• Lucid Dreaming - Dream Views




    View RSS Feed

    Blue_Opossum

    The Ticker

    by , 09-20-2018 at 09:44 AM (166 Views)
    Morning of September 20, 2018. Thursday.

    Reading time (optimized): 4 min. Readability score: 63.



    Following vestibular system correlation (type one passive) as dream state induction, this stage of REM sleep is typically with less-directed thought processes, so I maintain my dream self as a passenger rather than a driver in this part of the sleep cycle.

    I place my dream self on a bus (though I have not been on a bus in real life for years). I sit on the left-hand side (subliminal dreaming orientation), about four seats back from the unfamiliar approximately forty-year-old male bus driver. There is not much lighting even though it seems to be morning. I partly rely on my sense of touch.

    The bus is going south, past the intersection of Loomis and Gillette Streets. (An intersection represents RAS mediation in real time.) My mother is in the seat in front of me, appearing as she was in the 1980s. I have no recall of her death in 2002, though I have no recall of my current conscious self identity either. My dream self seems to be about seventeen years old. (My waking-life age is fifty-seven.)

    There are clusters of used tissues, some strewn on the seat to my right, though they may not be mine. My mother had given me a small pocket watch which I also loosely associate with a timer. (The watch thread comes from one of the first scenes from “Anon” from 2018, seen before sleep. However, it is also a concurrent ultradian rhythm factor and a subliminal assertion of the dreaming and waking process. The tissue rendering is the subliminal memory of our youngest daughter throwing her used tissues on the couch as Zsuzsanna and I were watching “Anon.” Carefully and intelligently note the erroneous dream state correlation of couch with bus seat. That has been a common distortion factor in vestibular correlation processes since early childhood.)

    I see the analog watch face clearly, noticing that it is five seventeen. I hold it up to my right ear (subliminal waking environment orientation) and listen to it tick. However, after a time, I cannot hear it ticking, though, at times, there are a couple of discernible ticks before silence again. That annoys me. My mother is surprised, as she had just gotten it for me. I accidentally drop it onto the bus seat. I consider that it had become mixed up with the tissues. However, I retrieve it just before it moves down into the recess between the back of the seat and the seat itself. I vividly feel (without seeing it) with enhanced tangibility, that it is oval, though when I look at it, it is circular. I wind it without looking at it, feeling the winding crown tighten. It ticks a few more times but stops again. I start to wonder what the real time is, as it has only moved a bit towards five eighteen in all this time. (The imagery of the watch face remains consistent, which is an atypical dream state detail, especially when reading text or numbers as here.)

    Instead of continuing south, we are now going north back towards the Loomis and Gillette Street intersection. My dream self does not question this nonsensical reversal. The area does not look as it does in real life. I get off the bus on my own. Eventually, I am in the Barolin Street house (which is in Australia, not America, though I have not lived there in years). I go into the kitchen of the Barolin Street house. (However, there is a vague essence of the Cubitis house as correlating with the living room.) Despite being in a variation of the Barolin Street house, my conscious self identity does not yet emerge.

    I am going to get a new watch just like the previous one. I take it out of a disposable rectangular corrugated foil baking pan (inferred to be from the freezer of the refrigerator even though I do not discern any coldness from the feature) in which an uncooked chicken (for roasting) sits inside. The pan sits on a table. I soon realize that I could have taken the watch out without absentmindedly unwrapping the chicken. I pull the plastic wrap back over the chicken and close it up with Scotch tape. Around this time, I start to wake.



    The watch identifies the emerging consciousness factor, which in my dream, remains just beyond one-quarter consistency, though my dream self anticipates five-thirty. I am fifty-seven in reality (five seven). However, my dream self’s age is seventeen (my age when moving to Wisconsin).

    The uncooked chicken (potential flight as the dream state exit process rendered as not a viable emerging consciousness event) is the final vestibular system correlation in a very passive projected form with the additional factor of subliminal awareness that I am undressed as I sleep. Putting the plastic back around it is analogous to keeping my bed sheet over my body as I sleep. (This was not the last dream of my sleep cycle.) When I was half-awake, I realized the bed sheet had slipped down over the side of my body.

    The bus driver is this dream’s preconscious avatar (not dominant or confrontational as this is not my last dream of the sleep cycle) as well as vestibular system personification (linear). My mother, in this situation, is probably a subliminal awareness of Zsuzsanna (despite the total absence of my current conscious self identity in this dream), as she is the mother of our children (thus I hear variations of “mother” quite often from day to day). It also correlates with the scene from “Anon” where the female voice-over sounded as if it began with “Zsuzsanna” when the holographic watch appeared on Sal’s wrist from the storefront display. However, after “I am an open window…over infinity,” it is “Giguere,” not “Zsuzsanna.” (I did not know this before sleeping.) Additionally, if the movie scene did not occur from the far left side of the television screen, it likely would not have influenced my dream in the way it did.


    Submit "The Ticker" to Digg Submit "The Ticker" to del.icio.us Submit "The Ticker" to StumbleUpon Submit "The Ticker" to Google