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Morning of November 3, 1977. Thursday.



This was one of the only times a dream seemed to be interrupted by a different dream in an atypical, somewhat startling fashion. I was in one dream and then another dream “broke into it” like a radio broadcast very suddenly “drowning out” another with a completely different degree of awareness.

My second dream was much more vivid than the first (and with growing lucidity). In the first dream, I seem to be at a television studio yet not fully present (not disembodied, just not directly in the environment), the ceiling being about twelve feet high. The New Mouseketeers, all dressed in plain white clothes, seem to be involved in some sort of unlikely science-fiction movie or televised special (perhaps live) but they are also dancing on roller skates and moving past the camera several times without the camera panning in any way. When I look around, I mostly see very large white cubes, almost like steps (but too tall to use as steps and about three cubes high closest to the walls), but possibly containers. It seems fairly dark and isolated in some areas of the huge building (but not completely dark in any areas) and the otherwise featureless warehouse-like setting. Their dancing, motions, and singing (which I think the main line or title is “The World’s a Balloon”) becomes slightly annoying (almost perceived as bizarre) though they seem to be getting a bit more enthusiastic and practiced in their performance, almost frenzied in fact, but in a comedic sense.

Suddenly, there is a clearer awareness of mood and location that jumps like a needle on a record and I am in a different dream flying over Key West almost as if I had been plucked from one dream (of a completely different level of clarity and awareness) and put into another. Even the depth perception seems quite different and somewhat enhanced. A very long bridge stretches out over the ocean as I watch the cars move over it as I fly along. It is extremely vivid though the ocean is a deep purple. Everything else looks normal including the sky. Dreams do have a tendency to jump from scene to scene in some cases, but this was actually like a different type of experience, like actually “changing channels” and a quite different mental awareness at the same time.

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Morning of October 22, 1977. Saturday.



Steve J, Steve W, and possibly Tina L, and others and I are visiting what is supposedly Chick Corea’s house. There is something very special about the house and it has some sort of “magic” as well as being haunted. This has something to do with the jazz fusion group Return to Forever. We go up a flight up steps which seem to be fairly narrow and along the wall (and with no railing). Later, the area looks much like my boarding house on King Street before I lived there or saw any of the inside and there was a very clear precognitive sense.

There is some minor ambiguity at one point which is related to a book or movie called “Korea’s House”.

There is a point where we are all leaning back against the wall slightly to stop ourselves from going over the other side of the staircase and it also appears I am watching the scene (including seeing myself) from another perspective. We look as if we are slightly distorted from fun-house mirrors. There is also something about lightning (or a bolt of lightning) moving around inside the house as if it was a “pet” of some kind.

There is the idea that someone hanged themselves on a chandelier in one room (which turned out to be related to something the pinhead Leonard S told me later on when I lived on King Street and thus also precognitive, though the story was only his fantasy).

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Last updated in 1980 with regard to the precognitive validation.

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Morning of October 15, 1977. Saturday.



I go out to the chicken shed and notice that our turkens (who naturally have no feathers on their necks as a main feature of the breed), also called Transylvanian naked necks and wrongly (rather stupidly) believed to be a cross between a chicken and a turkey by some as well as of the widely mistaken belief that they do not crow (they actually crow louder and more often than other roosters, just with a lower pitch due to their bigger size). They are also not “rare” in North America as claimed by Wikipedia. They were actually more common than a lot of other exotic breeds in the region we lived in, in Florida in the 1970s. Thus, even a breed of a chicken generates several myths and invalid ideas; tells me all I need to know about people regarding any potential for general credibility.

At any rate, in my dream, the necks of our turkens are very long and serpentine and giving me an eerie feeling that they might become dangerous, even venomous. In another part of the same dream, a pet young black-and-white Polish rooster named “Sluggo”, very similar in appearance to a French mottled Houdan (of which I had a rooster of one called “Fonzie” and his hen “Pinkie”) is not moving as he is facing towards me. After a time, I understand that he is completely flat (front to back, while standing), and perhaps not alive (I am not sure - but being alive in such a form seems worse than not) and feel even more eerie and “out-of-place”. Time passes, and a group of miniature (not bantam, just “shrunken”) various hens are doing the can-can and for some reason, giving me a nightmarish feeling. Some of the small quail we have in a larger cage on the ground in the shed seem to explode, but they are still there afterwards somehow, in sort of blurred patterns with very ruffled feathers. I awake feeling nervous and ill, but am not actually ill a few minutes later.

Morning of October 14, 1977. Friday.

Dream #: 3,952-02. Reading time: 40 sec.



The Fonz from “Happy Days” (the television series) has found the Jekyll and Hyde formula.

It seems to be morning. The Fonz is visible to me through a fictitious window on the east side of our Cubitis home, more to the north end where the chimney area otherwise is in real life. I am watching him from the backyard, from about ten feet away from the back of the house.

He growls, waves his arms, and snaps his fingers angrily, trying to get attention. All the girls outside near the carport run and scream, and soon, none remain. He eventually returns to normal and has a cheerful expression.

I cheerfully say to him, “Hey Fonzie, you snapped your fingers, and all the girls disappeared.“

He giggles childishly, replying “Ain’t that a switch?” (He is implying that girls usually come to him when he snaps his fingers.) The sound of his voice is vivid.

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The key process here is wall mediation. (See "wall mediation explained” in my online dream journal.)

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Morning of October 14, 1967. Saturday.



I am at my new school in late morning - seemingly in Florida, but it is not like any school I have been to in real life and it is also at least eight storeys high. The building is mostly missing the first two storeys (from under the higher storeys) and the rest is hovering in the air. It is not perfectly horizontal on the bottom, though, as one corner is “hanging down” more with more bricks and the bottoms of the outer walls are slightly on the diagonal.

I look at this now (March 2014) as being related to my transition from Wisconsin to Florida in that school was perceived as “incomplete” (or “unknown”) and “beyond my reach” during one time period. There was a longer period right after moving to Florida where I did not go to school (but did get to sit outside on the covered sidewalks on some days and sometimes talk to students - my first friend was Toby T, who became my best friend through much of those years). Someone had informed my parents that I might be uncomfortable with “learning” some things all over again as well as having to adapt culturally to the different mentality of the south (which is often seen or proclaimed as supposedly more racist and uneducated, though I was born in Florida - I was called rude slang Asian names by the majority for years even though I have no Asian heritage whatsoever - most people mistake even the slightest Native American features for Asian in the south, or used to - but this mostly destroyed any potential for perceived credibility regarding mainstream culture throughout my life though was only a small part of it). However, I was still always technically at least two grades ahead for my age (although never accepted the idea of being in the higher grades due to wanting to stay with friends as well as being near students usually much taller than me).

I stopped going during the middle of tenth grade, after a previous longer break (relative to the strange cysts in my right thumb and wrist and a longer time period of pain and a hospital stay) and got my GED, scoring the highest to date at that time for that region (nearly 98%).

Racially (when I was not constantly being called rude Asian names or asked weird questions by teachers on my “obviously oriental background”), I was seen as Métis, but people, because of my last name and its Anglicization (from Ladoueppe), assumed far more Canadian background than I had as well and the term was generic in the PAIA (not referring specifically to the Canadian groups but to all of mixed lineage). However, having lived in Wisconsin for years but completely losing my Floridian accent in a few months, people still thought I “sounded Canadian”, even most Australians, after living in Australia for twenty years (It is far more to do with my way of speaking than any regional accent).

Back to the dream. I do hang around the building for quite some time before going to the very large (American) football field in another area. It actually seems the size of about three football fields.

Strangely, there seems to be several games playing at once, all in the same general area, and moving between plays from different games. Even so, they mostly seem dressed the same. I do not get involved with the players in any way. I spend most of the dream time watching the “game” and wondering if it is just some form of strange practice for real games to come.

Morning of October 8, 1967. Sunday.



A sparsely recurring dream (probably only about four times in memorable ones). I am aware of a “rainbow” in the elementary school playground that is referred to (at least in my original dream journal title) as an “iron rainbow”. I have not found any other titular references. Even at this young age, I still seemed somewhat aware of the concept of phasing; that is, in relation to the varying proportional positive/negative polarity of two simultaneous combinations of a state creating a different totality when either has a particular level of polarity. In this case, it seems the environmental space is able to hold a particular “state” at different times; the state of where the “iron rainbow” fully exists (when the polarity is just right, seemingly based on weather), one where it is invisible or almost invisible but still somewhat touchable, and one where it does not exist at all. This is comparable to the phase shifting in two audio sources combined in particular ways, from very loud and “robot-like” (a sort of metallic, hollow sound, with far less bass), to complete silence (non-existence of any audio of any kind, even at the kHz end, and even at -144 dB) when with opposite polarities when combined at the same volume level.

The “iron rainbow” is much like a set of playground monkey-bars, but longer, more complex, and sort of trapezoidal (in comparison to the one I played on in real life, which was more squarish). I think it is only there at certain times, relating to the weather. Not many students are using it and there are many times when no one uses it. I ponder on its safety, yet there is still a sense of nostalgia (probably false nostalgia from earlier versions of my dream that I did not recall at all). Apparently, there are actually arc-shaped monkey-bars, but this one in my dream was not really rainbow-like at all even though it was called such.

Night of October 5, 1977. Wednesday.



This is one of those dreams I did more personal work with at the time because it was much longer than usual and more vivid throughout. I had other “versions” of it later on and made a comic which I no longer have.

Near the beginning, there was the idea of going on a long journey. Part of the journey was related to finding answers and learning from a large new computer, supposedly the best built thus far. This was long before computer technology was a more familiar asset in everyday life. It would be about the size of a house and all the data in the world would be active within it. It was almost like a quest, I suppose, or maybe a play on “question” relative to the idea of a quest, as that is regarding the last scene of my dream.

The first part involves scenes relating to watching the shapes of clouds in the backyard of my home in Cubitis. For some reason, Ernie and Bert, the “Muppets” from “Sesame Street”, are doing a longer skit from behind the area of the foundation of the shed that my father had been taking down that section of. I cannot quite hear the routine. A light rain begins to fall. The rain sizzles in an odd way on the Muppets’ “skin”.

There are other people with me, mostly unfamiliar, but I seem to be on my own at times. My older brother Jim joins us in the last section, though. We go through different landscapes, heading southwest. One scene involves looking down from a narrow wooden bridge over a stream, not that far above the water. Even though the stream is likely to be a freshwater stream, I see a colorful (seemingly spotted) orange octopus which then seems to be a brittle star. Although an octopus has eight arms and a brittle star has five, the brittle star in my dream seems to have eight arms at times. I watch it for a few minutes through the wavy patterns of the water’s surface. I did find out much later, though, that there are eight-armed sea stars in Australian waters near where I was to live many years later. An awareness of the numerical pattern regarding the number of arms (or assumed arms) being eight and five. My first initial came up, then a zero (as a potential egg?), the full four-digit sequence turned out to be a way to easily manipulate the “choices” that computers used many years later (interestingly, in 32-bit hexadecimal, which came long after the 16-bit ones) and led me to finding out all I needed to know about computer technology and the bizarre lies and popular myths that were built over a longer time period to where it now all seems like a mythological religion in the mainstream domain - to be able to get a program to do anything I wanted. (The bridge over the stream in my dream seemed to later represent the concept of “being above the mainstream” - perhaps meaning having more knowledge than the mainstream.)

There are other scenes of moving through landscapes, reminding me a little of “Damnation Alley”, which I had only seen the trailer of at the time but did see eventually. The movie has a similar aspect as one part of my dream - very strange “clouds” (unusual bands in the sky), an effect I do not recall seeing in any other movie, and quite intriguing, really. I also had a paperback book with stills from the movie, which I think I later got fifty cents for at a bookstore in Wisconsin. I would not refer to the dream environments as dystopian, though, it is quite varied.

The outcome of my dream is that I and others reach a large business building where the computer is kept. It almost seems as if we have not traveled that far or maybe are still near the area from where we first started in my backyard. My brother Jim is there (who had a higher interest in computers - more than anyone else I knew - long after this dream - and was the first person I knew in real life to get a computer) and talking to different people who are behind desks. One part of my dream seems to feature a structure that is somewhat like a railroad track - creating impressions of both underground mines and the “Haunted Mansion” ride at Disney World. It seems one section of the tracks goes near or even into the large computer.

I approach the computer and ask it what the family name of cats is. After standing there a short time, a paper prints out (as well as it being said in an electronic voice) the word “Felidae”. I then ask it what the family name of dogs is, and another paper comes out that reads “Canidae”, also with audio.

“Do you know everything?” I ask the computer.

“Yes,” says the computer, “Welcome to MYOPIA!”

“Don’t you mean Utopia?” I ask.

“I can’t see,” mumbles the “computer”, and then it curses. I lift a small, rectangular, silver door at about upper-chest height and a very chubby, sweating man looks up through the small patch of light going into the area he is enclosed in. He has a large open book he appears to be looking things up in. He then runs out from the side of the computer by opening a larger metallic door and at first I try to catch him (to publicly expose the whole business as a fraud), but I soon give up. He jumps into a coal cart and it moves down the track to the north. The “great computer” was completely fake.

Morning of October 2, 1977. Sunday.



Pearl Bailey (who shared my mother’s middle name of Mae) lives a few houses north of me in Cubitis on the same side (east) of Highway Seventeen. She seems to almost be like my mother, or perhaps a “replacement” for my deceased mother, though my mother did not die until 2002 in real life (yet on this same date). She tells me about a pterodactyl seen in the area and from there my dream has Hollywood-movie-like aspects. (In the background, there is some sort of association with “won’t you come home, Pearl Bailey”; and there may also be an association with Beetle Bailey.)

I eventually have a long, dramatic battle with the pterodactyl while flying a helicopter. It also seems it is part of a movie we are filming with a real pterodactyl and a possible real risk to me. I am not defeated and actually enjoy this adventurous dream. (In real life, I had a larger plastic model pterodactyl that I used in a trick outside photograph of my father where it looked “life-sized”. It had an interchangeable wing, one of which was implied to be injured/torn.)

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I have tagged this as precognitive due to the interesting coincidence of a different “Bailey” being listed directly before my mother’s obituary in 2002.

A helicopter (as well as a pterodactyl or pteranodon) is a flight symbol, and as such, signifies a real-time subliminal awareness of being in the dream state (and may or may not have an additional meaning), this being a natural association with the consciousness displacement of falling asleep or waking up. In fact, an astounding twenty percent of the tens of thousands of dreams I have documented and studied over fifty years contain flight symbols as such, often being directly linked to the waking prompt for obvious reasons (almost as obvious as the biological-based falling event, which rarely has an “interpretation” and is often solely the incidental precursor to waking).

Morning of October 1, 1967. Sunday.



I am on my own, possibly in late morning, in a drifting canoe, going southward over a river (the Hillsborough River) in a swamp in Florida that looks like a part of Lettuce Lake Park.

On the banks of the river are very tall cypress trees. There seem to be continuous tall vertically stretched faces of which are superimposed against the trees, but are likely not meant to be the trees themselves, more like a ghostly presence or a strange optical illusion, similar to a funhouse mirror effect.

A few of the faces seem wary of my presence, even though I am a young child, with mouths open, though there is no certainty at some points that they are aware of me. There is a bluish green hue on everything at times. The closely clustered faces, as well as being stretched from ground to treetop and very narrow in appearance, also seem to waver very slowly at times, or have a bend near the middle of the face. They are both male and female, mostly all adults. They are only to my right, near the bank of the river. The faces otherwise do not move much. Despite the eerie imagery, I feel no fear, especially as a few of the faces seem afraid of my presence at times.

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Variations of this dream, both lucid and non-lucid, occurred a number of times from earliest memory. The causes behind this dream are fully known. It developed over the autosymbolic rendering of “drifting into sleep” (spoken mainly by my mother in real life when she was describing my status when I was resting in bed) and mixing the association with drifting in a canoe into a recognized form of dream state induction, which of course has no waking life relevance due to it being a factor of the dream state itself. It is still a major factor of my dreams, water being autosymbolic of the essence of sleep. This dream’s setting was an area my family and I visited in real life when I was very young.

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Morning of September 30, 1967. Saturday.



Regardless of my dream’s setting seeming like a street intersection, there is indoor outdoor ambiguity. (I am unsure if I am inside a large building or outside on an actual street). It seems to be early morning before sunrise. It is dark, but I can discern certain details.

I become aware of what seems to be a Raggedy Ann doll hanging from a noose, though there is some degree of ambiguity where both hanging by the neck and hanging by the waist are considered. I mostly only see the silhouette of the doll itself and the shadow it casts. (My decision that it is hanging by the neck is based on influence from television Westerns such as “Gunsmoke”.)

I eventually get the impression that it is hanging from an overhead traffic light and might be meant to be a street sign. I see its shadow cast upon a wall (which, due to indoor outdoor ambiguity, may be either an external or internal wall). I am also aware of a stop sign in the same general area, but only in octagonal silhouette.

While pondering on why the doll is hanging from a traffic light and who might have put it up there, I slowly wake.

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Appearance of an intersection in a dream is autosymbolism for the neural gating of which occurs during RAS mediation. The indoor outdoor ambiguity validates this as being in the higher region of liminal space (when factors of the real indoor environment including the subliminal perception of really being asleep indoors, not necessarily rendered with bedroom implications, are modulated into the illusory outdoor setting of the dream state).

A doll in a dream is typically autosymbolism for being physically inactive in unconsciousness. Therefore, I can reason that the hanging doll is an emergent consciousness precursor without preconscious personification in this case.

It is the weekend in reality. I have concluded that, since my mother will not be coming in to wake me up earlier for school, the doll represents the emergent conscious factor as remaining passive, which means I can sleep longer or wake (as the intersection symbolizes the choice of), as there is no dominant waking alert factor.

Assuming the doll is hanging by the neck, it would additionally be a possible biological warning relating to incidental sleep apnea (which did not occur in this case), though this condition is extremely rare for me. If by the waist, possibly a warning relating to intestinal stressors (which had not been validated in this case).

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This online dream journal entry was reformatted from the source material, abridged, and clarified on Thursday, 22 February 2018.

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Personal trivia: “The Hanging Doll” was retitled “The Omen” in early 1969. I later changed it back to “The Hanging Doll” in late 1972 to be more descriptive.

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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 18, 1977. Sunday.



I am standing near the center of my Cubitis bedroom, possibly in late morning. A large owl flies down from the ceiling, as if through the open area with the ruined hanging tile, this feature caused by a leak (though this feature was more to the south side of my ceiling and the ceiling in my dream seems solid), and flies straight at my face. However, there seems no implied threat and no contact or “hit” occurs, as it is just the imagery without the expected impact - and it actually seems to vanish after this. It flies down from the northwest side of my room. It seems it may have somehow passed through the ceiling and thus I get the impression it might have been a ghost.

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This dream was possibly influenced by having heard noises between the roof and ceiling in real life previously, which my mother had said might be a trapped owl. However, the sounds had turned out to be large rats which began to occupy the area (and which did “tightrope routines” in running across the electrical cord from our house to the shed and back) even though we had never had them before in all the years we had lived there. Shortly after, I had both a "pet” owl (which my father rescued from the side of the road after it was attacked by crows in early morning) and a “pet” rat I named Ben, which had somehow gotten into the square hanging cage my Guinea pig had once occupied but at the time was occupied by an unnaturally small black bantam rooster (the smallest I had ever seen or heard of - his crow being a strange mouse-like squeak). The rat had not hurt the tiny rooster, which we put in a different cage.

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Despite this dream having an additional precognitive layer, the native (real-time) meaning is straightforward. An owl symbolizes the circadian rhythms of night and, as a flight symbol, additionally symbolizes being asleep and in the dream state. I am standing near the center of my bedroom (dream sign and subliminal foundation and origin of the dream self) and it flies down apparently through the ceiling (liminal space of the preconscious band). Overall, my dream simply means that the residual essence of the nighttime awareness is coalescing back into my dream self at the waking stage, as it nears morning in reality, making this dream extremely easy to understand the full meaning of.

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 11, 1977. Sunday.



I am outside near the concrete walkway to the shed in back of my Cubitis home. Curiously, there is an “unknown city” (at first) I become aware of to the west (mostly to the northwest) beyond the other side of Highway Seventeen. It is fairly rare for this scene to occur in my dreams with this directional orientation, as usually, unknown “new” cities appear to the east, beyond the railroad tracks. I notice one high building, probably the Empire State Building. I do not consider, however, that I live in Florida and nowhere near Manhattan.

Somehow, the building falls over, tipping to its side (possibly related to a military jet flying too close to the area, implying doomsday - a recurring in-dream concept at this time including the “Three Doomsday Jets” dream). Even though it was far away, it somehow suddenly ends up near where I am standing (though the area between the house and shed and between the house and neighbor’s orange grove is much more expansive than in reality). Strangely, it then begins to turn top over bottom (reminding me vaguely of a “twitching caterpillar” for some reason). The scene becomes highly ambiguous and extremely unrealistic. On the one hand, it is a building that collapsed (or rather “tipped over”) a great distance from my home, yet on the other hand is quite small at this point, like a model (though still implying the same full-sized building), only about ten feet high. It continues to turn top over bottom in a circle around me as if in a deliberate attempt to fall on me after failing the previous times (as if it holds some sort of conscious intent).

I become extremely uncomfortable and annoyed (with a growing “mental dullness” - my dream seeming only “half-rendered” at this point) at this persistent “thing”/skyscraper that wants to “fall” on me. It continues to dance around me in a circle in a top over bottom routine, somewhat in the manner of a dropped gyrating coin that never stops. I eventually perceive that I am only a few inches tall, though see myself from a higher disembodied perspective. It becomes almost like watching an annoying news report while half-asleep or in an intoxicated stupor. It is almost like I am trapped in having to stay in the act of running around in a circle, as the tower will never finish its presumed “falling over”, it seems, almost decaying into abstract incoherency just prior to waking, as dreams sometimes do.

UPDATE with grammar enhancements March 2015. I did not really see this as either significant or precognitive (even in 2001) originally (with regard to the September 11 attacks in 2001 over twenty years later), partly due to lack of a coherent scenario and the fairly rare “mental dullness” my dream seemed to generate - caused by a very mild headache in sleep which faded after fully waking (as well as it seeming to be the Empire State Building rather than one of the World Trade Center towers by conscious association that day). However, because I have seen thousands of examples of date-relevant associations regarding precognition and foreshadowing with my own dreams (and additionally via pop culture or incidental published works not relevant to my dreams), I presently feel there may be some sort of subtle link, regardless of the bizarre level of distortion and impossible dream imagery here.