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Morning of May 23, 2014. Friday.



This was a very long and complex dream, difficult to hone in on. I will only include some more prominent scenes.

Throughout this dream, I usually seem to be only about five years of age, at least in size and perspective, although I do seem slightly older at times, but no more than nine.

One setup involves something to do with a school “contest” of some sort. It is not quite defined but does involve the winners being chosen because of how many times they had connected in certain ways, such as by saying “I love you” and so on. The prize is some sort of trophy with a heart on it and a booklet somehow attached to the base of it. I believe it also related to popularity as well as possibly being placed in a higher grade.

After a focus on the nature of my own experiences, the winners turn out to be students that were not even that connected or in a friendly relationship of any kind, at least at any point in my memory. I am not angry for myself or “jealous” that I did not win - it is more about honesty, which I make known in some sort of ignored class speech. The nature of the scene seems to change in unusual ways. I approach a male who is probably about eighteen (he seems to be Steve J, although we were about the same age when in school). It seems that he was the male winner in this case. He says something that I take to be an affront. I somehow float quickly into the air to match his height and then punch him and knock him unconscious almost effortlessly and then feel a bit silly about it as I float quickly back to the floor in standing position. This scene likely relates to a real life event of when he asked to borrow a deck of cards to impress a girl he liked. The cards, when flipped, showed an animation of a rabbit jumping into a hat and then flying out as a dove. On the condition that I let him claim the cards as his during recess, he firmly stated “I’ll like you forever!" The girl, however, was not impressed and merely looked at him oddly and walked away. We remained classmates over the years, but not really friends.

In another scene, I ask a classmate where my "wife” is (not actually as my wife, but as a student). She is about my age in my dream and I am told she is being held after class to finish some extra work (as well as an implication of some sort of disciplinary action), which I believe relates to some sort of art project (the routine of drawing one number two or more on a folded sheet of paper and ending up with either fish, the heart, or the fleur-de-lys depending on the fold and the drawing). I go into the room where she is sitting in a cross-legged position cutting out something from red construction paper, but there is also a yellow notepad next to her and a pen and pencil as well as a few crayons. Another person is in the room (another student) but ignores us after making some sort of comment about her. My “wife’s” eyes are very unusual, quite larger than normal. This does not seem strange at the time. Maybe it is from being so much younger, as it reminds me a little of the cat paintings with the huge eyes that my family had in Florida and were advertised in comic books and magazines. I talk to her for several minutes after asking if she remembered me and by which the answer is “yes”. This question actually seemed to be about her “remembering the future”, which is supposedly more “stable” and visible at times than the past because of the totality of built-up causal effects already unfolding and having more prominence on the “event horizon” than certain fading patterns of the past. She also makes the heart symbol with her two hands (the routine where the thumbs are brought together in a “V” and a finger from each hand curves inward and down, which also implies face-to-face mirrored twos).

Later, I am near the playground on the north edge. There are two groups in sight, fairly close to each other. The coach is talking to two males. A bit west of them is a group of about five students in a violent brawl. One of them is constantly knocked about and knocked onto and over the seesaw. The coach does not seem to notice the big fight at all even though it is almost right next to him (but behind him). For some reason, I decide to go into the area. I have to jump up or quickly fly up to rotate the bolt at the top of the chain-link fence to get into a sort of implied “vestibule” section before another gate can be opened into the grounds. This takes at least three attempts.

Finally, I find myself looking back out through the southwest corner of the grounds and through the chain-link fence to the west, at a limousine which is apparently taking my yet-to-be wife to the airport. I am very annoyed that I will not see her again for many years if at all (the song “Where’s The Playground Susie?” - the Glen Campbell version - held numerous “clues” and connections for me, in a quite different way than the song implied, such as “The puzzle that we never found an answer for” and “But what merry-go-round can you ride without me to take your hand?”). I mention something more to myself, but aloud, about having to create the universe all over again and putting different clues at different points again so that I can be with her sooner. “What…what did you say?” asks an older male in the car in the front seat next to the chauffeur. He seems bewildered and a bit fearful by a child speaking in this manner. I create fire from the palm of my hand and direct it at the front of the vehicle. The vehicle explodes as my yet-to-be wife is able to get out of the vehicle at the right moment. I have decided to take more of an active role in the rest of my life from that point. I am contemplating on whether or not to also wipe out the airplane and airport but my dream loses cohesion around that time.

Morning of May 17, 2014. Saturday.



Dabney Coleman owns a company called “Dreams Inc.”, which at first seems to imply he can travel in the manner of the characters of “Monsters Inc.” to assault females as they sleep or to whisper rather bland suggestions into their ears to win their favor, but this is not directly observed, and he is in a sort of character mix of Captain Yardley (from “I Dream of Jeanie”) and Mark Winslow (from “Modern Problems” from 1981). He has a conference at a large rectangular table with a sort of black vinyl cover and wooden sides of a slightly atypical height and seems to be the only one speaking for quite some time. His goal is to make a movie about dreams, using all of his business associates, but they do not seem to be interested or very trusting of the concept.

For a few minutes, he is somehow seemingly making the large table rise into the air with a certain…body part…and giggles about it and slaps someone on the shoulder. However, this turns out to be a forklift at the opposite end of the table (and of course, most would see the obvious play on “f—k lift” here). Everyone else turns to each other as if to say “what was that all about?" He starts to talk about "Dyspepsia” as some sort of ideal town that the movie is set in - he moves his hands apart (when standing up) like a growing frame gesture (mirrored “letter Ls”) to emphasize this, but for a moment, is more reminiscent of a fisherman bragging about “the one that got away”. This is not as odd as one would think, as, a few years ago they were showing a television commercial which made no sense (nothing new, here). It was supposedly about a woman’s younger son who had a medical problem relating to something similar to dyspepsia and something about a medication, but the woman calls the condition “dyslexia” instead (or maybe it was the other way around). Neither I nor my wife ever worked this out, as dyspepsia and dyslexia are two completely different things (contrary to what the commercial seemed to imply).

The next scene is related to how “all door knobs” are a symbol of his…body part (some sort of twisted connection to “Monsters Inc.” I suspect). Therefore, he reasons, every time someone opens a door, they massage the body part in question. Two of his business associates get up, and instead of opening the door or touching the doorknob, commit suicide by jumping out the open window, falling about forty stories. “Okay, um, let’s move along” he says.

He eventually ends up somehow tying everyone to their chair and saying they are going to be in his movie. He “gently” stabs them with a pencil saying how calm and peaceful his movie will be and how it will bring “world peace”. After a time, it looks as if he is sawing fingers off. The more people protest, the more he reassures them, that, because they are all “crazy” it is their privilege to be in his film.

The film begins with opening credits and he goes around talking and smiling to the people, even though most are injured or deceased. However, he spends more time talking into a mirror and to a couple manikins than the people he dismembered. His movie will begin, he says to himself, as a sort of “better version” of the “Lost” television series. It will begin with a closeup of a certain body part and end with the closeup of said body part (instead of Jack’s eyes in real-life).

As the actual film begins after the last opening credits, it shows a blank screen for awhile, and as Dabney grows restless, the screen remains blank for some time, and everything seems quite peaceful. I notice that the people that were presumed “dead” are actually happily walking around now having a “wine and nibbles” party, whispering softly. Two celebrities, J. J. Abrams and David Morse, enter, and take him away in a straight jacket. “It’s time to go,” says David Morse, and does his Ted Arroway speech (quoted verbatim relative to the real one): “You’re an interesting species. An interesting mix. You’re capable of such beautiful dreams, and such horrible nightmares. You feel so lost, so cut off, so alone, only you’re not. See, in all our searching, the only thing we’ve found that makes the emptiness bearable, is each other.”

When the movie finally begins, it is a scene from “The Golem” (1920) but with the face of Dabney Coleman, who looks quite puzzled and “frozen” when the child hands him a flower (which I believe is an apple in the real-life parallel), until it looks like his consciousness no longer exists at all. (That is, his eyes look “fake” and doll-like rather than “dead”.)

David smiles at me and it strikes me, as his eyes flash bright silvery blue, that it is the Source itself. “Small moves,” he says. I wake with a sense of rushing through a tunnel at high speed and realize what an incredible event that was. There is a residual “blue flame” that lasts longer than usual, and slightly brighter than usual.

Morning of May 17, 2014. Saturday.



There is a town that, if the orientation is relative to La Crosse (which it seems to be in my dream) it is east of where I am presently living in my dream. This seems to be a fictional location but still seemingly on Gillette Street (“Gillette” of course, relative to “close shaves”). There are quite a few people around.

The story is, that worms have all but taken over the next town to the east. These worms mostly crawl up walls and fall on people and “bore” from the back of the neck (being a possible play on someone being “a pain in the neck”, “painfully boring”, and “getting under one’s skin” - and “worm” also sounds a little like “word” - so what I gather from this is - “boring words being a pain in the neck and getting under the skin” which is quite relevant and timely).

There have been a few times in my life where pests almost got the better of me, but not in this case, and of course never in a “real” or life-oriented sense. The worms are known as “Vermicelli Obnoxious”, but when rendered harmless by some sort of special cheese sauce (with some sort of human DNA mixed with earthworm DNA), they turn into macaroni and die as such, yet with a clay-like essence.

I know this sounds ridiculous (even for me), but it really was quite vivid and coherent, though not lucid until just at waking point. A chubby man, reminding me a bit of an unwashed hot dog vendor in a park during an expo (circa 1997) is setting up some sort of “repellent”. The cheese sauce in question seems to repel the worm, so I am not sure how it could kill them if they supposedly always crawl away from it, but such is typical dream “logic”. He checks one larger pot in some sort of outdoor cooking area. The special “repellent” is in a circular pattern, seemingly blocking the apparent space in the pot’s lid from where the handle is attached via screws. He checks the other pot, which seems solid through the lid due to the handle not being attached with screws and instead welded on. For a moment, he seems puzzled, but then leaves it as it is without putting in any special cheese sauce.

I am not sure I trust the circumstances of “saving the town”, but I still volunteer for the dangerous journey into worm territory. Over time, we (the group and I) are walking about in a safer area of the town. However, arguments and name-calling break out. There are three lines of people that remind me of how I was part of a line in the playground at West Elementary with other lines of students for other teachers as we were to return to class. I was part of the last line to return to class (as if it was some sort of punishment) because there was always a particular student that was basically a troublemaker - who tried to claim that this was somehow everyone else’s fault even though he was the only legitimate bully in the entire grade, so the teacher, Mrs. Faison (an older black lady who was my favorite teacher at the time) would walk around until he was “settled” before taking the line of her students into the school (as you can guess, sometimes this took a few minutes or more as he talked to himself, the student in front of him and the student in back of him, saying that he actually was not talking that whole time he was talking - Mrs. Faison showing quite a bit of patience with him, really).

Again, in my dream there are two lines of about eight people each facing each other and oriented east/west, and an additional line, facing south and standing near a sort of park utility building that has a singular awning the length of the building. The whole fiasco of name-calling seems to be related to the first “team” of worm hunters and aid workers or whatever being jealous of the other two teams that actually have done more work regarding direct involvement with more people and “worm attacks” and a higher risk. One male at the head of a line of a team I seem to be in yells something about “showing your feathers” as some sort of metaphor for being “ruffled” I think though I am not sure.

Eventually, the cheese sauce seems to be working and it is safer to go into more previously infested areas of the town. I sit down at a picnic table with several others. A girl, who reminds me of Steve Irwin’s wife (I saw them in real life at a show in Brisbane prior to their marriage and before they became more well-known), is walking around checking out the area nearby and walks back near the table. She looks in my direction and warns people that some of the worms may still be active and stares at me cautiously as I feel smaller, lighter things falling on my head.

I feel a strange knife-like poke in the back of my neck and reach back to pull it out at the same time a fair amount of clay-like “elbow macaroni” falls from my hair as I quickly brush it all out as they all (the worm-creatures) are somehow rendered harmless or dead, most of which are now either pale gray or a sickly pale pink. This was a “close call”, but the one I pulled from the back of my neck seemed to be one of the last worms left in the dangerous “Vermicelli Obnoxious” stage. All the other worms in the town, it seems, have either died or turned into harmless clay-like elbow macaroni. For a moment, I thought I was in trouble, but there was one and only one boring worm being a pain in the neck.

After waking, there is an odd concern about my dream that I did not have in-dream, that being Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Conqueror Worm” - about human mortality and the inevitability of death.

Morning of May 16, 2014. Friday.



My dream starts out with some annoying elements but becomes lucid and blissful. There is the usual recurring idea of living back in my King Street boarding house and not having paid rent for some time. My wife is living in the apartment with me; the one with the two larger closets, one with a built-in dresser, and the smaller multicolored window, the apartment of which I lived in for a time in real life (over time, I had lived in a total of three different apartments in the mansion-like building - it is strange because it is the only place I lived on my own in terms of single renting for about ten years on and off, I guess because it was only twenty to twenty-five dollars a week even in 1989).

Somehow, this seems very unusual even now. It is almost as if, even though I had not lived there since the late 1980s, I still owe all that back rent due to “still being there” at one level of memory all these years. It sounds quite strange, I know, but may be resolved one day.

My wife goes out into the hallway and yells at someone to turn their radio down. This is quite a bold act for her and she actually does it twice, and amazingly enough, the annoying loud music stops. It seems to be coming from outside to the west, though, rather than in our building.

Later in my dream, I go downstairs and notice that the door to the owners’ residence is open. They were a main promoter of Watkins products in real life (based in Winona, Minnesota) and it looks like a group of people are there for advice or pricing information. I think about my careful approach to talk about somehow paying the rent I supposedly owe (it seems in my dream that I had never paid any, which is a tad ridiculous). As usual, the landlady is extraordinarily sarcastic (even though in real life, she had actually offered me the chance to live there without paying rent, which I never took her up on). I ask her if there is any way that I could work for her and she talks about finding certain minerals - which apparently are only found in the Arctic regions (or North Pole, even though it is mostly ocean in reality compared to Antarctica).

My wife and I are soon outside. I become semi-lucid. A few other (unknown) people are following us, as I just decide to rise in the air and fly north. My wife is able to fly on her own to my right. We are greatly enjoying ourselves for the most part. However, the other people following us are really annoying and “violating our space” so I knock two of them back to the ground. This is actually a rarer dream where “normal” people can also supposedly fly.

We reach the Arctic regions fairly quickly and it seems quite beautiful. The idea of finding the special rare minerals seems to take a backseat to other ideas. The cold air, ice, and water are thrilling and my dream becomes even more vivid. I notice an open area that is like a larger river of sorts with ice floes here and there. In the water more to my left are a few smaller schools of fish. A regular event occurs which we watch several times. The smaller fish are “trapped” in a small but mobile whirlpool-like area that acts as such for a few minutes in a particular location, where a northern pike (the detail quite clear and correct in terms of imagery) rises up from the water, eating all or almost all of the fish each time. In afterthought, there is a play on “Great Northern”, which is a familiar link to the “Great Northern Railway” as related to or symbolizing the Source. This seems to be saying that “normal” people can not follow the “train of thought” (or see outside their own path or “trap”) regarding the real meaning of dreaming and thus are consumed by the Source perhaps without even being aware of the Source at all (the evidence of such which is virtually endless). This also seems related to the last dream of the same morning, which also featured a whirlpool (in the large glass of coffee aboard Skylab).

In both dreams, I am outside the whirlpool but still see it as beautiful and like a “portal” into infinity.

In one, the smaller “herd-mentality” fish (or symbolically “lemmings”?) are trapped and eaten by the northern pike in my “ideal dream environment”.

In the other, I am stirring the coffee (making the whirlpool) which is full of “dregs”. My role seems somewhat equivalent to that of the pike’s in the second dream.

Therefore, I may be able to conclude that in this case “small fish” equals “dregs” equals “ordinary” people who deny the Source where I may seemingly be a facet of the Source in the first dream as I become lucid. Interesting. Comparing it to my “Tornado!” dream of September 13, 1970, there seems to be an ongoing “force” that is now more harmonious (and far more “visible”) than when younger and it probably also relates to the implied “portal” of the blue flame or “Blue Pearl” event which started prenatally (and I certainly do not buy the idea that you “cannot” remember your childhood or perspective prior to birth - my most vivid memory is prenatal - perhaps because I was a month overdue or because of my NDE as a toddler).

Morning of May 10, 2014. Saturday.



In this dream, my wife and I appear to be living at my sister Marilyn’s old house in Wisconsin. However, there is also a focus on another person who lives there, but I am not sure of his identity. It is possible he was a coworker relative to Three Rivers Enterprises/Eco Three and associated with 20 Copeland Avenue or Trane Company - it is in the back of my mind, but I cannot make the full connection now.

Over time, a few strange things related to vandalism occur. I also see that the lawn needs mowing. The house is oriented in an odd way, with what would be the back of the house facing west into the backyard in reality seemingly being the front part facing into the “backyard” in my dream. The mailbox is on my left when facing the house (from the “backyard”), and the space between houses is quite a bit larger, with more of a garden-like area mostly for fancy shrubs.

At one point, seemingly in early afternoon, there is a disturbance of some kind outside, but we are not sure of what had happened. I go out to check the mail and I notice that the metal mailbox is smashed and flattened, with the lid partly detached on one side. (This is based on a real event where a random younger male we did not know smashed our metal mailbox later at night and kicked it down the street as he was walking. The police were already arriving in the area by that point, as he had done something at a nearby house as well.) I also notice two business letters sort of hanging on the top of a shrub near the back of the mailbox, one envelope half out from the mailbox. I notice other minor damage around the outside of the house.

At this point, an insane man comes to the house and is apparently the one who had been vandalizing the place. I go inside to get a large steel barbel to use as a weapon. He is carrying a paper sack and it seems I supposedly owe him for something that he feels was done to him. I am not sure of the implications. It is a man I have not seen for over thirty years. His name was Ted and he was supposedly a recovering alcoholic when I knew him. He manages to push in through the front door as I and the other unknown male are attempting to hold it closed. I bash him with the large steel bar several times and seemingly kill him. The paper sack he had been carrying has two different plant species which may be narcotic, though this is not certain. One looks more like orange-and-green mottled Japanese maple leaves (that do supposedly resemble marijuana leaves) and the other a bit like fully white sand spur plants (full of white fuzzy “burs” or “spurs” as such down the stalk). Each plant type is partially in a transparent bag within the paper sack, but a lot of the maple leaves are loose in the sack. I decide to keep the sack to hide somewhere to avoid any problems or misplaced suspicion should others show up. In a different room, I put the sack up through a hole on the right side of the underside of the top sofa compartment that is over the wooden part that is used for storage. (This is actually just like my old sofa bed in Florida, but I did not stick anything in the area with the torn canvas on the underside.)

We then move his remains to the metal (old-style cylindrical) garbage bin in the middle of the “backyard” near the south end (again, which supposedly serves as the “front yard” in my dream). By that point, there seems to be an additional bag but I do not look in it, as that goes into the trash can as well. Looking down, Ted has turned into a smaller teddy bear with torn areas and some stuffing coming out. His “body”, lying on his back, does not even cover the whole area of the bottom of the can (that is, nether implied closer arc segment touches either his head or feet). It still seems a bit risky to have his supposed remains in the area.

Within a short time, a car full of people drives into the yard. There is at least one female of about twenty-something, an elderly lady, a couple children, and I think at least one teenage male. They are wondering where Ted is, I think, even though he had been running around acting crazy and vandalizing the area and seemed to have recently escaped from an institution, I suspect. My wife goes over to talk to the woman (putting her head into the car) and there is something about calling the police, but this is said by the younger female who had been driving the car, which seems strange since they are the ones trespassing. We realize that they may be non-human “were-stuffed-animals” as Ted was. They only become stuffed animals when sleeping or dead, perhaps, which is apparently their “true form”. Otherwise, they are psychotic people with some sort of genetic or chemical imbalance, perhaps even originating on another planet.

This will not do, so we all get steel bars and start bashing all the people in the car and jabbing them in the head and chest through the car windows. Over time, most of them become stuffed toy animals (both rabbits and bears, I think). However, a couple get away and somehow quickly construct a railroad through the middle of the backyard, going out through the east wall of the shed and then south and beyond. From there, lots of train cars, all together in a long row, start moving out southward. This seems to mean that the railcars are full of stuffed toys which will become crazed humans (but not actually human) and threaten the entire population. They are all very similar; rectangular, and each either orange or yellow in no particular sequence. We then start bashing the railcars to stop them with only partial success as my dream fades. They seem about half the size of a real train car, but are still fairly large to stop just by bashing them.

Morning of May 5, 2014. Monday.



My computer (the older one in the front room) does its thing of crashing and shutting down after being on for about a minute until a few attempts at restart by either dropping it sideways a few times or wiggling the CPU and partly broken fan around a bit and adjusting the fishing line reel succeeds in it working correctly again. Still, as is sometimes the case, the “recovery” window comes on, but it is not quite correct. I am used to incorrect random “error” windows, blue screens, multicolored mosaic random messes, and DOS screens of plain text (resulting from the fact that the CPU is malfunctioning until cooled down a bit more), but this one is eerily familiar. It reports (in a rather atypical font) “Your computer has recovered from an occurrence…”

Next, it happens again. The computer is so screwed up that the blue screen strings are longer and part of one hexadecimal value “carries over” onto the side of the vase-like black desk lamp fairly close to the right side of the monitor. It is getting pretty bad when a computer error message expands out onto the surface of another electrical item (a different one altogether), but it seems perfectly normal. Another attempt or two and the “Your computer has recovered from an occurrence…” window displays again.

Where have I heard that before? The desktop is full of identical icons. They are all of slightly painting-like owls, body a quarter turn to my right and head turned facing out towards the viewer. Only one desktop icon is different and it is of a painting-like well on the lower right corner; the “old-fashioned” kind with a rope and bucket and even a little roof. Then it dawns on me that something funny is going on. I must have the “Owl Creek Bridge” virus (which I do not think is a real one). Thus I realize that my computer has “suffered” from “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge”. The “wishing well” icon must be clicked on to get rid of it. Terrific… However, I leave it as is for a bit…and decide to see what other people had experienced with it.

I visit a forum where someone says that the “payload” of the virus is waking you up from your dream - which does not make sense. Another says that the “payload” is making your computer disintegrate, whereby someone argues that it “disintegrated” because it was a dream and did not exist in the first place, but the other person posts a pile of ashes saying that is what is left of his laptop. The argument seems to continue for several pages and seems to go into a tirade about who is controlling the missile launches.

I then make the decision to click on an owl and see what happens. There is the odd electronic clacking of the computer-simulated “mouse click” sound and my head jerks back. I wake up with my wife touching my lower face, some sort of odd partial reversal of the actual “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” movie. (“waking me up from my dream”).

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Ever since earliest childhood, I had wondered how in the world dreams sometimes seem to amusingly and very “cleverly” build up to a not-yet-unfolded event or sound and have plots or themes that come way before a “concluding” real-life environmental event. That is probably one of the most unusual paranormal-like aspect of dreams (for example, I once dreamed of seeing myself, or a “copy” of myself, holding a broomstick near an overturned washtub and ready to hit it like some sort of odd musical task. After a fairly short time when I had fully “absorbed” the imagery and was already aware of it, I heard a sound in real life on the carport that sounded just like a wooden object hitting metal - my mother confirmed that was the only instance of the sound that woke me up). Not all dreams work like this of course, as some are “caught by surprise” in the middle of a dream, but many are not, too many to be coincidental as such, and too correct in the continuing detail to be chance. It is an odd type of precognition I suppose, of the several different types. Many people would claim the sound caused the dream, which is of course, a ridiculous cop-out. How can a dream come before the sound that supposedly caused it (although, obviously, this does happen at times in other cases)?

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Morning of May 4, 2014. Sunday.



We end up with a baby bird that had fallen out of a nest in a nearby area of the yard of the house we live in presently. I think it is a wild finch. It is very small and cannot quite walk properly (and it seems injured at first, though turns out not to be - just being a bit weak). I have a large container with no top that is somewhat like a semitransparent plastic storage box, but which is about two-thirds the size of the top of my computer desk. The bottom of the container has about a one-inch (or more) layer of dirt.

Over time, the bird begins to move a little more. For some reason, we decide the best thing to feed it to ensure its survival are very tiny pieces of rubber cut from a bicycle inner tube, as if that makes perfect sense. It also seems to be all we have regarding “bird food”. It seems to be “happy” about getting the tiny inner tube pieces and eats all that I give it.

A little later, I decide that crackers will probably be better, though I am thinking about all the preservatives and wondering if they will be harmful to birds in general, yet somehow, it eventually seems okay, and does seem a better option than the rubber bits (and less troublesome and time-consuming to provide) - so I break up a few crackers into fine crumbs (to my left relative to the container) and it enthusiastically feeds.

Finally, I crunch up a stack of Pringles potato chips and scatter them in a larger area to the right. However, there are still a lot of nearly whole pieces that go into the makeshift terrarium and the baby bird looks a bit bigger and more developed, even moving its recently feathered wings about as it hops a bit more energetically. (For some reason, its wings look like they are on “backwards” but I think this may be only because of the downy feathers curled back.) It is able to bite into the potato chips and easily feed without any help from me, reminding me of a person holding up and taking a bite out of a large sandwich. I figure about half a cylinder of the chips will keep him going for at least a day or two. It goes under a chip and out again, seeming to enjoy its access to its food and it is becoming stronger, reminding me a little of a guinea pig moving about in a large, cage-sized cluster of grass and getting “happily lost” in it.

For a time, I worry about leaving it, because I am concerned it will get trapped under some sections of scattered clusters of the more complete chips, but the scene does not seem that problematic for it. It goes under a whole chip and does not come out for a time and that seems my cue to wake as it seems to no longer exist at that point.

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Night of April 30, 2014. Wednesday.



Before it goes off into another (private) scenario, I am seemingly in the distant future in-dream, yet somehow my wife is much younger, or at least this “version” with long hair (down to her waist) and wearing two thin white pieces of cloth (top and bottom) that are apparently the fashion of this time period, as well as long white stockings.

The house and yard (at our present home on W Street) looks mostly the same, but the grass is a bit greener (not much rain in reality).

There is a sort of wooden platform, which is about chest-high and near the back porch, that is meant to be some sort of small garden or something similar, because there is about two inches of dirt up from the surface and what looks to be a wondrous “miniature forest”, but with mostly leafless trees (yet still somehow very beautiful in the evenness and positions). In a very strange and intense “flash” of bright scenery, I am aware that the miniature forest is actually made up of specially trained stick insects that are all standing on their front legs, head down, and doing elaborate “ballet movements” to simulate the appearance of wind.

Somehow, this seems to relate to erotic energies, because it is similar to a dream of years ago where black caterpillars “stood on their head” along the tops of wooden fences (in front of several different houses and some on mailboxes), which seemed to relate to my dream’s sensual energies relative to other events.

Morning of April 29, 2014. Tuesday.



I am in an unknown region of what may be Waukon, Iowa (this is loosely connected to the other dream about clearing the yard, but not a direct extension, I do not think). It is mostly farmland and I seem to be going north, though it is not certain due to the somewhat unfamiliar nature of the landscapes. This, though, seems to have a vague link to the “Muffler Man and Long Horn Steer” attraction. (See Link) It was supposedly manufactured where my father was born, which I did not know until today. (My dreams do this all the time, that is, reveal completely unknown, even otherwise “unknowable”, information, which I usually leave out of my entries to keep them a little less convoluted, as they are usually convoluted enough already.)

I eventually go into a recurring type of dream state where I am wandering down old back roads; this time in my “orb” form and sometimes in my physical form, depending on the steepness of the hill. I end up at an old farm, which would otherwise be an urban area in reality, I believe. The “long horn steer statue” is actually a living minotaur. The imposing creature is about two feet taller than me, at least, and has a muscular body and a huge head. At least three farmers (who are dressed more as 1940s radio cowboys than farmers) have a hold of him with ropes connected to a large collar as they lead him out of an enclosed area that looks like a composite of an open or half-built barn and a covered picnic area of a park. Other farmers stand around. There is a cow pasture and an area where horses are kept, as well as a cornfield. It is a fairly large area all connected to the same people who seem to share the work and profits.

It seems the farmers are suspicious of me and my visible ethnicity (as was often the case in real life). And of course, they think I am part Asian. However, I tell them that I am American and that I can help them with some sort of magic power that I seem to have at this stage. The minotaur huffs and puffs dramatically, and moves it legs up and down in a sort of “ready to charge” manner, looking a bit silly, like jogging in place. I boldly pet it and move my hand over its huge nose and face in a loving way. It is almost like petting a giant dog’s head and it is right down close to my face as it bends down. It seems to calm down a bit and the men are surprised. It seems the men keep the minotaur as a “pet” to bring “good luck” to their farm and to keep the livestock and crops healthy.

I tell them that I will do all I can to keep the farm in its best state. When I go towards another area where there are horses, I actually hear the minotaur talking to the men in a gruff human voice in a nearly poetic rhythm, “when the crops and livestock are healthiest and the farm is whole again, I will kill the witch” (meaning he, the minotaur, intends to kill me). I am not sure if this is solely out of some sort of jealously on the part of the minotaur (though you would think he would be annoyed at being treated and kept as just a pet and “good luck charm”) or because they (the farmers) do not want to pay me for my “work” (I do not remember what payment was agreed upon).

Instead of doing an in-dream augmented focus and routine of sorts to bring a blessing over the farm, I move my hands in a manner that lifts the group (including the minotaur) into a whirlwind that results in crashing them down into the ground and destroying them. I then lift the horses into the air from a distance and release them into a different farm’s field, although the cows are let out into the road and race along, mooing over their new-found freedom. One man riding a horse (not with the other group) ends up “sitting in mid-air” in a comical manner (appearing as one would on a bucking bronco, but with nothing underneath him) when the horse is instantly shifted out from under him to join the others.

The cornfield seems to remain healthy and will feed or help the other local farmers who had lost money to some sort of government scandal.

I then somehow make large embossed-like indentations in a barn’s roof (almost like footprints made by an invisible foot and rather nosily) of various symbolic forms of master number twenty-two (including the fleur-de-lys, the “kissing swans”, the “medicine bag”, and the “heart on the horizon”).

Morning of April 28, 2014. Monday.



There are three dreams in which there are no seriously more unusual or bizarre aspects as is sometimes the case. Still, they all take place in “wrong” locations relative to now as well as where people had actually been in the past in some cases.

In one, my wife and I are living back at Clayfield in our first apartment. There are a few mixed stacks of mostly plastic-coated place mats, photographs, and maps (I think more place mats than anything else). There are so many, I put some under the bed to go through later. My wife has a stack of smaller “screens” (tapestry canvases) for craft work of some kind. I do not want to get everything mixed up, but technically, it already is. The photographs, mostly black and white, seem to show scenes of people standing around in urban areas; mostly city sidewalks, from possibly New York in the 1930s. The place mats have a slightly different image on each one, but which appears to be the deck of a pirate ship in most cases with not that many features other than a row of small cannons on some. My wife goes out into the hallway from the kitchen and I start calling her because I am concerned about the strange people in the other apartments. I yell fairly loud but am not sure if she hears me.

Another dream involves some sort of video conference with my brother in the USA (Dennis). At the same time as the video conference, which seems related to some sort of party or holiday celebration, he is sending questions that seem of a forum thread in structure, but answering them himself (instead of allowing the others to) with various rude comments. Instead of computer print, however, it seems to appear more like handwriting. People in my wife’s family and their spouses are the ones at the actual location. We are at Clayfield again. The main scene involves a couple girls standing around talking (Bonnie and Kathy, I think). They have stringed wooden beads hanging all about their hair and when they nod or turn their head, there is a loud clacking noise.

In the final dream, my wife and I are living on Loomis Street (in my sister’s old house) though she has never been to the USA. We are having a nice evening, but then all the lights suddenly go off, which seems a bit ominous (rather than just being like a common power outage). I get the idea that it may be because someone cut off our power so that they could then rob us (assuming that there was a burglar alarm, as well as the dark disorienting us - but realistically, we would know our way around in our own house far more than a burglar, especially in the dark). I check outside and someone with an axe appears near the front door. Somehow, I manage to get the axe and keep swinging at “him” (I assume). However, I use the blunt back of the axe so that I do not accidentally chop his head off. Most of the time I miss his head, but he still just stands there. Eventually, uninjured, he seemingly goes to rob the house next door and seems to have the axe back again somehow.

A little later (I think there is some sort of distorted or incongruous “reset” at this point), I look south to the house next door and see someone walking around in the small front yard, which I believe is the same person. The person comes back over to our house and I feel there may be more trouble. My wife is calling the police at this point. It seems to be a younger slightly chubby male with short reddish hair and freckles. However, the person eventually seems to be Karen S (but thirty years or more younger, possibly only from about fifteen to eighteen or so, I am not sure) with rather short hair, who supposedly lives there with her parents (and I assume, her younger brother). In reality, she had never been to Wisconsin let alone lived in that house. The lights are on next door in every room (but I am not sure anyone had been home due to Karen needing to break into the place), so I know our power is off either on purpose or by a blown fuse. It seems strange because the person originally seemed taller than me and slightly muscular, but Karen is actually much shorter than average. She had been carrying a large axe, but does not seem threatening for the most part.

I find out (from her claims) that Karen had been supposedly trying to get into her house through some odd means that is not that clear or does not make much sense, as she said she had lost her keys; something about turning off an alarm and then getting in by breaking a window, but I am not quite sure why our electricity was cut off. Also, she was mostly just standing around or pacing about in the front yard and not seeming to attempt to actually get in that house in any way (being mostly only in the area between the sidewalk and house and never near the front door itself). She is seated on her knees on the floor near our front door and I tell my wife to tell the police that they do not have to come to the house (and somehow I hear the officer talking loudly and clearly over the telephone and seeming annoyed), but for some reason, Karen wants to be arrested, which makes no sense. She is talking about “losing her graffiti” and cries a bit about the wrong things she has done and how no one ever cared about her as she was growing up and going to school, which seems an excuse to be (or pointlessly act like) a juvenile delinquent. (None of this relates to anything real in any way, including any event in the past.) I try to make her less worried, but she insists on being “difficult” - and she says that she deserves all the trouble because of losing her keys and more to do with graffiti. (I get the impression that she is a graffiti artist, which almost seems like a high school class or college course at that point.) Time passes, and the police never show up. I look out into the streets a few times. Everything is dark and quiet.

Morning of April 27, 2014. Sunday.



This was one of those dreams as “realistic” (perception-wise) as life itself and a bit like an aspect of sleep paralysis, but without the main “buzzing” stage of sleep paralysis itself and with all of the senses (I have never experienced sight of any kind in conscious sleep paralysis). However, the most dominant sense in this dream turns out to be touch, which is often of the most vivid dreams overall. This is like many other dreams I have had with some sort of “liminal world” between waking and reality and where the sense of touch is as real as reality, yet not related to what is really going on at the time regarding my real physical body, and it is mostly dark at the most vivid point. Such dreams also have very pleasing energies, even though somewhat distorted in physical orientation.

I am at the computer in the front room and there are a few different noises outside coming in through the open window. (My desk is outward from the northern wall so that the computer screen actually faces the window but I usually have the thinner curtain down to prevent glare on the screen). At this point, it seems to be early morning and everything is bright and with good lighting. I glance outside and notice three vehicles parked along the street (car front to the curb as they often park, rather than sideways). One of the vehicles, a newer-looking green car, is facing our house. Another vehicle is a black truck next door, with a white Australian of about thirty standing near the outside of it, which is unlikely at the time, as most of the people next door and the house next-door to that over the last few months have been Tibetan, Nepalese, Hindi, Arabic, and Asian seasonal workers - often illegally overcrowded (but since the recent investigation by fire marshals and police, there has been no one living there, it seems).

I seem to be working with mandalas and mantras on the computer and typing affirmative dream scripting in very complex but yet poetic structure (as I do in real life). This is ironic because I am already in a dream that is about as vivid and (for the time being) “physically correct” as one can get. I mention in a soft voice to myself about how the “idiot” outside is being annoying by continuously dropping things. At first, I “feel” that he has heard me and is getting very angry, but nothing happens and I realize that was not the case at all but that he is talking to himself about his mistakes in fixing the truck. He drops a carburetor on the street, which for some reason, makes the loudest noise yet and he then goes “Shhhhhh!” very loudly as if he is telling himself to be quiet - he even says “be quiet out there” to himself a little later, but not that loudly. (As almost everything in the known universe in Australia is annoyingly truncated to a form ending with either an “o” or “y” sound - it would have been a “carby” that he dropped before seeing the footy on the telly that arvo, as “carbo” is already taken for carbohydrates - though in fact, this may be my dream telling me that I consume too many carbohydrates which I am sure I do.)

At any rate, it seems fairly amusing that he has shushed himself. However, it soon becomes pitch black in the room as my wife comes in to hold my hand and comfort me regarding the nuisance outside. I very vividly feel her hand and fingers in mine and moving within our clasp and I also wonder why there is not much light, because the computer screen would at least cast light, but I do not sense or see it. I then worry a bit about what has happened to the work I had been doing on the computer or if it is even on (In the back of my mind, I wonder if I had been doing all the work while the computer was off - but of course that makes no sense). However, a very peaceful awareness flows through the extreme vividness at this point. Everything is black, but the sense of touch and hearing (although only a very quiet “rustle” at this point) is amazingly enhanced. I adjust my position in the chair, but everything crosses the threshold from there to reality.

Slowly, I realize that I am actually in bed and I am on my left side facing my wife who is on her right side. My hand is not holding my wife’s hand at all (as it so vividly seemed) but is instead over her bare back. Her hand is intimately against and over my front, which makes me wonder how dreams work that way regarding very altered touch aspects from where the sensations and positions actually are. In a way, considering our actual orientation and where our hands actually are (as compared to my dream), it is quite amusing.

Morning of April 22, 2014. Tuesday.



This was another longer dream with different scenes, yet only two are clearer.

One scenario was unusual and involved my brother Dennis. My family and I are wandering through a large park with unusually equidistant (by about ten feet) rows and columns of old, large trees. For some reason, we climb them at different times and sit on the branches. It seems to be fairly late at night. A couple trees do not seem suitable to hold the weight on certain branches, and I think about hovering just above the branch enough to still make it seems as if I am “in” the tree. One particular tree does not seem to have any branches to sit on, as the angles of at least two larger branches directly upright from the trunk go out to about forty-five to sixty degrees.

Another scene involves Buddhists, but with some aspects of Krishna-based dress and decorations it seems, at some sort of small mall center to help distribute food and such to poor people in the town. Over time, I hover and fly in a cross-legged meditation position (which I think is my least common way of flying, actually). It seems slightly difficult to do at times, but I manage well. The monks mostly ignore me as they go about their work, inducing handing brochures to people walking through the hall of the shopping mall. At one point, I seem to be wearing a robe which hangs down, almost touching the floor. This does not seem problematic for the most part. In some ways, my movements seem to involve muscular effort to go certain directions even though I am only floating in the air.

Morning of April 18, 2014. Friday.



This was an extremely long and complex dream with a lot of impersonal “distorted” scenes in that they are hard to describe, but I hope to summarize the main parts and aspects.

The main scenes seem to involve a tribal gathering in a large field. It is mostly like a yearly pow-wow, I think, but also with a smaller public presence (mostly as a partly interactive audience). Before any people arrive however, I am hovering around in an upright (standing) position. I do this with some sort of mental focus and allow myself to rise a few feet from the ground. I also do a bit of chanting and singing related to nothing in particular. I move faster at times, and when I move faster above the ground, I slant slightly forward on the diagonal, up to about forty-five degrees but no more than that.

As more people arrive, including several chubby Caucasian women in strange pastel dresses and a few business men (and seemingly at least one athlete), it almost seems like a (American) football field - the grass is very short. The area is unfamiliar for the most part. The tribal groups are from different parts of the country. I am not that desiring of drawing attention to myself as the “main attraction” so to speak, but I still continue to fly about in a standing position, eventually moving my forearms and wrists in inverse rhythms with each other to “imitate” some sort of bird-wing presence (which, as birds do not have forearms and wrists to move in this particular way, is only indicative of an attempt to be ritually bird-like, it seems). As I do this, I do seem to be a part of the festivities. One male is critical (not in a negative sense) of my movements in that he asks me if I am only using the energy in my arms or in my whole body and bones. I am not quite sure how to respond.

At one point, a male native of about forty comes up to my left side as I am hovering and doing my bird-wing ritual movements. I am at about the level from the ground where my hand is about neck-level regarding his position when my arm is nearly down to my side. He then begins to measure my fingers as well as study the fluidity of my hand’s movements as if I am in some sort of testing or judgement situation. (He only does this with my left hand, and remains on that side.) He continues to study my hand and its motions very carefully and even pulls a longer thinner hair from my skin and seems very preoccupied with the “perfection” of my presence and movements. For some reason, this makes me very clear on the length of each finger regarding my own perception of my body. I still do not become fully lucid, though.

Later, I am sitting on the ground and notice someone who seems to be a composite of two girls I have not seen in over twenty years. One was an alcoholic that had gone through a few programs (and who I worked with at Eco 3) and the other had bad burn scars all over her body (and who was in some of my college classes). However, facially, she looks the most like Jeanne C (the former mentioned above). I ask her how she is but she mostly only makes odd gurgling sounds but does say my first name. Over time, I notice a lot of physical distortions, like strange folds of skin on her neck, almost like pockets. Her head seems to sink down into her body almost like a turtle.

Over time, others are also doing a similar ritual of “flying” and supposed bird-mimicking, but only on the ground. I am the only one that can fly.

After this, I seem to go north into an urban area where some men (about three or four) are looking at a large map rolled out on the ground outside a residential building and by which they may be able to find a lost valuable treasure or important artifact. Strangely, there is a scene where the older hippie-like male (who had the map in his apartment for a long time) is soon watching a small movie of himself finding the item when he was younger - which plays out on the surface of the map in the area where he supposedly found it like a sort of paper-thin miniature video display. “That’s it,” he says. He plans on going to the location to finally get the item or items. Apparently, this was the first time the video display hidden in the map was somehow activated. This seems strange in afterthought, as the map was supposedly from the 1800s and would not have such integrated technology - unless it was actually some sort of shared vision caused by staring at the map.

Soon, he sends one of the other men and apparently his best friend to a nearby bar and grill to “distract” the people on the outdoor bar stools for some reason by getting drunk and disorderly so that no one will see the other man leave to get the treasure. This seems to be because it is fully open to the outside right in view of where they had been looking at the large map. The other male orders some sort of special weird concoction of lumpy red powder that needs to be sucked through a small cylinder (both ends open), which is about finger-sized in length and diameter. The bar waitress makes a rude comment about his ability to consume this item properly and helps him by holding the cylinder horizontally as he sucks the lumpy red powder into his mouth. Not much happens after this. The unknown male has about four cylinders full and is almost ready to fall over and draw attention away from the other man planning to go and get the treasure or important artifact.

Morning of April 2, 2014. Wednesday.



I approach the bed to appreciate the beauty of my sleeping wife and am near the foot of the mattress. Instead of my thoughts continuing logically, I find myself trying to install new faucet handles in the mattress, on the top, near one corner. I am doing this for several minutes before I mentally ask myself what I think I am doing as it makes no sense, and I already had enough of this work just previously. (This was based on something I had spent some time doing prior to sleep.) This, of course, is a good example of the so-called Tetris effect affecting a dream state, often in a distracting way.

Later on, in a different state of vividness, I am back in Cubitis. The living room is mostly empty. However, over time, I am aware of invisible animals. I do see where they are, as they leave a brief cloud of vapor whenever they move and they move quickly. This bothers me a bit, so I try to get someone’s attention (even though there is no one around in my dream’s setting).

I go into my bedroom and experience the Blue Pearl event; it is floating to the west seemingly about three feet from the floor and not as bright or “close” as usual in real life and perhaps somehow external rather than internal. This is actually the first time I have experienced it in this particular way while in a dream state, so it probably is not the same thing as my conscious experience, though there is a similar mood (but much more vague). I see the Blue Pearl as a “portal” of some sort, possibly a “band” or liminal barrier of some sort that serves as a portal or transition; a particular wavelength of consciousness that is akin to a wormhole.

Looking back into the living room, there are more “invisible animals”. They seem to be able to shoot their “hair” out like water droplets (poisonous perhaps?). This is the only thing that is seen for the most part - brief clouds of vapor.

From there, I start to yell louder and louder to get someone’s attention. It is not nightmarish regarding the “animals” as this is one of my typical “I will just keep screaming and see what happens” routines. I am at a state that is halfway between knowing I am dreaming and not quite knowing what is going on or going to happen. Finally, I am awake and my wife says that I had been making strange murmuring noises of which I already knew with this type of dream. I often only get these from a lot of extra walking and other exercise and doing one maintenance task for “too long” on the same day.

Morning of March 26, 2014. Wednesday.



This is likely at least partly the result of generic scripting using “I am made of the healthiest energies…”

What am I really made of? You know, just like the nursery rhyme…

I am in a larger room; it seems like it may be the shopping mall at one point. I see what first is a puppy (or seems to be). I sense my wife is there. I first “recognize” it as my dog “Joe” (from when I was a young teenager) that was part Toy Cocker Spaniel. I call out saying how this is my dog and how he has returned. I sit down and start to pet it.

“No I ain’t, buddy!” says the small dog loudly in an odd chirpy “human” male voice.

Somehow, this startles me and causes me to fall forward on top of the poor little mutt. I then see that it is Lisa M’s dog from my teenage years.

This dog was a plain brown dachshund and was “replaced” by her father without her finding out (at least at the time - not sure what was revealed years later). Anyway, the dog, with difficulty, manages to crawl out from under my body (I find it almost impossible to lift myself up at that point and the pressure of the animal creates a strange unpleasant ticklish push near my chest) and runs around in circles continuing to speak in an odd human voice, though I do not catch much of what he is saying.

This is embarrassing. Eventually, I leave the area casually as the “puppy” is still running around and making various comments to people (possibly sarcastic or perhaps just informative regarding his “dog’s life”) in what sounds more and more like being from the speaker of a portable cassette player. As I walk down the mostly featureless hall, I see at least three giant snails crawling around - about the size of a cat.

My next scripting will not begin with “I am made of…”