memorable

Night of August 10, 1968 (and after - environment was similar in the last section of the “Ocean Carousel” entry). Saturday.



Summary: I explore a mostly teal-colored submarine/oil-rig/warehouse composite and see periscopes of all sizes and eventually meet anthropomorphic sandspurs (also written as sand spurs and sandburs). When making the trip from Wisconsin to Florida at about a year younger than here, I sometimes dreamt of anthropomorphic vegetables in mostly featureless canyon-like surroundings or near cliffs.

This is related to the environment and location I described at the end of the “Ocean carousel entry”. It is the odd teal-colored and primarily metal structure that is seemingly linked to a beach or possibly as being somewhat like a larger, more complex oil rig. In this dream, there are more submarine features than before, including electrical boxes of some kind.

The little, I assume rooms, are somewhat reminiscent of larger (older style) refrigerators with a slightly curved door (vertically on each side) other than the square vents at about face-level, which are like larger horizontal slats of venetian blinds. As I said, even the metal-grill staircases are mostly of a teal color.

Although the first “version” of this fictional location was unpopulated (other than myself) this one has creatures of some kind. This environment, though the same as the other, seems less realistic, somehow.

It mostly starts out as being watched by (or rather, with) various types of periscopes (all vertical), which remind me vaguely of chimneys from some sort of elusive fictional animated movie. The periscopes range from almost drinking-straw-like to larger than a rain gutter. Eventually, after noticing eyes of various sizes in the external periscopes lenses, there are porcupine-like creatures that are like orange sandspurs with short legs (and I think with arms - at least one carrying a harpoon).

I guess I am “invading” their territory by their suppositions. This is certainly not my intent as who wants to be around porcupine-like “people” anyway? Not me. They apparently do not speak English yet there is a slight murmuring - I get the sense they speak Brazilian Portuguese. I accidentally step on one’s foot but that does not instigate a fight or conflict. In some ways, I am not even sure if these were of the eyes watching from the periscopes originally, or a different type of creature sent out to just check for them. The creatures seem confused. I almost sense a mental shrugging from them as a group. The one with the harpoon may or may not be a leader. The harpoon is reminiscent of a giant sewing machine needle. I leave the area without drama and without being stopped or chased.

I eventually make my way to the beach by going up various metal structures, all mostly like steps of slightly different steepness. I sort of fall forward onto the shore. There are ancient-looking “starfish” that are more like star-shaped rocks with spirals in the center, although I think they mostly have more than five legs, perhaps six to eight each. Two are stuck together as if originally formed that way (one side into the top of another or some such).

Night of July 25, 1968 to Morning of July 26, 1968.

Important: The above date reference has been validated to be the first, most vivid, and longest version of this recurring childhood dream theme (as well as of the most precognitive layers).



My dream starts out with a precognitive scene, with Linda, a girl I knew from school, feeding “our chickens” in the backyard at Cubitis (this was when we still had a rabbit farm - and a worm farm - and my father had not even begun to think about raising chickens yet). The look is quite the same as it would be, with high, wobbly fences and several different enclosures, as well as the eventually partly dismantled rabbit shed being a part of it all. In fact, a little later on, he had made a concrete rabbit for an entrance ornament, in which, later, it also looked like a chick lying on its back (as if hatching from an egg), the rabbit’s ears transforming into the chicken’s beak in the visual “translation”. The girl is still outside when the moon is out, although the chickens are far less active. It then seems like I am looking at the images in a sort of farming magazine or real estate catalog (I did a little “photo projection” in real life at the time, so the change is not that unusual to me).

Eventually, I cross the highway (at night) and there is a “haunted house” where the house of Karen and Kenny S should be, and no other houses around it. I think it is two floors, or maybe three. (Karen’s was only a small one-storey house and very similar to mine.)

When I walk in, I notice a dark blue cartoon-like spider named “Hairy”/“Harry”, about half as high as I am. It has mischievous animated human eyes, but is more like just an oval with the eyes and lines for the mouth and coming out of the “body” for the legs. I think this is connected with a cartoon version of “The Addams Family”, as I eventually see a few other characters, which are not really frightening in any way.

A little later, there is a visually “perfect” scene (as if exactly replayed) from “Tickle Me”, an Elvis Presley movie that eventually features a haunted house with a “hidden treasure”. The scene seems to somehow relate to the hand in the box (Addams Family) to the hand coming out of the tiny door above the fireplace and punching people as in “Tickle Me” (with a brief impression of seeing myself in the scene). The imagery is exact and very vibrant. There is also the scene with the “ghost grandmother” in the rocking chair which somehow seems to be occurring in my father’s larger walk-in/sliding doors closet, yet I am still in the “haunted house”.

Later on is an additional part that was also precisely precognitive. I open a small window in a door and see a werewolf moving towards me a certain way, and there is some sort of funny game-like idea (similar to older “Captain Kangaroo” show openings that I had never seen before at that time) of shutting the window (in the door) with the door open - or leaving the window open, but with the door closed and so on, but the werewolf (starting out like a shadowy figure) - a sort of gray color and looking sort of “stiff” like a toy or model with hands raised that are not moving much, and a slight swaying side to side as he walks. At the same time, I understand that he is my brother-in-law, Verdell. Later on, for some reason, when he (my brother-in-law, Verdell) was visiting in real life (he only came down to Florida with my sister every two years or so for a few days), he bought a werewolf (wolf man) model with no explanation, even surprising my sister (there were various monster models in the store). The original model was grayish; the image (above) is of a painted figure but is from the same kit. In my dream, Verdell had looked just like the model, no shirt, pants held up with a belt, and no shoes. There was even a rat running around his foot.

Later on, after a few other misadventures, I find myself in a locker room (precognitive to one I spent time in later on in life; I had not at that point known what the one at the new middle school - featured in my dream - looked like - everything was correctly oriented). In fact, I was wondering how I got in such a place, inside of a seeming residential home. I later notice a very strange-looking cat (like the one from Disney’s “Cinderella”, whose name is “Lucifer”) sitting on a dark purplish-indigo velvet pillow with golden tassels - on top of what seems to be the hallway water fountain. However, it changes into (or is chased off by) a more normal-looking cat. It is then female and jumps up and “kisses” me (exactly like the opening credits for “Bewitched”, and with fluttering stars, real sparkles, and such - years later, I found my wife had a cat named Sparky when I first met her) and turns into Brenda (the girl who often seemed to represent my unknown future wife).

There is quite a bit more that I did not record fully when younger. During this particular time period, I wrote all my dreams out - often with pictures - on color notebook paper (not allowed for usage in school later on), mostly lighter hues of pink, purplish, greenish, yellowish, and bluish. I guess it was a pain for teachers to have to try to read pencil print on color paper (especially darker such as purple), hard enough to read on white paper.

Night of July 4, 1968. Thursday. (The image on the left is me on that day. The other is my wife in January of 1989 before we made real-life contact.)



Across the ocean “to the other side” (excluding Mexico) is in my thoughts and a real-life concept comes into play.

Many children probably notice this, but in real life, when you are on a wharf looking down, and with the water flowing under you past the pillars and such, it sometimes “feels” like you are on a merry-go-round even though, of course, you are not moving (for example, it “feels” like it is the dock that is “moving” while the waves only react to that imagined movement of the dock - focusing on this idea enhances the false perception of movement almost - in my case - to the point of getting motion sickness). Looking down, I separate myself from the land and the shore - it is a strange sense of freedom. Of course when the sun sets (a bit “too quickly” - but time moves at various speeds in dreams, as well as jumping through events completely), the fireworks are, on some levels, like the energies of a carnival when the time “rushes” to that point.

Being near the more dynamic ocean seems much more grand than the La Crosse carnivals I had been to not that long prior, where they have the little boat rides in a pool-like structure that is not much bigger than a few bathtubs in volume. This did not leave much impression on my dreams, it seems.

This is “my” carousel. I am the only one on it - a “giant carousel” of conquest of a sort - better than a battleship. I can somehow travel to the “other side” of the ocean (technically the Gulf of Mexico - but I will just fly over Mexico or “try to” as in another - much later - dream where I was probably considering that it was “just in the way”). (Of course, in reality, that would have been Port Kembla where my wife was to be born several weeks from that particular day - but is only partly related to all the other facets that “self-built” themselves on many levels). I am not nervous about the ocean. There had been the earlier dreams about the two fighting sea monsters (actual prehistoric animals - but over-sized in the dream) preventing the completion of my sailing trip. In that case, I was only on a sailboat and the idea of a “giant” carousel or merry-go-round seemed more workable at this point.

Not much happens. I get impressions of valleys and open skies and a sense of welcome solitude. I realize that I will have to cross “unimportant” land to get to open sea and start my “real journey”.

In another dream, I am seemingly on some sort of complex (abandoned) battleship or more likely an odd structure near shore. I cannot quite put words to it but it all seems very familiar. Everything is sort of a teal color and there are many different tiers and a sense of antiquity. No one else is around anywhere (even in the whole region, it seems - it is almost like “all people are gone”). Much of the walking area is like a sort of metal grill (also teal) but not all. Some of the doors have vents on them that are somewhat window-like. I wander around but there are no other features other than very sparse aspects of things I have seen in movies with older submarines and such. The parts are almost like a group of random small rooms set at various heights over various metal staircases (not in any logical order), all the same shade of teal. This was a precursor to similar dreams that were populated, so to speak. I may write on those later.

Morning of July 2, 1978. Sunday.



There were a few different versions of this dream (including a couple “resets” during the same sleeping period) which was likely influenced by the television series “Gunsmoke”. I make my way to an old, smaller (unknown) ghost town on my own. There is a skeleton hanging from an old noose that had never been taken down. I had understood the town to be “cursed”, yet it also has some sort of secret.

It turns out that the town is some sort of portal to the past. As I am walking along, I see an upright oval portal (higher up) in another area that is looking into the past. It is a man (about thirty) who still seems to be alive (but dying) and hanging from the noose. The “vision” soon fades. The town had been “cursed” because of his wrongful death - by the tavern entrance being turned into an active portal and the people being “pawns” of time itself.

Later on, when I walk through the batwing doors of an old tavern (wooden floor), I am transported into the past, into the time when the town was at its peak in population and prosperity. Someone is playing the song “There is a Tavern in the Town” on a newer (and properly tuned) piano.

I talk to a few people, including the man who had been hanged. Apparently, he had been hanged for murder. However, he seems very friendly and claims he did not do it. Eventually, a knife is thrown into someone’s neck from behind, just as they are leaving the tavern, and the friendly man I know is blamed. I go in and out of the batwing doors and back to the same time portal entry point. The song “There is a Tavern in the Town” keeps repeating (a thin man in a dark purplish vest and a white shirt and with a mustache and smoking a smaller cigar - is playing it), as I do this a few times, so the scenes repeat. Finally, I am able to see who actually throws the knife (an older, chubbier man of about forty with a black beard and dressed in ragged clothes). Eventually, as the cycle repeats, I am able to warn the other person. The villain gets away, though, but promises to do harm at some point in the future.

Soon, I am in my own time; there is an unserviced player piano (originally thought to be a ghost involved by some visitors) playing “There is a Tavern in the Town”, but it is very out of tune (or in an unfamiliar minor key) and playing very slowly (similar to a particular Johnny Bond recording I used to own in real life - not sure, but it may be from the “On the Wagon” narrative - have not heard it in many years). It seems that the town was eventually made into a tourist attraction for a short time, prior to it finally being abandoned.

I see a very eerie in-dream vision of an empty noose swinging in the wind (it was the same noose that had originally been used to hang the innocent man but is now empty). I had saved the young man from the hanging. He comes out from the portal and thanks me, but then tells me that time may eventually reset itself and he may have to face the idea of “being hanged again” and he then returns to his own time. Still, the skeleton and noose are gone when I make my way home. The “resetting” may not occur in my lifetime.

Morning of June 29, 1978. Thursday.



This is a very strange mashup dream - the final version being eerily precognitive (regardless of the odd plot), the sparser “prototype” (but far more comedic and cartoon-like) first occurring February 7th, 1978 (shortly after seeing the last “Logan’s Run” episode on its first airing, which was called “Stargate” - unrelated to the later series of that name) - there was a more extensive “repeat” that was more “logical” in some ways (and again, less comedic), on the night June 28th, 1978 to the morning of June 29th, before Bob (Robert) Crane (star of “Hogan’s Heroes”) died in real life - so I am assuming a rather complex level of precognition and synchronicity here. There was also an “anniversary version” on June 29th, 1979 - which had uneasy implications in memory of the prior even though I already accepted it as precognitive regarding the Bob Crane issue. It all is related to a fictional adventure movie that is a combination of two real-life television shows, “Hogan’s Heroes” and “Logan’s Run”. I had finally written a story, but did not keep it when I heard that Bob Crane had died the next day. There has been a later series of the “Logan’s Run” title, and there is apparently going to be a remake.

In my dream, it is “Hogan’s Run”. I will try to include some of the more basic scenes from all versions. I actually play the role of Hogan (Bob Crane) from almost an external awareness of some kind (as if I am hovering above the character at all times) - only the “Hogan’s Heroes” characters and relevant personas are in my dream - none from “Logan’s Run”.

One scene involves soldiers marching at Stalag 13, although it is also like a “Logan’s Run” scenario in some ways. There is a scene where General der Infanterie Albert Burkhalter (Leon Askin) yells at Col. Wilhelm Klink (Werner Klemperer) about needing to “control his men” as they seem to be marching around in a disorderly fashion almost like out-of-control robots (this scene seems to also take place in front of my sister Marilyn’s house on Loomis Street - one of the first dreams since moving from Florida in the last days of June, but there are more trees - though in real life, some of them had gotten Dutch elm disease - incidentally forming DED as an acronym). There is another scene where General Burkhalter suddenly transforms into a gurgling infant in a restaurant where he and Col. Klink are seated at opposite sides of a round table. He is eating applesauce and gets some in his “hair” and on Col. Klink. However, he has only one long strand of hair sticking from the top of his head and forming a slight spiral, but has almost the same face as his adult form. This is possibly due to the word “Infanterie”, as Col. Klink refers (sarcastically) to Burkhalter as “being in infantry” during the meeting - which at that point, seems to actually be in Germany.

There is a disjointed part of my dream that seems to connect to Foghorn Leghorn cartoons, with “duplicate” dog characters related slightly to the soldier scene - then they seem to blur one into another and a scene with two men marching into each other as they become one, slightly disoriented for a short time.

There is a place that sounds something like “Wavering Heights” or “Waverling Heights” (I first assumed a corruption of “Wuthering Heights” - which was coincidentally one of the first things my wife’s mother mentioned when we first made contact) - which I think is one of the main cities in another area that Hogan is trying to get to. (Coincidentally, the place I lived at years later, with my wife and two children at the time, was called “Wavell Heights”, a suburb of Brisbane.) In my dream though, a “waverling” seems to be some sort of name for a half-grown fish.

At the main vivid part, and the seeming outcome (but which changes), Hogan is on some sort of raft that is propelled by some sort of high-tech gadget or motor. There appear to be farm animals aboard. They are singing happily about escaping from the prison camp and going on to freedom on the other side of the big river (even though there is supposedly more pollution where they are going). The song they are singing at one point (see link) is actually one Bob Crane sang in real life with one of the Smothers Brothers. I also used to hear it when I was in sixth grade (where a main issue was pollution at that time, including a song called “Take My Hand My Son”), the lines I most remember being “Pollution, pollution, wear a gas mask and a veil, then you can breathe long as you don’t inhale”. I had my own “stupid version” for a time and not knowing any better, sang “then you can breathe long as you don’t get ill…” I guess I should not feel too bad, as two girls I knew (one being the “other”, Susan R, and the other girl, Susan C), once sang “The answer is blowing in the wind-ow”.

In the end, everything goes really weird and “bubbly”. They go through a “stargate”, which is more like some sort of giant culvert (or part of a dam’s spillway?) or a standalone circular “door” at one point - a portal into another “world” (recurring from late 1960s). They appear to have a miniature Statue of Liberty on board. The raft goes faster and faster, the mood turns happily more cartoon-like, the characters on the raft are leaning more and more forward; the water is spraying about their raft like it is the fastest thing ever. The music gets faster and high-pitched in a near-Mickey-Mouse-like way, almost to the point of being highly annoying and distorted in a surreal sense…“If you visit American city, you will find it very pretty…looong as yooou don’t inhaaale…”. Suddenly, it turns out that Hogan had been sleeping all that time and was still drugged from an attempted escape and in a state of dying. A voice rings out menacingly yet with a melancholy atmosphere. It is the very serious voice of Col. Klink…“I told you…(dramatic pause)…No one ever escapes from Stalag thirTEEN” (stronger accent on “teen”). My dream ends there. Although this section was quite eerily precognitive of the “real Hogan” dying shortly after, it is also a strange play (influence) of the “Deadly Dream” movie from 1971, with Lloyd Bridges - in which it ends the same way and he dies.

The level of “personal foreshadowing” unknowingly triggered by subtle prior causes versus willful (conscious) manifestation versus natural intuition and precognition (in various in-dream composite forms) is completely different in each individual, as everyone has a completely different path and ongoing perspective. Not expecting the death of Bob Crane at only 49 and also having “Logan’s Run” coincidentally rerun just prior to the “prototype” of my dream, and likely unknown or unrealized aspects or incidental connections or “triggers”, contributed to a very strange mix of composite precognition and “typical” dream mashups that oddly, can also be traced back to other causes which seem to be a sort of foreshadowing as well. I have noted a lot of people who have precognitive “mashups” (or odd, incongruous though precognitive composites too complex to be coincidental) who rarely notice or acknowledge them.

http://www.guntheranderson.com/v/data/pollutio.htm

http://www.rense.com/general83/911sc.htm

Morning of March 16, 1978. Thursday.





Dream Series: The Experience of Prescience, the Inexplicable Dream State Phenomenon. Part 5

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A very attractive girl with green eyes and dark curly hair (who seems mostly of a composite of about ten percent Brenda and the rest, my “mystery girl”, who turned out to be Zsuzsanna) is living in an eerie-looking small house that is also somehow part of the orange tree in the southwest corner of the orange grove in Cubitis. I somehow had not noticed it before within the supposed history of my dream’s backstory, which seems to have been over a period of at least a month. There seems to be a long time period where I am mostly just thinking about this unusual structure and wondering if anyone lives there. (In actuality, it is a more realistic rendering of the tree house of “Miss Suzy” by Miriam Young, and an additional association with “Old Black Witch” by Wende and Harry Devlin. These are two books I treasured as a child, but so much so, I actually later mentally combined them into the same story.)

The girl and I later sit together on the concrete flower box (outside the front west jalousie windows of my room and where my mother mostly grew coleus blumei). She sits on my right. We talk for seemingly a long time about various subjects, as if we had been very good friends for a long time. I am very comfortable next to her despite her amazing beauty. She tells me that she had often been called a “bad witch”, partly because she was born on a Friday the thirteenth (in September). I want to reassure her, but I am not sure of the nature of what “bad witch” is implied to mean or her full story.

She attempts to do some sort of magic trick with a passing car that is headed south on Highway Seventeen, but instead of it working out as she had intended (the car changing into something else or changing its color perhaps?), the license plate from the front of a different car comes off, rotates in the air as it travels, and attaches itself to the back of the car she is focused on. I then amusingly say, “You’re kidding”, in a matter-of-fact recognition that she is known as a “bad witch” in meaning that she is not that good at performing magic rather than being “bad” as a person. I then start to teach her powerful magic through the rest of my dream, including some rather pointless juggling of oranges, as well as telekinesis, and she seems happy and grateful.

“Miss Suzy” (though I am not viably aware of the Miss Suzy story influence in my dream) tells me that she will write to me on March 16th in thirteen years, which is the marker for when Michael died in 1974. (It is also when Susan R “broke contact” with me and no longer “sent” as she had since we met, telling me the other girl “had more power”, even though the “mystery girl” was only in my dreams at this time, though it would not have worked out between Susan and I as she was a devout Christian, which is ironic as she was the only viably telepathic person I knew of until I learned Zsuzsanna was a real person). Zsuzsanna, going by Suzi in the shortened form, did indeed write to me on March 16, 1991, though I got her letter several days later. The license plate magic trick that supposedly was not what she intended, seems to be an analogy for contact from one person to another, as a license plate is rectangular and contains letters and numbers as does a posted letter. Zsuzsanna was born on Friday the 13th in September, 1968. It was me who wrote to her mother first in answering her mother’s newspaper advertisement (due to a dream advising me to do this), but Zsuzsanna immediately “recognized” me for who I was (from a photograph I sent her mother) and then wrote to me, also sending me a long poem (“These Lands I Must Travel”) that was identical to the nature of my hypnagogic dreams years previously. The PAIA newspaper was printed in Arcadia, just south of where I lived for years (and at the time of this dream), though somehow made its way to a small town in Australia.

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Night of December 27, 1967. Wednesday.

Dream #: 373-02. Reading time: 1 min 10 sec.



It is late at night, possibly after midnight, and there is an eerie semi-darkness seemingly caused by a full moon. I am alone in an isolated rural area, probably near a farm. I am walking down an unknown dirt road near a cornfield with cornstalks about twice as tall as I am. I am aware that a rattlesnake is following me. It remains less than ten feet behind me as I am walking. The setting is not frightening, but I am concerned about the snake. (I get the impression that it may be in Wisconsin though I am living in Florida at the time.)

Soon, a big owl swoops down and grabs the snake in its talons and starts eating it. For a short time, I think maybe the owl will not win, as the snake seems wrapped around one wing of the owl. I get the impression that the owl did it to save me, but the event may have been coincidental. (The scene plays out with visuals from the Time-Life Nature Library book “The Birds.” My dream is extraordinarily vivid. I was close to being aware that I was dreaming. The owl coming down may have been a semi-lucid event regarding self-preservation.)

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There were other dreams during this time relating to owls with eyes of two different colors (imagery also borrowed from “The Birds”). It is as if I am watching a virtual slideshow while incorporeal. One such dream came seemingly about half an hour to fifteen minutes before this one.

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The image below is from a larger photograph taken on the 26th of December in 1967 at North Monroe Street in Florida. At the age of 7, I am holding the book that was the inspiration for this vivid dream.

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Morning of November 12, 1967. Sunday.



My parents and I are living in what seems like a large, long, abandoned brick building, seemingly off a lesser-used back road (narrower end to the road), that could have served as a school at one time, such as a large Kindergarten venue. I am not sure what state it is in, probably Wisconsin and in a rural area of La Crosse. There is also the idea that my sister Marilyn (unmarried in my dream?) and brother Jim may also be living there. There are no other buildings around and I do not see any cars anywhere. It is mostly like an open field outside of our home. I do not actually see my parents or relatives.

There are a lot of outer (oriented inward) corners where outside walls join. A large bee is in one of these inward-oriented corners. There are sparse (pale violet) wildflowers here and there around the building, but mostly sparse grass, both green and dry, as high as seven inches or so in some spots. I walk around outside and am somewhat concerned about the bee following me or possibly even stinging me. This does not happen, though. I try not to do anything that will draw the bee’s attention even when it is on the other side of the building. Also, at a couple points, I can carefully look around a wall to an inward-corner to tell if the bee is in that particular area or not.

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This was related to a real life event and a comment by my brother Jim regarding bees; “If you leave them alone, they will leave you alone”. I try to hold onto that idea in my dream, the idea of which probably created my dream to test that theory in the first place, thus this dream has been “explained” as a “testing ground”. Evidence: Isolated field and school-like building. The inward-corners almost like a “two-sided box” to check progress now and then.

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“The flower doesn’t dream of the bee. It blossoms and the bee comes.” - Mark Nepo

Morning of September 24, 1977. Saturday.



This was another very long dream that I had as a teenager. It was one of those “I’m in a very long movie” dreams, complete with music, and sometimes even beginning and ending credits as often happened when younger. Girls are vanishing from beaches near Sanibel Island. The soundtrack (beginning one and ending one) is the theme from “She Waits” (1972 TV movie with Patty Duke that has nothing to do with uncharted islands or dragons). The boat moves along, somewhat in an arc. Somehow we get knocked out (Toby and I) in an attack by the dragon-creature near the beginning of my dream (a gas can hits our heads in one version), but we don’t know what it is until much later. So, while we are “asleep” within my dream, and the speed-boat continuing on its own, we end up at the Isle of Bailiwick.

There had been reports of a creature of some kind that attacked one girl. Brenda B (not Brenda W), a girl I knew, was the most recent victim. My best friend Toby T and I set out to try to solve the mystery. It has something to do with the so-called Bermuda Triangle. But we end up on an island filled with; you guessed it, only girls. Of course they are wearing clam shells as “bras” and seaweed and seashell-based jewellery. They worship a dragon-like creature that is somewhat like an alligator but a bit bigger. There is one scene where I am climbing on the rocks, and I am “attacked” but it is more like a movie scene. It reminds me somewhat of the cardboard alligator (made mostly with cardboard boxes) used in a school play in real life years prior, which was dragged along with unseen strings by the Captain Hook character. When it opens its mouth, it does seem a bit “fake”. I move about on the steep, jagged black rocks along the shore, though, wondering if I will escape the island and get back to our boat. Indeed, it does seem for a short time that I am making its mouth move with arm motions and unseen strings as it hisses.

Toby and I are tied up with seaweed “rope” to a tall wooden post, back to back, inside of some sort of old stone structure on the island. The girls are lead by LR, someone who is somewhat dominating, but a bit crazy and meandering in real life, even to this day, with hardly any memory of anything in her youth (or so she told me recently). There is one area that is sort of like an unfinished artesian well, with the water coming up to about “floor” level (somewhat like cobblestone). I see bubbles and such, but the well is too small for the dragon-alligator to come up, only for the girls to sing to her in prayer and appreciation (very similar to the movie “Voyage to the Planet of Prehistoric Women” from 1968). I can hear the sounds of the creature echoing, though, “she” travels through underground caverns - filled with ocean water and some fresh water areas - under the island.

I am freed from the ropes near the first part of my dream and taken away to a different area and have to…interact with each member of the “tribe” including Sandra R and Patty A, oddly, in different rooms set up somewhat like a hotel! However, it means my eventual death, I assume, or at least not much else to do for a long time. I do not interact much with the leader, though, as I don’t really like her much (and there are other girls who do not like her or who just want to go home - that is, the ones who remember lives outside the island cult). It is like a “dragon mother” cult, where even babies are sometimes stolen from coastal towns and brainwashed into the fairly simple cult mentality, needlessly based on survival in a primitive place, when modern towns and medical supplies are within a boat trip (the leader allows some to die in childbirth instead of using modern medicine - boy babies are mostly sent to coastal town orphanages on some sort of primitive raft). Toby somehow escapes but returns later.

Eventually, everything blows up (some sort of feedback loop from fire from the “alligator-dragon” going into the place-of-worship “well” area, and me tricking it to go a certain direction). Some girls survive, though. We (Toby and I) return on the original small motorboat, and life goes on.

Morning of September 17, 1977. Saturday.



This was of a new period of lucid dreaming for me as well as higher vividness. 1977 was an unusual year for this. In my dream, I had fallen asleep on the living room couch (I had absentmindedly written “leaving room” instead of “living room” in the original entry). Through the glass panes of my atypical bedroom door (which did not close normally but rather squeezed into the doorway with some noisy difficulty), I see an unusual variation of the mystery girl. The level of vividness is extreme and fully in-body and I try to control my in-dream breathing a bit more than usual. I watch her through the glass as the glass panes seem much bigger than in reality (seeming to “grow”, actually). She is making references to riding the carousel with her…an actual carousel somehow in my room (or on the other side of the “mirror” aka window panes), although there is minor influence from having seen the first episode of “Logan’s Run” (the television series). In that show, the carousel meant death (at the age of thirty) but in the dream, it is only slightly ominous. There is a lot of in-dream “energy” or “vibration” that mostly only occurred in particular dream-types related to the mystery girl.

Over time, the carousel takes on a strange appearance, somewhat like a round, rotating wooden dock, almost like a circular version of part of the “Gunsmoke” set, as if the carousel was somewhat like a soap bubble where parts of it faded over time before it vanished completely. The imagery of this part of the dream came to match exactly - a large drawing my wife’s mother had done in Nimbin (with several copies in her family) long before I saw it in reality (and regardless of the high unlikelihood of someone making a drawing of that nature, which incidentally also included the theme of a divine or “twin soul” marriage - I mean, who else would associate a rotating carousel with nuances of a rotating circular “Gunsmoke” set or “ghost town”?). In real-life, the carousel my wife had actually been on during that same time was eventually dismantled (in Australia) and ended up where I lived in America, any of these things being the tip of the iceberg in thousands of unlikely parallels and precognitive nuances.

In my dream, I end up going through the glass somehow. I end up in some sort of business office where a group called “IRO” (possibly based on a fictional in-dream name of a male named Iro?) is holding a meeting about an upcoming novel called “Reflections”, which was apparently going to be written by the mystery girl (yet remain unpublished in “my” dimension - it was as if I was in an “alternate version of the future”). There is a discussion relating to refugees from Hungary, though at the time I had no conscious associations with “International Refugee Organization” and did not even think about the additional significance until many years later. (My wife’s father was technically a refugee during the Roma “ethnic cleansing” and escaped to Australia). (In real life, my wife had also written an unpublished novel called “Reflections” before I ever made real-life contact with her, continuing my usual tip-of-the-iceberg run.)

It seems unusual for me to be where I am and I wonder if I should stay, though I get the impression I would miss out on ten or more years of my life. I engage in a conversation with one male who asks me why I am able to focus on my dreams (and “other dimensions”) so well and document them and research as much as possible, to “solve” things. I tell him that if I had not done so, I would only seem to be “half here”. I must be an exception to the rule. Billions of other people do not seem to have that interest in being “complete” or actively in search of purpose. I am not sure if the male leader is called Iro or again if it is just a group name. I also get the impression of a younger sister of the mystery girl being called Rugboe. However, this comes to be a distortion of “Rugby”, which I did not learn of until years later (after moving to Australia).

A male asks me if I think that other people actually exist on “my” side other then myself, my “predestined” mate, and a handful of other people and I am not sure what he means. It almost seems like this other in-dream “pocket world” is only a business building where about six or seven men exist, forever in a “business meeting” of sorts.

Eventually, I understand that I cannot stay in this “other realm” much longer. There is a vague awareness that it is “parallel” to my Cubitis bedroom and I even seem to be in my room as such at times (many in-dream locations, as well as more often being composites, sometimes seem to “hold” two or more places at the same time while also existing in their own space). I do have more parts of the “puzzle”, though. I decide to think about this mystery girl again, and her unpublished “Reflections” novel. Maybe I will actually meet her one day…the carousel event and “Little Red Feather” being two other clues. The man asks me if “Little Red Feather” is my “real name” and I answer with no, not at all, it is the name of a toy plastic figure given to me by a cousin (Evelyn W) when I was six. I suppose the mystery girl is puzzled at this.

…particularity as my yet-to-be wife had an “imaginary” playmate of that name in Australia at the time…long before we made “real” contact…

There are certain things you never come back from, and which you cannot “unlearn” no matter how many millions of people “exist differently”.

Night of September 13, 1977. Tuesday.



In real life, my father had come home from his work rather early and came into my room to give me a book. “She told me to give this to you,” he said. Who did he mean? Jenny? Likely not. My father would not have directed any attention to the concept of ghosts at that point, especially “fresh” ghosts, ghosts only about a month old. “I found it in the window seat,” he said. He said it was the only thing on the property. Anywhere. It was a children’s book about a white kangaroo. I did not ask him who “she” was or who he thought the book had belonged to. He went back to work, riding there on his bicycle, a considerable distance (I had no idea why he felt the need to do this), working for a dollar an hour when everyone else was earning five or more. For his age, his stamina was incredible, including when he rode a bicycle across the United States, twice, in his seventies.

Even though I was sixteen and the book was obviously for a much younger age group, I kept it for awhile, though it did not make the journey to Wisconsin with me. Looking over my dream journals at the time, I discovered two older dreams about a “cataroo”, both on September 13th, one in 1973, the other in 1974. As the “cataroo” (upper half of cat, back half of kangaroo) rescued me in one dream, this “white kangaroo” business seemed benevolent and somehow reassuring. Still, it was an intriguing “coincidence”. This was before I came to learn how to trace precise synchronicity-based layers over the years that seemed “drawn” to a particular date for whatever reason. I came to think that it could possibly “explain” some aspects of precognition, but still did not explain “non-local mind” or remote viewing. After all, many people know that Christmas will arrive on the 25th of December. How difficult is that? Apparently too difficult a concept for the majority.

In my dream, I think of my father exploring the mostly empty recesses of either ruined lives or those who could not settle down and for whatever reason had to move on. (“You stay out of my piccalilli farrago!” What? No exploration allowed? Did curiosity ever actually kill a cat?) Each and every person left behind one thing. Only one item. Perhaps one “clue” to use as a “key” for whatever purpose. Not all dreams are like this of course, but those that remain with certain persistent residual feelings and seeming links that others would never see even if they studied something for centuries.

At this point in my life (age sixteen, in September of 1977), I saw the world, for the most part, as jealous, murderous, and completely insane - and with very good reason. Those who were not insane were innocent and refused to do a single thing against the dominant problematic aggressors. Whoever you interacted with could easily be “removed”. Even after countless warnings and direct signs, no one listened.

My dream girl aka “imaginary girlfriend” as best friend Toby called her (though he did have honest interest in my dream work, unlike some) noted the white kangaroo book. She told me she would “hold one for me” when I was to make contact with her in the “real” world (whatever that is) years from then. She said her human form would not necessarily realize this. Her angelic goddess essence would always be present…somewhere. It seems funny to hear a dream character talking about their “human form”. It was not that I would ever need “confirmation”. The “clues” I knew of were already virtually endless. If I had started to write every miraculous “coincidence” that came directly to me, I would never stop writing.

The voices of truth cannot be silenced. People can lie. People can pretend. People deny that love exists. People deny that anything beyond mundane human life exists (and thus even their “dreams” are mundane and linear). Some people seem to enjoy denying the universe itself. Perhaps they even deny the existence of life itself.

Morning of September 6, 1977. Tuesday.



This was a long dream as a teen (seemingly with a few “resets” in the first versions), first dreamt in Cubitis in 1977. It recurred many times over several years (until the movie “The Fly” 1986 version was released and in which a scene matched my much older dream). The “soundtrack” of later versions was the music from the movie “The Black Hole” (1979) which I had the soundtrack record of.

Lisa M and her family are moving back to Cubitis, having driven down Highway Seventeen from the south, though I am not sure why. It is seemingly midnight or just after when they pull stealthily into their driveway (of tiny broken up seashells, bits of clam shells, and sand). I run and inform my parents regardless of the later hour, with somewhat of a sense of awe. (In reality, ironically, she had begun public high school for the first time after her family moved - the same one I would have went to - but shortly after I stopped going.)

In my dream, a fictional song called “Grasshopper” (supposedly by Kenny Rogers) was part of my “dream-movie’s” background music in later versions. (Two of the lines of the song were “When we were kids we used to play in the backyard” and “Grasshopper, grasshopper, come back to me” - slightly similar to the melody of “Matchmaker” from “Fiddler on the Roof” - possible association with the grasshopper fiddling in the “Ant and the Grasshopper” fable.)

Over time, I learn of some unusual and disturbing issues; “this” Lisa was not the “original” Lisa; at one point, something to do with being right-handed or left-handed due to an injury from doing cartwheels, I think, which is based on a distorted memory of a story about losing virginity when doing too many cartwheels or riding a horse. The “new” Lisa is some sort of shape-shifting creature, possibly from another planet (though this is not certain). The grasshopper as a deuteragonist may be associated with Jiminy Cricket relative to morals and conscience (or presumed guilt), though greatly augmented.

Later, a human skeleton is found in the concrete flower-box in front of where my bedroom is (outer west-most wall) when some new coleus plants are to be put in by my mother. Surprisingly, it turns out to be the real Lisa’s skeletal remains. It seems that the creature had somehow taken at least partial control of the parents to move “back home” to produce offspring. This mind control wears off at one point. (The focus on death is likely more about Jenny C, who was murdered about a month earlier by another male a couple years younger than me). This also loosely foreshadowed a real-life experience I had while fishing one morning. My mother had used plastic milk jugs as filler for the flower box. When I reeled my line in at one point, I mistook a plastic milk jug filled with sediment for a human skull, which gave me palpitations a temporary shock.

The fake Lisa had vanished when the news was spread about the shape-shifting alien invader. I later (for reasons I am not certain of) communicate with her again very late at night. It turns out that the real Lisa had been deliberately replaced by the female grasshopper-like creature that could mimic people (much like the movie “Mimic” that came out years later but the creature being far more human-like in my dream).

Earlier versions of my dream ended with the same scene as in the new version of “The Fly” (1986) where the large insect “foot”/leg moves out and comes down in the same way with the same timing, personal mood and reflection, and “color” upon my seeing the movie for the first time. There is one final scene where a small white shaggy dog (unknown Maltese) is barking at the creature as I fall backwards in my presumed “death”. (This turns out to have been precognitive of my wife’s life as related in the June 2014 dream “A Long Journey with my Wife”.)

Parts of later versions of my dream seemed similar to scenes from “Five Million Years to Earth” (1967) as well (“Quatermass and the Pit”). She becomes a mother and produces thousands of locust-like creatures that destroy the world; nothing but empty trees and bare ground as far as the eye can see, which again, uses the soundtrack from “The Black Hole” (same ending theme to my “dream movie”). Grasshopper-like creatures leap around almost like a sense of playful horses from an underside view, but…no more people, ever (other than myself). (There is no logical pondering of what will happen when all the vegetation is gone, which would likely be not that far into the future as I already see a lot of leafless trees over the infested landscape.)

Morning of August 25, 1967. Friday.



Location (both in real life and in first versions of dream): Rose Street (and surrounding area), La Crosse, Wisconsin, USA - the apartment building that mostly served as a tavern below (a venue where my father sometimes performed) and apartments above, which was struck by lightning and burned to the ground years later, after I returned to Wisconsin.

Real-life Associations: Wendy the Good Little Witch comic book number 45 as shown here, with, I think, a news agency stamp of August 17th, 1967 (“publish date”, which is sometimes several months ahead the release date, listed as December 1967).

Characters: Me, the young version of Alice Liddell (the real “Alice in Wonderland”, 1852-1934) as Wendy the Good Little Witch in “real” human form (recurring - I cannot presently recall a dream-witch who did not have black hair - she also wore a blue outfit rather than red - sorry Harvey fans, blonde witches just never seemed “right” for some reason), and a few random adults. Interestingly my wife had a very similar haircut around that same age, so that is just another intriguing familiarity, I guess.

This was the first occurrence of the “rain shield”. The first version of the rain shield or “bubble” shield was in the Pepto-Bismol pink I have mentioned in other entries. I could have lived without it, I suppose. I have not had pink as a dominating color in my dreams very often since late childhood. Blue has mostly been the most outstanding. At any rate, it was mostly about being “protected” from the rain in several recurring dreams this way, and it eventually became one of my own recurring dream abilities after moving back to Florida. Sometimes, it was a special wristwatch I wore (when it was not just “mind-power” or magic), which of course was a special variation of the 1967 Omega Seamaster, which could also allow the wearer and anyone he held hands with to walk on the ocean floor (which was less common than the walking and flying in the rain dreams, but to be honest, I actually liked walking and flying in the rain in some other dreams).

The shield was mostly egg-shaped and transparent, extending out about three feet from me and whoever I was with. I still had one dream of it now and then at age twelve. These were some of my more vivid and (lucid) self-reflecting dreams, which were eventually “replaced” by the flying in a cloak in the dead of night dreams - which tended to have the same overall amazing mood and feelings of peace and bliss.

Historically speaking, this was the day (25th) that a certain Nazi Party founder was killed at a laundromat in the US. Not knowing any better, I told an older girl (D. Rockwell) I knew at the time how sorry I was that her father was shot at the laundromat. Obviously, this was no close relation, so she looked at me in a very puzzled manner.

Morning of August 15, 1967. Tuesday. (Daughter Amelia’s birthday in 1998.) Rough overhead “map” now included. Confusion stems from the fact that Amelia is supposedly in the airplane as well as on the ground with me (though on one level it may be her spirit on the ground with me rather than her implied physical form otherwise “duplicated” in the airplane) and we are facing away from the event even though it is also “clear” that we are watching it somehow.



I dreamt of being in my yard with Amelia Earhart. This is in the southern part of my yard at North Monroe Street in Florida. We are facing directly to the south even though the plane seems to need to be viewed north of us, but it seems as if I am (while disembodied) viewing the scene at one point from south of where I (physical form) am standing, my “real” incorporeal self looking northward and seeing myself (that is, my “real” incorporeal me - and my actual view - is facing the other dream-rendering of me in my physical form) and the plane is gong down to the left from my “real” view - yet she acknowledges this as if facing the event (rather than it being behind her as it is in my dream view). Amelia stands on my “other self’s” right. An old-fashioned Lockheed plane is going down diagonally in the sky as if in distress, with sparse smoke trailing behind it somewhat. I am somehow aware that she is my mother, even though I am informed by her that she is my daughter, which creates an intense puzzlement in the dream state, as it was also as if she was watching her own plane (with her own self in it) burning out and falling from the sky (with the likelihood of crashing somewhere in the distance). She is telling me how she crashed (or possibly only landed roughly without that much damage) on an island and something about the Japanese possibly shooting her down. There is an unusual mood that she may have been my “real mother” (possibly implied by the idea that on this date Will Rogers, a relative on my mother’s side, died in an airplane crash with Wiley Post, the first pilot to fly solo around the world and Amelia wanted to be the first woman to do this). Near the end, the imagery of Amelia and myself takes on a sort of grainy monotone appearance.

In real life, before we met, Zsuzsanna and I had decided our first daughter (if we had one) would be called “Amelia”, but not because of my dream (and it was in fact the name Zsuzsanna already chose and gave me over the telephone before she knew of “my” Amelia and dream history). At any rate, the August 15th marker regarding the foreshadowing of my daughter’s birth exists every year from earliest childhood up to the time she was born, as do most precognitive markers and is something I have never seen other people honestly address (other than with shortsighted denial and no viable understanding of dreams).

For a closer look at this dream and its real (native) meaning (as well as lifelong markers that many dreams have as well as unexplainable synchronicity related in the next paragraph), it is a very basic and very common (for me) “failed flight” waking transition; that is, something falling from the sky as representing the dreamer waking up (a subtle variation of the primary biological waking mechanism sometimes inclusive of a falling sensation and a hypnic jerk). The airplane (which most often represents a deeper potential of the dream state) is on fire because fire also represents light of day and dawning consciousness in this case. “Failed flight” does not typically mean anything negative as it simply means naturally waking from the “flight” (and “displacement”) of a dream (and this same waking transition can be seen in tens of thousands of other dreams, including those with meteors which is directly analogous to this dream’s content as well).

Additional layers and long-term markers: Wiley Post and Will Rogers (my mother’s cousin) died on this date in a plane crash (and information on my family connections, father as well as mother, can be found in books such as “The Papers of Will Rogers: From vaudeville to Broadway” and “Cowgirls of the Rodeo”). That does not invalidate the synchronicity with our daughter’s birth date; in fact, it confirms it since there are over fifty other date-relevant markers for her birth, most prior to my meeting Zsuzsanna.

Morning of August 3, 1967. Thursday.



This is probably my first vivid plesiosaurus dream. It mostly involves the “coming to life” of a two-page painting spread which I think was inspired by a book in real life previously (though I have not tracked down the source). It involved a very vivid and long event of a plesiosaurus fighting with an ichthyosaurus. There was a lot of color and well-rendered detail. I was seemingly not in any danger at any point; it was more as if I was floating about or hovering, watching the event as if it was some sort of amazing holographic movie. At times, I was aware of being in a large sailboat on my own on a calm sunny afternoon, though, and watching and feeling the movement of the big waves (caused by the fight) hitting my sailboat. There were times when I felt joy in looking up at these creatures from my sailboat. It seemed that no other person was around for many miles. This was like a special private enjoyment. There were minor degrees of semi-lucidity at times. The closest shore was seemingly west, though I had thoughts that I was traveling southeast.