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I had this dream during an afternoon nap. Though I refer to Shari as a friend in this dream we are, in fact, not friends anymore and have not been for some time.


I am following my friend Shari down the road, she is looking unusually radiant. For some reason she is carrying a large set of industrial pliers. We ran into each other on the street and for some reason Shari is insistant that I come and see her new place. Though her apartment exists within the city, the three storey, red brick building itself is surrounded by lush trees and thick, green grass. I wonder at how she can afford a apartment in such a nice building, but when Shari opens the front door and invites me inside, I realize that the entire building is one apartment. The inside is very modern and beautifully decorated, and everything looks brand new. Shari's mother and sister are sanding and painting the veranda windows just outside the kitchen, and they look confused when they see me, as they know that Shari and I are no longer friends. I am glad to notice that Shari's father is no where to be seen, and the three of them seem genuinely happy to have that abusive jerk out of their lives.

There are tools laying in the yard, their handles freshly painted bright oranges and bright reds. Shari asks if I can help working on the place and even though I cannot see anything that needs to be done, I agree. I know that I do not like Shari anymore, but I am happy to help her out if it makes her continue to feel happy, and she truly does seem happy and carefree in her new apartment. Still holding the set of pliers, Shari heads upstairs to work on something on the second floor. I don't really know what to do and just kind of stand around with my hands in my pockets for a while. I eventually notice something loose on the kitchen ceiling and grab a freshly painted wrench from the lawn outside. I get orange paint on my hands as I work, but when I have completed the task, I try and smooth out the paint on the tool's handle to make it look like it had not been smeared. I then place the wrench back where I found it.

When Shari comes back down the stairs, I point out what I fixed and how I smudged the paint on her orange handled wrench. She is not amused and becomes all indignant, even after I apologize and offer to repaint the handle. She claims that "it is ruined now," and there is no point in trying to salvage it. I feel that she is being unreasonable and is trying to guilt trip me into feel bad, so I not-so-politely tell her to do something obscene to herself and start to walk away. Shari then screams at me that I did not deserve to see her apartment and I just laught at her and respond that while her apartment is nice, she does not deserve it have it.


The dream ends there.

This dream takes place in my grade 7 classroom at my old public school. While architectually the same, the teacher's desk is in the south side of the room, rather than the north, and a large chalkboard hangs on the east wall. The class has many students in it, but everyone is in their late teens and much too old to be attending public school. I do not recognize anyone in the dream from waking life. The teacher is not my grade 7 teacher, Ms. A.J. but an aging lady that looks very much like the librarian from the 1984 Ghostbusters movie, played by Alice Drummond, though she is short in stature and condesending in attitude.


The students are scattered about the classroom, or sitting outside in the courtyard, reading books. The teacher is going through papers on her desk and ignoring the students. I am sitting outside, away from the other students, under the large tree in the courtyard, enjoying the bright sun and warm breeze. While every other student seems to be reading fiction novels, I think I am the only student to have a non-fiction book (something about nature, but I cannot recall about what exactly). A young woman with long, dark brown hair sits beside me under the tree. She asks what I am reading and when I tell her she becomes elated because she has a book on the same subject. We discover that we have a lot in common. I am very happy to have a new friend, as I seem to not be able to get along with the other students, and the two of us talk for a long time.

The sky turns orange as the sun begins to set and the warm breeze suddenly carries an uncomfortable chill. The students in the courtyard are called inside and told, along with the rest of the class, that we are going to spend the night in school. The students are divided up into groups and put in different classrooms for the night. I am put in the group that gets to stay in the grade 7 classroom and I am happy to learn that my new friend is also in my group. I never learn her name in the dream but she looks exactly like Tifa Lockheart from Final Fantasy 7 so that is what I will call her from now on.

There are seven people in our group; three female students, three male students, and the teacher. Buy the time we move the tables to the south end of the room it is dark outside and we are instructed to go to sleep. I place my dark blue sleeping bag along the west wall, so that I may tilt my head back slightly and gaze at the stars through the window, and Tifa takes a spot on my left. The other female student places her sleeping bag on my right, while the boys line their gear along the east wall. The teacher sets up her stuff near the door, in the northeastern corner of the classroom. While everyone has flannel pajamas, the only night clothing I can find in my backpack are a bright red, short-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of white panties. I crawl into my sleeping bag and change clothes under the covers, much too embarassed to expose any skin in front of the others in the room. I am feeling extremely self-conscious and not only zip up my sleeping bag all the way, but pull the covers over my head. I eventually fall asleep.

I do not know what time it is when I am awakened by Tifa leaning up against me. I think nothing of it because I know that many people kick and flop around in their sleep, so I roll over on my right side and try to go back to sleep. An arm wraps itself around my waist underneath the covers and I am surprised and confused because I am positive that I completely zipped up my sleeping bag before falling asleep. I roll over on my back, to see if I can push Tifa in the direction of her spot, and it is only then that I realize my t-shirt and panties are missing and I am naked. Feelings of embarrassment and self-consciousness flood back and I am paralyzed with anxiety. I am aware that Tifa is awake at this point, because she discreetly slips into my sleeping bag with me. Though it is pitch black and I cannot see anything, my other senses are picking up on everything that my eyes fail to catch in the dark.

The following portion of this dream becomes very sexually explicit - and some parts have been... watered down, so to speak - because I do not wish to be banned from DV for obscenity. It has also been hidden just in case. Please do not click the "Show" button if you are offended by sexual situations.

Spoiler for mature content. (Not actually a spoiler, I just found this option convienient for masking mature content.):

I am nervous, but not afraid, even as Tifa lifts her pajama top and presses her exposed upper body against my left side. My anxiety alleviates as my friend rests her head on my shoulder and begins to gently caress my belly. I eventually feel comfortable enought to rest my left hand on Tifa's thigh and when I do so, her hand begins exploring other parts of my body. Though I am breathing heavier and feeling overheated and slightly dizzy, it feels genuinely good to be touched in the ways that Tifa is doing. She takes off her pajamas and slides on top of me, bracing herself with her left hand and exploring my body with her right. I can feel her hot breath on my cheek as I caress her in return. There is a hot, pulsating sensation in my lower abdomen that I have never experienced before and it feels like I am flying. Tifa suddenly pushes her pelvis against mine and kisses me hard on the lips. No longer able to contain the feelings of euphoria, I shudder and moan out loud.

That was a mistake, because several of the other people in the room stir. Tifa and I both panic. She scrambles off me and dives back into her sleeping bag. Feelings of self-conscious anxiety and fear of embarrassment threaten to paralyze me once again, but I am able to move my arms around in a desperate attempt to locate my missing night clothes. I cannot find them, as it is far too dark, and instead bury myself in my sleeping bag. I cannot sleep because anxiety keeps me awake and I instead wait for the crack of dawn to lighten the classroom, at which time I dig my day clothes out from my backpack and fully dress myself in a heavy sweater and jeans. Even several hours after the panic of being caught set in, I am still feeling expremely nervous, as well as feeling worn out after spending those many waking hours berating myself for being a fool. I am fully convinced that not only were the other people in the room awake, but they had been listening to Tifa and I the whole time and knew exactly what had been going on. I had no idea how I was going to face the embarrassment of the on coming school day.

I eventually fall asleep again and when I wake up the first thing I do is look at the clock on the south wall. It is exactly 7 a.m. The teacher rouses the students not long after that and my 8 a.m. the sleeping gear has been put away and the classroom returned to normal. Though no one said anything to us, I got the impression that some of the students either knew or suspected something because I caught several of them throwing glaces in my direction or snickering when I waked by. I was hoping to draw some comfort from Tifa, but she, just as embarrassed as I, distanced herself and sat on the opposite side of the classroom as I, though she did throw me the occassional sympathetic glace. I was not angry with the way Tifa chose to deal with the situation, though I was feeling a little hurt (though I probably should not have been feeling so, since it is unfair to expect emotional reliance from someone I just met).

The teacher brought out art and craft supplies and told us to make something reflecting how we were feeling that day. I wasn't sure what I was feeling, though I knew I was upset, I just did not know how to express it. The teacher also put on a movie for us to watch while we worked on our craft projects. It was the old black and white film, the Seven Samurai, by Akira Kurosawa. The teacher than glared at me for a moment, before leaving the classroom to do whatever she had to do. I was not interested in either the craft project, or the movie, and just sat their for the whole time staring out the window. I still felt embarrassed about the night before, though it was occuring to me that the likelihood of people knowing what happened was very slim and I was just being paranoid.

When the film credits were rolling, a man of about thirty years of age, carrying a clip board and wearing thick, black framed glasses, came into the classromm and asked Tifa and I to join him in his office. As we got up to leave the rest of the students began jeering at us openly. At the man's office on the otherside of the school, he got right to the point and asked each of us if we were sexually active with each other, or anyone else in the school. Tifa and I blurted out our answers at the same time: she confirming it, and I denying it. The man then sarted asking us details of what was done and though he said it was for our health's sake, my suspicion that he was just getting off on listening to our encounter was confirmed when he asked us to demonstrate. Tifa seems prepared to do so, but I felt uncomfortable and unsafe and ran out of the office before anxiety could overwhelm me again.


The dream ends there. This is the most vivid dream I have ever had. I tried to get as much detail in without being too "wordy." I have major body issues and sexuality has always been a huge source of anxiety and insecurity for me, so it is unusual for me to have not only a sexually explicit dream, but one that was so vivid. Though they are far and few between, all of my conscious sexual fantasies have involved men, as I have never found myself sexually attracted to women, so I do not know why I was comfortable with feeling sexual towards a woman in the dream.

I did not realize it while in the dream, but the number 7 seems to appear quite a bit throughout. I have no idea what to think of this dream, let alone how to interpret it.

Morning of December 5, 2007. Wednesday.



In the third, more vivid dream of this date, I am in a tavern, seemingly in the past, but not the distant past - although I am not fully sure because of the unusual awareness I seem to develop from the environment. I know there is an “old and dusty” feel to everything, but also an incongruous sense of energy. The barkeep asks a patron to my left, “Do you know Vincent?” The other man says “yes”, but it is not the “Vincent” the barkeep is asking about - as he is actually asking him whether or not he is familiar with the art of Vincent van Gogh, and the “yes” answer annoys the barkeep a lot.

For some reason, I exclaim “I know Vincent” in the manner of if he was alive and well. I claim that I know him well, then I realize that I “am” him, or am the “spirit” of him somehow. The barkeep is not sure what to think. I ask for paper and drawing materials quite formally, in the manner of a surgeon requesting a scalpel and such in a somewhat “comedic seriousness” of the scene as if from a partly rehearsed skit on stage. I eventually hear a very strange chattering in my head almost like a mix of chant, song, and intense gibberish (but somehow with a seeming inherent “formula”), reminding me only vaguely of a cartoon duck voice or similar. Because of this, I am in a “special mode” and I easily and very quickly draw a complex series of lines and curves which are very close together, and produce a detailed picture of a man sitting on a chair in a mostly empty room. The whole image has a sort of “harlequin” look to it. It looks a lot like the “Old Man in Sorrow” print but it is also as if a clown costume somehow was patterned into the whole environment, and there is a Picasso feel to it also - as if “Old Man in Sorrow” was blended about half and half with Picasso’s “Harlequin Giclee”. Then I remember that I “am” Picasso, not van Gogh, but I am still somewhat puzzled about what is going on

The barkeep stares and says “that’s amazing” when he sees the picture. It is not a copy - it is an original work, yet still seems to be a part of a collection. He seems thankful.

This had a type of precognitive layer, it seems, as is continuously the case with my dream life, as the two prints appeared together later, completely without intent on my part, on a webpage.

I cannot remember the beginning of this dream but there was quite a bit about wandering around outside in a semi-arid setting. I was travelling with three women I do not know in what looked like a camp ground. Despite the dry arid atmosphere, there were many thick, dark green coniferous trees about - enough almost to classify the area as a forest in my opinion. I do not recall much detail about the appearance of the three women except the two were slightly younger than I (and one was wearing a pink, wool sweater) and the oldest woman was about middle aged and had short dark brown hair. The four of us walked for a while, seemingly lost in the desert forest the three women conversed with each other, but I lagged behind and was content to just enjoy the setting, though as we walked a growing apprehension developed in my mind and I found myself wanting to be in the company of my parents because I suddenly felt very vunerable and child-like.

I had not noticed that she had gone, but the oldest woman of the group suddenly turned a corner, driving a red four door car that looked like a Glendale from the Grand Theft Auto videogame series. I never got her actual name in the dream, but from this point on I refer to the oldest woman of the group as Glenda. I never learn the names of the other two women. Glenda tells us to get in and I make myself confortable in the rear rightside passenger seat. The young woman in the pink, hand-knit sweater sits in the left side and I notice at this point that she has shoulder length blond hair. I think that she looks like Cagalli Yula Athha from the Gundam Seed anime series.

The three women continue to talk amongst themselves but I roll down my window and am content to just stare outside, wondering where my parents are. Glenda drives along a lone dirt road out of the desert forest, heading east, and we travel for a long time with nothing in sight. Soon however there is a wooden ramp a head of us and though it appears that we could drive around it, Glenda is determined to jump the ramp. She floors the accelerator and we speed towards the jump, and I feel that this is a very bad idea. I cling to the Cagalli look-alike and she does the same to me. Everyone in the car is afraid of the worst happening and I cannot talk Glenda out of stopping the car or just driving around the ramp. The red four-door car is heavy and though it hits the wooden ramp at a fair speed and level angle, the vehicle inexplicably flips in mid air, crashes on the roof and slides upside down for a short distance.

The four of us are able to crawl out of the wreck, and though we are dazed, no one is seriously injured. Glenda is quick to rally the other two girls into following her again by saying something like "the Arizona border isn't far now," or something, but I am not interested in joining them. While they continue along the dirt road heading east, I notice something in the southernly direction that looks like a group of small buildings or tents. It is hazy because of the heat and I cannot tell if what I am looking at is real or an optical illusion, but I start walking in that direction anyway. It is very hot and I take off my overshirt and wrap it around my head as I walk.

As I get closer to my destination I can see that it is some sort of outdoor event taking place infront of a large gothic styled building which I think at first much be a medieval church or something. There are stone pillars through the square, as well as consession stands and booths selling various consumer goods. There are many people casually browsing the things for sale or sitting on the many marble benchs scattered about. I am aching from the car crash and walk to the center of the bustle so see if I can find anyone I know. I look over my right shoulder and through the throng of people and booths I can see a Texaco gas station and feel drawn towards it. As I try to make my way there, my dad walks by infront of me and heads over to a coffee stand nearby. He did not notice me as he walked by and does not respond when I call out to him. I am sore and feeling needy and want sympathy because I was in an accident, but my dad completely ignores me as if I am not even there. He orders to hot drinks and walks toward a picnic table in the far end of the square, where my mom is sitting. I unwrap the overshirt from my head and follow my dad over to the table and try to get my parents attention, but again they do not respond. My anxiety increases and I desperately try yelling at them again they do not respond. What adds to my frustration is that I do not know if they cannot actually hear me, or if they are willfully ignoring my pleas for attention.

I briefly become lucid as I acknowledge that this is how it feels my parents treat me in real life, but I do not gain control of the dream because I feel rejected and psychologically exhausted.

Though I know they will still ignore me if I return to their company, I still desperately crave attention and affection from my parents - but it hurts too much to feel non-existant, so I head over to the large gothic style building and see if I can find a pillar or wall to hide behind. As I get closer to the building I notice that one of the huge wooden doors is slightly ajar. I make sure no one is looking and slip through the opening. While it looks like a midieval church on the outside, the interior looks much more like an elaborate palace. Lush carpets line the expansive halls; gold and jewels are woven into every decoration and peice of art; massive crystal chandeliers hang from the ceilings. I stand in awe for a moment, drinking in the magnificent excess of extravagance, until I hear footfalls coming from an adjacent room or hall near the entrance. Because the sound seems to be coming from behind me, I run away from the front doors and deeper into the mansion.

There seems to be some sort of party going on as in each room I pass I can hear people laughing and having fun, though the doors are closed and I cannot see anyone. I turn down one hall and almost trip over a stack of gifts wrapped in colourful papers and ribbons. Down another hall I find a long legless table with row upon row of crystaline bowls filled with either chocolate or vanilla ice cream. Because the hall is not air-conditioned, most of the ice cream is melting, and because the table has no legs and is effectively sitting on the floor, much of the melting ice cream is soaking into the lush red carpet. I walk through a set of doors beyond the legless table and find myself in watch appears to be a dinning hall. The place is set up as if to recieve and dine many guests, but I do not see anyone around. I can hear commotion from an adjacent room and hear a woman say something about "having the place ready for the afternoon guests." I quickly run through the room to a narrow hall on the other side. As I make my deeper into the mansion, a feeling of apprehension develops inside of me and I feel as if I am not suppost to be there.

I enter into a hall with a stairs to the left, a large open kitchen infront of me and a set of double doors to my right. There are cooks in white aprons, waiters in red jackets, and maids in black dresses all rushing around trying to get their jobs done. People do look in my direction, but no one stops what they are doing to say anything about the interloper. I stand in the middle of the hall and notice someone coming down the stairs in the corner of my left eye. A waiter with short black hair is slowing making his way down the stairs and he is holding something I cannot see in his left hand. He makes a funny face and then smiles at me, clearly trying to make me laugh. I do laugh, but try to stifle it with my hand and it is then that I notice that I am wearing a red waiter jacket like the man on the stairs. I am still afraid that I am going to get in trouble because I am not suppost to be there, but being near the man on the stairs seems to make me feel a bit calmer for some reason. Another waiter appears from behind me, carrying a silver tray full of silver dishes, walks past us and mutters to the waiter on the stairs to "leave the new girl alone," or something. The man on the stairs just gives him annoyed look. An aging woman with a scowl for a facial expression, wearing a long black Victorian-era dress and her gray hair up in a bun, appears in the kitchen entrance way and I only get to make brief eye-contact with her when the dream ends.


I think I can sum this dream up quite easy: anxiety about relations with my parents and anger about the emotional neglect I experienced in childhood.

This dream starts off in my hometown of London, Ontario. I am on the way from my parent's house to my new apartment on Adelaide Street. For some reason I am in the country side west of the city. An unnumbered city bus comes along and I get on, but I cannot find my transfer. I can find transfers from several days before, but not the one for today. Only after going through ever pocket on my person do I find today's transfer crumpled up in my left hand. The bus driver sighs with impatience as I hurridly take a seat, red faced from embarrassment but relieved. Despite being out in the country side, but bus is packed and everyone on board seems scruffy or rugged, like they have been camping outdoors for a long time. They are all men and seem to be all staring at me and I feel a bit creeped out and threatened.

The bus drives into the city, to the edge of downtown then suddenly stops. The driver tells all of the passengers to get off and promplty drives away as soon as we have done so. I walk down the main road, Dundas Street, for a while before deciding to wait at a bus terminal in front of a white multi-storey building that I do not recognize from waking life. I am expecting the Dundas bus to come along, but after a short wait, the Adelaide Street bus shows up instead. Though I am confused as to why it is the Adelaide and not the Dundas, I happily board the bus, hoping it will take me straight to my apartment.

The bus pulls away from the terminal and passes a group of asian men standing in the middle of the street, waving various melee weapons around and shouting loudly. I cannot hear what they are saying, but the majority of the noise comes from a man wearing a blue hooded sweater over a white t-shirt. He is waving a hunk of wood around and seems to be directing his anger at random pedestrians on the street. I feel the atmosphere change and everything seems suddenly darker, eeiry and inexplicably desolate. The bus suddenly slows down and stops. A burned out pickup truck, and a pile of damaged cars, is blocking the road and there is no way around. The bus driver manages to turn the bus around and starts heading back to the bus terminal.

As we pass the group of angry asian men, the one in the blue sweater, waving the hunk of wood, pulls out a pistol from his waistline and opens fire on a group of people who have gathered by the side of the road to watch the commotion. The first shot hits a woman holding a baby and the crowd panics and scatters as she goes down. As the man begins randomly firing at the running people, the other men in his group start attacking people with their melee weapons. The bus driver floors the gas pedal and tries to drive away from the ensuing chaos, but a large military truck pulls directly infront of us and forces the bus to stop. The doors are opened and the passengers make a run for it. I run towards the white multi-storey building, with the intention of hiding in it or behind it, but asian men in military uniforms start appearing between and around the buildings. At first I mistaken them for London's Area Support Unit, but it becomes apparent very quickly that these military personnel are foriegn and hostile. I run towards central downtown but it seems that the entire area is surrounded by this mysterious invading army of asian origin.

Many people are captured, myself included, and forced to sit together in large groups with hands behind heads. People who do not comply, or who try to escape, are shot on sight. When the street is overcrowded with captured prisioners, the armed guards start herding us into the large white multi-storey building by the bus terminal. The inside is decorated in bright red fabrics and paints and seems to be a giant theater of some sort. The ceiling is open for several storeys up and the parameter of each floor seems to be made up of box seats, except for the ground floor, which is bare tile like a gymnasium. The prisoners are forced to sit on the floor and face a large screen on the west wall. The military men start playing some sort of propaganda film about their greatness or their great leader or something, but I cannot follow it because it is not in english and I am being distracted by several fat white male prisioners who insistantly try to stand up and show their private parts to the rest of the captives. Their penises are very small or severely deformed but I am finding great amusement in their last acts of bravado, as it seems to really piss off the armed guards.

I suddenly notice an unguarded electrical socket to my right. I descreetly pull the plug and hope that I am shot quickly if I am caught. I have no idea what pulling the pull will do and I am surprised when not only does the propaganda film end, but the electricity to the entire building goes out. The invading asians go into a frenzy trying to maintain control of the prisioners while trying to sort out what is going on. Some captives manage to sneak out in the darkness, while others are caught and executed, but the majority stays put in fear and confusion. Whe the emergency lights come on, the invading army is still a bit frenzied and there is a commotion outside. A man I assume is a commander of the army comes in and motions half of the armed guards to follow him outside.


I cannot remember anymore of this dream.

Morning of November 26, 2007. Monday.



This dream (which continued after partial sleep paralysis) had a really unusual focus; it was an incredibly vivid dream, but had a strange state at one point of being “locked” between being awake and being asleep, somewhat uncomfortable and annoying, but not frightening in any way.

During the time I am almost fully awake at one point, I am gazing at the wall. I see some sort of writing that looks like it was carved into the wood at some point in the past. I think that the writing has just now become more visible, because, even though it was “fixed” in the past, some sort of wear has occurred again, making the writing visible (dream “logic”).

I am trying to read it, but my head cannot stay up for very long - as I am “locked” in the sleep mode and cannot quite fully wake myself up even though my eyes are wide open. There is something about the year 1938, I think. Some sort of distortion takes place and it looks like some sort of animal or creature (a mouse?) in the middle of the hall but I focus into a more awake mode and see that my perception is seriously screwed up and that I had been looking at the metal toolbox by the front door of the hall and that it is somehow of “reversed” 3-D imagery so that it was concave-like into the wall instead of being a box. This annoys me so much that I keep pushing myself awake by looking into the hall, but fail, and my head falls and I sleep an hour or so longer with mild sleep paralysis. This would be a potentially dangerous state if physical action was really required, I think, although it is probably likely I would be fully awake if there was an actual potential threat.

In the continuing actual dream state again, when my eyes are again closed, there are two intense perfectly circular beams of light coming down from the sky, which reminds me a lot of the special effects in “The Frighteners” when souls were supposedly going into Heaven. I am in awe and wonder as if it means the “end of the world” - in “some ways” (but oddly, not in a bad way, though there is a sense of loss and sadness). I get this overwhelming feeling that the whole Earth is moving in a different way or not being where it should be, like going out of orbit or something (but oddly, perhaps not “physically” out of orbit - hard to explain). A little later, I am walking around, looking for the rays, but I cannot see them now…

This was one of the last dreams in my old online journal from 2007, just as it was written other than with only minor edits for grammar and spelling.

Three days after this dream, I heard of an older brother in the USA dying. Another older brother died after that in June of 2008. I am not sure why the number 1938 seemingly appeared as they were both born in the 1940s (1940 and 1947 to be exact). I had no clue this would happen as I did not have that much contact and when I did, they were doing fine.

This dream takes place in a fair sized mansion. The occupants of the mansion are a brown haired husband and his rich blond haired wife. The have a dark haired Latino maid who lives with them and cleans the house while they are at work. The wife is a snob and treats her husband and maid with contempt. The husband is not rich and works in a humble car mechanics shop, to his rich wife's dismay. The entire dream takes place from the third person perspective.


One morning the maid on the second floor of the mansion doing some chores when she hears "I want him dead!" come from the wife's room. Curious, the maid leans her ear against the door and eavsdrops. Some of the words are muffled but the maid is sure that she hears the wife complaining about her "dead beat husband" and how the quickest way "to get rid of him" would be. The phone conversation ends and the maid panics and rushes back to her cleaning duties but she is nervous over what she heard and her hands shake. The wife exits her room and stops suddenly, to glare at the nervous maid for a moments before hastily making an exit from the mansion.

The maid goes to the man's work place, a back alley car mechanic shop, and tries to tell him what she overhead and believes that his wife is going to try and kill him. The man disregards what the maid is trying to tell him, saying that while he and his wife do have their differences, he does not believe that she would try to kill him. The maid protests but the man tells her to go back to the mansion and not to worry about it.

The maid is ruminating about the situation while she cleans the mansion when suddenly the wife shows up in the middle of the day with several plastic bags in hand. The maid asks the wife why she is not at work and the wife curtly responds with "I went shopping." The wife and the maid do not look at each other directly and the maid pretends to not notice what the wife is doing, even as the wife empties the shopping bags and throws them down on the kitchen table. She puts away a few groceries and then carries a large white box up to her room. The wife returns empty handed, gets quickly gets back into her car and leaves.

The maid picks up the seemingly empty shopping bags to put them away when a small crumpled piece of paper falls out of one. When it is uncrumpled, it turns out to be a hand written receipt for twelve hand guns. The wife's signature is below the amount paid for the weapons. There is a crudely drawn sketch of one of the guns in the middle of the document. The monetary amount and names are written in a red ink, while the sketch of the gun is in black ink.

The maid leaves the mansion and goes back to the man's work place, shows him the gun reciept and asks in a demanding voice "So what do you make of this??" The man just shrugs and says nothing, though the expression on his face seems to be a mix of concern and worry.

Morning of November 9, 2007. Friday.



I am at our “home”, but the building is completely unfamiliar except for some furniture that we have in real life. I am taking a nap in one room when about five or six people come in. Most of them are strangers, but one is someone I have known in real life who is a bit of a bully (and rather strong) but who literally has some sort of congenital disorder and is unable to read or learn much.

This man shouts at me - something about me moving the furniture instead of him and the other people who are visiting - because only I am strong enough to do anything like this and am somehow supposedly shirking my responsibility in this case - everyone else should not have to do anything because I am apparently able to do everything more efficiently. There is some remark about me having “paranormal powers” (and that the older man is angry because of this - of which it is implied that it is the only real reason he is yelling after all) which is not something I would consider viable in real life, as it is not an “ability” in my opinion, just something that naturally happens.

Anyhow, there is a very heavy large bookcase near one wall. I put the tip of one of my fingers under one of the higher shelves and effortlessly lift it fairly high as if it was weightless. After that, I yell back at the bully and notice that he is only about two feet high. I say something like, “What happened to you? You used to be a few inches taller than me, and now you are way down there, only about two feet high…” The man kind of looks around like he is not quite sure what had happened, but seems only mildly annoyed.

I then hover in the air and swiftly fly to an area in another part of the building where there are many library shelves. In order to get past one area that is like a miniature hallway, I have to move sideways and do some kind of fancy martial arts while flying at the same time.

There are three Japanese girls (teachers?) that need my help in building something. It is like a school desk with larger visible screws set in a five-spot pattern (as on a die) on the tabletop (a pattern that seems to have had significance in past dreams, it seems). There seems to be another tabletop they want to put over (or replace with?) the original. The Japanese girls seemingly do not know how to use the drill (or perhaps it is too heavy for them), so I take it and drill part of the center of the tabletop near the center screw. I move it around and the tabletop turns into old garden soil and becomes hollow farther down. There is what looks like some sort of (Japanese) green grass lizard or Miyako grass lizard (except that it has two pair of “swept back” horns on its head at one point and a narrower “American flag” red-and-white stripe pattern on its back - and becomes or is already some sort of distorted horned toad). It jumps on my shoulder near my ear. In my dream, it is supposedly the most dangerous creature that exists (false memory), but I have no fear whatsoever. Also in the dirt is a “giant” lesser siren of a black color which then also seems to be on me in some way (which does not make sense, as it would otherwise be too large to sit on my shoulder or arm). I say something calmly like, “could you please get this off of me so I can finish my work” and wake up somewhat annoyed.

UPDATE (as in original journal): Precognitive (or remote-viewed) - when I went out to the living room after my wife was back from shopping - there was a toy lizard that my four-year-old son had picked to buy - no indication this would happen whatsoever and I had never seen one like it before. It really puzzled me for a few minutes as to how it “came from my dream” and then I finally asked what it was. (I thought perhaps it was an older toy, but again - it had just been purchased). It was identical to the one in my dream. I have noticed that the strongest precognitive (or possibly remote viewing in this case - however you want to label this very common yet unexplainable type of event) aspects of dreams often happen as the last portion, especially when seemingly unrelated to the main plot of the dream (such as with my “Silver Manta” dream, with the “graffitied” telephone pole in the wrong location).

I find it amusing (yet it is also sad and unfortunate) that people try to come up with “explanations” for something that is far too complex and layered to be coincidental and can only be attributed to something most people cannot truly relate to - or explain at all through scientific means (supposedly) - at this time in history. However, I do have the unfortunate task of living in a world with the “cop-out” mentality vs. the “occult” mentality, neither of which seem right to me even though I did marry the lifelong girl of my dreams with the revelations of my dreams.

The dream starts off with me walking down a road, clasping a beige canvas bag tightly to my chest. It feels as if there are books or stacks of paper in the bag. I am about 12 years old and wearing a light blue sweater over a white shirt, a grey skirt, and black dress shoes. I know that I am on my way to my art teacher's house but the neighbourhood I am walking through is unfamiliar and I do not recognize it as any place I know in waking life. The sky is clear and the air light, but there are no people on the streets and I do not see any cars on the road.

I walk past a small house that has an open window on the ground floor. Through the window I can see a television set and there is a local news station reporting the death of a man named Robbie Ritchie. A photograph of the man is displayed and he has dark brown hair and eyes, is slightly tanned and has a stubbly chin. The dead man seems vaguely familiar. I continue walking for a few blocks more until I come to my art teacher's house and brush lucidity with the thought that it looks nothing like her house in waking life (I do not become lucid however). It is a three story townhouse with blue wood panelling and an enclosed garage (with dark brown paneling) to one side.

As I approach the cement stairs that lead up to the front door, a man who is crying comes rushing out of the apartment and quickly turns towards the garage and disappears inside. The man looks exactly like the dead man on t.v except that he has sandy blond hair and is clean shaven. I walk up the stairs and into the apartment. My art teacher, Ms. V, looks exactly as she currently appears in walking life. There is a young, thin, blond woman sitting at the same table. I do not recognize her as anyone I know. The young woman appears to be about 16 or 17 years old and is wearing a white sweater over a light blue shirt and a long black skirt. Ms. V and Blondie are sitting at a white table doing arts and crafts. The white table intersects another table that contains a pile of towels and more craft supplies. Blondie is knitting something with dark blue yarn and Ms. V is sorting bits and peices of fabric into several small bins.

I put my canvas bag down on a clear space on the long white table and ask Ms. V who the man rushing out of her apartment is. She says that his name is Sean before turning her full attention back to sorting. I then ask her if she knows anyone by the name of Robbie Ritchie. Ms. V continues to sort the fabric bits and gives me a peculiar stare, but says nothing. The young blond woman says that Sean is Robbie's younger brother and is upset because he just found out about Robbie's death. I heard what the young blond girl said, but I did not respond. I do not know exactly what, but there was something about the blond girl that annoyed me and I wanted nothing to do with her.

I started looking over the many art and craft supplies on the tables when Ms. V rose suddenly and started to leave. She said something about talking to Sean before she disappeared out the front door. I was not thrilled at being left alone with the blond girl whom I did not know and did not like. She started talking to me about something and for the most part I pretended to listen and did not respond beyond nodding my head at irregular intervals, so I cannot remember now what she said. I am sure that it was nothing important anyway.

I needed a cloth for something and started looking through the pile of towels on the far table for one. I mistook the dishtowel on the top as a cloth and was confused when I picked it up and discovered what it really was. I cannot remember now why I wanted a cloth, but I do recall becoming very frantic because I could not find one.


The dream ends there. I do not know anyone named Robbie (or Sean) Ritchie and I do not know what the significance of learning about his death in my dream is.

I am in an undergroud museum of some sort. I am thinner, taller and paler looking than I am in waking life. Actually, I think my character looks a lot like Robin the Witch except I have shoulder length hair that is not tied up. There is a pair of black sunglasses that I am wearing at the beginning of the dream, but they disappear at some point. I can only remember this dream in fragments:


- badly lit, underground passage made of stone.
- display cases that look like overgrown court yards and open up the the sun above. (Most of the light comes from these)
- a stone hearth with a lever in front of it
- secret elevator behind hearth
- elevator goes up to an indoor, goth themed waterslide park?
- only one waterslide in middle of room. I climb to top to see what looks like, but am forced to go down.
- slide takes me all the way back down to underground passage
- use hidden hearth elevator again
- go back to top of waterslide, get into argument with young woman who wants to go down first since there is no one else on the slide. I concede after a while.
- something about finding another secret of the place?

This dream I had was long but because I did not write it down when I awoke I have forgotten most of it. The part that I do remember took place somewhere in between the middle and the end.


A lean, young man with frizzy brown hair and I are in a small hotel room. The door is to my right, the bed in front of me and a narrow window to my left. There is a wooden nightstand with a small white lamp on one side of the bed but other than that the room is empty. The translucent sheer curtains of the window are pulled back and tied in a knot to keep them open. The carpet is a garish lime green and the bed's duvet is a dark green with pale yellow sheets underneath. Everything appears clean and orderly.

The young man is not someone I recognize from waking life and for some reason we are standing near the window having an argument. I cannot remember what the argument was about but I turn my back on him out of frustration. Before I can go anywhere the guy pulls a gun out of his pants, grabs me in a headlock with his right arm and holds the gun the my left temple. He screams and spits in my ear (but I cannot remember about what) and I am too startled to move. He stops yelling for a moment and his grasp slackens just enough that I can squirm out of the headlock. The young man does not make any attempt to stop me from doing so and lowers his weapon. He silently stares out of the window and I stare at him for a while.

I make a move to leave but the young man turns around and points the gun at me again, saying that I "can never leave". I was not afraid that he was going to shoot me, rather that he was going to hurt himself in some way. I sat down on the end of the bed and asked him to give me the gun, which he had again lowered to his side. He shakes his head, refuses to hand it over, leans against the window frame, crosses his arms and stares at the carpet. For a while the young man does not talk to me or even look at me and I sit on the edge of the bed, feeling frustrated and bored.

The young man suddenly begins pacing back and forth in front of the window, waving the gun around wildly and yelling at the top of his lungs about whatever is upsetting him. Since he does not address me or look at me as he rages I think for a moment that he has forgotten about my presence. I contemplate making a break for the door but the desire to take the guy's gun is stronger than wanting to leave for some reason. I edge myself to the end of the bed, closest to the window, and watch the young man's movements carefully.

I stand up slowly and ask him if there is anything I can do for him. He does not answer but he stops yelling and waving the gun but continues to pace back and forth. His eyes are opened wide and he sweating. When I see my chance I grab his left wrist (of which hand is holding the gun) with my left hand and pin it against the wall with all my bodyweight. The young man could have easily punched me or grabbed me in a headlock with his free hand, but he does not. Instead he uses his right hand to grab the wrist of my left hand (that has his left hand pinned) and tries to pull himself free of my grasp.

Wrapping my right hand around the barrel of the gun I succeed in wiggling it from his grasp when I dig the nails of my left hand as hard as I can into his wrist. The guy backs off to the far corner of the room, crosses his arms protectively across his chest and sulks. I toss the gun on the bed and leave the hotel room. The young man does not try to come after me.

Morning of September 29, 2007. Saturday.



I am living in a ghetto, in, I believe, an old apartment building on what seems like at least the third or fourth floor or higher. Actually, I am not sure if I live there or not since I do not recognize anything or seem to know a couple people I may or may not be living with. They do not even seem all that aware of me. Mostly, they remain in the kitchen and I mostly stay in the living room area.

The main focus is on the television near the front door, of which something rather strange is happening to it. There are what seem to be holes and cracks in the glass, but which, oddly, actually seem to seal up as others appear elsewhere. There is some sort of concept that seems difficult to relate, like the glass is some sort of link between two different dimensions; “mine”, and other worlds beyond, but which are perhaps random, or changing, and varying in potential, growing stronger, or growing weaker (at random?).

I am somewhat wary; not really afraid; just suspicious of what could result. Some sort of ugly face forms in parts like a jigsaw puzzle (sort of like bits of static forming into three-dimensional solids from more random pieces) automatically sorting itself out over the imagery of an unrelated television show. Out comes some sort of monster, vampire-like (but not a typical “movie vampire”), and mostly colorless. Now I am somewhat concerned, as the creature screams (seemingly in anger at being disturbed?), but I am still not afraid.

Time passes. The creature actually seems afraid to go very far after seeing the city outside the window (it is late at night). He cowers on a sofa and eventually seems to be annoyed by this world and eventually breaks up into bits of “static” (like squarish moths with reflective wings) which flows back into the television. Even though he is like a powerful demon or devil, mankind seems far worse to him than his own essence, and the “monster” is more and more like a sad comic strip character before he goes back to wherever he came from.

Later, there is more activity across the glass of this strange television. I see eyes again, but this time it is a beautiful girl in some sort of dark green Robin-Hood-like outfit (but with more variety in color and ornamentation) that very slowly emerges, head first. She has a bow and a set of arrows and seems to be some sort of elf-like creature and “at one” with the powers of nature but somehow more powerful (both physically and mentally) than any human on Earth - because of that supposed direct link to the forces of nature. I do not think she can “control” nature, but remain in some sort of perfect “frequency” (harmony) with the energy as a whole. I do not think she can speak English or understand it, although she seems to be linked to me somehow (perhaps a more fanciful version of my wife). She seems to reflect more of a sense of personal power than the earlier “monster”, almost as if I subliminally created both but which were “incubated” in this other dimension behind the glass of the television. My dream eventually breaks up into less vivid patterns that I cannot quite remember other than a feeling of deep respect and understanding for beings that “incubate” within the energy of the television somehow, which seems to represent features of the Source (or other levels of consciousness) in this case rather than real-life television, which I do not respect at all. (Of course, the television itself likely represents the dreaming process in indirectly utilizing other levels of mind and perhaps collective consciousness.)

The female elf-like and Robin-Hood-like character is a seemingly neutral character that has sparsely recurred in my dreams since around age sixteen.

I had this short dream after worrying all day that I missed an appointment with my therapist.


I dreamed I was at my therapists office. I was sitting in my usual chair across from her desk, but for some reason I was wearing a pink sweater that belongs to my mother and I had a purse that looked exactly like hers, only it was a reddish brown instead of black.

My therapist was at her computer typing something out. She turned to me and asked if I had "called them yet," to which I replied "yes," even though I was not sure who 'they' were. My therapist lowered her head and said "Then I'm sorry, we cannot help you anymore," and she informed me that my sessions with that particular counseling service were over and my file would be destroyed.

I walked out of her office and down the stairs to the lobby, but it looked decriped and the windows were boarded up. The front door had a large chain around it, preventing anyone from opening it. The electricity was on, but I could not see anyone around or any exit that wasn't closed up and I did not know how I was going to get out of there. I felt very cold.

Morning September 25, 2007. Tuesday.



In the first part of my dream, I fly around, but sometimes in a sitting position or even sideways (as if on my side), or “swimming” very slowly in midair. I talk with an unknown woman at a bus stop as I hover in one area, but I am not sure of the overall meaning of anything she is saying, yet I pretend to understand, because she looks as if she would go from cheerful to very sad if I did not understand her. It may be something about a party, a couple names, and things I would probably not know unless I was an actual friend of hers. I get the strong impression that she is dreaming, so I figure she will wake from “her” dream when I come back from wherever it is I am going.

I meet a (unknown) man who asks me where he is. At this point, it is some sort of business building with mostly featureless long halls. I casually explain to him that he is dreaming and show him around, and also show him some tricks one can do in the dream state. I say how you can even fly in dreams. We get to the front part of the building, but he goes off to find someone to ask for street directions instead of believing my claim that he is dreaming.

When I fly back the other way, there is a fairly strong wind. I still manage to get through it by taking different positions (and at one point I am literally sitting in midair waiting for the wind to change slightly) and when I change my position so that I am standing but leaning a bit forward (still in midair), I start musically vocalizing Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” (with “da” intonations) in a semi-sarcastic way to the people that are walking and at bus stops.

The unknown female is still waiting at the bus stop and says hello to me again. Later on, I am at my sister Marilyn’s house in the United States. Someone puts several both small and large envelopes through the mail slot (on the porch). The name on the envelopes (all the same) is not one I am familiar with. It is seemingly a girl’s name I do not recall. Just a little later, there are two shadows at the door. I am thinking that they are either police detectives or underground gangsters, which seems to be the same concept in-dream. I am thinking they are here to claim the envelopes (some of which seemed thicker) even though I was thinking of seeing what was in them.

They turn out to be a landlord from years back (in Australia), and oddly, Forrest Tucker (who died in 1986), in his persona from the original “Ghost Busters” television show from the 1970s. They are both dressed exactly the same, in 1940s gangster-style suits, but with extra-tall hats. The landlord (who lost his property to the bank to some sort of apparently legal “funny business” against him) asks if I still have the key to one of his properties. I do (false memory) and go and get it for him. Forrest adds to the concern by telling me to hurry, as it seems the landlord must go in and get something that belongs to him before the new owners get back (in real life, he had lost all he owned that was at the property as well).

After that, there is something about drinking a bottle of whiskey with my wife Zsuzsanna. I find a bottle of whiskey and a couple other types of drinks in the house. (Neither of us ever bought alcohol in our life other than me buying shots of brandy at a tavern once a week when I lived in America when cashing my paychecks at the Red Lantern for less than a year.) I pretend to be drunk, somewhat similar to the style Foster Brooks (note “Foster” and “Forrest” have the same letters), but not as extreme. I actually seemed to have gotten the bottles from Foster Brooks in some sort of birthday celebration, which is not for a couple months yet. I do not contemplate the obvious confusion of Forrest Tucker with Foster Brooks until after I am awake.

---

Looking up information on Foster Brooks, I see that he died on the twentieth of December, which is my birthday - something I do not remember focusing on before at any time.

---

The dream I had last night took place in an abandoned church. The building was made of stone, which was badly worn by weather, and had many places where the roof had collapsed or a peice of wall had fallen in. The layout of the place consisted of one floor with a staircase that led up to a platform above the altar in one corner of the building. Even though it was daylight outside, the inside of the church was very dark.

I was walking with my mom and dad and a few other people I do not recognize down a dirt road in the middle of what seemed like nowhere. The sky overcast and grey, but bright. When we came upon the abandoned church, my dad wanted to go inside and take some pictures with his digital camera. I felt something "evil" about the place but for some reason I was compelled to follow him in. Everyone went inside except for my mom, who waited outside.

As soon as I walked into the abandoned church I knew it was a bad idea. The darkness that filled the place was not natural and seemed to be filled with ghosts or monsters or whatever unseen malacious entities would lurk in the dark places of an abandoned church. The invisible beings seemed to use the darkness as a cover. These creatures began pulling at my clothes and hair as soon as I crossed the threshold but my dad nor the other people seemed to notice anything.

At one point the invisible monsters grabbed my ankles and left arm and lifted me in the air above my father. He did seem to notice at all, even when I was lifted near the roof, and I found myself unable to scream. I struggled wildly but could not free myself from the invisible hands that held me. I remember feeling more angry then scared and gritted my teeth and sort of half-snarled at the darkness. I don't remember how I got out of there but the end of the dream had everyone walking away from the abandoned church as I lagged behind. I looked over my shoulder and saw many pairs of glowing red eyes looking out at me from the darkness.