Blue_Opossum

Morning of November 2, 2013. Saturday.



This is my long flying dream, which becomes vivider in La Crosse at sister Marilyn’s house, having flown around after leaving the King Street boarding house. I had been homeless, living on Goose Island, having lived in treetops and now and then a rooftop. I had not done much walking but my shoes are worn out though I end up refreshing myself at one point as well as getting new shoes from my wife (wife-to-be in my dream).

This younger version of my wife had been going to the first year of a university course (University of Wisconsin in La Crosse). We embrace and kiss a few times, but she is apparently not ready to enter into marriage. We fly together under my power. I tell her that I can teach her to fly on her own with her own cloak and explain how my cloak works. My cloak is used for steering while flying. I explain how a certain part should gather and be tied about a foot or more up from the feet to prevent it from billowing out more. It seems to look and work similar to the wings of a flying fox. At one point, I demonstrate how to sleep while hanging upside-down like a bat. In the majority of my recent flying dreams, I have flown in a black cloak or in some cases a blue bed sheet that moves around me in various ribbon-like ways (similar to the Cloak comic book character from Marvel), more to protect my skin from twigs and such rather than a modesty issue.

Several events transpire. At one point, another person does not understand how I am able to fly and I explain that everyone has this ability. I try to teach them in steps, starting by saying that you just need to let yourself rise and hover while ignoring the force of gravity (as if one could), thus allowing yourself to float upwards. They try but fail. In the first part of my dream, I mostly fly about in either a standing or forty-five degree position. Horizontal flying (as with Superman) does not seem to feel right.

At one point, someone has a set of weapons and another joins him near the corner of a house (Gillette street; perhaps a play on getting cut or a “close shave”). (The weapon looks like the throwing star from “Krull” from 1983, a movie I saw in-dream prior to seeing it in reality without having known a thing about it and unexpectedly having someone else take me to see it on the same evening). Each star has either six or eight arms instead of the five, though. The two other people first seem to be playing around, yet do not like my flying. I get very angry, as the weapons are deadly, yet they play around with them like toys. Still, I dodge each one thrown at me but get more and more annoyed. As a result, I develop the concept that in order for a person to be allowed to use a weapon, he should be injured with it at least a few times before being allowed to use it. Taking this faux rule or law into consideration (without realizing my act is hypocritical as I had not been injured by them), I catch, over a short time as I am flying at about thirty degrees, three of the throwing stars (about three-fourths the size of a lawn-mower blade) and swing them back to the closest male while I am in mid-flight while doing a fancy maneuver. Two slice through each side of his body to the opposite side, one about a foot lower than the other, another going right through his abdomen (above the other two) expanding the cut to each side. I “explain” the upholding of the “rule”, which does not matter anyway, as the person falls apart into four pieces. I casually explain (to someone who appears and mourns the sudden loss of their husband) why that was the right thing to do. The other male stands there in a daze.

I eventually find myself flying around Southern Rhodesia in an isolated (or earlier in time?) area of Salisbury. (Possibly, it is an association with Salisbury steak which I ate in my youth in TV dinners; quite possibly the least palatable meal I have ever eaten.) I go to an even more isolated area after a few people seem either annoyed or frightened by my flying above them. I go into a herb shop (that is more like a rickety “house”) and an African male wants to learn how to fly with me. However, he then decides he will give me a lot of money if I bring back a small amount of Entada rheedii (African Dream Herb, of which I have never seen in real life to my knowledge) to sell for retail at his small shop. I go off on an adventure flying fairly low, deep in jungles, gliding over tall grasses and between trees. I am soon annoyed by large mosquitoes now and then and first worry about getting chikungunya. I clearly hear the loud, annoying buzzing in only my right ear at times. (This was specifically precognitive as I had not seen or heard anything on this for a long time. I thought it was a reference to a much older time period within my dream). I finish my task and move on, as I silently worked out in my mind that there was some sort of invisible barrier so the mosquitoes could not actually bite me. At this point, there are Blue Pearl events where the sphere seems to be almost external and moving at about my speed at a close distance. It seems to communicate with me and move ahead out of my range of vision.

I am, for some reason later on, near the main inlet of Rio de Janeiro. I also fly close to some hotels near Ipanema though a few people become angry at my act and wave their fists. There is talk of a new law to restrict my flying space. I adjust my dark cloak to steer through more populated areas and those areas with more potentially hazardous architecture. Although many people seem annoyed, some seem friendly and cheerfully wave. A short and fat mostly bald businessman in a dark suit waves at me and motions for me to land. A very gentle bossa nova (with a lot of higher string riffs) plays on the breeze (from several cheap outdoor radios at once, including from hotel balconies) with a gentle female chorus with amazing harmonies, which is like “The Girl From Ipanema”, but is like a parody of the song I saw many years ago. The gentle “Garota de Ipanema” song carries on the breeze (with different lyrics):

“Short and fat and bald and ug-a-ly,
the guy from Ipanema needs to fly with me,
to get back to his hotel across the bay…”

I am able to lift the heavy man and he smells of cheap cigar. He “flies” closely to my left, hanging on tightly, which annoys me, but I do not say anything. Still, it is very refreshing to look down over the water and boats from high above. Now and then, over the seemingly long journey (I guess I am flying more slowly at this point - it almost seems we are not moving at times - but this is likely how it would appear in real life from a small plane going at a reasonable speed) I have vague thoughts a couple times of dropping him into the water far below (by which he probably would not survive). There is also a slight concern that I will not get him across and I will instead end up dropping him midway anyway. Still, I feel I need to do this task so as to have “larger, friendlier energies more on my side”(?) After the long flight, I finally see the opportunity to land softly and he is grateful that he had not been late for the convention. I have apparently made a “new friend”.

LINK:

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2013-10-2...-virus/5051210