non-lucid

Morning of March 12, 2014. Wednesday.



Normally I am not at all concerned or focused on my age in dreams (even though I am a lot younger in the majority of my dreams), lucid or otherwise, but this one was a bit different.

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I am in the pinhead’s apartment at the King Street boarding house. I am in a bed that would not have ever been in that location in real life, as it is aligned south and north (head to the north) along where the closet entrance would otherwise be, as well as blocking the door into the apartment. However, the dream places the doorway a bit more to the east. I am not sure if Leonard is still renting the place at that point, but he is there (though the room is mostly empty) and I am wondering if the owners are around. This is one of those dreams where I supposedly owe a lot of back rent, which is rather odd, especially considering the male owner died over twenty years ago in reality. (Probably Leonard has also passed on - when last I saw him years ago, he looked really tired and with snow white hair.) There seems to be some sort of long board from the ceiling or upper part of the wall that had fallen down and is also at an angle across most of the bed. I get the idea that the house has been in disrepair for a number of years even though people may be living there.

I get up and feel physically exhausted but am determined to enjoy myself. Even though I am not lucid, I still “know” that I can just jump out the window (from the second floor) and go flying off to the other side of town. I make the jump and it is an unusual sensation which also seems to make me feel a bit less groggy. I almost hit the ground, stopping at about a foot or so from the middle of the street and then quickly move back up near the tree tops, almost like some sort of bounce from something invisible and intangible.

As I fly northward, I seem to be aware of a large number of females on various areas of the sidewalk, each about a year apart in age, and each a version of my wife, somehow. One calls to me in a friendly manner. It is almost like some sort of timeline series or “age index” in real time, although that is not really a correct term in reality - but is what is manifest in the phrasing in the dream. I fly on to some sort of lighthouse in the middle of town (the nearest body of water being the Black River area of the Mississippi).

In the top of the lighthouse, I decide to see how long I will live. I will do this by turning a different “age index” until it reaches where my “oldest” age is recorded. I am not sure yet how I will recognize such data. The “age index” is like a long ski lift at first, with various number values as well as the notes of the musical scale continuing one octave after the next, each written in sequence on a different section of each ski lift chair. Every now and then, I notice an unfamiliar name on the side of a particular ski lift chair. It takes a lot of strength to pull the weight of the entire ski lift route by somehow forcing the ropes around from where the bull-wheel is, turning it manually, but I am able to with only mild discomfort. There are other people there who seem somewhat annoyed that I am disrupting their daily routine.

Over time, I come to my name written out just beyond a large Eb (E flat) note, printed at somewhat of an angle, and the number 59 in a nearby location. Another man seems happy that I will “live that long”. However, that is a young age to pass away, in my opinion, and is not that far off, really. However, Eb is actually the value of around 78 (near the age when my father died) whereas 59 is closer to the lower Bb in that range. (77.782 and 58.27 to be precise). At this point the ski lift seems slightly more like a Ferris wheel that I am somehow turning about.

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Night of March 11th, 2014. Tuesday.



This dream is of a fairly common type I used to have when younger (although mostly involving electric guitars), probably centering more on the mid 1980s. It all takes place in sister Marilyn’s house, mostly the living room, and my brother-in-law and mother are the only familiar characters.

There are two unknown males from a local music store, in rather drab-looking plaid long coats, who give me an acoustic guitar to try out, I believe as a trial run or possibly a week-long appraisal. (They remind me vaguely of two of brother Dennis’s unsavory friends from years ago.) The acoustic guitar looks really nice at first - and is supposedly the top of the line as well as very expensive - but unusual things happen to it automatically, over time.

Upon close examination, it seems the guitar actually has nine strings rather than six, but I do not think it relevant to how a twelve-string is setup and used. The e string, (the highest-pitched string) over time, seems way too loose, yet still provides the correct pitch when pulled on and let go (as it is so loose that it cannot be plucked normally). The string actually comes way out almost like a light rubber band, and I also notice it seems to be connected to the wrong tuning peg - which is a wooden cylinder like the other seven (four on each side and possibly one upright in the middle). However, I am not sure of the nature of the guitar to be certain about anything. The “middle string” (of nine) seems to not reach fully down and is actually tied to another string before it reaches the body or sound hole. As it does not even go to the bridge, I am not sure what the purpose of the weird setup is. It is possible, though, that there are two middle strings (for the implied fifth string position), one reaching the bridge as the others, and the smaller and shorter one tied over the top of it about the seventh fret down.

I try to play something but it does not sound right at all (not sure how I am making a chord with five fingers over nine strings anyway). I notice odd holes in each side near where the neck and body meet as if eaten away by worms. I am not sure what to do, as, if the guitar is on consignment, I do not want to damage it in any way if I decide to give it back needfully “like new”. Eventually, I notice more cracks and holes which are near where the sound hole is and lower down on the neck. The guitar soon starts to come apart in four separate pieces; the cracked body, two sections of the cracked neck, and an additional smaller triangular piece from off the bottom of the cracked neck. It is almost like some sort of fragile wood/Styrofoam mix. I am not sure what to do but I just put the whole mess down near the living room table.

My brother-in-law Bob cheerfully starts talking about different things, including fictional misadventures regarding me. He talks about how a lot of modern music is the same sound as passing wind at a busy train station, implying an undesirable assault on the senses. I walk to the back of the house to look out the window and at that point seem much younger. My mother is there and seemingly healthy.

When I go back to the living room, I notice my father’s old guitar in the soft chair near the telephone table - it is still in good condition. I think about taking the strings from the “junk” guitar and putting the good ones on my father’s guitar but do not get to before my dream fades.

In the long run, I guess my dream was only expressing my frustrating experiences and understanding of modern products, which often are not designed correctly (or have wrong parts integrated - such as our last washing machine) and which often decay or break a very short time after purchase, including important plumbing and sink parts (we even lived at a place where the large thin plastic bathtub had cracked down the middle of the bottom and had been glued back together). As I wake, I see a fair number of broken plastic hubcaps in various areas of the street, that had fallen off various random cars, as in real life. In real life, we have been through countless “fake” products, including an electric snow-cone maker (that was a gift) that only lasted one use. Product quality, along with mainstream media and authority’s credibility, could not get much worse, and I wonder how people will react in the future, if at all.

Morning of March 7, 2014. Friday.



I am in my bedroom in Cubitis, but it is different. There is not much furniture and the windows are of the type that open outward like French windows rather than jalousie windows (I wonder if this will turn out to be precognitive years from now as the sash-based replacements were). I seem to be only about fourteen years of age.

There is no window screen of any kind. I notice that a large bird comes into the room through the southern-most window on the west side and sits on a chair (I was aware of other large birds flying near the windows but only vaguely and I believe this was the only one that had been in my room at any time), which is the only furniture I take note of. It faces east into the room and from near the middle of the west wall. I am somewhat wary of it. There is a strange awareness or mood of “old royalty”. Larger birds in dreams when I was much younger often had a very eerie quality, especially herons and storks. This one seems to be some sort of large pelican though I am not sure of the species. I guess it could also be a phoenix, of which I have dreamt of rarely. There are both pelican and phoenix portraits of Queen Elizabeth I. An odd old myth states that a pelican would draw blood from its own breast to feed its young. In this case, then, the pelican could represent the sacrifices my mother had made for me.

I sense a sort of mystical power in the presence of the bird. I am not quite sure what to do. I notice that the curtain has fallen down over the window and I decide that I should probably move the curtain back so that the bird can fly out if it wants to, with enough room for it to not be concerned about feeling enclosed. At the same time, I do not mind if it stays in the room even though there is a vague thought of the mess it could make. I contemplate being very stealthy, because I do not want to alarm it (because it might injure itself) as I consider moving the curtain back. No drama ensues. I mostly stand in one spot, not moving, watching it.

I think this relates (to real life) somewhat to when we had a large raven in our house in Brisbane for a couple weeks, years ago, while its wing was healing (after being attacked by a neighbor’s dog). It used to sit on the back of the chair near my desk in the same manner.

In another dream, that resets several times in different ways, I am more in an abstract awareness of my breathing and location in time and space. There is the clear idea of the “layers” of breathing which is not a feasible concept as it is experienced in my dream state. It is as if I am breathing in the layered manner of a musical recording with at least three different elements (or “bands” of breath continuity) and three different ways of breathing occurring over the same time period. There is one long, even breathing at the “lowest” level and other additional breaths patterned now and then (a bit more sparsely but supposedly of a higher “pitch”) over the first layer. I can even sense the waveform of this type of breathing “pictured” about a foot above my head, but to the side or behind me in a three-dimensional spectroscopic field of about two feet in length. Of course, this makes no real sense because you can only breathe in and out in one breath at a time. Still, I clearly seem to have at least three different forms of breathing going on in rhythmic patterns over time - which realistically would require three different people to achieve in such a manner.

LINK TO PELICAN AND PHOENIX ELIZABETH PORTRAITS SYMBOLISM

Morning of March 6, 2014. Thursday.



My family and I are living in Brisbane in my dream. However, there is one part where I am in my old apartment on King Street - the middle one of the eastern side. I am looking at Google Maps and trying to determine where our house is from the above view, though the range is much closer than in reality. There is a fictional business full of stacks of old tires (on the corner of a block) where I can see them very closely from above (probably a link to Eco 3, where I worked as a teen), across from a similar business, where I first determine our house is supposed to be, which does not make much sense unless it is a much older image of the area before our house was built. There is a clear association of that area with the fictional restaurant that we owned and supposedly where we lived for a time - from a different dream - and I have intriguing false memories in-dream - of events and times there. I always find it interesting when dreams have clear associations and “memories” of fictional locations in prior dreams. Still, I eventually decide it is not the right location. Looking at the screen, I seem to see two Fifth Streets in a row (shown as 5th Street), running parallel, which seems very unlikely. I work out that one number is actually a six. (In real life, we have the same address as another in the same region, which seems sort of odd). (“Fifth Avenue”, though not directly associated with “Fifth Street”, is associated with unpleasant memories as a young adult, regarding both job injuries and highly corrupt authority, as well as it being the name of a candy bar I sometimes ate during the same time period - irony, I guess.)

I later discover that, for some reason, I have an unknown girl’s schoolbooks at a desk - which may have been either thrown out (perhaps even accidentally) or lost - and I or a family member had recently picked them up. There are three books in the set; the first is more like a textbook and it mostly shows images of military vehicles but there are not many question and answer sections, although there are various loose notebook pages with handwriting in pencil between some pages. I go through the pages for a reasonable amount of time. There are detailed drawings of larger trucks, jeeps, and tanks and the pages include details on various features of the vehicles and their purpose. I anticipate the next book and look through it, which is more workbook-like. I notice all or most of the work has been done, but I am still interested in a challenge of doing the work myself even though I see all the supposed answers. Most of the book is one long series of word associations in lists from phrases or partial phrases and it seems too cryptic in my opinion to make much sense as a task or assessment and I do not see the logic in any implied purpose. Each next phrase, starting from the top of the list, uses a word from the phrase before (with each continuing phrase having two spaces to fill). For example, one may be “He says that he ____ try”, followed by integrating one of the words into the blank of the next partial phrase, “____ you visit the admiral’s office to ____”, the first and second blank being “will”. Oddly, though, there are lines that are in Russian (only now and then), by which the words must be translated before going to next lines. I get the impression that the school was somehow training for the CIA or perhaps the army. I do not get to the third book before my dream shifts.

In the next section of my dream, I am walking through the neighborhood and notice an entire street of extremely decrepit and partially collapsed buildings. Most are residential, but there are also a couple larger business buildings on the corners of the block. I feel a bit strange (I guess a sort of mild embarrassment) living in a town with such features, as if the entire town may someday be like this and no one would maintain anything. There is concern that the front of some of the buildings might fall onto anyone walking through the area. (A neighbor has a garage like this in real life. The entire front is at an angle and there is a wider vertical crack almost all the way from top to bottom. Also, I missed, by mere seconds, an entire garage falling on me, while inside, when we lived in Brisbane years ago.) I talk to the mayor when he mentions that work may be done in the future. I tell him that the area should be transformed into a haunted-house-themed park. He seems to think I am being sarcastic and obnoxious, but I am actually sincere in my idea. I tell him it would draw more people to the town and boost the economy somewhat. (In real life, the town we live in is having more and more businesses closed, some because of the recurring floods, bankruptcy, and so on.)

I am eventually in a house of someone I do not know and the woman’s son and daughter are getting ready for school as she sits at a table in the living room or dining room. I have some sort of magical ability and create a large apple on the table with unusual properties. It is “doubled”; that is, more like two apples fused together into one so that it has two stalks and two calyx areas. The apple is somewhat angular, narrower at the bottom than some other varieties. The woman is seemingly not that impressed or even “bothered” by my magic and I move my hand about and it changes into a different variety of apple, growing slightly darker.

While at the school (location unknown), I decide to ask the girl to stay free for the day and she seems happy about not going into the school. Her brother is apparently still going and seems slightly annoyed. There is a picnic table where I move my hand over the surface and, directly under my right hand, two times in a row, a glass of water grows up from the table as I lift my hand from the surface each time. It seems an interesting magic trick in appearance and sensation. Picnic tables have always been a common feature in my dreams, even in unlikely locations (such as inside houses or in otherwise fancy restaurants).

A movie, documentary-like, is later made of my life, yet also seems to be “real” with the additional characters in their own lives supposedly as themselves. It stars Bill Cosby (yes, I know - highly unlikely to play me) as his “magical” character in “The Meteor Man” and Nicola Cowper as the girl who never went back to school from that day. It may relate to reviewing a couple older dreams such as “My Final Body” and "‘Meteor Men’ and the last of the gypsy carnivals”, because sometimes that happens, especially during the start of hypnopompia and surfacing recent associations.

There was also an offset section of my dream where my sister Marilyn, who had passed away recently, had a (fictional) younger relative who looked exactly like her and was in her house. It seemed vaguely comforting. This part also had a scene where I was looking at workbooks of some kind, on a coffee table, I think calculus or physics.

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Morning of March 5, 2014. Wednesday.



The first section of the dream is more vivid and blissful compared to the second half. It starts out with watching the very dark nighttime sky (viewing to the north is implied) and seeing green and orange patterns in various locations, mostly above the twenty degree viewpoint. The patterns are unnatural but beautiful. At first, though, it seems to be the result of natural but amazing rainbow effects (with all the rainbow colors only at first) that somehow scatter over the moon and clouds. Over time though, I notice a Yin and Yang symbol made of evenly divided green and orange light (which I first thought was either a reflection of some kind over the moon, or some sort of “reflection” of the “altered” moon from elsewhere); that is, one section of all green, the other of orange, almost like orange and green commas in the sky (one rotated 180 degrees) and connected to each other. There are a couple more isolated solely green or orange patches that are somewhat rectangular but very irregular otherwise. Other clustered patterns of green and orange (often together in equal proportions) are in the sky. Some are superimposed on clouds, others on their own. This all seems to be evidence for alien activity and using the town as a “landing point” or “beginning location”, but not necessarily with a threatening implication.

Later, I seem to be with a few unknown people at an unknown address which is like our last home in Brisbane but somewhat different. Extended from one side is a larger, longer garage-like structure where the driveway would be. I talk about the activity in the sky but there is a man who denies seeing anything.

Over time, upon several occasions when incidentally looking in a particular direction, I see something almost human-like, but much smaller, running through an area of the garden and behind a corner. A couple of times, I almost think I see wings on the “creature” as well (at this point, likely a real-life reference to a draco/“winged” agamid/flying dragon I had for a brief period when young - though I guess it mostly reminds me of a basilisk lizard), but the figure is very indistinct and always moving at about a forty-five degree angle from my forward view. There also seems to be some possible distortion caused by the outdoor light and the fact that the “creature” is zigzagging to avoid being seen (faulty dream “logic” - zigzagging would not actually prevent someone from being seen). There seems to be some drama associated with the viewing and others taking notice, but in the end, it seems I am the only one who regards the forms as unusual or out of place. I start going off on a rant about how the town is supposedly hiding aliens. I am not angry about the aliens, only about the town hiding them from the world or not admitting to their activities, especially regarding the evidence in the sky. Although there are a couple times when the figures seem fairly large compared to other times (about half the size of an adult human), they seem to be smaller and smaller over time. At one point, it seems they may be only about the size of a larger insect (such as a dragonfly or large grasshopper) or perhaps even are insects mistaken for aliens. There is also the vague awareness of the old comic book scenario where a giant shrinks at the same time he is running to appear to be running away much faster.

Finally, I manage to corner an “alien” in the garden (or so it seems at first) and grab it with my left hand. It is actually a baby blue tongue lizard which does not try to escape. I hold it gently in the palm of my left hand. I do not question how lizards could run around upright on two back legs, but this one is smaller than the first creatures I had seen running around and first assumed were aliens. I inform the man that had been denying everything that I had caught one of the creatures I had been seeing (which everyone else eventually claimed that they did not see or at least see anything unusual about - again, taking into account regarding how a lizard could run on two back legs). I hold the lizard up and it actually speaks quietly into my left ear, saying something about the alien presence in the town. For some reason, I do not question this - I guess because some kinds of birds can talk so why not lizards? The lizard is not an alien yet I am aware he knows all about the aliens and will reveal everything to me even though none of the people will. I ask aloud, but softly, where the aliens came from. The lizard says “B'nishia”.

I tell the man that the aliens came from (planet) B'nishia. He looks astounded. “How did you know about that?” he asks tentatively - not about the concept of actual aliens in the town, but about the name B'nishia. He does not seem to acknowledge the fact that I am holding a lizard at all, let alone possibly communicating with it. Not much happens after this.

Originally, when hearing “B'nishia”, I got a strange association with “beneath ya (you)” and “Malaysia”. In addition, I found this about one type of lizard which seemed to be in this dream: “These ‘Jesus Lizards’ can run across water for short distances.”

More here: http://blue-opossum.tumblr.com/post/...ssing-airplane

Morning of March 4, 2014. Tuesday.



These are two dreams in the same entry. The first one involves an ability to transform into another person in appearance only. I am not sure exactly how it is done. I do not hold any of that person’s memory or abilities, I do not think, only the body appearance itself, it seems. It seems only vaguely related to a previous dream about relatives “inhabiting” the body of someone who has died during a sort of celebration or acknowledgement/wake period.

In the first part of my dream, I am near a storefront facing a large parking lot. For some reason, I “become” Naveen Andrews (though do not know the name in my dream at all). I am dressed in a black suit and am talking with a few female fans. Most of them are Hindi, one even with a large pot/vase of water on their head. I walk into a building later on and a man asks for my autograph. He hands me some paper and a pen, and then I realize that I have no idea what my celebrity name is. Instead of outright embarrassment and declining to sign “my” name, I write an autograph anyway. It is mostly a scribble of “m”, “n”, and “i” in a redundant series, with no discernible name, but the man seems happy upon attaining it and about our meeting.

I find someone I know as my true self (without changing into myself, though) and ask to borrow a pad that displays all the information on the television show “Lost”. I certainly now want to know the name of the celebrity I am supposed to be, so I know what name to sign when someone else asks for an autograph or when someone might ask if I am a certain person and I would know whether or not to say “yes”. The pad is complex technology with additional three-dimensional pockets and devices on the surface of which is all a viewing field with touchscreen options. The cast is listed in two expandable columns with small passport-like photos on the left of each entry. The first two are Terry O'Quinn, upper left, and Evangeline Lilly, upper right, with Naveen next left. However, instead of Naveen Andrews being listed correctly in the cast, I see that his name is Ruyard Nuttiger. (This name is not remotely familiar or meaningful in anyway - although it could be some sort of association with Rudyard Kipling and “new tiger” and associating Naveen with India.) From there, after learning who I am supposed to be pretending to be, I continue my walk in the public area. One area (originally thought to be some sort of mall) seems like the northern side of my middle school, which I do not recall dreaming of (at least with more correct locational appearances) in quite some time. No drama ensues and I walk eastward.

In another dream, which I would not call a nightmare (the emotions are not that strong or relating to fear), I am back at the King Street boarding house. This dream seems to have a slight association with the last dream of this location in relating to “bugs”/“worms” (virus association, most likely). There is a type of creature that goes through several stages. It is some sort of “termite” (only in a very loose sense of the word as a whole). I am on the Tenth Street side of the intersection. The different stages are very different from each other (I am not sure if some of it is relative to shape-shifting as a sort of temporary camouflage or not). One stage looks a lot like a white sand dollar. A group of “sand dollar stage termites” goes quickly after two other people (male and female), but I think only to protect more vulnerable creatures within other stages (which may be in cocoons). The other people are not hurt as they kick them away. Another is a giant antlion larva (giant “doodlebug”) that comes out from near the steps and then seems as large as a horse on the east outer wall of the house. It does not seem that threatening (but does appear to be in a defensive stance), but is still a sight that fills me with awe. Assuming they only eat houses and trees, I still do not want to be near these “monsters”, including the smaller ones.

There is even one stage where they look like actual termites. Who would have thought? I walk south to leave the area.

Morning of March 3, 2014. Monday.



There is something quite odd going on here in this one. Apparently, when someone dies, their body is then inhabited by a living relative who acts “as them” at some sort of celebration or diverse variant of a funeral and longer wake, I believe over two weeks or so. I am not sure I ever had a dream of this nature or anywhere near it. There are even serious questions brought up (in my own mind) about the practice later on.

Somehow, the situation is relating to two sisters who have passed on in reality (Carol and Marilyn) and my mother. (I am wondering if this is some sort of variation on the “three women” theme I have sometimes had since earliest memory.)

Sister Marilyn is “alive” in body, inhabited by a brother-in-law’s relative, Vickie R. We talk, although there is something very unusual and “new” about the whole scenario. Carol actually seems like herself, but I guess that is relative to the acting skills of the one who is “inhabiting” her. Most of the scenario takes place at sister Marilyn’s house. I do not recall any other specific locations.

Apparently, the relative who inhabits the body of the deceased for all the ceremonies and interaction and such is asleep (that is, their physical body is asleep) during that time period, being that person with the energies of their spirit and mind (even though I also sense that the person who inhabits the relative is somehow also living their waking life normally at times - which does not seem possible in afterthought). However, I have to wonder that if the person who is deceased is actually deceased, then how does their body function at all, especially after a week or two? They seem healthy and normal in their speech and manner. I also am not sure why my two sisters and mother are in this event all at the same time, since they had died at completely different times.

Over time, I start to question how the deceased were no longer alive in the first place, as, in my dream, death makes no sense at all in the way it is portrayed, that is, how could the body be activated by a relative unless the person (the deceased) was forced out of their own body somehow (for example, how could you die if the body was still fully working or “inhabitable” by a spirit or soul or mental energy) - which makes me somewhat suspicious of the practice of this “alternate world”. My mother seems no different, that is, it seems to be actually her, at least most of the time. Marilyn is the only one where the inhabitant is actually identified for certain. However, there is also the idea that my mother’s “driver” is the spirit or energy of someone who has also died prior to my mother, which makes even less sense, making my dream more ambiguous at one point, although this is not certain. Even less sensible, if spirits can survive beyond death, could they just inhabit their own bodies in the way the relatives do in this case and live normally? (For some reason, I am not taking the fact of how bodies age into the equation - dream amnesia, I guess.)

There is not much drama; mostly an unusual suspicion over how people actually die in this alternate world. It is not a strong emotion; I am just wondering what exactly is going on and how long it will last. It even seems slightly like a holiday at one point.

Morning of March 2, 2014. Sunday.



I still have a cold (trying to keep it in the “background” other than with the cough on the first few days), but it is being “knocked back” day by day over seven days (had a lot of exercise today shopping and pushing heavy stuff around) - do not know how I ended up with a cold - as I said before, did not feel it “come in” like I did in the past. I can keep myself “out” of the cold, “in state” (which a special sound pulsing I have used all my life) for several hours or more, but it flows back in each time I “return” (a bit “weaker” each time, though) - so apparently even the universe cannot cure a cold (like it instantly removes a toothache, rebuilt my left forearm nerves and muscle over time, and healed my wife’s right leg from leaking cartilage, and several other things I can be thankful for and one more thing people “do not believe in” but I care not) - or maybe I have not found the exact “trigger” or symbolic phrasing to do it yet. I guess I still have patterns to learn. Exact pattern nuances can be tricky and completely unpredictable (at first) as I have learned - and they never use a word with even the slightest negative connotations unlike all the commercial rubbish out there (such as “I am not” this, “I no longer” that, “I will stop smoking”, “I will lose weight”, and so on - absurd and completely wrong phrasing in every way imaginable - and they actually make money with this fraud).

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In my dream, I am at my sister Marilyn’s house. Though I have validated many instances of legitimate “communication” with my relatives (far outside of what is considered “possible” by other people which of course means nothing to me in light of actual experience) when alive or in the actual state of dying (even of John Belushi), I still wonder somewhat if potential contact after their passing on holds any merit. In the case of my parents, I am certain enough that it was “something more” (and unexplainable by normal means), but not sure about other connections at certain levels. This dream is somewhat “average” (actually much lower than average in the second section) and I do not consider it paranormal in any way in contrast to the precognitive/telepathic ones where I learned about sister Marilyn in the first place in such detail and those were validated at other composite levels (regarding additional and unrelated yet-to-be experiences) with intriguing precision as is often the case.

I go into the front room and call to Marilyn and try to “force” an association and encounter (even though this is not a lucid dream, oddly enough). I seem very mournful. Marilyn was like a “second mother” to me in my later years. She eventually does appear in another room (the smaller northeast one) and comes out and gives me a hug and it seems to go on for some time. She appears as she did when I was about twenty. There is no sense of additional energy or external presence as with some encounters in dreams, not even as much energy as some tulpas, but there is still a deep comfort. In another recent dream, it was brother Jim that gave me hugs (although that was far more vivid with more energy).

Later, I find myself with a need to go somewhere, though I do not recall the details. This dream introduces a brand new composite. My sister’s backyard, instead of leading into the north/south-oriented alley as in real life, leads out directly onto Tenth Street on the other side of town, which is perpendicular to King Street, and the boarding house is there on the corner, appearing much as in reality. It is wintertime (well, it would be there in reality as well) and ice and snow is everywhere. Leonard the pinhead and another person who lived there for a short time nicknamed “Squeaky” are out on the sidewalk, across from each other (“Squeaky” on the front lawn and Leonard on the boulevard). Leonard seems to be picking at loose skin on his left index finger and seems more aware and “present” than in life. (He also actually speaks like a normal person - which is intriguing in afterthought.) Squeaky got his name from attempting to go near the pinhead’s living area (when he was sleeping) without being heard and stepped on a particular board near the doorway that made a loud squeak - and he accidentally repeated this a few times no matter how careful he tried to be.

I ask Leonard about his finger but notice that I should probably be picking up some of the ice from the sidewalk in order to (if only symbolically) “pay back” the owners for ways that they had helped me in the past. I start picking up the ice chunks from the sidewalk and throw the pieces into the yard. They are about the size of a larger hardcover book and larger (and like most “ice dreams”, this part becomes a bit more vivid). Leonard says that his finger is recovering from the pinworm they (I assume legitimate doctors) took out recently. (This makes little sense as pinworms are “small threadlike worms infesting human intestines especially in children”. It is probably some sort of play on “pinhead”.) He talks about the “paraphernalia” they were looking for - a word that I have not heard in a long time (which oddly does not have the definition I am familiar with in the free dictionary site I mostly only use to quickly check spellings, as it gives suggestions for any word it does not have in it). Paraphernalia can be found at a “head shop” and is used by police to describe hash pipes and anything to describe items that are used for illegal drug usage. I am a bit confused though, as I am fairly certain that, other than a can of beer a couple of times a year or so, neither Squeaky nor Leonard used any sort of recreational drug even though there seems a vague concern about such matters at this point within my dream. As I continue to remove the ice, I see a few instances of desiccated dog poo (that had been frozen for awhile, I guess) near the edge of the sidewalk - and decide not to help the owners anymore (who I do not actually see at any time)…

---

Obviously, my dream, at least in part, is a play on “trying to get rid of a cold so I can move on” (or to “clear out” the cold/ice to walk on down the street…) and the dog poo represents that the virus’s effects are still a part of my present physiology - even though the “worm” itself is gone. “Paraphernalia” seems the clearest expression from the pinhead, which is possibly a play on “Pariah” in his case. I was his only friend for a time. One of his only day to day activities was fishing (with worms). As such, this may also be related to a distorted fishing concept, which symbolizes emergence from sleep.

Night of March 2, 2014. Sunday.

I am younger and in a stage of collecting stamps. My sister Marilyn (half-sister on my mother’s side) is alive again in the opening of my dream, but her face is changing back and forth from various unusual colors, somewhat reminiscent of how a series of usually smaller and older foreign stamps has the same face on different postal values but with different colors for each; red, yellow, purple, green, and so on, in various shades. She is at a table in her living room and appears to be having a small meal.

Later, during the more vivid and longer part of my dream, I am not certain of where I am, but I own at least one very large cardboard box full of materials mostly relating to a stamp collection. As I dig deeper down into the box, more and more complete letters and catalog-sized envelopes, most from primarily Eastern Europe, China, and India, are visible (with the stamps still on the original mailings - most of them unopened or resealed perhaps). There is also a smaller stamp album where the stamps (Poland, Hungary, and Romania, I believe - those countries often had the most attractive postage stamps during one time period) are displayed in rows held by thin sheets of transparent plastic in no particular order.

The beauty of the stamps and other variously-colored and textured paper materials is impressive to me. As I go deeper (placing some of the materials on an adjacent table), there are several old but unopened A4 manilla envelopes from India near the bottom with at least seven or eight older India stamps (1940s-1950s) in each upper right corner, some with various types of “scribbling” as cancellation/postal marks and other features. Eventually, I also notice black and white graphic novels, similar to the type of the older Warren publications. I do not understand the plot, though, as the writing is mostly all in Sanskrit, although some like a mix of Hindi and Chinese, with only a few English translations written by hand here and there. I feel very peaceful and happy about the box for some reason. There are a few other unknown characters around. I am proud of my collection and enjoying the multicolored pleasures of what almost seems to hold endless potential.

There are a few other pages of comic-book-like papers, seemingly in English, but the individual letters are spread out somewhat web-like and too “blurry” to read (much like ghost frequencies on a spectrograph in appearance). (This part was precognitive. I just recently found a link on the “Wayback Machine” that had a lot of older comic books in PDF format. Most of them are readable, it seems. Some of them, though, were identical in appearance to the effect in this dream, probably from being saved in too low a resolution and unreadable. Also, many turned out to be older Warren publications as my dream implied - I had not used the site in that particular manner or purpose at any earlier time.)

---

Part of this is also based on real life. Years ago, as a young teen, I sometimes bought a larger bulk pack of discarded postal materials, usually envelopes and such with the stamps still on them in various conditions - of which I actually preferred to isolating and collecting the individual stamps themselves regardless of the fair amount of space they took up (I even had chests-of-drawers sitting atop other chests-of-drawers for extra storage space). The envelopes were of various colors and intriguing textures and all the various addresses in different languages still on the envelopes and used postcards and such. During this time, I decided to give one of my favorites, an unusual envelope (with several stamps, a few still in blocks) from India with a sort of almost corrugated-like texture and writing all over it, to my sister Marilyn by mailing it to her (Florida to Wisconsin). She liked getting it and asked me where I got it. Apparently they did not have these bulk collections available where she lived at the time. Eventually, I sold a part of my collection for only a hundred dollars when I needed more money (by which in afterthought I should have sold to a collector instead of a company).

Finishing this entry for the online version, I noted this from a website (linns.com, under “Soaker’s remorse”.) “How many interesting, valuable or historically significant old folded letters or envelopes with stamps and postmarks (known as "covers” to stamp collectors) do you suppose have been destroyed by people who did not know what they were doing?“

Interesting. Another play on "everyman” (or “normal” society) I think.

---

Morning of February 28, 2014. Friday.



My brother-in-law Bob (much younger in my dream, possibly only forty, while I seem to be only about twenty) and I are out near what first seems like the ocean, but should actually be the Black River area of the Mississippi in Wisconsin. He tells me that it is too windy to fish, but I am not concerned. I cast my line out anyway and the hook blows back into my hair a few times (but does not get entangled or injure me). Eventually I drop the line closer to shore where it is rocky just under the water. There are several fish about the size of a larger bluegill. They have orange bodies with black stripes and are like a mix of striper, bluegill, and crappie. Bob calls them stripers, I think, though there is possibly another name I do not recall.

We go a short distance north where the water and shore is very different. There are people all in a line along the high bank overlooking darker water and it almost seems like we are inside a huge building. I notice a large fish in the water and so I swing my line down near to where it is. I watch the fish come up and take the bait in its mouth. The water is murky, yet I somehow perceive everything clearly.

“Pull back,” says Bob, “Set the hook.”

I pull back and the weight is extreme. When it comes out of the water, it looks just like Monstro from Disney’s “Pinocchio” movie, angled more upward over time, even with the sketchy (cartoon) appearance. Everyone else is watching. It seems unlikely that I would be able to pull it up and out of the water (especially considering that the embankment is fairly high from the water’s surface), yet I do, and as I do, it becomes smaller and more like a large largemouth bass as I swing it around and to the other side onto the ground. For some reason, I get the impression that people think I had never caught a fish before. Bob does not seem to have started fishing yet, but I consider that there will be more to catch here.

---

The whale is the emergent consciousness precursor, though its transformation into a largemouth bass is typical dream state transmutation by way of RAS mediation and neural gating in subliminal awareness of being in the dream state. My dream also features the common water lowering waking symbolism. The whale appears as the image from “Pinocchio”; Monstro. This is autosymbolic of the dream self being akin to a marionette, that is, not the real conscious self identity in waking life, though with the potential to be controlled within the dream by the conscious self identity. However, in subliminal recognition of being in the dream state, the whale does not swallow me (which would otherwise be autosymbolism for my dream self being coalesced into consciousness), and instead, passively becomes a largemouth bass as the emergent consciousness factor by way of neural gating.

---

Morning of February 26, 2014. Wednesday.



Due to a bad cold (first one in years) I was “locked” into a tremendously long and epic dream that seemed to go on for hours. It was too long to post every detail, but will summarize a few more interesting scenes.

A treasure hunter and I go through several adventures in America, it seems, to get a map, a couple keys, and other devices that will supposedly allow access to treasures in at least two locations. The map seems to suggest that one treasure is in a “lost graveyard” (apparently tribal and in an Africa-like location) but there is also an idea it could be in a cavern or deep forest or even in someone’s yard (or possibly in the middle of a public street or venue in an urban area - which would prove to be difficult to get access to). We discuss the legends behind these lost treasures which are mostly old coins from another century.

Because of tentativeness and delay on the part of the other treasure hunter/leader, I get very annoyed (after a long tirade of verbal abuse on my part) and decide to go off on the quest on my own. The others give me all they have regarding a potentially successful outcome including an enhanced mapping of some areas. However, two others decide to come with me (over time, though, they eventually become lost, as I end up on my own again). The two others seem to be old male classmates, Roosevelt I and Ray G (whose birthday was just recently). They seem to reflect a sort of 70s style in dress and hairstyle and one reminds me vaguely of Flip Wilson. At this point, we seem to be going down the steps at the King Street boarding house. My denunciation of the supposedly well-known treasure hunter and adventurer seems to create an atmosphere that he is little more than an average person with no real interest in new discoveries or with any inherent bravery towards the unknown.

The areas I travel through seem to be very unusual in how they somehow connect as a whole and in other ways, are like several different countries (including Africa, Japan, Australia, and the USA), rather in intriguing incongruous clusters, reminding me a lot of Disney World in Florida or perhaps Busch Gardens (I have been to both places in real life) - or more like a combination of both. The detail is remarkable.

In a restaurant (at least one wall open to the outside), I notice a partial setup (not strong or large enough to walk or climb on - more like a staircase railing without the actual staircase) that leads out and up to a cave-like entrance near the ceiling. I discuss features of the area with the female (unknown) owner. Apparently, most parts of that area of the town (or large recreational area) is closed to the public for now. Still, I will find a way to go wherever I want and announce this fact when necessary.

There is a small building that represents a collection of shrunken heads and other objects. The outside of the building is painted in mossy greens and browns and 1930s style circus art. It may be a public bathroom in part.

I am following one of the security guards (female, unknown) to see if she will unlock a door whereby I can get to the next area. At this point, I am closer to the first treasure area. I come out in a hall and notice she goes through a doorway. I go through the doorway and notice a very fetid scent. It is the dung of a large animal - several piles are about on the ground. It turns out that I am in a mostly circular cage that arcs around much of the building section. A large male rhinoceros approaches, charging me. I punch it in the upper part of the face as it comes within reach, and knock it unconscious. An animal-trainer yells at the security guard for going into the building. I tear through the cage as if it was paper and am in a new area.

A mime (in a black top hat and minimal makeup) doing some sort of combination of acted-out, pantomime “magic act” (with no props of any kind) and incidental dancing, I decide to lift into the air with some sort of power of levitation by waving my right hand. He goes about twelve feet in the air, then I drop him. However, he is not only not hurt, but seems to have enjoyed the act, as if he will then have a much larger audience. (In fact, more people begin to watch him.) “Did you see that?” he yells (speaking for the first time ever in any of his acts) as people gather around.

There is a section that seems to be made of small concentration camps of about five different cultures, primarily African and Filipino, but also Brazilian, and in a seemingly ancient tribal state. (In afterthought, I am wondering if these were real concentration camps or some sort of crowded living display of the past in the “park”). I walk past the area and end up near the other end. All of the people of all ages are extremely crowded in an obviously unhygienic way - so crowded, in fact, they cannot move from whatever area they are standing or seated. An older man of about seventy in mostly only a loincloth (but with some arm-jewelry) is seated (in informal cross-legged meditative style) near the middle area of the end (and with mostly younger males, probably relatives) and I decide to offer my “magic” and help. (I seem to have the ability to manifest food and other things, I think, and to transform some things.)

“Magandang hapon po. Kumusta?" I go on to speak in some sort of mixed-up Tagalog and complex gibberish and he seems impressed in some ways that I know his language so well (recurring), but does not want any of my help or magic for the group of people he seems to represent. I guess they "prefer” to live as they do - overcrowded, continuously hungry, and poor (or perhaps not, but just the decision of one man speaking for all - which is not a realistic or fair way to look at things, even though fairly common in movie scenes and in some real-life situations). I walk on.

There is a large hill upon which is a thick forest. The place is “closed” to the public, though. It is not the area where the treasure is at any rate, though I think it may have potential. It is in the middle of more carnival-like areas and small restaurants, most closed for the season. There are old graveyards which are also park-like (recurring) but I do not investigate.

Finally, I come to the area where one treasure is supposed to be. It is not a graveyard, cavern, or forest as originally envisioned. It is an open area in town (a closed outside museum setup, I think, but a few security guards and maintenance workers are walking about) with a large old-fashioned 1930s commercial sewing machine on display. Oddly, it is hanging down to about six feet from the ground on a platform from a setup of cables. Using the map, I try to determine where the treasure itself is to be found. However, the features do not match correctly. The sewing machine has nine main features and the map outlines eight. Also, one device or key I have does not interact with or fit into any feature of the antique sewing machine. This means it is either the wrong location, or the map is fake. I look through the machine after pulling it lower, taking apart some of it, but find no gold or silver coins. A manager of the display seems very upset but I magically restore everything to perfection. There is a loud humming sound and a feeling of achievement and completion and everyone is glad nothing was really damaged.

Soon, either John Larroquette or Alec Baldwin (could never tell them apart) appears in black as a sarcastic villain/nemesis (or competing treasure seeker), almost reminiscent of Mandrake the Magician, showing two old and very valuable silver coins (from the nineteenth century, I think - not sure of the exact type) he had just found, speaking in a glib but somewhat childish and patronizing way - apparently worth the “ridiculous” amount of ten million dollars and apparently the target of one of the maps, though I thought I had the only one. He rubs them between his fingers. I believe one is (original value) a ten-cent coin and the other fifty cents. I have other things to find, however.

The main theme of this turned out to be precognitive (the usual, of course) or remote-viewed or “postcognitive” (or even related to group telepathy) or whatever you want to call it (“Universal Mind” is what I call the Source for the most part - always “playing” in my dreams since earliest memory, sometimes to the point of annoyance). As I was finishing the last sentences here (in the last paragraph), my wife told me (without knowing my dream’s plot) that she just saw something on television where someone found an old tin of coins (in the USA) supposedly worth ten million dollars.

In afterthought. A couple more things I have contemplated. It is likely that the location was mainly integrated with Disneyland in California, the state where the treasure was actually found. My dream was quite specific in the “eight features” (shown as compartments on the map). In reality, a news article says the coins were found in eight metal cans.

Morning of February 25, 2014. Tuesday.



I am in Cubitis, but there seems to be a division set at the eastern end of the carport that implies two different “worlds” or dimensions. It is an unusual scene. There is a repeating event where the living room, which is now some sort of (unknown) business office, fills up with water and drowns everyone and then dissipates. In fact, there is an unusual impression that this happens everywhere in the world around the same time (where all rooms in all buildings are suddenly filled with water) on a continuous basis. This is not related to any God or even to nature, I do not think; maybe some sort of impersonal universal cycle or an act of time itself. There is also a strange notion that mankind had never created or invented anything (or rather, this is how it is to be, little by little, upon each mass drowning and “reversal”); that technology does not exist, because people will not accept the experience of something in a dream (or of seeing a potential future) that they had not known in real life. I am not quite sure what the story is. Even the buildings look more primitive at one point. It is mainly some sort of cycle of man’s inventiveness being “reversed” and even the connection to the Source is being undone in most ways each time.

I later go into the backyard through the “gateway” implied by the east end of the carport. From that perspective, it is more like my real childhood family home in Florida and seemingly early afternoon.

I look up and notice large white egrets standing about on the roof of the carport. In the past, there were sometimes threatening implications with this type of bird (especially darker or larger herons) but these seem nonthreatening. It is likely mating season, as they are gathering in a group and seemingly doing “dances” for each other. Some of them are soon on the ground, as tall as I am, and I almost seem a token part of their group and rituals. I move about with the dancing egrets. There is a strange closeness and an almost sensual nature in the movements at some points. One bird even seems to be my beautiful wife for a time, in some sort of transparent harem-like outfit with sheer “wings” (somewhat cloak-like) pulled out from the side. A couple times I am clearly aware of how their wings are out and I am holding the wingtips as one would hold hands when moving in a circle or line. It seems very realistic rather than cartoon-like or artificial in any way.

There are eventually a couple more (unknown) people in the backyard. We go to the southeast corner of the yard and notice a few smaller birds and animals. There are a couple of skunks that are also sort of “dancing”, moving in somewhat of a zigzag pattern, remaining side-by-side. They are very small but with seemingly coarse fur and seemingly identical in appearance other than being indistinguishably male or female. We watch them for awhile. An old green arm chair is sitting at a random angle near the weedy area back from the train tracks. It may be a home to some of the animals. (In real life, a skunk lived under a refrigerator door in that area for a time).

The mood from the second part of the dream borders on bliss in contrast to the first part which seemed to relate that mankind “had nothing” or would never connect to the Source again to invent new products and such - even the idea of synthesis does not seem possible, as if the mind was only a cycle of repeating memory and nothing else - thus the human race cannot create, “solve”, or move forward in any way - which would eventually mean that even designing a new house would not be possible. There is a strange idea that the scene will repeat without the person having remembered being drowned each prior time (and seems to relate to the selective amnesia people develop with regards to supposed paranormal or unexplainable events). This may or may not be related to being “swamped” by paperwork and repeating the same (at least systematically) tasks each time in office work (except perhaps with less accuracy each time). However, there is also the idea that many people do not use their creative energies because of not truly believing they exist. The time period in the first section cannot be identified. It does not seem familiar at all.

Morning of February 22, 2014. Saturday.



This is a more positive variant on the recurring King Street dreams (which I have had off and on for over twenty years) where I often owe a lot of back rent and am wandering about at different times through a former or present room. There have been many variations.

I end up looking around in the south-most apartment on the east side of the big boarding house. It does not seem to be the place I had lived at recently (and I never had that particular apartment in real life). There is not that much activity or movement from other potential tenants. Later on, there is a first-time (I think) variation in this type of dream. The landlady comes up and says I can have that particular room and I will actually be paid to live there. This seems a bit unusual, but I guess that is how it will then be (in my dream). I still believe that I should be paying her, though.

Apparently, I had actually been living in the middle room (as I had once in real life) on the east side of the building, before wandering off and living elsewhere (unknown) or being homeless for six months or less, I think. Someone else, however, had been living there for a few weeks though my belongings were all still in the room exactly as I had left them.

My belongings, other than a few clothes, turn out to be a large number of mostly hardcover science fiction books (including Isaac Asimov’s “Foundation”) and 33 rpm record albums, mostly in larger cardboard boxes. As I move them to my new living location, a couple others help, and the other tenant (about nineteen and likely a local university student) seems somewhat relieved that he has more space for his own possessions.

Then comes the somewhat disjointed and more unusual part of my dream. For some reason, I put on the video of Rick Springfield’s “Speak to the Sky” (a song I played often in my youth - yet did not know he was Australian and from Sydney). This is not like the one I actually have.

It is not any real video, though, and it does not even look like him. He plays an acoustic guitar (with a large mic and amp, I think) in front of a small audience on a mostly featureless and inconsequential stage. There is a strong focus on some sort of eerie buzzing effect on one of the guitar strings every two measures or so - probably the low E string. He supposedly makes this sound by placing a stick just close enough to the string to cause the additional sound each time. I suppose I should be wondering how he is able to play the guitar with both hands and hold the stick at the same time. I do not question this obvious impossibility, though. At times, it looks like an ordinary board from the outer wall of a wooden house.

(In afterthought, this may be some sort of play on George Harrison’s “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” and possibly also with the saying “Speak softly and carry a big stick”). From there, not much happens other than a bit of idle conversation and look around at my supposed large record collection, spread out over about seven or more boxes as well as the same for the books. “Speak to the Sky” has appeared (or rather played) in my dreams more than other songs, I would say.

---

Morning of February 19, 2014. Wednesday.



I am back in Arcadia. For some reason, I get the impression that I am supposed to be at an extensive class reunion and celebration. I seem to be much younger, though, probably only around twenty. I start to look for people of whom I had a stronger friendship or even association with, but do not find anyone I am looking for. (In real life, longtime classmate and best friend Toby T had a heart attack and I have not heard any updates on his condition - he is slightly younger than I).

Around the main high school building are many younger people, probably in their late teens - most, if not all of them, are full Caucasian, many with very light blonde curly hair, almost downy in appearance. They seem to be connected with the reunion but are standing about in a random pattern. I feel a need to express (or announce) myself, so I say, “I had one hundred people to see; one hundred friends to see here, but no one lives here anymore!" That seems a bit rude, I suppose, but then I sneak into some of the administration offices to steal manila folders of information about some of my former classmates, many of which apparently had passed away or moved to a distant location from Arcadia (as is actually the case in real life, for example, another good friend, Roosevelt I, is now a popular singer in Germany). This is the second recent dream relating to looking at manila folders and dossiers on people. In this case, I am in the filing cabinet looking for specific names and dates. I notice documents in various folders that are a mixed-up set of both names and dates, some folders nearly empty, even really old ones from the 1960s. I notice, specifically, dates from the late 1980s, and stop when I come to 1972 and 1973 sections. However, many of the names are unexpectedly unfamiliar.

Looking around the large office, I see that the filing system is in an odd, nonviable setup, almost like randomly placed boxes when someone is moving in or out of a place. Filing cabinets are placed randomly (some in the middle of the room) and all of completely different styles and appearance. This is partly related to my real life "seeking” of information on Toby and those I have not had closure with yet (there are only two main ones that I have not found information on or had full closure with as with almost every other person in my life up to now - I have not asked about one of them, and the person who could tell me, I have not straight-out asked her - she is the one who appears in my dream next).

I see two girls walking up stairs when I leave the archives and administration areas. No one else (no school authority, that is) notices my unauthorized searches otherwise. One of them is Michelle L, best friend of the “other”. The other girl, a bit higher on the stairs and walking upwards without turning, only has her back to me. Michelle laughs at me, but not in a demeaning or patronizing way - but in a very friendly “when we were kids” sort of way (she seems amazed that I am still “doing something a human would do”). They are dressed as tavern girls from an old TV western such as “Gunsmoke” - with a corset and a purple vertically creased/“stream-lined” low (or partial) bodice with large “corrugated” white ruffles. Michelle, who is Latina and Mexican (and with likely Mayan ancestry) whose last name seems to mean “the fox” in an anglicized corruption, seems to think I am on an infinite “wild goose chase” when I had already found the “key to everything” many years ago, yet I still “wander through old files”, so to speak. Still, there is one more thing I need to resolve relative to my thousands of experiences with the paranormal and the main one who was witness to some of it and is almost as much a “mystery” as the “real” mystery girl once was years ago. Very, very ironic and a strange “turnaround”, almost like being on the other side of a mirror than one’s “previous life”.

I can find no file on myself, as if I never existed. In real life, I would have been the file just prior to Michelle. Perhaps that is an additional reason for the laughing and subtle teasing. In real life, she no longer lives in Arcadia, either, so my dream’s scene is a bit ambiguous. The “other” (likely the girl with her whose face I did not see) remains elusive in my “second life” as much as my true twin flame did when I was with the “other”. Two different worlds - both inherently paranormal beyond what anyone would ever believe - likely knowledge I will never resolve. I guess I just want to “know” all of it.

Important update: After I posted this, and came back from the store, my wife tells me of a commercial after returning, regarding a brand new (fantasy) television series we had not heard of. It is called “Resurrection” (a play on a possum “playing dead” and coming back symbolic with my own NDE) - apparently about a missing (edit: not missing - died and found) boy who returns, being the same age as (I believe) 32 years prior, when he went missing and apparently “did not exist” (at least alive) all those years. The ad starts by showing him with a red shirt that reads “Mansfield Panthers” which is very significant for me in ways I will not get into (which relates to this entry and a dream of years ago I have not yet included regarding manila folders and the Mansfield name - also relating to a wealthy, snobby classmate and our team being the Panthers at that time). Not only that, he is (according to a short scene in the ad) “from Arcadia” (though not sure of the state). This has happened all the time since earliest memory, but often in a far “closer” and more visually precise sense (for example, exact visual detail even over weeks or years, exact scenarios - even complex detailed ones, and so on). It also mentions “Aurora” - which is where my father’s side of the family lives (in Illinois - though not sure if the locations in the show are met to be fictional - only saw the shorter ad a couple of times tonight (however, this seems to be an error regarding the show’s description as with the implication of missing)..

However, the summary on IMDb - “The lives of the people of Aurora (which I think is meant to read "Arcadia”) are forever changed when their deceased loved ones return" does not imply what the ad showed (which was only focused on the boy vanishing - though it turns out on the show, he died and was entombed, not having vanished). Forgot to mention that my wife’s middle name (Gabrielle) also appeared on the screen with “The Power of Love”.

Morning of February 18, 2014. Tuesday.



The environment in this dream starts out in an atypical and ambiguous location. It is the southwest corner of the living room on Duffy Street. It is different in that a bed is in the space. Also, there is the area from my sister’s older living room in Wisconsin (Loomis Street), as well as the front hallway and porch of our Barolin Street house. Such composites are very common for me (although as I said, this particular one is atypical) but always seem very unusual and “obvious” in afterthought - as the sleeping mind never picks them up in my experience other than rarely. As such, the compass points are usually rendered nonviable or pointless (pun intended). This time I have included the implied compass points in each (more focused) part of the composite (in the image) to note the diversity.

What I have noticed here is that the Australian parts of the composite are compatible in orientation although the American section is reversed to the others (regarding real life orientation). This is probably not a “rule” but does seem more common than not. Sometimes I think that composites of this nature are not that important - the mind just mashes everything together just to make a jury-rigged “stage” for more important concerns. However, in the past, I have discovered, of course, all other types of composites (including common composite precognition) are very meaningful in the nuances of hybrid aspects. For the most part, I have not quite worked out the higher aspects of locational mashups in some dreams with more atypical superimpositions (as this one) relating to memory, though I have in others. I do believe such things are important in other levels of continuity, just more elusive than most. (For example, my sister has just passed away recently, yet her “living room” is the only composite facet of this dream).

Why is our bed located in the additional living room and near the entertainment center’s shelf (which was on the opposite side of the living area in real life - my computer setup had only been there in reality)? Perhaps because even though we can be “at rest”, we are still “living”. This may be related to the black male ghost who also sleeps in our bed (who does not know he has died) at times. Regarding the Barolin porch, this was a huge porch (and enclosed with beautiful stained-glass “church windows”) compared to our present smaller fully open one. It was so large that you could look into the darkness from one side and not see the other side very clearly at night, and there was a sense of expansion. It was very good for deep meditation of the kind which actually causes sudden body-wide intense “skin pain” when even a very soft noise occurs to disrupt the state (even a leaf hitting the ground outside) - otherwise it is a very positive experience.

The somewhat athletic-appearing male that is staying with us is probably around forty at the most. At first, I do not even know he is a ghost, as he seems very much alive with a real physical body and has no “ghostly powers” of any kind. He is resting in our bed but leaves a bit later to go to work, I believe - but seems somewhat negative about the potential outcome of the day. We talk a few times and he seems friendly but somewhat sad or disappointed with recent events in his “life”. The information that he is a ghost comes later. He had been staying with us for about a week or so with his young daughter (who is alive, by the way). His wife is also alive, but not a direct character in the dream. There is a photograph of her seated on a large sailboat. I am not sure how he died. It seems he may have died while saving his wife and daughter from drowning. The daughter sits at a table with my sister (who I believe is still alive in the dream) and is also looked after by my wife.

This scenario seems ambiguous. If the wife is still alive and knows her husband is gone, why would the living daughter now be with the father’s ghost - and at a stranger’s house at that? Near the later stages of the dream, there is debate about whether we should tell him that he has actually died or wait until later on, relative to his “readiness” in learning of this.

In the most vivid scene, I am on the Barolin porch part of the composite home and the male suddenly appears, in much smaller form (only the top of the head first appearing), appearing from near the doorway of the hallway, rising up from the floor and becoming his normal size once he has finished rising from the floor as he is seemingly walking naturally (while rising) that whole time. (This reminds me somewhat of the scene from an old Casper comic book but greatly enhanced - where a very small timid ghost suddenly grows to giant size to scare someone and then returns to normal later on. The implications are nothing like the dream scene, though, but somehow “triggered” in memory as such. There is also a sort of “reversal” of this from another Casper comic where I believe an ogre gets smaller and smaller with the implication he is going faster in his escape.)

The man’s daughter had seemed happy. I am not sure how she views the situation or if even she knows her father is a ghost. Even though he had risen from the floor while changing size, I still do not think he knows he is a ghost. I believe he is somehow going into a different realm, thinking he is still living his life as before while there. Perhaps the task is to have the daughter back with the living mother and reveal to the male that he may move on (fully) into the spirit realm, whatever/wherever that may be.

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