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Morning of November 30, 2017. Thursday.



My dream occurs in two main parts. It has the usual distortions and absence of viable conscious self identity. The only conscious self threads relate to knowing I am married to Zsuzsanna. The rest of my dream self identity ambiguously perceives itself as a teenager, and my parents are still alive.

In the first part of my dream, I am in the kitchen of our present address (erroneously perceived as of Cubitis, where I have not lived since 1978). The layout of the house is different. Zsuzsanna is present and we are rearranging everything (which we had been doing a lot in real life lately after the storm tore the roof from our house, though that memory is not extant in my dream). There are two special pictures that present a three-dimensional impression. One is very large and displays a two-storey house. The other is similar to the pattern of our present bedroom curtain but features only one cheetah.

I marvel at the large image of the house and its three-dimensionality. (It faces north when aligned to our present home’s layout.) As I change my position in the room and move my head, there is vivid imagery that looks as if the Venetian blinds in the house are closing and opening, depending on where I stand, though this relates to the angle I am viewing the house from, not the blinds actually moving. At least one bright light is on inside the second floor of the residence where this intriguing Venetian blinds effect is seen, which involves at least three windows. There is a sense of both pleasure and awe. (The windows are about five inches high.) The joy I feel is probably based on liminal realization of modulating my dream with threads of my conscious self, yet my dream self not actively comprehending this factor.

I am then looking at the image of a cheetah (about eight inches in length to start with). I am able to manipulate the image by moving parts of it with my fingers, to make it smaller or larger or change the proportions. It does not become distorted no matter how I move different points of the image. Its three-dimensionality is similar to one of those toddler’s board books with the additional features implied to be fur or other textures (such as “Touch and Feel Wild Animals”). The clusters of fur on the cheetah image growing and shrinking depending on how I alter the image with my fingers fascinates me.

Later, I notice my father standing by the doorway of our shed (our present shed, not the one in Cubitis). He is dressed in an unusual colorful outfit and has a large white beard. I go out and see that he is trying to move several large parts of machinery, one that looks like a small motor. Not being lucid, I still use a type of telekinesis. I am aware that the combined weight of the objects is quite heavy, yet I touch one (the smallest object) and all the other objects connect to it as if magnetic. I effortlessly lift everything and my father seems grateful. I realize that this means I am a witch. I place them out in the backyard through a fictional doorway on the east end of our shed.

From here, there is an incorporeal and unseen male character that is somehow only partially present. There is brief talk with him about a fairy being a great wizard. My father walks to the west end of our shed (where the main door pulls up in reality). It is open to the street. There are at least two black horses facing north that I lightly pet. My father expresses no distrust or wariness of me being a witch.

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A shed or warehouse represents liminal space during the waking transition in a specific part of the sleeping period and is a factor of memory recall and storage. Horses as this dream’s end marker represent my “return” to my physical body in waking. The health or condition of a horse often relates to the health of one’s physical body or recent mental states (or that of someone known). (For example, after a classmate died, I had a terrifying dream of a horse falling down and suffocating in front of me, after it came through the doorway of our homeroom classroom, both a result of his death, and the unsteady state of my emotions at the time.)

In one of my dreams of yesterday, I was a guardian angel “from the future”, helping a fictional character rendered as the actor Jonathan LaPaglia to fulfill his supposed destiny with his future wife. Then, in this one, I am a powerful witch helping my father. I manipulate imagery (though that was implied to be the nature of whatever technology was present) and effortlessly lift heavy objects by mental will (and not only do I lift them, they stick together magnetically in a very long cluster nearly as wide as the shed). There seems to be no difference between a powerful witch and an angel in some cases, at least from my dream self’s viewpoint. (My wife Zsuzsanna has appeared as both an angel and a witch in my dreams, including prescient dreams from before we met.)

The Venetian blinds represent the virtual division between the dream self identity and the conscious self identity. The fact that I am not surprised by my telekinetic abilities validates liminal dream state awareness and liminal dream control (that is, with no realization it is a dream, yet having endless powers to create and control my dream state experiences). I certainly would not have this expectation or act as such when conscious.

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Morning of January 21, 2014. Tuesday.



I think I am in the same apartment as the manticore dream, but the layout is different and seemingly a bit bigger. Burl Ives is a chubby version of Sigmund Freud. Whatever next? Well, I guess this is my “celebrity year” after all. Somehow, though, he is also a Russian man named Ion Nocalov. None of this makes any sense, of course, but why should it? In my mind, I can easily see Sigmund Freud and Burl Ives as the “same person” for several reasons. Both are sort of a “doubting Thomas”. In the case of Burl Ives, he denied Magnus - but came to know the truth. In the case of Sigmund Freud, I can say with a good degree of certainty that I do not agree with a single thing he has ever written on anything. And as for Ion Nocalov…well…I do not know who that is. He seems to be getting ready to leave and has a cigar stuck in his face and is putting on a shabby burlap-bag-like coat over his pristine white suit. He pauses, looks at his waistcoat watch, and writes some notes on a yellow pad on his desk. I get the impression it is my desk and my apartment, and he seems to be imposing in astounding ways, but I do not say a word. For a moment, I hear ocean waves, so we may not be on Third Street in La Crosse, even though I am almost certain.

A fire nymph runs around the room. I am astounded. Burl does not notice. I point. He looks. She is gone - how annoying. After a time, I notice that there is a Scrabble tile holder on the desk, with Scrabble letters that spell out “Sigmund Fraud”. I am amused that Ion/Sigmund/Burl has not noticed this blatant error.

I put my hand into the fire upon the next appearance via the “abdomen”. It does not burn. Burl aka Ion is talking on the phone. He keeps saying “what?" I thought he had been responding to me as I am speaking but this is not the case. For a moment, I think he catches a glimpse of the girl of fire from the corner of his eye. "I’m calling the fire department,” he says loudly. I can hear the old-style rotary noises as if he is dialing about twenty numbers or more - which is quite ridiculous, as emergency numbers are of less digits, not a lot more.

The fire nymph grabs a TV remote and turns on a very large television. Assuming it is the La Crosse apartment, it is the southern wall. “My name is Mok, thanks a lot” sings an animated “Lou Reed” (I recall a precognitive dream of his death on October 27, 2013). I have not thought of this “song” at all in at least twenty years or more? IMDb reports it is from “Rock & Rule” from 1983. The IMDb plot summary (errors corrected) is “Angel, a member of a punk rock band in the apocalyptic future, is kidnapped by Mok, a legendary super-rocker. Obsessed with a dark experiment, Mok plans to use Angel’s voice to summon a demon from another dimension. The rest of the band follows Mok to Nuke York in an attempt to get her back.” (“Nuke York”? Oh brother.) I can honestly say that I saw this at least once over twenty years ago but have not thought about it at all since I saw it. In fact, I think I forgot all about it for the most part (except for that annoying “song”) an hour after I saw it.

“What’s this sh–?” asks Burl aka Sigmund aka Ion. “I don’t know,” I say with my jaw hanging open. “Mok doesn’t even rhyme with lot.”

“Well, that’s really stupid,” he replies, talking through his cigar, and turns off the television.

Suddenly, the west wall (an internal division) explodes outward and the fire girl is on a black horse, sort of swaying as if listening to a slower song, with the horse breathing misty tendrils. “F–k me!” says Burl. He sounds almost like plaster “speaking”…or what plaster would sound like if it could talk. There is a roaring and a “quivering” in the environment that is not quite right, like being inside of a can someone is shaking. “Dragon! Dragon!” he yells, leaving the room. “It’s not a dragon, it’s a horse,” I say calmly, but he is gone. I decide to risk it and walk into the imagery. It is almost like feeling my way around in a dark room as I am not oriented to the environment “correctly” somehow - more like the top part of my body and the lower part of my body are in two different frames of reference.

I find myself on the horse behind the nymph. We fly over pools of beautiful glowing lava and “lava falls”, forest fires, arctic regions, blizzards, the ocean, both stormy and calm, including the rolling waves at El Jobean, and lakes glowing orange from reflected sunlight as the sun is setting. It goes on and on. It reminds me vaguely of other dreams where there is a clear physical awareness, yet at the same time, the world is moving when the body is mostly in one point in space.

I am back at North Monroe street as a boy (Florida). It seems very odd to move about, taking longer to get somewhere with shorter legs. I look over the small stack of comic books on the tank in the bathroom. There was “The Cowsills”, the “Hot Stuff” one where he is shooting at a three-headed ogre (apple on each head?) with his trident, a Walt Disney one with Magica De Spell and something about hiding inside a brick fence or wall, I think, and a Bugs Bunny one with Daffy Duck.

My older brother Jim (deceased) is smiling and sitting on the couch along the south wall in the living room when I tell him of the great Russian psychologist, Ion Nocalov, who thought that all horses were dragons.

Then the dream changes a little as he tries to copy the name I say, acting as if it is a clever invention. “Vola Con Noi! We can fly!”

Added note: If it was not for this quite vivid dream, I would have surely lived the rest of my life without ever thinking of “Rock & Rule” again. Funny how things can be “hidden” like that, yet remembered to some extent with “cues”. This is actually one of the only movies presently that I had “forgotten” so much of this way in my lifetime. I wonder what that says about the movie.

The mashed up image is with other fairly recent entries, was going to use it in an additional notes entry, but will include it with this one.

Important additional note: One of the most absurd things I have ever read regarding Freud was how a particular person apparently did not have a “wish fulfillment” dream (according to that dreamer’s view) and this was determined by Freud to be a “wish fulfillment” dream anyway, because it was the “wish” of the dreamer to prove that not all dreams were wish fulfillment relative to Freud’s theory. This was so pathetic and absurd that it instantly (in my mind) demoted Sigmund Freud to the level of a cartoon character. It is probably one of the most absurd things I have read on dreams.

Morning of September 13, 1988. Tuesday.



I am in my L-shaped apartment in the King Street boarding house. An attractive but mysterious woman in black (including black lace and a hat) is riding a black horse. She rides from due south from Tenth Street and then northwesterly into the backyard. She is actually able to ride effortlessly vertically up the side of the house, over the south outer wall, to the right of my window (from my perspective), and likely (seemingly) somehow continues over the roof and northward. In some ways, this seemed “menacing” in implication (mostly regarding consensus, though), but there was no apparent threat, especially in afterthought.

Her overall appearance, being the seeming presence and essence of my usual “mystery girl”, but a bit older here, was the same as my wife-to-be. I would make real-life contact with her in 1991. The seeming implication here was that she was south of me (in Australia) and I would make first communication with her by mail from my sister’s house, which was on the north-side of La Crosse. (The King Street house was on the south-side of La Crosse.) The black horse is seen as the “future yet to be” or the “movement of mystery” coming into my life’s path. The black horse is loosely linked to the black swan theme (relating to Australia), perhaps, though black itself is simply the unknown or again, implying the “yet to be” or “things to come”.