 4, 2014. Saturday.



The setting is solely the porch of an older brother’s house in La Crosse (half-brother on mother’s side, Earl) on St. Cloud Street. I have hardly ever dreamt of this particular location, though, even though I had been there quite often. In fact, it took a moment to realize that it was not a composite. The people on the porch include me, a different brother than above (half-brother on mother’s side, Dennis), an unknown relative (but possibly either brother-in-law Verdell or aforementioned brother Earl), and eventually a younger unknown male. There are also people (police or security guards) outside about half a block away at one point, in the last part of my dream.

It is late at night, possibly just before midnight. I hardly ever have dreams about any kind of drug use (especially personal) but this one features some sort of plant that is smoked. From what I have heard/read, I have opposite experiences than others under such conditions and smoking this plant actually makes my dream more and more vivid (and realistic) and stable. I am not one hundred percent sure, but the plant seems to be called “Havarti” (or similar), which is actually a kind of cheese (yet also vaguely similar to my wife’s maiden name). Still, it is not rare for me to have bizarre forms of word misuse in my dreams, as I once dreamt that a “Jacuzzi” (hot tub trademark) was a type of human-like (and somewhat vampiric) monster. I suspect that it may be a corruption of “Havana”, a type of cigar, possibly with an Australian accent corrupting it to “Havaner”.

The unknown male mentions something to Dennis about what he is doing and Dennis seems very annoyed, saying, “There are plants to smoke besides marijuana!“ I actually attempt to smoke a cigarette of the particular plant on my own. What follows is intriguing. After a time, I blow out a cloud of fire and black smoke. Each primarily conical cloud of very thick black smoke is about two feet long and stays in the air in a near-solid but somewhat morphing impression with a narrow "band” of fire directly underneath, but sometimes more around, almost like a piece of rainbow “stuck” horizontally on the underside of the cloud at times. It sometimes vaguely reminds me somewhat of candy corn in afterthought, or perhaps fire agate, and is quite beautiful, each thick “cloud” hovering for a few minutes before dissipating. However, the point/narrower end is opposite to where I am exhaling from and circularly larger near my face, which seems wrong and reverse to what it would be otherwise (similar to if a bullhorn had the larger end towards you).

Each exhale event (which is almost like vomiting but without the unpleasant sensations), which produces the same sort of black cloud and underside-to-circular fire-banding each time, causes a very intense side-to-side vibration in my body and a strange pressure in my head (though the light and thin stream of fire does not burn coming out). (A couple of the clouds do look a bit more like floating holograms of fire agate - even with the "bubbly” surface and eventual morphing shapes.) It is almost like an actual shaking in the environment but restricted to the perception within my body only - I say this because no one else seems to notice any shaking of the porch’s floor or walls. Over time, I seem to smoke about three of these cigarettes with about four or five exhales of each, becoming more stabilized and aware within my dream each time, yet somehow still not being lucid (it is likely too vivid to be seen as a dream, eventually - it is finally easily as real as real life in perceptual terms and body awareness). I am not quite sure what to think but get a slight impression that my body is in a very “high” state of well-being regarding waves of energy moving to their most extreme distances through all tissues and outer muscular surfaces - even all of the integumentary system - very oddly, it also seems my lung capacity is three or four times what it is in real life, which is quite exhilarating when I breathe. I am not even sure why I am doing this. There was a recent dream where a seemingly homeless or poor person was trying to sell me fire agates and a few other types.

Eventually, a young male comes onto the porch. He may be as young as twelve, yet seems to be running from security guards from a business on that street, east of where we are, or perhaps police. He wants to smoke what we are smoking. When he inhales on a full new cigarette, the entire outer surface (except nearest his fingers) becomes suddenly bright red and sizzling with sparking embers - and my brother tells him to take it slowly - but the one entire cigarette had already been used up with that one act of inhaling. There is some talk about why the authorities are after him but it is not quite clear - it may have something to do with being on business grounds after hours or trying to steal something. I eventually relax more and “fade out” from my extraordinarily vivid dream. I am not a smoker (of anything) in real life.

---

Night of January 1, 2014. Wednesday.



Just recently (on the main dream journal site), I posted an entry about an “unknown” and/or “primitive” sun symbol…a black bird…and so on…

I am walking along as if lost. I am greatly annoyed by the sounds and smells of cars. A young Barbara Steele drives up in a white Cadillac Coupe De Ville. There is no conversation. Eventually it is my wife, then the actress again (what — another “revolving” character already?) Some distant memory comes back and we are near “The Temple of the People”. It dawns on me in some sort of “oh no” realization that the ankh may represent Hathor, a more “divine” version and long-term “code” of my wife ever since I can remember (Hathor, HVathOR, Horvath…) which reminds me of a long letter I got years ago from a person from the Theosophy group which had been typed on a very old typewriter (even for those days) but which I no longer have, I do not think. At any rate, I am handed a comic book from my childhood…“77 Sunset Strip” - which has a symbol similar to the one I dreamed of (and posted) very recently, the Peruvian girl one. Not only that, a similar symbol is shown in a photo in the last publication released by the Theosophy group (which turned out to be eerily postcognitive)…I must be dumber than I thought…Barbara gazes at me as if losing patience with something. I have the “Cowsills” comic I have already posted on…and feel a bit uneasy. “Vola Con Noi,” she says seriously.

I turn it upside down to note the “S 77 is mod” message and ponder it. I had vaguely connected it with “77 Sunset Strip” in the past. I say “is mod…is modern…(long pause, followed by terror)…is MODIFICATION…” and so…“flash”…

I am with my wife as if we first met; for a time I get the impression of only a human-shaped form of light. Later we are at the fountain in Brisbane where we were when we first spent time together in public. The Cowsills sing, “See the sun…” (after a bit of vivid light rain, reflections, and intimacy “raindrops falling on her, she didn’t seem to care…”), “and I knew (chorus: I knew, I knew, I knew, I knew) it was Armageddon (chorus: geddon, GEDdon, geddon)”. But that is okay, we have our own new Universe “emerging” from somewhere(?) and a “new beginning”. I hardly notice the land disintegrating around us. Meanwhile, “Captain Sad and his Ship of Fools” (all of humanity - do not ask how they all fit on one boat) sail off into a black sunset in a yellow sky (that is, the sun is black - it creates a sort of wary perception - almost threatening, like looking at a bee) and a black bird flies above the ship. (The flip side of that 1968 record was “Path of Love”, same year as an Italian release, apparently - “Vola Con Noi” - ‘We Can Fly’.)

Morning of January 1, 2014. Wednesday. This is the second longer dream of the new year…I am almost certain I have had this scenario in part, at least a few times, as a young teenager, but have not checked.



It is the time and location of “The Chrysalids”. Prudence Wender (Prudence Farrow) is in isolation and finally moves to the Fringes, but goes back to see family on a regular basis (up until a point where it is not feasible due to a “revolution” of sorts). The Fringes is ruled by the Beatles, but mostly John “Spider-Man” Lennon. Someone of the normal human colony tells me “meditation lets in demons” (a comment I have seen in real life a few times - assuming they were actually serious, which frankly, is hard to believe, but then…“look around” as they sing in “Dear Prudence”) and I say “if meditation lets in demons, then when you actually sleep, you must become Satan” (Well, it follows the logic assuming one believes in such things which I do not).

The “normal” region is ruled by farmers and judgmental politicians (to keep any diversity of any kind from unfolding - even the usual natural diversity - cannot have actual truths scaring people) much as in the story. Obviously, neither “normal” society (although I enjoy farms in real life and would not mind living on one again) or the Fringes is suitable for me and my group. “Dear Prudence” is one of my favorite Beatles songs (second-favorite bass-line of any song). New Zealand (“Sealand”), for some inexplicable reason is mostly Native American and Romani, led by Buffy Sainte-Marie, yet they have large helicopters to “rescue” certain people from the other two locations and are the most developed.

Michael the telepath fails to reach the helicopters. Instead, he climbs a rope (thinking it to be a line from one of the “Sealand machines”). It turns out to be a rope from a basket being played by a Hindi man and only goes up so far (based on the East Indian rope trick). Too bad. Paul McCartney stands around playing acoustic guitar and singing (“Can you take me back where I come from?”).

I mistakenly end up on a jungle vine and swing around like a pitiful Tarzan (apparently someone is filming all this - the Fringes people, it seems, or a group of reporters that follow them). However, unlike the others, I am the only one that gets to Sealand where my wife had already been living (actually only having lived in Australia, not New Zealand). Pegasus comes and I ride comfortably to a helipad (this likely being a variation on the hundreds of prior times involving “Faithful and True”, but usually without wings). Interestingly, the giant Sealand metropolis also has deep forests integrated with certain areas, and we head there. I cannot wait to feel a sense of normalcy and peace.

Morning of December 29, 2013. Sunday.



Unfortunately, relating to my sister, this dream turned out to be precisely precognitive - in several different ways regarding other aspects as well.

For some reason that has no real-life logic or associations whatsoever, my family and I seem to be driving through the middle of Texas, USA (possibly Austin at one point but towards Abilene) with an unknown male (relative?) Although it seems to be near the center of the state eventually, there is a fictional place where Texas and three other states join perfectly in the middle - which makes such little sense, I wonder why I did not see the erroneous “logic” right away - how can a state have a place in the middle of its large area (miles and miles from any border) where it is the intersection of four states? Ridiculous. At one point, there is a huge dome-like structure of ice that covers seemingly the entire region (but perhaps represents where the fictional state borders connect), but is not that high in the air. Near the center is a five-pointed-star-shaped opening to the sky, it seems. There is another area where a similar structure, or set of structures made of ice are seen. Ice and snow everywhere in Texas (as in the far north), four joining borders in the center of a larger needfully borderless region. Weird and entirely without sense. Oh well.

The other dream is quite moody and serious. It seems my sister is in the state of dying, but also seems like an entirely different person for much of the time in terms of appearance. She is still alive as of this writing, but has had a lot of health-related problems over the years, many related to smoking and being overweight. At one point, she looks like a taller Caucasian woman (possibly English) of about seventy or more, with light hair and a longer and more angular face than my sister ever had. My wife and I are at her home. It seems like the house will be ours at one point (inherited, apparently), which makes no sense, as my sister rented that place and no longer lives there (Loomis Street). I start thinking about planning to move all of our possessions to the USA somehow. At one point, I am wondering what had happened to my brother-in-law. However, there is an even stranger distortion. My sister, in my dream, is seemingly married to my wife’s step father even though he would be much younger (although in real life, this parallels my wife’s “disturbed” mother - who went after him when he was a younger teenager and when she was fairly old and not only did not get arrested, but two of her children are his - the things she has gotten away with in her lifetime are beyond what most people could imagine - although it is possible this dream relates to her present circumstances in some way, but I have not seen her in years, thankfully).

At one point I see him leaning over her as she is on her back on a mattress on the floor near the doorway to the kitchen (almost fully to the northwest corner, but with a bit of space at the implied foot of the mattress). It first seems that she has died and I feel a strange sadness. However, she is only in the stage of wanting/waiting to die. At one point, when I am near them, I tell both of them that they are not who they are supposed to be and that I do not know them - and almost become a bit more semi-lucid than I had been to that point, but not fully aware. I notice that she has strange marks all over her stomach and arms - seemingly stretch marks from rapid weight lost (at first). However, they actually look more like some sort of smaller and large number of reddish bird-beak-shaped scars (sideways bird-beak-like, yet sort of like compressed, symmetrically paired “W” shapes) that are slightly more fleshy or raised in the center, much like a livestock brand in which the skin has since become more loose. The wrinkled wounds seem to mean something else relating to her illness or advanced age but still seem to have something to do with weight-loss or the body “shrinking” somehow.

Curiously enough, they remind me of a dream of way back when I was a younger teenager - “The Butterfly People” - about a group of people - a family - who had butterfly-shaped welts all over their bodies. They lived in caves and seemed somewhat dangerous to other (“normal”) people and possibly somewhat cannibal-like. My dream had nothing to do with butterflies, really.

At a later point, she is sitting up on the end of the mattress closest to the kitchen doorway. I do not see the other male. At this point, she looks a little more like my sister again, but fairly thin. I am concerned but she seems resigned to her circumstances and seems to want no sympathy at all regarding the “wearing out” of her body and health (and actually seems angry at the potential of recovery or living longer). “I am waiting to go to Hell,” she states seriously, and confidently, with an angry tone relating to her body “expiring” and implying that she, as a conscious being, will still continue to exist (possibly forever) in such a place - but obviously does not seem keen on the idea - although it is not quite at all sure what “Hell” would be like (or maybe she is talking symbolically, unsure, but she does seem to think her existence will continue somehow - apparently ALL people go to Hell when they die as a “natural order” of things - still being trapped within the dynamics of their last physical illness - or maybe it is a connection to those commonly deemed “insane” Jack Chick Christian comics I had the misfortune to read years ago, which were weirder and more unrealistic than the horror comics of the day) - assuming she is even referring to one of the various Christian theories (none of which I remotely believe in). This is rather odd, as it is very unlike me to have Christian mythology in dreams in a more “serious” way (usually “devils” and such are associated with the comic book character “Hot Stuff” and little more, although medieval dragons have always been an “enemy”, but now only appear as cartoon-like rough sketches, usually with broken or incomplete lines). This is not a nightmarish scenario, just a bit unsettling and very vivid in terms of environmental focus and detail. However, not much drama happens after this and it actually does seem to carry and odd awareness of an old Jack Chick tract I read on the school bus as a boy - and wondered how human beings could actually believe in such things.

From here, though, I end up in a tulpa-based dream of primarily a happy mood, moving towards bliss and sensual ecstasy, in an unfamiliar area with several other younger people, mostly Japanese. It is a smaller building with an arced roof of an unknown purpose - almost like a very small aircraft hanger. I am aware that a dinosaur, a tyrannosaurus, is just outside and could easily put his head down and through the open end of the hall-like structure (and even quickly eat me), but does not. I am not concerned at all. In fact, I actually contemplate creating a drama by willing the dinosaur to cause trouble or to damage the building (even to chase me around a bit), but that thought does not fully materialize, so to speak. The big dinosaur just walks around outside and causes no trouble. I am not lucid, yet I still seem to have an amazing focus over elaborate thought-control and related detail at this point. I hold a version of my wife close and intimately and we speak of getting married soon as if we only met that week. It seems very harmonious and personal even though there are others standing around in the building. No one else seems concerned about the large dinosaur just outside the large entrance. It almost seems like a “left-over” from someone else’s dream that had not fully unfolded.

Morning of December 22, 2013. Sunday.



This dream was not that short, but much of it was based on attention regarding perception and focus of just a few ideas and images. In my dream, my brother sends me a particular JPEG photo on Facebook (which he had not done in real life before - he never posted images on my Facebook page). I am at the computer and when I look at the image, it is very clear. The image is mostly of a Teddy bear sitting on a smaller stack of books in the center of a bed. Also in the room are lots of other details. For a time, I seem to be doing photo projection (within my dream itself) for some reason.

After a short time, I notice the image seems to change as if it is doing a slow 180 degree pan (central to the Teddy bear position) on one side (as I move my head side to side very slightly) and then the other so that I can see what had been behind the Teddy bear and see other things at different angles. This happens in a very subtle way in some photo projection experiences (depending on the image) in real life, but in this case, in my dream, it is quite intriguing and amazingly vivid (though I am not lucid). It is as if all the image-based data of a full 360 degree rotation is somehow encoded within the one otherwise flat image (seemingly oriented within the center which - again - is represented by the Teddy bear in this case - for example, as if the Teddy bear is the hub and everything around it is the 360 degree “wheel” which pans around 180 degrees to each side depending on how I move my head - however, I still do not see up and down in a similar way in this case relative to detail change).

I decide that my brother sent me a special kind of hologram, perhaps without knowing that himself - or maybe it is a new technology relating to holographic photography (that he is absentmindedly “showing off”, or not knowing that I do not have all the equipment associated with its full usage) of a type that goes beyond the much older View Master types (and the very old technology relating to 3-D back in the 1940s and such being far superior to what they make these days, some of which is actually fake or rendered artificially). In my dream, I am contemplating how it works, thinking somewhat about the small plastic cards with images that appear to move through a stage of several frames when you change the angle by moving it slightly, but I think that would require a special monitor with several thin and angled layers.

I am thinking about talking to my brother in an enthusiastic state of cheerful surprise. There are other photos; one, I think, of his cat on the floor of his kitchen and at least one outside scene.

A little later, I seem to be in the parking lot with some of my belongings near a mall in Wisconsin that had been north of all the places I lived in the region (near Shopko, I think - based in Ashwaubenon, Wisconsin, near Green Bay). A younger male approaches me from the southeast. I seem to be near a table (or something set up with a piece of plywood on top); perhaps it is part of a larger flea market oriented east to west though I do not see many people around. I am sitting down at that point on a small chair. The man seems friendly, but I still feel a slight suspicion as if I feel he may attempt to rob me at one point, but that thought is not quite the dominating one. The man seems to be low on money and wants to know if I could buy some agates from him. I am not quite sure how much money I have, but I tell him that I already have a “guitar full of agates” (which is based on a much older real-life memory where I kept a large number of agates in an old guitar of my father’s, but this was over twenty years ago). I even describe to him what each one looked like as I put it inside the body of the guitar. I tell him about the ones that look a bit like candy corn, the red and white striped ones, and ones that look a bit like they have Paisley designs on them. He does not seem to be threatening at all (even though I hold the mild expectation of such) and he asks another man approaching from the north who is apparently there to look at something else at the implied flea market.

Eventually, I start talking to the man selling agates about the new holographic technology and how you can actually “step into” the images as if they were much like holodecks on the newer (“Next-Generation”-based) “Star Trek” shows (although earlier I had only seen “inside” the photos at a different size perspective). He listens, being only mildly interested, but does not comment. He just wants to sell all his agates to get enough for a small meal, I think. He is thin and passive. I do not think he will rob anyone “yet”.

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This turned out to also be precognitive relative to what my wife had been looking at, at the mall (including newer holographic images she was thinking of buying - one of a tiger), without any knowledge of such on my part or me sharing my dream beforehand. Funny, but happens every day to some extent. The other way it was precognitive involved pretty close detail to my brother Dennis (same brother as in my dream) posting images on Facebook in my timeline which he had never done before and no prior clue he would do so. I thought I had updated this particular entry in this section, but had not - partly because it happens so often. It had the usual “something bigger than life at work” feeling.

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