All DJ Entries

07.01.2011

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

I was in a hypermarket like the previous dream, but this time inside.

The dream varied, sometimes I was with spongebob characters and tried to enter a huge painting of spongebob and a moon with varying degrees of success. I managed to enter several times but I always ended up out again. Sometimes I just crashed against the painting because I wasn't a sponge. I tried becoming different things like the moon or characters from the show so that the painting would accept me but they always ended up discovering my disguise.

Other times I was waiting for my class in a classy restaurant in the hypermarket that you could access by going up some huge mechanical stairs. It was sort of high up and had glass railing. It had several floors of a semicircular shape which were very narrow. Sometimes I left the restaurant to order food at a fast food stand since they didn't bring us anything to eat. I always ended up getting lost and going back again. I also met a girl with an abusive ex-boyfriend who was always being mean to her. Once he was harassing her in the fast food stand so I went to defend her, but I ended up getting lost.

I find myself back in highschool, though it is a highschool I do not recognize. I have only one course, Art, which is an elective, because I graduated with honors years ago but yet for some reason this class is manditory for me. Because the school is so big and space and time are limited the class runs for two hours every second day. I am much older than the other students they treat me with great rudeness and disrespect and often I have to clean up their messes after class it out. I cannot complain or cause any trouble in class because I will be automatically kicked out, so I have to take all the crap and be silent. The teacher of the course seems sympathetic to my situation but she is reluctant to step in and say anything. I assume it is because her job will be threatened if she does so. She looks like my former art therapist but has a different personality in the dream. The overseer of the school is a group of Christian priests and they are all mean and oppressive even though it is supposed to be a secular public high school.

We are doing sculpture and have the choice of working with coloured modelling clay or real clay and porcelain. I choose porcelain and make many little animals like bears and turtles over many days but at the end of the week I am not allowed to fire them and am asked to destroy them instead. I unhappily agree and not only have to throw out the clay but have to yet again clean up the mess left behind by the other rude, inconsiderate students. I am growing tired of my treatment in the class because all I want to do is make art unhindered and unoppressed.

For some reason, the next week I am allowed to bring my four cats to class and this seems to please the other students and they are a lot nicer to me. The cats roam freely around the room while we all work. The teacher brings up the fact that the art room is going to be renovated and all of the students are expected to put some time in painting the walls and cupboards. Of course I end up doing most of the work and spend many lunch hours and time after school to make up for the extra work. I cannot remember the reasons why now but I painted half of the room in a baby blue colour and the other half in a light violet colour, which I finished on the last day before the weekend. This angered the priests who run the school and they demanded that I say the weekend to "repaint the room with the appropriate colours" but left without saying what colours I should use.

I was angry and went home without doing the work because I thought it was unfair. The next monday I went to school with my cats as usual and as we worked on new projects I noticed that everybody was very quiet. The class had not been repainted and a priest in a grey shmock was sitting in the class working on something, though I suspected he was there to keep an eye on either me or someone else. He left half way through the class. When class ended and I went to collect my cats I could only find three of them. I was in a panic and asked the rest of the students if they knew where my lost cat but no one knew anything. I asked the teacher but she avoided anwsering the question by trying to change the subject or by sitting at her desk with her head down doing needlework.

Eventually I pestered her enough that she told me that the grey cloaked priest took my cat and sold her to someone. At first I thought he was just trying to help because he may have thought it was a stray, but the teacher tells me that it is punishment for not doing as the priests said and staying the weekend to repaint the room. She said I could speak with him the next class. The next class I try to track down the priest who sold my cat, so I can try to find out who he sold it to, but the priest had left the school and apparetnly wasn't ever coming back. I was angry and distraught and tired of all the bullpoop I had to put up in this school and I angrily raged at the teacher and class, as well as, some of the priests who came down to our room unexpectedly (I suppose to gloat over the selling of my cat because they all regarded me with smug smiles on their faces). I yelled and told them all off and stormed out of there filled with hate and frustration.

Then I woke up.

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID FALSE AWAKENING PRECOG

23:00 GMT

Painting in group
With some people working on something, split in groups of 4 people. We’re preparing paints – each group prepares 2 colours but we’ll all share it. Each group has to make a painting, but for that first we need to agree on the subject and then somehow combine each individual style. I picture it won’t be easy. I notice a very interesting girl and also a guy, whose profiles are just amazing and I propose we paint their profile portraits. But my proposal is totally ignored and my 3 colleagues are already sketching something totally different for which they didn’t even ask my opinion. But they were the majority, so I let them. It wasn’t till I actually see the drawing that I got really disappointed. It was some drawing of a hill with trees and houses, but very badly drawn, like the guy who did it had no talent whatsoever to drawing. I decide to go to toilet.
I then realise we’re on my late grandma’s house. I feel her presence very strongly and I say out loud that I miss her. For a brief moment I was lucid, but then I simply went to pee. I noticed in the end that there was no bathroom door and I felt surprised that this doesn’t disturb me at all although there are these people around in the house. Then a brief moment of lucidity again. One guy just passes by, tells me something all smiley and goes meet the other guys on the living room. I hear the others joking about a potential romance between us two and I feel they are totally deluded.

Feeling insecure on a park
After the previous events, I’m on the exterior and I sense it might be in London or in Brussels. I’m near a park and looking for a spot to plant some seeds. I walk over some brick wall, I step on some leaf covered ground, but don’t like any spot. Then I see a tall iron gate entrance for a more reserved area and decide to take a peek. It leads to some alley but then I see two guys approaching with a suspicious look, seeming interested that I’m walking that way, so I give up on my intent and just go around this area.
Later at night I come back to this place, this time with company and also there are more people actually going across this alley, so I feel safer. Strangely, I conclude this alley is home of many homeless people, which gives it still a bit of sinister feeling. But then I stumble on my own wallet on the floor – I hadn’t even missed it! I check it and all documents and money are there. I am surprised that being so afraid of people’s intentions on this area, not one of them had taken my wallet – of course they could have not seen it, but I felt they simply didn’t want to pick it up.

Brussels and parkour
With my BF and it’s definitely in Brussels. We only have one day there so I ask him what he wishes to visit. I suggest taking a tram to the Africa Museum, because the tour to get there is already very nice, but then we can visit the beautiful park around it. But then he mentions he hasn’t even seen the city centre and I agree he should do that.
Later I’m (we’re?) watching a parkour competition. The contesters have to climb and do their tricks up and down a very narrow and tall building, very art nouveau, with lots of structures on the façade. I am delighted watching the skilled people competing and say to a friend I would definitely love to learn to do this. Then a fat girl from the group I am with surprises me by also competing. I think “if she can do it, why shouldn’t I?”

6:40 GMT

This dream starts off with me watching Peter Jackson's rendition of the Lord of the Rings movie, the Fellowship of the Rings. Everything seems like it is in virtual reality or 3D and I am viewing the movie from the inside. I can move myself around and view everything from any angle I want but I am invisible to the characters in the film.

The part of the film taking place is when Gandalf is imprisoned atop the Tower of Orthanc in Isengard and he looks over the edge to view the destruction of the trees and the beginning of Saruman's war industry. Everything feels very real like I am really there and watching a real event take place, even though paradoxically it feels as if my body is laying down on a bed.

As the scene progresses a thick fog rolls in enveloping the top of the tower and making it impossible to see the things occuring on the ground below. Gandalf disappears and there is suddenly quiet, and along the edges of the tower's platform many standing easels appear with painting canvases on them, all facing towards the center where I am. At first the canvases are blank but as the fog swirls around them streaks of grey colour slowly start to appear, as if the fog was being imprinted on canvas or if the fog was doing the painting. The images look like rouge renditions of clouds or of the fog itself.

I can feel the fog as it swirls all around and it is cold and damp, like sheets of cold silk being pulled across my skin, and at first I fear that I am being painted on too but when I look down I cannot see my body because it is either not there or invisible.

The scene changes and I am in a painting studio somewhere in Renaissance Italy. It is nighttime and the room is dimly lit by a few candles and is filled with the thick fog from the previous scene. Men of various ages start entering the room from a door on the west side of the room but it is too dark to see there faces. They all sit or stand at canvases around the room and begin painting in the dim candle light despite the thick fog.

A large window on the east side of the room begins to light up as the sun begins to rise and as it does so I can see the men's faces and what they are painting. The men are all famous painters throughout history, from the late medieval period to the late 19th Century and even though they are dressed according to their specific time period, they are all painting pictures of clouds, under the direction of a man dressed in black Renaissance style clothing whom I think is Leonardo daVinci.

I am in awe of all the painters and am entralled to be able to watch them work. As the sun rises further the fog dissipates even more and almost disappears completely. There are all different sorts of clouds being painted: there are thick, dark storm clouds; fluffy white clouds lit by bright sunlight; clouds lit my the moon, and so on. One of the painters is even trying to paint the fog in the room.

The painting they are creating are incredibly beautiful and I remember thinking to myself "I wish I could paint like that." Everything still feels very real and even though I still feel like I am laying down, I can move about the room to get a closer look at some of the paintings. At one point I stretch out my arm and touch one of the canvases and I can feel the wet paint on my fingers, though I cannot see it because my body is still invisible. (Through all of this I still had the sensation that my body was laying on a bed. I know it is contradictory, but I felt I was both laying down and moving around as if free from my body. I don't know really how to explain it.)

The day seems to go by too quickly and the sun begins to fade and the room begins to darken. The fog returns and becomes thick again as the sun goes down. The scene changes yet again and I am now indeed laying on my bed in my apartment and I can see my body. The images of famous painters creating images of clouds in a foggy room is still before my eyes, projected on the far wall of my bedroom as if it were a vision or hallucination.

My room is suddenly full of the clouds they are painting, lit by the setting sun, and I am again entralled by the beauty of it, though my body lays motionless upon my bed as if paralyzed. As the sun sets and the room becomes darker, the painters themselves disappear though the images on the canvases continue as if painted by invisible hands or creating themselves. The beautiful oranges, pinks and purples on the clouds fades to a dull grey and soon I can no longer differentiate the clouds from the fog because it is too dark.


The light fades competely and everything goes black. The dream ends there because I wake up.

At first I dreamed of minecraft. We had a new map on the pallkars server which we explored. You were able to view it as a map. I remember thinking that the water on the map was too spread out evenly. No huuuge oceans and no huuuge landmasses. Only randomly placed water here and there.

After that I dreamed that me and a couple of friends had sneaked into the culverts of a hospital. There were empty corridors with branching doors here and there. Some of them were made of armoured glass and some were locked. We weren't allowed to be there and we hoped no one would find us. What we were doing there was to "fix" the place a bit. I don't remember for what reason but I for instance painted the wall so that it looked nicer (All though I had no paint so I had to use my hands by licking on my hands and stroking them over the wall so that they became wet. Then they got a darker colour, lol.).

A while later we went up from the culverts and got into some kind of school. We were spotted by an old teacher I had back in primary school. He didn't see to care though. I don't remember really what happened then.

-----

I was sitting at my PC writing down the dream about the culverts into this DJ (this was still a dream). <--Very vague memories of this part

There was something about how I was planning on taking some extra courses along with my program because the extra courses was really easy. They were about extended python programming and basic PHP.

Then there was a part in which I was at my grandpa's place (he lives in the mountains near norway). I was lying in a bed there. I got up to go to the bathroom. First I was going to drink water from the tap in there. I thought about how cold and fresh the water always is at their place. The water was quite nasty though because there was some brown slime coming out of the tap sometimes along with the water and I drank only a little. Then I was going to use the toilet, but that didn't seem nice either since the bathroom had many windows without any cover and my grandpa was working on something just next to them, lol. I tried to cover the windows with some curtains but they were semi transparent anyway.

PART 1 - FREE BEER AND UNDERCOVER COPS

I'm walking down the street across from where I work, it's night. Some girl, mid 20s, black hair, wearing a professional navy colored suit, is handing out cans of beer - like how some people hand out promotional flyers to everyone who passes by, except it's cans of beer half as tall as a normal can. I take it even though I don't drink. The top is already open when she hands it to me.

I continue down the road and these two older guys start following me, late 30s, one has very light blond hair, almost white, especially his eyebrows, mostly bald... reminds me of Hank from the show Breaking Bad. Don't remember anything about the other guy.

They keep within my personal space, and somehow I figure they must be undercover cops. I look at the Hank guy and call it out, "so, you must be..." He pretends not to know what I'm getting at. I say "nevermind" and cross the street toward work, they follow me.

When we get to the other side, they reveal their identity and ask about the beer, if I've been drinking or plan to. I say that I hadn't drank any and have no intentions of doing so, which is true. They hear the sincerity and conviction in my voice, believe me, and leave me be.

ANALYSIS

The thing that stands out most to me is my conviction when I told them I wasn't going to drink, and the fact that they believed me.

Perhaps a message about the importance of sincerity.

- - -

PART 2 - BAR ZOMBIES

I go to a bar with my dad. There are couches... all of the patrons are sitting silently, staring off awkwardly. Men and women in their 40s, at least some of them are dad's family. I realize that they're just there because they don't want to be alone.

There was a much more complex storyline involving dad as well, but can't remember...

ANALYSIS

I think the important part of this one was the realization that they just didn't want to be alone.

It makes me think of how people will lower their standards in relationships (romantic or otherwise) just to avoid loneliness.

I was feeling oddly lonely yesterday and spoke to someone who I'd previously dismissed as too irritatingly trivial to interact with, just to talk to someone, anyone. I did so more on my own terms than before, however, not changing the way I acted to match theirs. Instead, they changed to match mine. It actually did make me feel better.

- - -

PART 3 - FAIL AT FEMALE DANCE CLASS

I'm in a dance class meant for females. I can't do the movement properly for some reason, I keep swaying back and forth with my arms, but it's not correct. When the session ends, I do a backward roll over my left shoulder.

Teacher is in mid to late 40s, neck length brown hair, taught face with some wrinkles.

ANALYSIS

I generally consider myself fairly feminine in certain ways.

I'm not sure what would trigger that sense of not being able to "get it right," however.

Except perhaps losing repetitively as Zerg in Starcraft, but that seems a bit of a stretch. Oh well, I always try to come up with at least one possibility for each part.

- - -

PART 4 - INFUSING MOVEMENT WITH FEELING IN PAINTING

I think this is the same class as the one above.

A male teacher - 40s, quite fat, longer hair (ponytail?) - challenged by a student that they "can't paint," demonstrates in front of the class by making 2 simple marks of a dark blue. They're very slow and deliberate, he twists the brush to make two marks each conveying movement into the other, like a yin yang. I can see he's infusing much feeling into the movements.

I'm able to recognize it because this is something I do naturally. I allow the feeling to take over my hands. I remember clearly the feeling of my arms moving involuntarily with the brush in the air.

ANALYSIS

The feeling or lack there of conveyed in movement is something I notice in people at all times.

Perhaps this theme of feeling in movement was the result of being quite focused on the sensation of swaying my arms in the previous part.

In fact, thinking about it now, I was really quite aware of it in the moment. I think this may be the first sign of greater dream awareness. It makes sense that it would begin kinesthetically for me. Focusing on body awareness first in dreams may be my personal key to achieving lucidity.

I feel that this is a very important discovery. Progress!

- - -

FRAGMENT

Walking down a street, cars and shops, downtown in some city, night. Someone is impersonating Immortal Technique, one of their lines ends with "poke them in the eye," I think this is weak and not something they would say.

ANALYSIS

Possibly triggered by a post I made on here mentioning IT.

When I first woke up, I thought I would have no dreams to report today. It seems to take some time for me to recall.

For me it's not a matter of "getting it all onto paper quickly before I forget," it's more "keep waiting around until some random thought triggers a memory, which triggers another one..." and so on.

One of the main characters is my dream incarnation Chun-li, who is a Chinese lady with long black hair, though in this dream her hair is done up in a bun with copsticks holding it in place. The other is a tall, muscular man with dark brown hair who sometimes appears in my dreams to help Chun-li or is her love interest. I have decided to name him Vince, though his previous names have appeared randomly as Brent, Charles or Robbie. The setting is a small town overrun with rival gang factions who own most of the local businesses and often compete for control of and support from the local population.


It starts off with Vince arriving in town, looking for work. He is a biker but has left his gang for some reason and has become a mercenary of sorts, for any gang that will have him. He finds employment at a seedy bar at first, part bouncer part janitor, but meets a local and wealthy Chinese business man who is a part of the local Triad gang and who agrees to introduce Vince to the Triad boss.

The Triad boss is an old Chinese man in a dark grey business suit and he hires Vince to work at a resturant, but doing the same jobs at the bar, namely clean up crew and security during the night. The resturant has a huge dining hall and during many of the nights lower status Triads members have parties and then leave a huge mess for Vince to clean up before the morning comes. Despite the lack of respect Vince is treated with he keeps his mouth shut and does his work.

One night after a party the Triad boss suddenly shows up and discovers the dining hall in disarray and questions Vince about it. Vince is relunctant to rat out the bosses own gang members but eventually explains what has been happening. Instead of getting angry the Triad boss decides he needs Vince's skills elsewhere and reassigns him to work at a hotel across town. It is at this hotel that Vince meets Chun-li, who workis park time as a barista in the hotel's lounge and part time as a dentist in an office next door to the hotel. Vince's jobs again include janitorial and security work, but also as a body guard for several of the people working at the hotel, including Chun-li who often infiltrates rival gang's business as a double agent.

One night members of the gang try to infiltrate a record and clothing store owned by a rival biker gang that is located on the other side of the dental office. While they manage to get inside, they cannot access the backroom because the door has been locked shut and painted over to hide it. After unsealing the paint around the door's edges, Chun-li asks for three sewing needles with which she can force the lock open. She and two Triad members wait in the store while Vince and the others head back to the hotel to look for some needles.

Just then the owner of the store arrives unexpectedly. Chun-li and the other two hide in a storage closet behind the cash register when they notice his presence. The store owner discovers the break-in and alerts the leader of the biker gang, who shows up not long after. Vince and the other Triads come out of the hotel and see that there are two bikers outside of the store and stand back at first to watch what will happen next, trying not to let on that they where part of the initial break in.

When the two bikers pull out handguns and start to make their way into the store, Vince tries to distract them by pretending to be a concerned citizen passing by. When he is threatened by the bikers, Vince greets the two men with his old biker gang's greeting and the bikers then think that he is a fellow biker let their guard down. While this is happening, Chun-li and the Triad members to escape out the back door.

When the store is secured the bikers try to recruit Vince as a member of their gang but he only pretends to, confesses that he works as a security guard at the nearby hotel and convinces the bikers that he will be a double agent for them. This satisfies the bikers and they leave. Vince returns to the hotel and calls up the Triad boss and details everything that just happened, including the fake promise to be a double agent for the bikers. The Triad boss is pleased with this, is impressed with he way Vince has handled the situation and frees Vince from janitorial duties at the hotel so he can concentrate working as a double agent with Chun-li.

The next day the biker gang leader comes to Chun-li's dentristy office, needing some work done on his molars. He doesn't recognize Chun-li but suspects she is a Triad because she is Chinese and working next to a hotel known to be run by the Triads. The biker gang leader changes his mind about needing work done on his teeth and leaves suddenly, bumping into Vince who was on his way to check up on Chun-li. The biker leader thinks that Vince is going to get some dental work done and warns him that the office is propably owned by the Triads and that they should not patronize it. Vince makes up a convincing lie about having a terrible tooth ache and not being able to make any sooner appointments with other dental offices across town. The biker leader makes a plan to rob the dental office that night, after Vince has his work done, but Vince warns Chun-li about the biker gang leader's plan and she shuts closes the office after the biker leader leaves and has anything of value removed and hidden at the hotel next door.

Some time passes and Chunli and Vince are relaxing in the hotel's lounge. Someone brings out some paints and some reference material and start painting. Chun-li wants to paint too but doesn't know how and Vince says that he will show her. They are playing with the paints and creating psychedelic abstracts when the dream suddenly ends.


The dream never really explains why Vince stays loyal to the Triads even though he initially comes from a biker gang.

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.

Morning of July 2, 1989. Sunday.



I had been painting the larger bathroom on the second floor of the King Street boarding house for my landlady. It is a sort of greenish lighter teal color (much the same as in reality).

After I finish painting, a large crane fly suddenly appears and lands on the north wall near the sink at about shoulder level and with a sudden splat (creating the impression of very small droplets of paint flying out from the surface of the wall), creating a strong focus on tiredness. There is also a sense of disgust that is close to literal nausea.

---

Induction factor: water (man-made; bathroom sink). The setting is known and realistic and somewhat public (shared boarding house bathroom). There are no other characters. I seem to have a physical body as I had been painting. Return flight factor features as a crane fly. The mood was primarily of a sense of annoyance and disgust. Additional coalescence factor: paint (fluid), coalescence (as crane fly hitting wall) undesired; seemingly “blocked”. Possible explanation: being subliminally aware of something on my face, possibly my own hair. I also tend to dream of insects in a negative context when being too warm or too cold in addition to being overtired.

---

Night of September 26, 1969. Friday.



I am in some sort of museum or art gallery, seemingly late at night, and no one else is around, not even my parents. I go up to a painting of a colorful landscape and the closer I look, the more “energy” I feel. After a short time, it seems I am moving into the painting and then hovering above a very large crowd of men who all look very similar, all equidistant and uniform - each about a person-width apart from each other, seemingly in a huge featureless room with a smooth white floor. They all seem to step forward and are waving a paintbrush in the air and are singing. Each sweater and beret they are wearing matches the color (or actually is the color when zoomed out) in that supposed “drop of paint” in the original painting - and it is as if I am looking at the painting at a very highly magnified level. Also, it seems this may only happen at night. I feel a sense of peace and joy in seeing this unusual “closeup” of the magnificent painting. It is like a wide miniature parade of living colors and reflects a deep feeling of comfort.

Later, my dream decays (or shifts into a different dream state and awareness) into a scene where I walk around looking at lawn mowers in some sort of large garage, but which still seems to be part of the art gallery or museum.

The original dream journal title for this, even when transferred a few times, was “Picture It Strange”, which was, of course, before I learned more about grammar. There was also a stage where it was titled “Pingere”. I wanted to make this into a story and started to when young, but could not think of a plot foundation to “explain” the main events.

Morning of February 5, 1969. Wednesday.



There have been numerous dreams throughout my life which featured ambiguous modes of transportation; for example, of being on a flying school bus which is also somehow an airplane in my dream (yet has the appearance of the inside of a school bus, with the same orientation of the driver and such). There is sometimes a lack of clarity (based on scenes outside the windows, typically) on whether I am on a bus, train, airplane, or even a boat, which of course, sometimes changes (the “morphing” so common in dreams being only one of many reasons why “dream dictionaries” mean nothing to real dream-workers). Also, windows become paintings or vice versa.

In this case, I seem to be “rising” in being on an aircraft, but no, I realize it is likely a bus, which then resolves as a boat, as we seem to be on water (with no awareness of a road). However, just because there is no hint of a road and we are on water does not mean it cannot be a bus (faux dream “logic”). For example, it may be an extremely narrow road over water.

At any rate, I am somehow with a larger rock (which I first take to be a turtle but then it is a rock but which then starts to “wiggle” again), which has somehow come to me through a solid glass (closed) window. There is something in the back of my mind about “The Ugly Duckling” but it is not that clear. Also, there is some sort of fairy tale, I reason, where a swan is actually a girl. Being a black swan, it represents my future wife, as I was familiar with the stamp. There is a “strange tickle” of a type that occurred in other dreams, in my lower stomach area and as the swan wiggles a bit, which may prove to be problematic.

Curiously, the scene with rocks in the water from the “window” then turns out to be a painting (typical of mixed two-dimensional and three-dimensional in-dream elements which other people have told me is fairly common in their own dreams) and I am sitting in a museum after all. However, the “painting” is then that of “The Birth of Venus” (Sandro Botticelli) though she has dark hair and the “angels” are replaced by a white swan and a black swan.

“She’s HERE!” yells a thin old man, seeming terrified and running from the area, going around a corner. The painting starts to glow blue (mostly around the head and shoulders of the dark-haired “mystery girl”) and I fall back empty-handed with a strange “comfortable” oscillation in my ears (always the exact same pitch throughout my life for the most part), falling into nothing, “falling” into my bed awake.

Curiously, shortly before my wife first wrote me in 1991, a new black swan stamp (43 cents) was apparently issued on Valentine’s Day…