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Night of January 2, 2014. Thursday.



It begins as a well-intended project for humanity. Only the “large” and “tall” metal skeleton of this great building had thus far been constructed. It is three floors high, but certainly does not seem big enough for so many people that may arrive. This cannot be the sanctuary building, though. It looks like a building, but then a “giant man” comes and it turns out to be the beginning of a metal shelf, a set of three shelves (not floors) - and not a very impressive one at that. The man puzzles over a possible subtle slant to one side.

The older man ignores me and goes out to rake his lawn. However, he ends up raking up the roots of all the grass by using too much force, and so, he has no lawn. The pile of grass and roots sits there as three black chickens come to peck in the mess, partly at an electrical cable that had also been accidentally raked up. It starts to spark, and apparently they think it is a snake and chaos ensues, as wings flap and feathers fly, briefly, but chaos returns to the mundane.

He also eventually rakes up some human skulls somehow. Eventually there is smoke, so perhaps he is now burning everything so that the ashes fall back down and he has to rake again, although some of the ash is coming from a factory (in the distance) of sorts. I do not know, seems like a fair bet that it is a cycle of rake, wait for ashes and leaves to fall, rake again. More and more miniature lobsters appear. This looks like trouble. I am not too worried as the last time lobsters appeared, they were holding flowers and seemed to be symbols of friendship somehow. No drama ensues.

The Magnolia League had Brenda W and Tina as members. This was in the 1960s of course - Arcadia - and I contemplate how unusual it is when old patterns and ideas are “borrowed” as if it is something brand new, and yet amazingly oversimplified and the foundation of the original ideas scattered into the wind senselessly (or altered perversely through a skewed personal history), without merit (even “new” songs which are twenty-year-old cover versions and such that people use as an example of “modern” talent…wow) - and the source is not only not recognized but scorned - why “From Noon Till Three” (1976) is one of my favorite movies. Still, a lot of “Big ol’ Ruby Red Dresses” wandering around and many following them as the lawn burns. Brenda called a particular girl by that name. “Leave me alone,” she said. It was the funniest thing ever, because it was just like the song…we spent the whole day laughing about it. The other person did not even get the joke or why I was crying tears of laughter even after school at the library. I even dreamed about it a few times and woke myself up laughing. I guess I was easily amused.

Perhaps this great sanctuary really is a small bookshelf for people to “escape” to. The pages of books can be leaves. The leaves are not raked and discarded, but absorbed forever…

Morning of January 1, 2014. Wednesday.



This was the 3rd dream of this new year.

Setting: Unknown 2-storey mansion with an unusual mezzanine that comes down near floor-level with an unlikely (and space-consuming) long stairwell that is only about two feet above floor level. Time (day or night) unknown.

Characters:

My half-brother on mother’s side Earl, who died (in real life) and appears as a ghost in the dream (recurring). This is the most vivid character and scenario.

My half-sister on mother’s side Marilyn and her husband (although her husband is a less-vivid presence, though not a ghost).

Two elderly ladies I can only associate at first within the dream with the Baldwin sisters from “The Waltons” - a show I have not seen in about twenty years. This seems a temporary alteration (or “revolving” character set) of the next characters…

Elderly version of Alice Liddell (deceased) and deceased relative Francis L as the Queen of Hearts at one point.

Four-way composite character (possibly a “revolving” character): Teenage version of Barbara Steele, teenage version of Valerie Bertinelli - possible “One Day at a Time” (television series) association with respect to more detailed journal keeping “a day at a time” - slight 1988 association with “Pancho Barnes” (Amelia Earhart-like), teenage version of Isabella Rossellini (otherwise later of “Death Becomes Her”) - slight 1988 association (“Zelly and Me” and/or “Portrait of a Woman” exhibit), and a teenage version of my wife.

Events:

The first event is most vivid but not lucid. My brother appears as a strong presence (but as he was when I was about six), but I only see him at my side when I look in a mirror. I am passive with this presence and try to determine what he wants. He seems to wonder why only I can see him and wants to talk with other relatives downstairs but does not seem to understand that he has died.

The two elderly women seem to own the mansion but are not aware that they have died; they follow my sister and her husband down a flight of steps - my relatives seem to be aware of a presence but they mostly doubt it, although they do seem to notice objects moving by themselves. One of the ghosts needs to “breastfeed” and is given a pacifier by the other after being frustrated that no one is hearing her. She eventually lies down in a half-height wooden “coffin” that is jury-rigged to the balustrade on the mezzanine’s corner somehow. Possible association with the Baldwin sisters and being “pacified” by alcohol. Impression of relative Francis wearing a pacifier instead of a cross (have had this before but cannot recall when). There actually are pacifiers with a cross. Weird association with Francis treating ailments (supposedly) as in real life but with the Baldwin persona’s “Papa’s recipe” (alcohol).

The “revolving” girl (in blue jeans) is not aware I see her/them. She remains mostly near the low balustrade under the unlikely mezzanine. There is a tape deck in that area on a table at the corner of where the lower steps turn at ninety degrees. She seems to be involved with listening to headphones (as if she thinks the sounds are from the real environment; for example, as suddenly transported from elsewhere where she had never worn them), which are playing religious podcasts (Theosophy) and Split Enz music. Soon, though, the headphones break and the wiring is exposed. She is unaware of the real material world completely. There is a play on the pulled, slightly bent wiring seeming like “split ends” (hair). I think about fixing the wiring (splicing) or perhaps trying to communicate, am not sure how to approach. Fade out. Feminine energy overload.

Afternoon of December 30, 2013. Monday.



This seemed to be about twenty minutes. I found myself face to face with a mostly static construct of a Peruvian girl, but with slight first-stage tulpa-like motions, such as very slightly side-to-side moving eyes - a very slightly moving lower lip - and so on - and slight second-stage pupil dilation - the “usual”. I am listening to a digitally constructed audio (pulsing/phrasing of my own design) and fall into the dream state after about ten minutes. I notice over time (and is something I seem to have noticed often before with such implied “higher beings” though human for the most part), that it seems their skin is lightly marked with various subtle lines or even (reptilian) “scales” or perhaps bird-feather designs very slightly embossed on the epidermis (yeah - saw “The Visitor” aka “Stridulum” from ‘79 one too many times, apparently - nobody’s perfect); but here, almost like implied tectonic plates of the Earth. This realization has struck me several times before (mostly only over the last year or two).

However, it is different this time, eventually. It turns out she has the Nazca lines (the ones representing the hummingbird) lightly scarred with very slightly lighter flesh tones on her left cheek (my right), and for a moment seems like an upside-down sketch of the NBC peacock logo (which I have not seen in years).

From there, I hear a very discernible sound like “HAUL!” (not the word, just a sound like this). It seems to be a person at first, an odd male voice, perhaps outside near my window in real life (but very unlikely as it seems to be in the center of my mind), but then it seems to be a large black bird. I try to decide if it is an audio distortion in my dream state filtering through the actual vocal sound script, or if it is something actually heard in real life. I hear it again and become almost startled and a bit wary.

Eventually, there seems to be a flash of red inside me (first time ever at this particular level of lucidity - usually it is another version of the “Blue Pearl”) and a sort of design (of a slightly different shade, a little more towards orange) like something representing the sun (as a “primitive” symbol) with a sort of slightly arced sawtooth waveform around the circumference, slanted clockwise and, other than mostly of a solid color, with slight detail of short white lines here and there, some z-shaped, as well as the general outline of the symbol itself (not really like the picture at all, but I have used it anyway here for “mood”), almost as if a child tried to unite a symbol of the sun with one of the ocean (or even a circular swimming pool), but staying orange-red. There is only a sense of a circular roaring fire for a short time, but no actual burning sensations. It seems to be sourced from within my chest.

From there, the usual pain at the base of my back (which I have been having for about a week or more - as the other weird premonitory spasms have finally stopped after over a year) now seems just below my right shoulder (having moved like an energy form of sorts) and I notice the black bird flying from my right (seeming to have “jumped” from my spine), then seeming to shrink (or grow smaller in implied distance, but not correct to scale, as it is still inside the room yet more like the size of a canary) into a yellow cloud or a yellow sky that is only partially open like a miniature portal of sorts. This seems connected very slightly to the dream where my sister had bird-beak-shaped (or “butterfly”/“hourglass”) welts on her body, but only vaguely. I am not sure if this was a negative energy-form leaving me (and the “form” causing all those premonitory spasms for so long), or a part of me going off on a quest, who can say. It is as ambiguous as ever.

This actually distracted me from a completely different intent this session (but I certainly would not call it a non-event or “fail”), but it looks like it is going to be an interesting year.

Morning of December 22, 2013. Sunday.



This entry will include two dreams that I first held back from posting on one of the journal sites, as each time, someone else had posted something with the same words in the title just seconds before. One was the seven-pointed star (LINK) and the other was the white robot (LINK). It also almost happened with two others, one relating to red lasers and the other, blue fireworks. (The “red lasers” one, I actually did not even fully reveal in the entry itself, just a “red trident” on stage for the most part - but rotating red spotlights and red lasers had also been more involved.)

The first dream was slightly stressful, but not exactly fearful, just a bit of an uneasy feeling about human ignorance and possible “unnatural alterations” in life.

This is actually based on a real-life event, which also made me quite puzzled and slightly uneasy, which is duplicated in my dream to a similar scene. In my dream as well, I am looking at photographs of mostly forests and natural environments. My mental focus may actually be wrong in this case regarding past memories, as it may be a fluke. Over time, I notice seven-pointed stars as lens flares rather than the expected six-pointed ones. This seems to indicate something “wrong” - something very “unnatural” (although there are flowers that can have seven petals including anemone nemorosa). (It is probably similar to how you would react if you thought you saw a heptagon-based honeycomb). I look again more closely, and do indeed see seven-pointed stars as lights/flares. I sit there in somewhat of a daze, but not much happens. I am contemplating if it is the result of some new form of digital photography that alters the electromagnetic spectrum.

Also, I notice that some of the light patches are also heptagons, which makes me a bit more uneasy. I am certain that only hexagonal light patches exist in the natural world and that these heptagon “light cells” had been artificially made with dire consequences to come, perhaps even human extinction. I get a slight awareness that bees may try to make heptagonal hives and fail since they cannot tessellate and honey will have to be produced in solely a synthetic way from then on. (My own eyesight only makes six-pointed light cells directly.)

Apparently, camera lens flares can have any number of points (I mostly only remember seeing six or eight, though.) There are supposedly five-pointed ones as well as a much larger number (assuming the photographic images I have seen are unaltered). Most of the more “dominant” ones, I have only seen with six, though, as well as only see hexagonal light cells (which are often too rounded to imply a polygon, though) before in photos and only recently (in real life) seeing the heptagonal ones. Apparently there are even services that make lens flares for you made to order. This was possibly influenced by the J. J. “lens flare“ Abrams comments and memes lately. I stopped watching the newer “Revolution” series (new in my region, anyway) as it was unwatchable for me (and I am a science-fiction fan) and has two of the more annoying characters from “Lost” as well. It will probably turn out to be “magic” over science again that they claimed “Lost” would never be, but was (although I really liked “Lost” and still do, for being so random and meandering - especially with all the fun with running gags and puzzlement, both real and feigned, on the IMDb forums).

In the white robot dream (another link to J. J. Abrams? - in regards to “bad robot”?), a woman is watching a white robot “standing” in a canoe that is going down the river. She is throwing things at it, including various coins. The white robot has no legs but is more like a “giant bank” (like a piggy bank) at one point - its head and body both somewhat upright trapezoidal, about four-feet tall at the most. However, the woman fails to hit it or get any money in. At the same time, she seems to be getting angrier and also throws rocks and sticks (but misses). The robot seems to beep and mock her with slight turns of its head.

After a time, it seems the robot (or “runaway bank”) is “watching” her in an implied “sarcastic” way and mocking her more. However, the canoe it is in goes over a waterfall and the event completely wrecks the robot, which seems a bit amusing - all that effort to evade and mock the woman (the owner?) yet it is destroyed anyway.

Morning of December 11, 2013. Wednesday.



Garbage (or as they say more in Australia, “rubbish”) is found in many areas on the streets in the first awareness of the semi-lucid dream state, mostly loosely (not in boxes or bins). Apparently, the garbage is never taken away by any council service and builds up somewhat. Human bones are sometimes mixed in with the various smaller piles. It is possibly the set of a movie I saw recently (but did not quite “get”) called “Memoirs of a Survivor”, a UK movie from 1981. Some passing thoughts move through my awareness. The letter “W” at one point seems to represent the number 44 rather than 23 or 4 (because of it looking like the letter “V” repeated). I am aware that if you turn the “M” of “ME” upside-down, you get “WE” (letters and numbers in dreams often appear upside-down or mirrored and “mistaken” for the one they look like in that orientation). So the letter W seems to represent a collective, or perhaps cooperation, even two sets of twin-flames (soul mates). I see the title “Memoirs of a Survivor” and I then see each “M” turn over and it distorts into “Warriors of a Survivor”, the second “W” distorting into the “rri” sequence (often when I read in dreams, even lucid dreams, letters continuously “shape-shift”). I then vaguely recall a dream from the late 1980s that was about the 3M company – and how I caught the play on “ME” (in this case, “3M” looking like “ME” when mirrored) only after I awoke.

I also perceive vaguely that people have stopped using the letter “M” because it is considered “unlucky” (in being the thirteenth letter) and as a result, perhaps no mail is being delivered in this futuristic scenario, either – but in most cases, an M had been changed to a W. Knowing how limited the majority of people are in their overall perception and reasoning abilities, this does not seem odd to me at all in the dream and also seems like a facet of the real-life movie for a short time (but is not in reality) – as it seems more like a documentary. I pick up a book with the title “Dream Fictionary” (a play on the implied “dictionary” – which in real life makes me cringe when anyone quotes from them and was one of the reasons I rarely shared my dreams when young). There is another “M” to “W” transition turning “dream moods” (a website for “dumbing down the masses” which I do not like or respect at all) into “dream woods”, which is a region of large, dense forests where no one who goes in ever comes out, even though it seems to be run by a commercial business of some kind. Apparently, people who look at their dreams from a consensus perspective (or who believe modern society or the media knows anything at all about dreaming) go in and never come out.

I am very vaguely aware, by studying various graffiti of the environment, of an equation that seems to represent something about the English alphabet, and a very large number. This number actually turns out (upon doing the work after waking) to be exactly:

403,291,461,126,605,635,584,000,000

I am actually surprised that the last six digits are all zeroes and was not sure if it was a calculator limitation or not, but later Googling the number with commas brought up the correct information on it.

This number represents how many different ways that the twenty-six letters of the alphabet can be used if each letter is only used once in each arrangement (representing 26!)

There also seems to be a PDF available when Googling the number under the title “Some mathematics of the Enigma”, but I have not looked at it yet as of this writing.

Then something quite intriguing is noticed that I never noticed before, although it requires an extensive stretch of the imagination. I see a sign that says “Ace gik moqs uwy”. I vaguely understand this to be saying “Ace geek mocks you” – as a young man wearing glasses is sitting at a desk at a computer - past the open doorway of an abandoned building and looking at me in a somewhat patronizing manner, as if he thinks he is in charge. However, I wake with somewhat of a start hearing my own voice blurt out “Huh?!” Within a short time, I am aware that, starting from the letter “A”, every other letter after does indeed spell out “A C E G I K M O Q S U W Y”. It is quite hilarious, and something that I am surprised I did not notice as a boy when doing so much work with letter patterns, encryption algorithms, and alphanumeric fractal transitions and such (long before the concept of fractals was even known by the public, at least in a more popular or media-acknowledged sense).

Oddly enough, I Googled this just for amusement only, and actually got over a thousand implied matches (of “acegikmoqsuwy”), so I am chalking this up as precognitive in the sense of not thinking anyone else would have bothered with such a pattern (being very surprised to see it even on memes such as what the dream implied).

Morning of December 4, 2013. Wednesday.



I am apparently in the Netherlands, possibly a dream play on the “nether regions” but this dream seems primarily postcognitive.

I am some sort of manager, responsible for the entertainment for, I believe, an airport, although there may also be a bus depot (or some sort of odd building related to travel and with gas pumps) involved - possibly adjoined to some sort of refueling station for longer tours. I know it mostly related to tourism and providing suitable activities. I believe chosen bands even perform on airplanes at times (or even buses, which is not really feasible). Another person also works with me. The other person seems to hold more authority at times, but in the long run, I believe we are equal in our say over what unfolds at that point. Nothing in my dream seems familiar, as if I am someone else. The other man is thin and with light hair and appears to be English (as in being from England).

I meet members of a new band. The lead singer is female and the music, although non-dramatic and non-eventful for the most part, is what I like and want to place in the schedule. (I seem to be thinking on my likes rather than what the public would prefer, which would not be feasible in such a managerial position in real life.)

Later, I appear to be on a bus or in an area that has rows of seats as on a bus - again with the gas pumps (reminding me of a very old joke about an alien talking to a gas pump with the line “he just stood there with his finger in his ear” in description of the gas pump by the alien) - it is not that vivid. The girl is crying when I get up to ask about the band’s schedule and readiness. I am listening to their music on headphones, but can still hear the environmental sounds in my dream through them.

I am not sure of the name of the band I had placed, but I do clearly remember the name of the other band I had never heard of before and by which the other manager replaced the other one with in all scheduling. The other band is called “The Jig”. I am rather angry that the other man decided to feature “The Jig” over the band I have already placed in venues and the one that I know I like. Even more-so, the other band has some rather odd and somewhat offensive terminology in their promotional descriptions even though it seems ambiguous and erroneous to the style of music (and vaguely seeming like broken English or someone who did not fully know what the words meant or implied). The girl looks at me in frustration as I am listening to the work of her band, apparently thinking I have no more interest in their music. (She likely thinks that I am now listening to the other band instead.)

“Is The Jig better?” she cries out, looking back at me. I immediately shake my head, firmly, to calm her. She is a few seats in front of me to my right. Eventually, back at the airport building, I yell at the other man about the situation, and the scheduling is changed back to the first band I had already decided to use. He leaves via the front entrance seeming highly annoyed. I apparently have the most authority at that point.

Strangely enough, there actually is a band called The Jig - from the Netherlands yet. Rather weird postcognition, possibly - am certain I never heard of them in any memorable way, and for that matter, they only have about 650 “likes” on Facebook, which is the first Google match I got. Not only that, I actually do find their description (at least on their Facebook page) rather odd and mildly offensive, almost seeming like broken English as well, as the words do not fit together at all. So that is four things that relate directly (and pretty precisely) to my dream without a “normal” explanation - the name, the location, the odd description, and even symmetrical gas pumps in the logo - seriously weird.

Oddly, my first strong impression of their real logo, with the symmetrical gas pumps, seems to represent people with their fingers in their ears, not wanting to hear the music - or maybe that is the intent (as a sort of self-parody) - hard to say.

I certainly have nothing against them, though, and have not listened to anything by them, so I have no right to comment on their actual performance or music. They apparently have a new album called “Aargh!”

---

Morning of November 30, 2013. Saturday.



This is a shorter but more vivid dream with a very clear awareness. It mostly involved an older (possibly out-of-use or even abandoned) commercial/public garage. There is an awareness of new work being done, though. An unknown man in overalls (possibly a mechanic) walks up to me and gives me a key (on a smaller chain or necklace of some kind) in a friendly manner. The key is shaped like a gold-colored triangular prism with the triangular structure having a notch in the middle of each side. I discover that I had been (apparently absentmindedly) holding a remote lock, or rather a lock that activates something from a fair distance with some sort of radio signal when activated with the key. It apparently allows access to a room of the garage when unlocked, the garage being about a block or two away and more of a rural surrounding. The lock looks a lot like a Toblerone container in size and dimensions (triangular prism chocolate bar). It is of a higher technology yet seems somewhat mystical in association. As the man walks away, he whistles in a vivid loud manner, so loud that it seems like a louder hypnopompic sound pulse. I wake fairly quickly wondering if the sound was actually real and in my immediate environment, but it was not. It was very similar to a faster version of the second (four-note) phrase from “The Other” (1972) whistled theme but with the first two notes seeming of the same pitch. I am wondering who the person was and what was going on. He seemed cheerful and helpful (seeming to demand my attention) but nothing happens after that. It almost seemed like he whistled that way to wake me up from my dream, which in fact is what actually happened, so I did not have the opportunity to explore the garage although I did insert the triangular-prism-key into the lock and was aware that it was then sending a remote signal to open a door somewhere.

In an earlier dream, I was living with my family in a large, unusual apartment (on at least the fourth floor), apparently in a larger city. In the most vivid part of my dream, a large flock of birds seems to be “invading” the area. They seem like some sort of stork, but of a smaller size. They get in through a couple vents, but not through any windows. I am aware that they are leaving a mess, droppings all over the floor, somewhat (four-leaf) clover-shaped, which become almost like a design in the tiles of the floor, almost integrating with the other patterns. They fly around filling nearly the entire apartment (near ceiling level). I ponder on how long it will take to clean the floor. There are other issues as well, but not as unusual or dramatic. The birds do not pose a direct threat but are noisy and messy and it seems strange that they do not prefer being outside in the open sky. At an earlier point, there was a minor association with the “Victoria Rose” character from years ago. This was an attractive witch who rode a closed umbrella like the standard witch’s broom. In this case, it seems to be my wife. There is also a generic Igor-like character (by pop culture myth), somewhat like Peter Lorre.

Morning of November 29, 2013. Friday.



In an extraordinarily vivid scene from my dream, I am in an act of supposedly turning the water on somewhere for someone else, I think, possibly for my youngest son who is playing outside in the front yard - apparently in America on Loomis Street at this point (which is at least three times as big as in reality; in reality it was a rather small area adjoining the sidewalk). For some reason, to do this, I have to turn the window latch (on the top middle of the window sash) to turn on the water in the same way as turning on a faucet (tap) with the separate handle. I seem to be standing on a chair to do this at one point. Even though it seems to be our present home in some ways in-dream, it also seems to be the small bedroom of the house I stayed in on Loomis Street during two time periods when I was much younger, though the general appearance of the sash window seems much the same in both locations and with a very similar perspective. (The view from the Loomis Street’s house window would, again, be into the small front yard and the view from the implied present window at W Street would be into the grassy area at the side of the house where the footpath is, a bit similar.)

After I supposedly turn the water on (apparently for the bathtub in the bathroom, at least by seeming intent regarding the surreal plumbing layout) from turning the window latch, I “instead” hear water hissing and spraying out from the same room I am in, from near the mopboard by the bottom of the doorway to my right. I immediately worry about the water ruining books or papers in the room and am not sure why the “plumbing” is set up in this particular way, but I then “turn it off”. After I “turn it off”, water then actually starts coming out from around the window latch itself as if there was some sort of hidden pipe that somehow went through the sash and through the window frame and into the wall. This of course makes no sense at all in reality, but seems to make perfect sense in my dream and remains very vivid, bordering on lucidity but I do not attain lucidity.

I attempt to try to stop the leak in the latch itself by pushing it a bit and turning it to different angles, but it continues to lightly spray out. I am not sure what to do. To my knowledge, I have never made these associations in a dream state before. The physical similarities between a window latch and a faucet handle are that they both are metallic and technically both turn to open or close something. An open window (after being unlocked with the latch) “lets in air” whereas an “open” faucet handle “lets in water” (into the sink, that is). It is an unusual mix-up, but may also be related to the association with rain coming through a window. Also, the mopboard (or skirting) may be associated with water and mopping the floor.

Morning of November 28, 2013. Thursday.



In the first part of my dream, I am in the shed on Loomis Street, but it seems much bigger and aligned in a different direction (perpendicular to its actual location). Apparently, I had just successfully shot two large male deer with little effort with a bow and arrow. I vaguely remember the details as a supposed backstory, but it becomes clearer when my brother-in-law Bob and I are talking about brand names involved in two different methods of hunting as we are walking from the shed (apparently having dressed and stored the deer in his freezer). There seems to be a continuous mix-up of which company makes the best bows and arrows and which makes the best rifles. It is almost like a comedy routine in knowing which is which. There are also a couple sarcastic remarks about some of the hunters using BB guns. (In real life years ago, I had told a factory foreman as I was working on an assembly line, who had asked about what kind of rifle my brother-in-law used, that Bob got his biggest deer with a Daisy, which is mostly known for BB guns. He looked at me strangely. I guess he did not appreciate my deadpan humor.)

Bob and I are going back out, mostly for me to only watch his attempts and perhaps to help as I walk behind him to his right. We walk the entire way. We have regular bows and arrows, not crossbows, and I sort of wonder about this for some time. (My brother Earl and his wife - in fact he met her there - worked at a place that made bows and arrows - Outers Laboratories, Inc.)

We reach an area going uphill. We are walking up a long pathway that has seemingly been used for vehicles only rarely. To our left is a thicker, almost impenetrable forest, with sparse rock features. To the right is mostly an open plain with a row of larger trees along the pathway and only minor rock features. In the distance are large hills, perhaps mountains. I am not sure where we are, but there is a heightened feeling of clarity and joy, almost a sense of love and boundless freedom.

Near each tree is a very large male deer facing the pathway, with their head and neck and front legs visible. I am wondering if my brother-in-law will be able to get them (though he is apparently allowed only two), but I soon feel confident about his success. Farther to the right, in the more open area, is a large mountain lion (cougar) that neither seems to be a threat nor even seems to notice us (and is only casually glancing at the many deer). I focus on how the deer may or may not move away upon approach, depending partly on the mountain lion’s activity and which direction he goes. I slowly wake as we are walking along, feeling very at ease and relaxed.

---

This dream was at least partly influenced by a foundational scripting, “I unfold my map of my best future”. Still, it has been twenty years since I went anywhere with Bob. I take it to mean something positive, that is, possible abundance, potential success (at least in surviving in a decent way, more than many I know of), and only potential danger if willfully approaching something of that nature (the mountain lion).

---

The deer could not escape across to the other side (the forest seemingly being too dense) and they did not want to go in the direction of the mountain lion, and they were there closest to us (available nourishment or power), and I had considered if they were somehow “stuck”. This part of my dream seemed partly prescient due to the fact that a poster on the main dream journal site told me of an event where a deer had become entangled (though she referred to it as synchronicity, which I have otherwise experienced continuously throughout my life since early childhood).

---

Morning of November 21, 2013. Thursday.



In one of several of my recalled dreams of this morning, I am a bat-like being (more bat-like than usual relative to this recurring nighttime flying theme) and fly about in a “cloak” which in this dream is actually more like a set of four webbed membranes of some kind - yet somehow they still seem a bit cloth-like (thus man-made) at different points. There are two for the arms from wrist to ribs and two from the hips out and back to the legs and ankles. There are four open arc-shaped spaces between where the thinner but tougher membranes or sinew are attached at the eight points. I have not ever, to my knowledge, seen anything exactly like this in any fanciful imagery in real life, though probably the closest I have seen is only very slightly like one aspect of the Marvel Banshee character (he does not have the two extra parts that come out for the legs - somewhat butterfly-like).

As usual, I do not flap my arms or make much effort related to directional control, but just glide along at night, simply and willfully - mostly by thought alone. I sometimes form a sort of hourglass shape. It is not nearly as vivid or enjoyable as my other recurring “late-night flying in a cloak” dreams, and does not have the same sense of subtle bliss and comfortable “endlessness” as that type.

At one point, an unknown slovenly woman follows me around, annoying me for a time, and I ponder on how she has the ability to fly (though not as well as I do). She may represent someone from a factory I worked at years ago and who had a drinking problem (but was going through treatment - have not been around such people at all for over twenty years). I land in a tree (remaining near a cluster of larger branches near the trunk) and she lands in the same tree (though about six feet away, farther out on the branches) and I become really irritated, with my sense of privacy feeling violated. Maybe she has mistaken me for someone else as drunks tend to do. I do not speak to her or express my anger and frustration to any degree. This same event repeats about three times before waking.

Morning of November 18, 2013. Sunday.



In this latest dream I seem to be much younger and working as an apprentice to some sort of archaeologist. There is mention of a different, older archaeologist who had been working on some of the same ideas and theories as the one I am working for, but he had died and left behind many secrets including cryptic instructions on how to find certain things he had hidden until better tools for a more proper analysis were invented.

Over time, I am able to help recover some materials based on the solving of the cryptic clues - most with some sort of variation that required one or more additional resolutions. There is one section near the end where we go near the fairgrounds and seek one of the larger crates that were hidden. At first, we start the digging near the main entrance, but then I tell the other man that he probably put it in a different location in the area to throw people off using a not-so-obvious additional cryptic layered clue that is already of the clue itself, similar to what happens with the study of meaningful synchronicity (which also aids in dismissing possibility of coincidence exponentially).

I turn out to be right as we dig in a different spot. Firstly, there are older, thinner wood slats that have partially rotted into the ground. Eventually, we find the whole crate as other friends of the archaeologist gather in the area and start cheering. Within the crate itself are additional thin, old slats and other materials, apparently very valuable and part of an ancient civilization. On one end of the crate is a stack of old scrolls of various colors, each wrapped with two ribbons. These seem like some sort of valuable treasure in the sense of historical importance and information contained in them.

As I look at them with the other man, I notice that they look very new, as if they were made the day before. The paper seems brand new (with there not even being any wrinkles or dents), and it even looks like they were printed out using an Amienne font or similar on a new-model printer. I notice a small rectangular sticker here and there of the kind you can buy in a grocery store, on the documents for seemingly no particular reason. This event is a “sneaky” variation on time-related themes in my dreams. Often it relates to supposedly being back in time (say the 1800s) or another dimension (in the sense of “alternate universe”) and catching glimpses of normal modern cars and being somewhat annoyed by lack of credibility within my dream state.

The other man seems to not question the authenticity of the scrolls at all and even points out supposedly wondrous sections of the writing and images. Looking closer at one of them, I see that most of them have drawings integrated into the narration-style writing. I say with clear intent that old scrolls such as this did not have drawings of faces on them - the one larger face and upper body seeming not quite human, perhaps supposedly that of a non-human “visitor” to the village arriving and teaching people ways to do things, in this case, something relative to irrigation techniques. The man informs me that I am wrong and that such scrolls in fact did have drawings interspersed with the writing, depending on the scribe and the time period and culture.

I start to feel sorry for the other man. I get a feeling that he is typical of many people today who have never indulged themselves in viable education. Even though I am only an apprentice, I start to think he is a complete idiot with no archaeological skills whatsoever (or even common sense) and feel somewhat embarrassed to be with him (because, as an apprentice, I must not speak out publicly against his announcements or conclusions). I am aware that some of the building slats and artifacts are likely real in the crate, but that the scrolls were faked by the older man who had died, doing such to mislead people so that they would not seek the real ones. I inform the other man of my belief, but I am not sure if he understands me. I decide I will look farther (on my own) to see if I can find the real scrolls, assuming they actually exist.

October 19th, 1968 - In real life, we had visited an old married couple that day. I did not record their names (would have to look at certain old letters which I do not have access to right now) and I personally only traveled there with my father (or remember it as such) one time, possibly connected to the Love family but I am not sure. I think the area was near or at Quail Hollow. At any rate, they had two small owls living in the eaves of their porch - they seemed to find two sections of a concrete block at the top of one section to be a good place to play peak-a-boo from. I thought it was kind of nice to have a pair of owls in one’s home. Looking back now, I do not recall what they themselves thought. I later dream of wandering alone at night through mostly shoulder-high grasses and cornfields (recurring as a younger child) and near an occasional tree. I seem to be focused on finding the owls. I mostly only see shadows and engage in “shadow-play” on a tree for a short time. (As stated before, I believe that one’s shadow in a dream represents their waking self, especially in lucid dreams - plenty of overwhelming evidence I had recorded for that.) I am fully lucid eventually, but still in a state of wandering about.

This brings me to the now. (November 11, 2013. Monday) A large number of sandpipers and curlews gather in a dance of life. It is almost like a ritual. They give tribute to the predators in awe of their power perhaps, but they do it out of a genuine natural instinctive rhythm of a sort, not just as a sacrifice to the naturally more-intelligent, more-powerful hunter-type nor as a consuming fear they may be eaten. This seems to create a harmony of sorts, a temporary truce with the “lower” curlew and sandpiper forms, but which all are needed in the “chain of life” so to speak.

There becomes a point where the timid curlews, when back to back in pairs, are completely safe. Dancing back to back, they fool the ones who seek them - to instigate harm to them - by appearing as a completely different form…the great horned owl…or perhaps a “new” creature even more mythical and mysterious.

UPDATE:

SEVEN BILLION people on the planet and only a very small handful with regular dream journals within the total of ALL the dream journal sites on the entire Internet. After I posted this one (also posted here: http://dreamcatcher.net/blueopossum/15096 )…

Two other people (out of the seven billion on the planet) posted owl-related dreams on that site (even the same kind in one, a great horned owl), shortly after my post (one being apparently pre-dated, as it appears after mine), both with photographic imagery:

http://dreamcatcher.net/ixchel/15104

http://dreamcatcher.net/meghan_oona/15110

You can tell by the number in the URL how close together these were posted and both after mine.

Morning of November 5, 2013. Tuesday.



I am in either St. Martin (relating to the Jimmy Buffet song “The Night I Painted The Sky”) or perhaps Brisbane in South Bank Parklands in another time, in the past, on Cracker Night, but which in real life no longer occurs due to health and safety issue. The first part of the Jimmy Buffet song goes, “I came from the north, Escaping convention, modern invention that won’t let me be, to the shores of St. Martin, with my fiction addiction, to restart the fire, a dreamer’s remedy”.

The fireworks are bright but mostly hues of blue, white, and turquoise. Several times, they form a butterfly pattern, with sparks going out from the center, a pale glow forming the body, and two additional “rockets” streaking upwards near the top. This is apparently also an actual real-life event which I have not ever actually seen anywhere.

I hear, seemingly from distant speakers, the original Bob Lind version of “Elusive Butterfly”, or at least I think I do. The song is a rare treasure in a world of mostly noise and meandering negativity. Even though it seems like a big event, only a few people seem to be in the immediate area, mostly couples. Still - there is loud yelling and cheering that seems to be coming from somewhere else.

A man runs past me to my left, at least one larger spark falling behind him onto the ground. He seems a bit nervous. A mysterious girl, mostly of shadow, is at a fair distance, but still partially discernible. She appears to be near a refreshment stand.

After a time, more sparks are falling, now and then, causing sizzling sounds to occur in a few locations but no impression of danger.

The sparks that are falling are not sparks, but glowing beads. Apparently it is not true fireworks, but someone shooting small glowing beads into the air, seemingly from a boat halfway across the river. They must be magnetic, as they seem to either roll towards each other or move away from each other once they hit the ground. Other people appear and beads hit them now and then, but nothing dramatic happens. Eventually, the girl in shadow comes out and the beads start sticking to her dark blouse, forming a beautiful, glowing mosaic-like image (still of mostly blues, white, and turquoise). It makes a three-dimensional network of circulatory-like light and the wings move. Only one person (another girl in a small group) notices and says “oh, look at that”, pointing, but no one else notices, so they soon all walk off elsewhere. I am still aware of some fireworks in the sky, which is starting to make a buzzing hum rather than a crackling. One man still stands around looking a bit puzzled.

“Oh, that’s my wife,” I say, walking to the “shadow girl”, and it is. Suddenly, a magnetic field visibly forms along the same trajectory as the falling sparks from the fireworks. However, it becomes very difficult to tell the difference between the “butterfly” and the magnetic field, even in what seems to be some sort of growing rhythmic movement that makes me feel very peaceful and comfortable. I sense youthful laughter and cheerfulness from a fair distance.

Morning of October 29, 2013. Tuesday.



For some reason, my wife is a person who works in real estate (in my dream only), apparently, and is also a girl I had never met to that point. She seems as she did about ten years ago or so.

My wife and I walk around looking at buildings. At one point she points out a supposed girl ghost in the second floor of an old building for sale. I agree with her viewpoint and add that there is an additional ghost girl near the other one (which seems to be true).

Near the end of my dream, I am asking about it being okay if we see more of each other and she says “I’d like that,” and I say “I’d like that too,” (which is odd, as I do not use “too” - I have mostly only ever said “as well”) and we embrace and kiss. This seems almost a surprise as I am amazed that such a beautiful woman who has her own business wants to be my companion - and very strangely, it all seems new as if I had never had a female companion before, which frankly, I do not even know how such a perception is possible at this stage in my life - but there it is - proving that dream awareness can be anything from any time, almost temporarily “wiping out” conscious memory even when semi-lucid to make it all seem “new” again.

Night of October 26, 2013. Saturday.



I and a few others are connecting pipes, seemingly in a very large underground area; at times, mausoleum-like, yet with soft walls (some of possibly velvet or velvet-like texture - although in afterthought it may more realistically be mold) and a couple smaller hallways, possibly under a private residence. I get a strong impression that it is the house of a rock singer from the past, such as a younger David Essex or Rick Springfield. It actually turns out to be the residence of Lou Reed (supposedly quite reclusive in my dream), and his recording “Like a Possum” is relevant to my tribal name and nickname. I had not actually listened to him that much in my life, though.

At one point, a large mass of hair is taken out of the pipe so that the water then starts flowing from it. We then attach it to the pipe it was originally meant to be connected to, as it had somehow disconnected and fallen way. At another point, there are two pipes coming out from one larger one that have somehow fallen away from the connecting pipes lower to the floor (being in a Y-shape pattern). The letter “Y” implies a question mark, as well as the top being “V” (twenty-second letter) over “I” (ninth letter) being a symbol of “I” being under the power of love (or possibly victory) but also somehow reminds me that mortal man is “less than” the universal (since it is a “less than” implication in pointing down from the expanse of the greater) - or possibly acceptance of the greater (a person with his arms up and out in appreciation of the sky above). We are successful in our clearing out and reconnecting of all the pipes over about seven or eight events.

Pipes can refer to other things, such as singing voice, organs (which also have reeds), and pipes that people smoke. Symbolically, it can relate to the digestive system, the liver (also a kind of organ), and also the circulatory system.

(Original) Update: This dream was the night before and into the morning (October 27) of hearing that Lou Reed died, so I think there is an obvious precognitive layer - the connections being Lou Reed, “underground” (regarding his “Velvet Underground”). However, in my dream the (plumbing) “operation was successful” though he died in real life. The majority of my more detailed precognitive dreams are usually more precise (in a literal sense) at several levels (even when mixing events or imagery), so this is only a minor connection regardless of the layers that fold over each other with multiple meanings. I still classify it as at least loosely, though convincingly precognitive.