Morning of September 25, 2019. Wednesday. Dream #: 19,273-02. Reading time: 1 min 45 sec. Post-induction: I am watching television in our present home though it changes to include a fictitious variation of the front yard of the Barolin Street house in the final scene. Zsuzsanna is with me at times. There is also a precursory preconscious simulacrum (as an unknown woman of about fifty) though vestibular dynamics (as well as cortical) remain inactive. Distorted remnants: The Naiad factor returns at a residual but distorted level. Two characters on a television show seem modeled after Zsuzsanna and me. Snow and wavy lines appear with static as the broadcast signal is weak. A cartoonish mermaid swims left on the screen (direction of induction orientation). Liminal dynamic as unusual imaginary eyes occurs (emerging liminal awareness of being in REM sleep). A young version of Eline Powell (from “Siren,” though only about ten in this scene) appears on the screen with a fixed gaze. The girl is supposedly the fictitious daughter of our “other selves” on the television series, though it seems as if she was just suddenly born ghostly as she is here. The eyes appear gray and layered, with too much sharpness. Nothing is threatening at any point. I remain puzzled, but in the back of my mind, I cannot recall anything about this process (usually the case with REM autosymbolism, though only in the second half of the sleep cycle). Cortical arousal sluggish: I go out to the front yard to see that our illogically big (fictitious) television antenna had blown off our roof and is now on the ground (left side of Barolin Street house when viewing from the front). Zsuzsanna and the unknown woman are with me to my left. I am trying to determine what the scene indicates. All of the dipoles are arcing down toward the ground, vaguely reminiscent of a weeping willow or the water trail from a circular water fountain. At first, I am unsure about what happened. I then consider how difficult it would be to get the antenna back onto our roof. I also see a white jeep. The antenna had almost hit its back, though some of the dipoles hang over it. The white jeep represents the potential initiation of imaginary physicality in the dream state (as any vehicle typically does). Without the “antenna working,” there is neither cortical nor vestibular enhancement (nor higher lucidity). Even instinctually, I was not attentive to my dream’s narrative as I was too warm in bed and somewhat uncomfortable at the time. An antenna usually represents co-occurrence with either emerging physicality (potential mind and body connection as this scenario implies), cortical arousal, or transpersonal communication (with another) in enigmatic space.
Morning of November 18, 2016. Friday. I non-lucidly become aware of being in the northeast bedroom of the Loomis Street house in La Crosse. (This means that my synaptic gating has held my memory of having fallen asleep, but not held my memory of my current location, thus my dream self accepts this erroneous location as current. In my dream, I have no focus on any relatives who lived here. I had not lived here since February 1994.) No east window is present, an error my dream self does not regard as incorrect. (This is due to synaptic liminal space gating being closed at this point and also why Zsuzsanna appears in my dream with me but as a younger incorrect rendering. Thus far, there are two literal threads, memory of having fallen asleep and partial recall of Zsuzsanna.) Over time, I slowly become aware of the evidence of an unthreatening haunting, which firstly only relates to marks appearing on the east wall, though it eventually seems like writing. This supposed ghost seems more like the real Zsuzsanna, though I am not directly aware of this fact in my dream. (This means that factors of my emergent consciousness are becoming active by way of RAS mediation. Threads of recall of who Zsuzsanna really is are becoming more dominant as I grow closer to waking. Well-known lifelong autosymbolism is rendered; “a wall as a liminal space divider”; that is, the precursory synaptic gating between dream self identity and conscious self identity. “Ghost writing” is utilized by way of RAS to augment language and reading skills, which typically do not viably exist in the non-lucid dream state.) Eventually, I go outside via the Loomis Street house’s back door, though I am then in the backyard of the Stadcor Street house in Brisbane. My dream self does not consider this impossible location change as erroneous or worthy of attention. (Synaptic gating has brought about a focus on a more recent location I had lived, but not my current address or viable conscious self identity.) There is a shed in the backyard which is similar to the Loomis Street house’s shed although it is also associated with the shed at our present address but mirrored. (A shed is typically autosymbolism for a specific type of memory recall and storage.) It seems to be early morning at this time. The haunting continues, in two-dimensional dynamics, on the outer wall of the shed that faces the back of the house (west, relative to the Stadcor Street house). The ghost seems to remain contained within the wall, but she communicates with writing and eventually speech. (This means that my emergent consciousness is becoming more active than before to where more viable threads of my physical status of being in bed with Zsuzsanna are extant.) A few random unknown people are eventually present near the shed. I notice that the ghost now has the power to direct lightning into the television antenna. I say “look at that” and point. Long thin bolts of lightning intriguingly jump about on the antenna. This causes me to feel somewhat wary. I think that the ghost may now become three-dimensional and perhaps even emerge from the television by going through the antenna and into the house. (This is autosymbolism for the waking transition in my dream’s final stage. It indicates subliminal awareness of Zsuzsanna’s neural energy as metaphorically coalescing with mine - I use “metaphorically” for people who cannot accept the existence of telepathy. The antenna is autosymbolism for serotonin receptors as well as synaptic efficacy. This is very similar autosymbolism as in dreams such as “Not my Fault”, a childhood dream from May 1971.) This type of haunting dream stems from the biological factor of being unconscious, though perception of vestibular system ambiguity is minimal here (as there is no association with flying, falling, or other implied movement). The reason for this dream, along with its meaning, has been validated in its correlation with thousands of occurrences of identical autosymbolism in RAS mediation in dreams since early childhood.
Before sleeping i said "Our Dreaming Mind, give me a dream about kadie's week 1 target" I just woke out of a dream It is (6:30 am Thursday 11-Dec) where I live and It is (12pm Wednesday 10-Dec) where kadie lives. Dream I woke-up slowely in a bed with another. I knew I had to steal that persons bag of metal parts. Keeping my head on my pillow I kept putting my hand in the bag, grabbing a handfull of spare-parts and placing the spare parts betweem their head and mine, between our pillows. The other person opened their eyes. I thought I was sprung (caught in the act of stealing) but they nodded and went back to sleep. I got up, put my booty in a small bag, covered the parts of a Data or C3PO-like robot with a small thin tea-towel. (Edit: two and then three antennas were poking-up and I was afraid the protruding antennas would get me caught) I went outside. I needed to escape. I was mostly relaxed. Two or 3 girls came to me to confirm the way off the nice prison premises. But they said that I mustn't try to leave yet. I need to see John. I walk through an office door and a 40-50 year old heavy-set, kind looking man, stood-up from his desk (with lots of work on it) and gently greeted me. It felt like his job was to help the many, many inmates of this nice prison to escape. End of dream (eod) Soooo o o o My guess is that the 1st kadie target is a pile of ... er... metal junk ... that can be assembled into a Star War's C3PO or a Star Trek's Data. And I think I have to lean how to assemble it to get out of this nice prison. Here is the thread hat inspired my "above" dream. ■■■ http://www.dreamviews.com/beyond-dre...ractice-2.html ■■■
Good morning, everybody. Last night I surprised myself by having a minor bit of dream control. I didn't control my dream. But I kind of determined the subject. Kaomea had posted a few cool songs in her dream journal a few days ago. So I wanted to share one song in particular, too. But I would only do it, I told myself last night, if I had a dream about the song or artist. The first dream is the result. But I guess -- you can see that it's not very good control at all, though. Here is the video. It's by the Malaysian rock singer Monoloque. Dream #1 It was a grey-white, partly cloudy day. I was in a car with some other guy. The guy was driving us through some kind of downtown area of a city. We must have been on the outskirts of the downtown area. It felt pretty quiet and desolate. There were a lot of warehouses and small factory buildings on either side of the streets. The warehouses either looked closed down or vacated. Their gates were all pulled down. On a lot of the buildings' walls and gates, there were also a lot of posters advertising, I suppose, either rock concerts or movies. We had driven up a slope, then around a block, then back down another small slope. We were -- or at least I was -- looking down the streets for something. I don't know if we were lost. The man was talking this whole time about how arrogant the singer Monoloque was. It occurred to me from this that we were looking for the location where we were supposed to pick up Monoloque. We were either going to take him somewhere else, or spend the day with him, like we were collaborating with him on some project. But the man was really not looking forward to picking up Monoloque. He thought Monoloque was really arrogant. As an example of this, the man said, "One time Monoloque told me, 'A man hasn't really done anything with his life until he's directed a film.' As if anybody who hasn't directed a film really isn't a man! Well -- this was only right after he'd directed his first film!" I think I may have seen a tall-spired, stone church in the distance, down the block on the left side of the car. I looked at some of the posters on the wall again. I realized that they were all for Monoloque's film. They were done in a kind of psychedelic, 1960s style, with block printing, big, chunky letters, and a swirly circle of color in the center. Dream #2 I was in a bedroom. I stood before a dresser. I think I had just pulled something out of it or put something into the top drawer. I was now closing the drawer. I must have been getting ready to go somewhere, although it turned out that I wasn't going to the place I'd really wanted to go to. My mom was taking me wherever I was now going. And she'd told me she wasn't taking me to the other place. I looked to my right, to the doorway. The living room, apparently, was right outside this bedroom. There was a couch against the wall opposite from the bedroom door. A young Muslim woman wearing a head covering sat quietly and patiently on the couch. On the wall behind the woman was some beautiful, possibly iridescent, piece of artwork. I walked out of the bedroom. I was frustrated that my mom wasn't taking me where I wanted to go. But the Muslim girl was so gentle-acting that I tried to mask all my frustration, and just smile gently, as I walked past her. I was now in some kind of warehouse. The warehouse was huge -- maybe as huge as an airplane hangar. Where I was standing, it seemed like there was a living room set all laid out, with a bunch of stage lights cluttered around it. My mom stood off to my right, about thirty meters or so away. She seemed really impatient for me to get started with something. She was being really insistent and mean -- almost like my mom had her spirit combined with one of my old shithead co-workers. My mom also seemed a lot skinnier than she is IWL. I was frightened into doing whatever it was I was supposed to be doing. I turned around. There was something like an entertainment center -- it looked more like a TV and a bunch of other junk all piled up randomly on a cheap desk. But over that stuff there was a huge tangle of old TV-top antennas. I knew I was supposed to be doing something with these TV-top antennas. But I couldn't reach them from the front of the "entertainment center." I had to go around. I walked around to the back of the "entertainment center." I walked into the thick of all these old antennas, as if I might have walked into the center of a tall, brambly shrub. I must have tried to arrange some of the antennas or something. But suddenly some of the antennas started throwing off fountains of sparks! I thought the antennas must all be catching on fire. I was really afraid. But, like an idiot, I think I grabbed a paper cup full of water and actually threw it on the sparking antennas! Things were really a mess. My mom, madder than ever, called me out to the front area again. The living room, I now saw, also had one setup on either side of it. These setups were like cheap offices: there were a desk, a computer, and a kind of flimsy desktop bookshelf. There may have been a man working at each station. Things were a big mess. In some weird clutter of technology surrounding the office on my right side, another fire, or some other kind of malfunction, was raging. Whatever I'd done in the antenna-nest had probably started this mess, too. The person working at that station looked like one of my old co-workers. He seemed to be just about as mad at me as my mom was. My mom may have been standing behind him and on his right side. I turned around, backwards and clockwise, to face the office station that had been on my left side. The office worker here was just as panicked. He looked like the 1980s actor Andrew McCarthy. He had shoulder-length hair and wore a pale-blue, button-up shirt. This guy was on the phone with someone. But he was also dealing with some major computer issue he was having. I knew that all this was probably my fault, too. Finally the guy started slamming his mouse against the desk, as if he were trying to aim it against something. It was like whatever the problem was with his computer, it had turned real and left the computer. The guy was trying to smash it and kill it, or poke it back into the computer, or something. He really seemed to be raging.
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