memorable

Morning of April 9, 1984. Monday.



I was in bed, listening to The Alan Parsons Project’s “Tales of Mystery and Imagination: Edgar Allan Poe”. I imagined the imagery and detail. It was one of my favorite cassettes of the time, along with their “I Robot” album.

In one vivid dream of the “mystery girl”, the petite Persian Hungarian gypsy girl from Australia (with a curious mixed accent) with the beautiful green eyes and dark curly hair, there is a storm coming; a large tornado. This, for whatever reason, does not concern me all that much.

As the tornado gets closer, I do feel a slight wariness. The tornado is the lower half of the Merkaba in dreams, and at other levels, is the unknown future or “destiny” if you will. On another level it is the energies of the supraconscious (Universal Mind) in connecting with other levels of consciousness as perceived by the conscious mind; that is, other “realms” of mind and supraconscious exchanging energies as a new force as with a cold front meeting a warm front in causing wind and stormy weather. As I am at least partly lucid, I am not worried about being killed. Once I step into the tornado I see a beautiful young girl and recognize her as my “dream girl”. She leans back on a bed and as I approach her (in this case, I somehow see myself approaching her) there is a sense of wholeness. It is almost as if I rose above the tornado and looked down into it, where everything was clear and blue, a circular portal; an image of fulfillment.

In a dream within a dream, I am seemingly Edgar Allan Poe in a way. My dream journals are so extensive that I have indexes within indexes, often copied to new journals with additional important observations and notes added. A raven wants to be fed stale undercooked hamburger, which it seems to like more than bologna or canned fish. I seem to receive a very important “warning” related to not allowing “ordinary” people to influence me in any way and not allow them to “interpret” not only my dreams, but even ideas I develop over time out of life experiences. I sensed an unusual idea that other people one day, around the world, would see a small part of my childhood dream work as well as other writing. Of course, this seemed like a preposterous idea. How could one just “show their dreams on television for others to watch” whenever they felt like it? Perhaps the advancements of computers could achieve this? Likely far too expensive for the average person to ever be feasible…

One person said that the tornado was related to my “mental turmoil” (though I had less “turmoil” than others I knew) over my pretense that I would be married to a beautiful girl and have children within ten years or so. The raven was perhaps a burden, it was claimed, a “shadowy presence” representing despair, “a shadow hanging over me”. However, in my dreams, my two youngest “fictional” children learn from the raven, which speaks to them of the patterns of life and nature. I supposed other people would have been happy over me never marrying who I considered the most beautiful girl on Earth in another country. People in general have mostly only “cop outs” to share, “cop outs” which never have any value, except in learning and knowing what not to do or what not to believe from others or society as a whole.

Years later, in real life, after I married my dream girl, “our” raven sat on my chair watching me type on my computer. My two healthy and loving children enjoyed having a raven in the house for a few weeks until I decided it was fully healed (from a non-fatal dog attack) enough to fly on its own. It still came back and said “hi” now and then…but there was one time at the computer, when I reached behind me to give it a piece of raw stale hamburger and gave it a pat that I thought of the potential for the majority of “ordinary” human beings to ever accept the truth…or in fact, have any credibility at all. I almost thought I heard the raven quote (deep in the recesses of my mind) “nevermore”.

Morning of September 11, 1983. Sunday.



This is one of several very vivid (but non-lucid) dreams that seemed to reflect aspects of foreshadowing regarding 9-11. Dreams of this type (including one similar to this one) seemed to start in 1977, where the main patterns of a more precise nature regarding my future wife (especially regarding her “conquering” of Susan R, the “other”) were already in play, so to speak.

My dream starts out where I am in a large wheat field. I seem to be in a fairly good mood and am feeling relaxed. However, there is a sense of impending disaster for some reason. Looking back towards the horizon (I am not sure of directional orientation - if I went by my Cubitis bedroom and in-dream focus, it would be mostly to the northeast), I see a low-flying airplane. There are two skyscrapers in the distance (but no other more discernible buildings or landmarks). The airplane is heading directly for one of the skyscrapers, the one on my right. Knowing it will probably crash (seemingly on purpose) and even though it is not that close to where I am, I start running west.

As I run west, I seem to feel myself either shrinking or at least changing in perspective in a very bizarre way. I suddenly seem to be running through some sort of metallic tunnel which is like an awareness of running inside of a “giant computer” with various printed circuits on floor, walls, and ceiling. Behind me is an approaching energy that I know will destroy me and anyone else in the world or at least in the region. It makes a sort of sizzling sound as it gets closer and closer to me. In the distance, at the end of this “hall”, I see a forest and hope I will reach it.

I perceive a phrase somewhat dramatically, “That’s it, that’s all, it’s everything gone!” almost like a line from poetry. I awake at this time as the sizzling gets louder behind me and I feel an intense heat. I have a sense that this giant hall has something to do with people communicating by computer on a global scale, but that the airplane has triggered the end of all the circuits or some such through an increasingly destructive explosion. This was a typical composite precognitive event. It was quite some time until I was actually “inside” computers relative to being able to easily manipulate machine language code (through a self-learning process and realizing it was all mostly “conditional jumps” and little else) until I went on to something else, as I then took on the perspective that computer technology was at least half-myth and most of what programmers claimed was false, which of course is as with pretty much everything else.

This dream appears to have a legitimate and typical precognitive marker. Even though the airplane crashing into the skyscraper (tower) is the waking component in this case, it is also a September 11th dream and has other legitimate associations with terror such as when I cry out “That’s it, that’s all, it’s everything gone!” This causes me to ponder what is really going on in other levels of collective consciousness over any given longer time period. While it is true that the skyscraper as the tower here is my emergent consciousness and the airplane the projection of my dream self in being “stopped” during the waking transition, there is more to it, primarily literal. I run through the tunnel which is also the waking conduit (more accessible here than the tower), even more so as it looks like a circuit-board on all four sides (two walls, ceiling, and floor), the circuit-board being a model of the human brain, here upsized as my dream self seems downsized, almost shrunken.

Morning of February 9, 1983. Wednesday.



It is up to the individual dreamer to “decode” every precise clue that either the Universal Mind or Merkaba vehicle (experienced when awake as a blue flash in the left eye) gives them based on layering everything he or she sees into personal mythology to eventually “live the dream” so to speak, with one’s partner, together as Yin and Yang incarnate rather than just personal ascension (of which needs to come before the twin soul union). Everything in existence must be used correctly and confirmed, with no room for doubt or “interference” from the unenlightened or uniformed. In my case, I did not know it would all turn out so literal, almost like a grand comedy. (For example, even my wife’s step father’s name is “Davy Jones”, the “real” mermaid’s father. Hilarious.)

This dream transition (the Eurythmics songs being the catalyst) started in February 9th of 1983 (what I would call the “prototype” or “birth” of this dream scenario), February 9th also being the date I came to Australia (in 1994, exactly eleven years later). Although my real “mystery girl’s” name was “known” as either Savannah or variations of Susannah when very young, the name Jennifer in this case stands for the shape-shifter or mermaid form. In fact, “Jennie Haniver” actually is a faux mermaid created from skeletal sea life remains. (One of our youngest daughter’s middle names is Revinah, which is “Haniver” in reverse; a bit of trivia for relentless clue-seekers.)

Most versions of this dream (both in their lucid and non-lucid forms) were quite epic and would be too long to address the variations in one entry. It also seemed to be a direct continuation of my “Reptilian Girl” dream (from February 9th, 1977 - once again the same date but years apart) which even correctly rendered the scar on my wife-to-be’s wrist in real life before I met her; hers is the same distance from the bottom of the palm as mine and amusingly seems like the “continuation” of my own larger scar (near-fatal accident from age two) when our arms are held together.

Mostly, the scenario is based on the statue at the La Crosse public library coming to life and assuming the form of my wife-to-be (whom I first made real contact with in March of 1991). This bronze statue (known as “Reflections III”, which was also the name of a novel my wife-to-be had been working on, including being the third written form) is described as follows: “This piece was donated in 1979 by Dr. Adolph Gundersen. It depicts a young woman resting on top of a carved base which was designed as an integral part of the sculpture. The figure and the base create ‘complementary negative images and contradicting planes’ in the words of the artist. The title is intentionally ambiguous, referring to reflections of the figure in the base, reflections in the pool of water before it, and the intellectual process of reflecting upon an idea.”

My “mystery girl” and I are intimate (and most of my dream scenes take place at night, where she eventually becomes the “Reflections III” statue “again” before dawn). At times, “normal” people seem to be aware or come to learn of her existence (though there are those who deny her existence, as with Jennie in “The Bermuda Depths”, much to their later misfortune). At one point, she becomes a shark and devours people who are pursuing me. At another point, she becomes a black panther (related to my own becoming a black panther in dreams of the night of April 9, 1982 into the next morning, but of an unusual “reshaping” in which in my dream, I become a black panther and catch and eat a rabbit, though in this dream, she is a black panther and actually transforms into a rabbit as she is running, all this inspired directly from a scene from “Cat People” seen on the night of April 9, 1982, the same date I was married in 1994).

In the last part of my dream, after she becomes a rabbit, she jumps into the water becoming a dolphin. I see her leap in the distance as the sky grows darker. (This is likely an influence from “The Incredible Mr. Limpet”, although Don Knotts becomes a fish, not a dolphin, as wrongly written in some plot descriptions by people who obviously did not really know the movie.)

There is an ominous scene where the statue is gone. People go out to “hunt” her, but I know they will never find her. It is my intention to “go to the other side of the ocean” to find her.

This goes all the way back to 1965 from my dream “The Thinker” and later “breakthrough” dreams (such as “Sentient Flood” from 1990) where “living statues” seem to relate to an “awakening” of something important to the dreamer’s real-life path. It may be a major archetype for others as well, though I cannot be sure since I can only “see” my own experiences.

After these dreams, I had a strange feeling I would be meeting her in real life (even marrying her), which of course…I did, in 1994.

Relevant influences and tie-ins:

“The Incredible Mr. Limpet”; 1964 Don Knotts movie

“It”; 1966 Roddy McDowall movie (secondary influence)

“The Bermuda Depths”; 1978 television movie (main influence)

“Portrait of Jennie”; 1948 movie

“Jennifer”; Eurythmics song from 1983 as here, which directly followed “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)” (catalyst transition)

“Ocean Girl”; David Essex song

Morning of October 9, 1982. Saturday.



I am back in my Cubitis bedroom and I become lucid from an unknown cause (and I eventually shift into apex lucidity) but with a cautious awareness. For a time, I indulge in a lot of different scenes involving several different girls, who, for the most part, otherwise walk around enjoying themselves. I also enjoy developing various geometrical shapes in seemingly new combinations.

At one point, I fall into focusing on various connecting planes at different angles (for example, a couch, relative to the front at ninety degrees from the seat and how the arms are structured, the three-dimensional surfaces and angles enhancing my interest in dream structures). I also deliberately gaze into the eyes of one unknown female to see if I can see something special, yet all I see are the sort of lightning-like patterns (and sometimes cilia-like forms) that make up the irises and the “oil” which makes up the pupils. Still, I see myself in the pupil, which is mirror-like, the act being similar to looking into a Christmas tree ornament.

Over time, there are unusual physical effects. It seems as if I have been performing (sexually) for days. In the last segment (as I am thinking of what to do with my dream state and heightened clarity), I notice a dream character that seems to be lurking behind a doorway, but only his arms and hands are in view at first. I see that he is holding and pointing a pistol (though not at me at first as it almost seems that he plans on hiding a little longer). At this point, he is the only dream character other than myself.

“Come outta there!” I yell as a command.

“You’re under arrest!” the unfamiliar man addresses me cautiously.

Believing that I have no use for authority in my own dream, I do a hand motion and make him point the gun to his head but he struggles (and I have to increase my own will over the scene almost as if he has his own will power), saying “No, no, wait, I have something important to tell you!” Just as I am about to eliminate him (or feel that I could), I change my mind. Instead, I pause and decide to listen, because he almost seems a part of me. I get the impression that he is the last policeman to exist in “this world”.

I stand near the center of the living room, facing west (towards my bedroom doorway). He faces me, though a bit to my left. He lowers his gun and starts talking to me about my father (who had died on Valentine’s Day in 1979). (On one level, I seem to be aware of what he is going to say as if there is some sort of “automatic agreement”.) I realize that there had been guilt at not having performed in public with my father (or even being in the audience) at his last music venue. This seems somewhat profound, especially as the last words I ever heard him say (prior to his leaving to perform at the venue) “I sure wish you’d come with me”. Not feeling the connection to people or the interest to entertain or please them (aside from feeling out of place and uneasy in front of people at times), I did not have enough willpower to go. That was his last concert and in the middle, the very last words he said (to his audience), “looks like you’re going to have to play the jukebox from now on”.

From here, the policeman now seems sort of scruffy. He also now appears to be only about half my height. Still, he seems more relaxed with me. As he is looking down at the floor, he says “It’s time for a new movie”, what I take to mean a release of any and all guilt related to my father and how I was not with him in his last conscious moments, as he had in his own subtle way hinted at before leaving the house.

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This lucid dream had likely gone on a bit too long (as biologically, a dreamer must eventually wake). The personified preconscious is eventually rendered (via the emergent consciousness) and “arrests” me, though there is still some unusual trailing conversation. One of the meanings of “It’s time for a new movie” could actually mean that it is time to wake to dream again at a later date, though it may also relate to not replaying the reality-based “mental movie” of guilt concerning my father.

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Morning of October 4, 1982. Monday.



I am seemingly traveling on my own, heading south to an uncertain destination. There are a lot of isolated areas with a lot of shrubs, mostly. There are some back roads I follow here and there. Vaguely, I am trying to remember if I should be getting to work and what day it is.

I discover an unusual farmhouse behind a cluster of higher shrubs. It looks abandoned. Just south of that are a few more houses, but more modern-looking. They still seem a bit unmaintained in some ways or perhaps not yet completed. A man of about forty is on a smaller tractor mower in the backyard of one larger property. I ignore him at first.

I investigate the farmhouse, going inside through a door hanging from one hinge at an angle. There are also piles of wood blocking some other areas. There is sort of a damp smell and a desolate mood at first. Not much happens. I look around and notice that the decor is fairly unusual, but I am not sure why.

Finally, I go into a room that has a book on a desk but the paper is unusual, somewhat felt-like, and the ink is a bit fuzzy. There is an old photograph of a beautiful girl that lived in the house (late 1940s?) before it was abandoned due to a “natural disaster”. Looking around, it is possible that the disaster was a flood, as some features seem to relate to water somehow, as perhaps reminiscent of something you would see on an old ship. There is some sort of lantern or old-fashioned kerosene lamp but it has a different design somehow.

Looking at the book, which seems to be a diary, I discover, through images and seemingly discerning some of the writing, that the girl had a pet otter that she really cared for. I do not think that she had it in a cage. I sense a strange sadness at the idea of someone leaving their home after a seeming longer history in the region and wonder what had happened to them.

Later, a couple other people are in their yard. One may be the man I saw on the lawn mower. He tells me that the whole area had been under water until fairly recently. He mentions that the farmhouse was there long before the new houses were built south of it.

It dawns on me that the girl and her parents were some sort of aquatic human-like creatures (but mostly human in appearance) and that the “natural disaster” was not a flood, but the waters receding so that they had to leave their home to go to a river or lake somewhere to get away from land-dwelling humans, especially. Thus it turns out that this was one of those intriguing endings (and a very similar mood and awareness) that seemed to have intense sarcasm for “every man” along similar lines as “I’m Eager Beaver” and “The Four-Fanged Snake of Swamp Garden”, two of which I have already posted.

Morning of April 3, 1982. Saturday.



I am in La Crosse, Wisconsin on the south side of town and west of the main library. There are a number of other people around, mostly unknown. There is a tornado coming in our direction (from the southwest), or so it seems for several minutes. I can hear the train-like rumbling sounds (like with a real tornado but which may be caused by real environmental noise such as louder traffic while sleeping). I am with some friends and we and the other people are eventually running everywhere, though mostly north.

All of a sudden, there is a strange screeching sound (again, possibly caused by real-life environmental sounds intruding into my dream without waking me, such as a vehicle’s brakes squealing). We look back and it turns out to have been an enormous caterpillar spinning a cocoon and was not a tornado. Everything is quiet now that the caterpillar has entered this stage and is vertically oriented within the giant cocoon, apparently sleeping and not threatening in any way. Additionally, I get the impression that it was not actually chasing us. We just happened to originally be in the area it was coincidentally moving towards during the faux chase. Eventually, I become semi-lucid and personally indulge in sensual pleasures in an offset scenario until I choose to wake.

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Resupplemented for a clearer and more detailed explanation on Saturday, 2 December 2017.

There are really two levels to this dream, a natural (biological) ordinary meaning and a spiritual meaning if one is so inclined. On the natural level, a tornado is a factor of RAS and inner ear dynamics as precursory waking symbolism, an extreme augmentation analogous to potential dizziness in real life. In this case, that aspect is validated by a second inner ear dynamic, the potential butterfly flight symbol, which is “frozen” and thus as a result, triggering lucidity against the subdued RAS factor (similar to the “frozen” bird silhouettes in more recent apex lucidity dreams). On one level of course, this dream was at least partly influenced by “Mothra” (a 1961 movie).

Spiritually, tornadoes represent the powerful bottom half of the Merkaba (even in my earliest childhood dreams) and, due to the “raw force” of a tornado, relate to personal dream state alchemy. (In certain trance states of deep meditation, I vividly experience the Merkaba by touching my wife Zsuzsanna on the shoulder, the Merkaba of which appears as two blue tornadoes uniting, rotating in opposite directions, with extraordinarily vivid impressions which I can only describe as seeing hundreds of different wedding ceremonies of different cultures and eras.) The transition from tornado to caterpillar-in-cocoon implies a waiting stage prior to changing into a butterfly (a type of personal ascension or implying the state of readiness for meeting my “dream girl” in real life).

Susan R (the only person other than Zsuzsanna of whom I could ever sense as existing on other levels) and Zsuzsanna (before I knew she was a real person) drew identical vertically-oriented anthropomorphic caterpillars in a top hat (as if one had been traced over the other with even the same stray line) as a part of an otherwise dissimilar story. (One of my relatives was scared and angered by seeing this as most ordinary people do not like the unexplained, though over time, changed their way of thinking and was eventually glad I had found my “dream girl” after so many precise clues over so many years.)

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“The caterpillar makes an appearance in a few other places outside ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’, such as 'American McGee’s Alice’ and the novel 'The Looking-Glass Wars’; in both of these spin-offs he plays the role of an oracle.”

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Morning of March 5, 1982. Friday.

Dream #: 5,555-01. Reading time (optimized): 2 min.



In my dream, I enter a building in the region I live in real life that is first like a shopping mall in La Crosse. Eventually, I am at a party, though I feel out of place as I do not drink in real life. (Important note: In this instance, my dream self has this specific knowledge of my waking-life identity, but in other dreams, it does not. With that differing status, I might drink as a result. This factor disproves the existence of the subconscious.) There is also a vague awareness of being in the basement of a church or cathedral.

The only person I recognize is John Belushi. He approaches me without invitation and casually talks about his death. He tells me death is like dreaming at first before moving on. As he talks, my dream becomes vivified, but not to the point where I am consciously aware I am dreaming at a higher level. He is wearing a dark suit that changes at times, from a shimmery material to duller and back again. He is drinking a pinkish drink from a small cocktail glass.

I am aware the people at this party are either in the casual process of dying or are living people sleeping, all in the same dreaming location (enigmatic space). A couple of times, John Belushi walks away to talk to someone else, but they ignore him, so he walks back to me. I start thinking that maybe it is not me he is talking to, but someone whom he sees as someone else, perhaps a friend, and I am somehow in the same location but unseen.

After leaving the building, I look back and notice a big white bat above it, flying in a circle. The structure now looks like a foreign mausoleum, though also like a miniature cathedral. The motions of the bat remind me of stop-motion animation as in “Jason and the Argonauts” from 1963 (a recurring dream distortion since childhood). I vaguely perceive the white bat only represents death in this dream because I had read about it in a so-called dream dictionary. (I do not believe in dream interpretation in the way others propagate this misconception.)

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Many people might call this dream precognitive (so I have included the label), but the content indicates it was telepathic, as John Belushi’s death occurred about the same time as my dream. I was not a fan and had not seen his movies. I had no way of knowing his status and held no recent thoughts of him. This dream is the only one in which he ever appeared.

My dream is principally literal co-occurrence with an event I could not have known about consciously.

Humanity has no viable explanations for experiences of this nature. Their typical response is with ignorance, denial, derision, and deceit no matter how much evidence is to the contrary. That sums it up for humanity’s ultimate failure to understand either the nature of enigmatic space or what dreams are.

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Morning of November 29, 1981. Sunday.



I am back in the living room in Cubitis, more in the southwestern area of the larger room. It seems to be “isolated” somehow and I am perhaps the only one in the entire region. There is a very vivid awareness of the type which I would label as a type of “faux lucidity”, as, even though I am fully, consciously aware and it is so vivid, I am not certain of the nature of the “level” of my dream (regarding the particular “eerie” band of consciousness), and so see it as a potential aspect of really being fully awake at the time - it is an unusual state of knowing you are dreaming, yet still thinking you are somewhat conscious in an actual place with eyes open - a bit hard to explain, I think.

In one area to the south, near the left; the narrower section of wall at the end of the hallway (that was to the right of the kitchenette entrance though the layout is distorted), I see a large shadow slowly and very smoothly sweep across that area on the wall. It is shaped like a bird, seemingly a raven. There is an unusual sense of timelessness. This exact same theme (and very similar imagery) repeated later on (a few months later), but seemed to occur at an open construction site late at night in Wisconsin rather than my old Florida home as here.

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Over time, this seemed to create the phrase within my mind - “time is raven-winged”, (a possible play on “time flies” though also in the context of time being a “scavenger”).

This may sound negative, but we (my wife Zsuzsanna and our two oldest children at the time) had a positive enriching experience with helping an injured raven in real life years later.

The bird shadow symbol (usually rendered as being in flight), sometimes “sweeping” though sometimes falling, which primarily represents the waking point itself, has been common in a number of my waking transitions since early childhood. “Frozen” and motionless bird shadows with no source projected onto a stage used as a living space by a female tulpa was an extremely vivid scene in a dream of recent apex lucidity of the type of augmented awareness that almost surpasses real life perception. When your mind is able to freeze the birds in flight rendering to where only the hovering shadows are projected, that is near-ultimate dream control.

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Morning of October 27, 1981. Tuesday.



I find myself wandering through an area near a fictitious outdoor café in Arcadia, Florida, on West Oak Street, near the Tree of Knowledge. The sidewalk is over twice the width it is in reality. It seems to be late afternoon even though an unlikely mist seems to rise from the ground at one point (but does not rise above my waist). (Mist such as this is a dream state indicator, a factor of the dream state itself.)

I begin to cheerfully interact with schoolmates and four of us sit down at a small round table sheltered under an umbrella. Eventually, our waiter approaches. He turns out to be Roosevelt (a former classmate and friend), but he is walking slowly from the south with his arms horizontally up in front of him as if mocking the sleepwalker stereotype (as seen on “The Honeymooners” for example), with his eyes rolled up so that only the whites of his eyes are visible. He is now apparently a zombie (the original meaning, not the popular modern misuse of the word). There is no threat, only seeming pretense. The situation seems rather comedic and I sense we are all being filmed, though I feel that Roosevelt is more aware of the supposed script. (Roosevelt is this dream’s personified preconscious. He is acting like a “zombie” or sleepwalker to make my dream self aware that I am dreaming, although this often does not work as my non-lucid subconscious self does not have viable synaptic gating to perceive my conscious self identity as in waking life. This factor has been rendered in the majority of my non-lucid dreams, which is unrelated to the myth of “interpretation”.)

Time passes, and more and more people apparently become zombies, who mostly roll their eyes up and mainly just walk around slowly with their arms stretched out in front of them like sleepwalkers, not any sort of threat at any point. I notice that the whole town of Arcadia has taken on the look of Dodge City as it appears in the “Gunsmoke” television series, though more like an isolated ghost town (which has occurred as a setting in other dreams).



In my dream’s final segment, I vividly hear nails being pulled from wood and thin boards being pulled apart with crowbars and I see that all the large old wooden buildings were only facades over the “real” commercial buildings, the facades now all being taken down, as the movie’s filming has apparently ended. All the “zombies” are seen to be actors in a new comedic movie featuring Arcadia as a tourist attraction inhabited by bumbling zombies. Behind another series of wooden facades (which are also being taken down), I see Lake Katherine (which is incorrectly rendered as being just north of Oak Street and the Tree of Knowledge). A single motor skiff moves through the water, being steered by an unknown cheerful male of perhaps thirty, who turns his boat to go right of my viewpoint (waking factor orientation). I feel a strong and clear sense of joy and happiness and the clear awareness of the sun rising and birds singing as my dream self focuses on the wakes left by the boat, and I think “wakes” as I am waking (which has happened in a number of other dreams, which of course is very amusing waking process autosymbolism in a dream that reflects the dream state itself in every way imaginable, including the facades being taken down; autosymbolism for the start of the final waking process and the breaking dawn waking autosymbolism; the end of the illusory dream state).

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Morning of June 23, 1981. Tuesday.

Dream #: 5,300-02. Reading time: 50 sec.



I am in the Chipmunk Coulee region in Wisconsin, where I have not lived since I was about five years of age. I am in a clearing just outside a wooded area on a hill. It seems isolated, peaceful, and beautiful. I am unaware of anyone else.

Eventually, it is nighttime. I see a big bright greenish-yellow light that I cannot identify. At first, I think it may be a spacecraft. As it comes closer, I see it is a giant firefly, about the size of a small airplane. It does not seem to be a threat, though there is a sense of puzzlement and wonder.

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[projected transitional vestibular system correlation]

This event type, though always different in each sleep cycle, is a result of projected anticipation of the waking process itself and stems from the correlation of the imaginary physicality of the dream state with my legitimate physicality and orientation.

Yellow (especially as light) is a factor of emerging consciousness associated with sunrise, often only discernible in the final stage of a dream.

I anticipate the dream state as being unlike waking life. The result of my thought creates a UFO, but it resolves as the increasing mental energy of my emerging consciousness. The result is a positive and wondrous association.

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Morning of November 9, 1980. Sunday.



This was a very long movie-like dream where I still played the main role. As such, I did not seem to be threatened at any point even though the basis is the end of modern civilization (which actually seems like a very positive thing in my dream in my own experiences), yet also a dawn of a seemingly better way of life. Several years after my dream, I enjoyed a song that came out with the same title as my original dream records, also called “Seeds of Life” - by Jan Hammer and by Chris Thompson, one of my favorite vocalists after Tony Carey.

I somehow gain access to a way to have special seeds that grow quickly - almost like a “Jack in the Beanstalk” type connection (which seem to come to me by way of some sort of “divine intervention” so to speak), but more related to a type of world change. Sometime after this I grew fond of a song with the lyrics “here, here are the seeds”, which had a strong influence on my ideas at one point. I believe it was from an album called “Wind Woman”, but I can find no information on the Internet about it. In fact, there are a few albums that I really enjoyed and listened to a lot that I can find little or no information about, which is typical, really.

Anyhow, wherever I throw a handful of seeds, large vines grow up and around buildings, and the city grows more and more jungle-like. After a time, many people start to focus on the negative implications rather than the concept of having so much food and additional shelter.

I am in my old high school environment (in a small trailer, which was called a “portable” classroom) and eventually, dinosaurs somehow come about and walk through the new jungles. There are times when I clearly see the vines growing fairly quickly and am even “saved” by such an event when rapidly growing trees push aside people that are after me.

At one point, I am arrested for all the trouble the seeds have caused (as I am the one who had put them everywhere). However, as I am in the police car, I “hear” a voice say “finish your job”, which is actually more like “feeling the shape of the words” rather than hearing the audio, similar to telepathy. I throw the seeds I have left, which are almost egg-like in shape and size. From there, the car is stopped by crashing into a tree that grows through the middle of the road. I escape from there. Eventually I am able to live high in the jungle branches and enjoy the view.

Night of September 13, 1980. Saturday. (Wife’s birthday prior to contact.)



Yes, I know. Not a very good title (but it is the original Journal title after all), but Oceania was the “real"name, which is quite interestingly what Australia is a part of in real life - though this Oceania was an underwater world that was also deep underground (I did not at all associate it with Australia in my dream). Regardless of the adult nature of my dream and the "mystery girl” associations, as well as the amazing “Little-Nemo-like” landscapes, I am fairly certain most of it was loosely influenced by shows I had not seen for several years; mainly “Sigmund and the Sea Monsters” and “Land of the Lost”.

That is certain regarding “Land of the Lost”, because the first part of my dream was almost like a long parody of the opening to the first season, with even poorer “special effects”. It was fun, though, and I am actually surprised that I did not laugh myself awake. I was in a boat that was seemingly too small and ended up going over a waterfall, through a tunnel, and into “another world”, all the while making “ooh” and “aah” sounds that came off as a bit “fake”. This world, however, was fully oceanic, with all of the buildings and inventions of that world specifically appearing to be greatly influenced by the depths of the ocean, such as most of the buildings seemingly formed by arrangements of giant seashells and coral arrangements. (A relief it was, though, without any “shellevision” or barking lobsters).

My dream is very epic with long, beautiful scenes, but there is no actual interesting plot to tell anyone about. A dark-haired girl, the (main) princess of that world, shows me around. She is not mermaid-like or anything (in that she appears fully human) but can breathe water in the manner all the other inhabitants can, and I am somehow able to breathe underwater for the duration, with no concern at all about how unusual that would be in reality. She wears primarily black, but with various jewels covering much of the material, as well as a mostly black tiara with smaller jewels somewhat ruby-like, looking similar to a variation of a black swan tiara (where two swans that are closer face each other and imply a heart).

The main entrance and exit (relating to surface world access) seems to be a long tunnel with a large river flowing through, probably about ten feet up from the water’s surface. It seems to be light enough to travel fairly safely, but with no sign of a light source. Odd, though, as it is seemingly below (or implied as such) the state of Wisconsin rather than being anywhere near the ocean.

The ending is very dramatic. I am given a parade upon leaving that world (similar in style to the fuss over Little Nemo). I may be leaving because my ability to breathe water will wear off at a later stage.

This is one of the hundreds of dreams where number twenty-two comes in; in this case, as two giant swans (swaying in a way that strongly reminds me of serpents) as, curiously, the ending theme from “The Blue Lagoon” plays in the background as the fancy parade moves along slowly and interestingly. There is an unusual composite emotion of great happiness and near melancholy at the same time. (In real life, years later, I actually did send my yet-to-be wife a large leaf painted with two swans on it.) This is a repeat of a scene from a childhood dream where “stand-in” archetype Brenda W was involved and the parade had two snakes (that impossibly crawled upright as snakes did in my childhood dreams - like a “standing” letter “S”). There were a lot of amazing transitions that “taught” me, quite extensively over half a lifetime, how Brenda W represented my unknown wife at the time.

This was the longest and most colorful dream of the night. It was on my wife’s birthday (long before our first contact), and it involved me going “down under” (even using the name “Oceania”) to see the dark-haired, green-eyed “mystery girl”. This of course, is nothing compared to the far more precise journey details since earliest memory.

Morning of March 15, 1980. Saturday.



My original dream record was entitled “Invasion of the Blue Doughnuts”, but I am not sure if this new title is that much better…

This was a very long dream with many scenes, like an actual “epic” by description, which are not as common as other types, I think.

My dream begins in my sister’s backyard very late at night. Several other people, mostly neighbors and local passersby, are in the alley. We end up watching strange, small, blue torus-like forms “raining” slowly from the dark sky. It seems beautiful at first. They seem just the right size to wear as a ring. However, they eventually seem to be some sort of dangerous alien life form, like a sort of doughnut-shaped worm or strange “finger-eating” mollusc - and coming from an asteroid orbiting close to Earth. They are able to “eat” people, apparently with their mouth being the inner region of the torus, I think, but they attack in large “swarms” or “flocks”. They are all over the ground eventually. I am never directly in danger, but it is an eerie event. People spend time meeting at storefront areas and talk about what should be done. The government does not seem that active at all in what should be done.

Other creatures, which seem like some sort of tiny yellowish ants (so tiny as to be almost microscopic), are able to rapidly eat a person (from the feet up only, it seems - or at least in an upwards direction), so that it looks like the person is quickly sinking into the ground. This is rather disturbing to many of the residents who are planning to leave town.

Later, I am walking through a strange area where more creatures have taken over. There are very large snails, about the size of a cat. They seem to have almost human-like “faces”, but clown-like and rather goofy-looking. There are also odd crab-like creatures with “human eyes”. I do not feel that threatened or unsafe at this point, which is verified by my needing to resist the urge to laugh out loud and attract a different creature that may be in the area. There are puddles of water everywhere as if it had rained recently.

After a lot of different random adventures and narrow escapes, it seems the human race is “doomed”. I am at a campsite with a few friends, one of them possibly Tina L and another Toby T (and possibly Steve J). In the distance, along the horizon, is a series of huge, red, and slowly moving (or “crawling” like a slug) “monoliths”, creating a sort of echoing rumbling “moan”, which are actually a massive life-form about the size of a skyscraper and which are some kind of enormous mollusc. The sun is setting and they move over the distant landscape like a uniform series of slowly moving upright reddish dominoes…their number seeming almost endless. In the back of my mind, it vaguely creates the association or essence of a slowly moving assembly line in a factory. These are how our “last days” will be spent, but there a still a sense of peace somehow.

Night of December 12, 1969. Friday.



This dream seemed to last all night into the next morning but with several false awakenings. Regardless of it being somewhat nightmarish, it is one of my favorites from childhood. This was yet another dream where Pepto-Bismol pink dominated some aspects of the dream elements. It also involves another early attempt at tulpa creation (as with the “Cobra in the Hayloft” dream). This is still the original dream journal title from age eight and the first version of this dream theme as far as I know.

In an early part of the dream, my pillow seems to have moving imagery on it somewhat like a television screen. There is a scene with the “MGM lion” logo roaring (as at the beginning of a movie) except that the lion has been replaced by a triceratops. (It is possible that the small portable heater had been on a few times, which sometimes made a rattling noise and provided a slight glow in the room.)

Over time, I develop a very intense, clear, and focused lucidity and am able to control the somewhat phosphorescent images on the pillow. Once I gain more faith and expectation, I also gain a sense of being able to communicate with the white family cat, Snowball, or at least get her to understand my ideas somehow. The cat had been in the room throughout the dream; in reality as well, I think.

Throughout the night, seemingly, there are different “games” played with the imagery on the pillow. One amusing scene involves the word “dots” appearing on my pillow several times, like a grid-like pattern (after I had watched actual polka dots for a time). As I put more intent into the manifestation, the words rotate and then say “stop” like some sort of “tingly warning”. Another image that flows across the pillow is a sequence of letter Zs, in a snake-like fashion. It is similar to watching projected images from a slide projector moving about on the surface of the pillow (and part of the sheet at times).

I also seem aware of a loud snoring (on and off) over the few hours that the dream seems to last. I used to think it was my father (and one story I wrote based on the dream did imply that), but my father’s room was in another part of the house at the other end beyond the hallway and would not have been that loud, I do not think. It was either my own or solely in-dream, but certainly seemed vivid and made the dinosaur’s sounds seem more threatening somehow, through the false awakenings - yet at the same time was a reassurance at one level of thought in a particular liminal state at random times.

“Look Snowball, I can make a monster appear,” I say with confidence (and again feel the in-dream “tingling”). Instead of the imagery appearing on the pillow, a “real” full-sized triceratops appears standing near my bedside, facing east (where my head is). (The bed is along the south wall, head at the southeast corner at the time, both in the dream and in reality. The bed had occupied several different locations in the room during the time I lived there. This particular setup was the farthest from all the large jalousie windows during the winter.) The triceratops makes a “snoring growling” sound, very vivid and convincing, but mostly just remains in the same standing position as if I might still have some level of control over it. There is an eerie glow of Pepto-Bismol pink from it (which does not fully light up the room). The cat seems a bit nervous but does not run off.

I seem to shift into another state and realize it was only a very vivid and lucid dream with the appearance of the dinosaur seeming like part of a false awakening (though I was lucid dreaming, I had a partial sense I might be partly awake and watching hypnagogic events projected onto the pillow as was sometimes the case in reality). I think about getting back into the same state, because it was quite intriguing. However, the dream eventually takes on a lesser vividness and my lucidity lowers as well. In the last section, the dream is non-lucid. I am out of my bedroom and in a sleeping bag on the living room floor (southwest area of the room), apparently having been placed here by my mother either due to a monster being in my room or being “safer” there for some other reason. From here, the triceratops appears again (but is a darker mossy green, not pink) and I sense it is getting closer to my face as I slowly wake.

Morning of November 22, 1969. Saturday.



I am only about two inches high or smaller. I am with a female classmate, Linda (I think on the weekend within my dream as well). We are sitting in a “giant” nest playing house. It seems to be mostly made of Spanish moss. A few “giant” raindrops fall but do not endanger us (we are under a larger branch in the tree in the northwest corner of the West Elementary playground). There is a very blissful, timeless feel as well as a slight awareness of winter beginning. At one point, I seem to move into and around the scene, as if I am flying but disembodied. It is incredibly vivid. As was often the case, I felt a very strange sense of nostalgia, even for things that were seemingly visually completely new to me, or so it seemed. This idea may be related to having a lot of the “same” dreams you do not remember in any way, and then having the “same” or similar dream you do vividly recall for some reason.