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Morning of May 16, 2018. Wednesday.



In my dream, I find myself looking at Facebook. The technology is not rendered correctly. There is a monitor at first, but this dream becomes of the usual “paper technology” type.

I notice a comment on my timeline. It reads, “Stop posting fake pictures” - in reference to real photographs that Zsuzsanna and I had posted of our youngest daughter. This annoys me. I respond by writing, in handwriting with a pen, on a page in a spiral notebook, though somehow also going to my Facebook page, “You are a moron” and “That is our daughter, you moron”. I eventually write a number of longer sentences. He is from another site (a music site for musicians) that I used to post on that no longer exists, though in my dream, there is also a vague composite association with a classmate from the 1970s and who is also on my friend’s list.

In actuality, the poster is fictitious and not realistically based on a real person on my friend’s list. His username in my dream is “beasts” (written exactly as such in lowercase and plural for some reason), which I see written clearly several times (even though print is most often not consistent in the dream state). There is a vague association with a real poster by a different name, but he has never been confrontational in this way.

By the end of my dream, it continues to follow the same typical association with computer technology being rendered on paper, yet somehow working with the Internet. I flip through the pages of my spiral notebook, looking at other instances of when he made comments on other people’s posts, and which the paper somehow “refreshes” the comments without my dream self discerning the impossible erroneous association. It also has the usual “activation” by sweeping or pressing my finger on the page as if on an iPhone.

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This is the usual thinking skills correlation as waking process autosymbolism. I even had a carryover to my dream of the next day (“Pet Brontosaurus and Fake Mad Magazine?”), where my subconscious self perceives a Mad Magazine as fake, which, because it is the dream state, is indeed “fake” when compared with the consistent validity of waking life. The influence may also come from the rough association with a real poster calling Facebook “Fakebook”.

Curiously enough, I was, as is often the case, vaguely aware while in my dream of the RAS factor and its personification as the otherwise fictitious Facebook user “beasts” (as the RAS function is often also rendered as a wild animal depending on the dream, its core form being a snake). Somehow though, this unusual type of synaptic gating did not entail lucidity of any kind. In dreams, I am often aware of the presence of RAS or the preconscious (and even the meaning of a dream’s autosymbolism while still in the dream, as distinct from hypnopompic disclosure) and it almost always has the same mood and essence as in early childhood. Yet curiously, this is often not enough to trigger in-dream awareness of the dreaming status itself (though does sometimes serve as such).

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Morning of June 11, 2017. Sunday.



My wife Zsuzsanna and our children as we are now are at a carnival, though curiously, a group of people are in our house at one point (mostly in our lounge room) who are apparently waiting to enter another area. I do not see them as imposers and even consider how there are not that many people around. There is the typical ambiguity of the setting being an unlikely essence of indoors and outdoors at the same time, a common factor of my dreams since early childhood.

A photographer is present in a few different scenes. He reminds me of Al, the Italian manager of a pawn shop in La Crosse, who I have not seen in nearly twenty-five years.

Although some of the photographs he takes seem okay, many are very poorly done, often cutting off the person’s face below the nose. I have the strong impression that the photographs he takes that turn out well are the result of random coincidence.

Zsuzsanna and I sit to the right of an unknown family. I sit to Zsuzsanna’s right. I assume the photographer is going to take a few good photographs of the scene. However, when I look at them later, I see that my face is only visible above the mouth and in one photograph, the one I look at the longest, both my eyes are closed. I show Zsuzsanna and relate my opinion of this photographer as not being very good. I notice in the last photograph, my right eye is closed and my left eye is open.

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The photographer is of course this dream’s personified preconscious. He is not really confrontational here as in many other dreams. The purpose of the personified preconscious is to initiate the waking transition and in some cases, as here, to give evidence that the dreamer is dreaming. The subliminal anticipation of the hypnopompic jerk is only one of several factors in this waking symbolism. The preconscious is more of a biological necessity, though not always personified (for example, is sometimes an animal, sometimes an event or feature of a setting, but always fairly obvious if one understands dreams). The nature of how the preconscious waking factor is rendered, and what character plays the role in a particular dream, sometimes seems completely random. However, looking more deeply, there is usually more than one layer.

In this case, the photographer is played by a man who worked at a checkout. A checkout is a form of liminal space waking symbolism. (The analogy is that a person is done shopping and ready to return home as akin to leaving the dream state, or “checking out of the dream state”.) This type of hybrid characterization, though always unique, has occurred in thousands of my dreams, with the same waking symbolism and implications.

It is not that common for me as my personified subconscious (temporary fictional dream self) to be The Sleeper. This element is typically projected as something else, even faulty technology. In the last photograph, one of my eyes is open, which is an emergent consciousness factor. (My mouth is not visible in the photographs as I cannot speak coherently while sleeping.) Zsuzsanna and I are oriented in my dream as we are in bed in reality (that is, she is to my left). There seem to be a few types of instinctual dreaming (non-lucid dream control). In addition to the state where the dreamer knows he is making the dream (and yet does not even remember or know what a dream is), there is the state as here, where the dreamer is more passive to events, yet where there is the subliminal knowledge of being asleep but not direct or creating viable lucidity. There is also a sort of halfway point when I am next to Zsuzsanna, my dream attaining real environmental orientation while still within the dream state (more common and sustained in my childhood dreams).

Of course, a carnival symbolizes the dream state itself (that is, a place not relevant to the usual day-to-day reality, though my family had been to one recently).

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Train—open—more and more crowded—trying to stay secure.

Earlier, plane—everyone had kissed the screen, identical lip print.

Bangkok—know the route from having taken many times.

Scenery from the train amazing, began photographing—tall earthy brown cliffs on the right; later on the left forest, enormous trees, figures of other beings like bas-relief in bark, then we were zooming through a city on the water, buildings alternating from Renaissance to modern faux-vernacular shopping plaza style.

Reminded myself to actually look at the photos after I took them, because when I woke up, they would be unlikely to still be on the camera. Some were amazing, and I was sorry they wouldn't last. Others not so great—we were moving fast, and I couldn't always capture the best angle.

"This is the clearest dream I've had in a long time." Happy because for a while dreams have been distant and dim, frustrating. How did I accomplish this? All I could think was that I had finally wanted it enough. But how did I get lucid? Thought back and tried to remember the moment—this actually destabilized the dream and began waking process, but it was gradual enough that I could think back a bit first—realized there was no "aha!" moment, the lucidity had dawned gradually, probably because it was right before I'd been planning to get up anyway—only genuinely lucid for those last few moments when I started thinking critically about the pictures and the dream itself. At the time, though, I felt not an alteration of circumstance, but a sense of continuity with what had gone before. To be aware that you are dreaming is not unusual; to be aware that you are aware that you are dreaming is to be lucid.

Was the lucidity that which allowed me to appreciate and experience the clarity of the dream? But an appreciation must have preceded lucidity because that's what prompted me to start taking the pictures, before I realized they wouldn't last. And even after I knew they would not persist—I couldn't help hoping that this time would be different from all the others, this time they might cross over, through some miracle.

I was sitting with two women friends (no one I know RL) across a table from the Dalai Lama. One of the women was showing us pictures of a guy she said had just died. The pictures were a vertical strip of three, like those that come out of a photo booth, only larger format, about 3x4 I guess, vertically aligned. What was more striking was the figure in the photos, which didn't look human, but like a skinny reddish angry muppet with an open howling mouth and a shock of hair over its eyes, a bit like Animal but more gangly.

I recognized him at once, though: "That's Kelsang Gyatso," I told the other women. "He's like a dissident, except in relation to mainstream Tibetan Buddhism. It's over some stupid doctrinal dispute." Then I remembered that the Dalai Lama was sitting right across the table and I blushed and apologized, since obviously the dispute was important to him and I hadn't meant to offend. "I just meant it seems stupid to people on the outside."

The Dalai Lama gently admonished me, "It is better not to say things that you might have to apologize for." I felt like retorting, "I know, but I'm not enlightened," but recognized that he was right so I just nodded in acknowledgment.

Dream - Lucid

I was living in some strange society that very much so valued pregnancy. Everyone was still human, but there were these weird dolls that looked like small, humanoid potatoes whose bellies would pop out if you were pregnant. It's like you'd set it, it would tick like an egg timer for a few seconds, and then, either the belly would pop out or it wouldn't. The dolls were sitting on a small side cabinet type thing. The people in charge kept them. They were checked daily.

I was pregnant, but only a week into it. I was still married to Dallas, but for some reason, I wanted to bring Cherie' into our relationship. I did something to where it "set" her to being my wife too. I saw a diagram of her laying in the middle of my bed. I then somehow "set" her to be pregnant too. She did not know about any of this.

I then changed my mind, however, and changed her "settings" back to how they were before, not with Dallas and I and not pregnant. I then went to check my doll, and its belly did pop out. Cherie' was right behind me, and went to do the same when I was finished. I watched her from behind. She said, before anything happened with the doll,
"There's no way I'm pregnant."
The doll's timer clicked a few times, and then its belly then popped out. She was quite surprised. I knew that she would soon have a miscarriage, however, since I "set" her back to not being pregnant. I did not say anything to her as this all was happening.

Then, I was thinking about being pregnant. I then thought about how some people just gave birth to photographs, not babies. I wondered if I was going to be one of those people.

Dream skip. I was inside some building. Others were there as well. I was watching a blue octopus "walk" on the land. He was quite close to me, and I was quite taken by the creature. A man then crushed the octopus against a wall to kill it. It then looked like it had deflated. I was so pissed that someone would do something like that! The poor creature! The man carried off the deflated body of the octopus.

I was then with someone, and we were looking for the guy. We were walking around in some hotel/apartment type building. We found him in a room, and it was a man I work with, Barry. I then couldn't be too mad at him, because Barry is a nice guy.

Then, this other person and I were outside watching this guy delivering a pizza to a couple of people on the other side of a barbed-wire fence. The pizza was in its box and the box was inside of a white plastic bag. There may have been other food in there as well. He tossed it into the fence, and it got stuck towards the top. The people on the other side couldn't get it, but the pizza guy started to walk away like he didn't care. The person I was with and I went to go dislodge the bag for the people on the other side of the fence. We started to do so, trying not to get pricked by the barbed wire, and then, I woke up to the sound of my cat playing with a plastic bag.

~

I was at a school/job, taking some art course. I, IWL, do not draw or paint. I was learning in the dream, and had to take over for someone for awhile whose normal job was to keep up with all the artwork by doing the art and then keeping up with and maintaining it. There was a lady who then came in to make sure I was doing everything correctly. She commented on these shelves that had lots of paintings on them, and how they needed to be straightened up. I looked at the shelves, and they were indeed covered in paintings. I told her I was getting to it and that I had just gotten there. She then handed me a paper that showed how I had scored. I did great in everything; it showed 100s next to many explanations, but there was one that had a 7. It meant a 7/10. I was pretty sure it had to do with maintaining the shelves.

I then was in the art room drawing and looking at the classic-looking analog clock on the wall. I noticed it was almost time for me to take my lunch; I was going from noon-1. I was drawing the silhouette of a woman with long, flowing hair holding a rose.

I then told someone I was going to lunch. I then went into a band room. The chairs were set up in an arch, as you usually see in a band room. I saw my old friend from high school band, Alex S., sitting on the far right side in the front with his trombone. Other people were in there as well. He asked something about bass trombones, and who played. I raised my hand, and he said
"You play?" He seemed excited. I then said
"No, but you play both, don't you?"
He said yes, he did. He then got up to let me have his seat. I walked up to the seat, and took the trombone. I hit it against something on accident, and it made a "dong" noise a couple of times. I was a little embarrassed. I then was not holding a trombone, but a violin, I believe. I then noticed my old cat, Ziggy, sitting close by. He was watching me. I looked into his eyes, and asked him with my mind
"How am I doing? Am I doing alright?"
I was referring to the art now. It was like he had been there for the review that the lady gave, or he was somehow also the lady who gave it.
He started at me, looking into my eyes as if to acknowledge that I was communicating with him. I noticed how big his eyes were. I "remembered" how he always sat in that spot by the low brass section. I then saw his tail flick the ground. His tail looked fluffy and brown, in contrast to his orange and white fur, though, in the dream, I cannot remember what color his fur was. I knew it was Ziggy, but his fur looked different, though I could't tell you exactly how.

My husband's alarm then woke me up.

~

IWL, Ziggy was my best buddy growing up. He was, to me, a guardian. He watched over me and was always there when I was sad or sick. He made sure I was alright at all times. We had to put him down when I was 14 years old because he was very old (18) and very sick. I miss him still, even now that 12 years have passed since then.

Morning of May 2, 2013. Thursday.

My family and I as we are now are living in a composite house which seems to be a mix of my Cubitis home in Florida, my sister Marilyn’s Loomis Street house in Wisconsin, and Gellibrand and Stadcor Streets here in Australia where my wife Zsuzsanna and our children and I have lived. Our house has two storeys like the Loomis Street house. Presently, it seems to be nighttime. I become aware that an unknown man in a car had been looking up at our house towards our second floor for several minutes. He seems to be a suspicious character. However, he turns out to be a pest control professional. He tells us that our house is being eaten by some sort of worm called a “millimau”, which is possibly a distortion of “millipede” (which is what they resemble), and “maw” for mouth. The male shows me pictures of them in a book he brought.

My wife Zsuzsanna is apparently going to take care of the payment for the removal, and a large machine of some sort is left in our house. I am curious, so I push a couple buttons on this unfamiliar machine and it turns out that it is (or serves as) some sort of very large cash register that automatically adds up supposed pest control services. The very long list of costs comes out showing something like $890.00 total. There seem to be three different printers in the device that all print out duplicates copies of the bill on a long receipt, which is like a grocery store receipt. Zsuzsanna seems a little sad and expresses that she feels cheated over it all. The price of printing the three dockets is also added to the bill, including rental of the machine. We are also annoyed as It turns out that our house has no bugs or worms of any kind at all.

Later, the man comes back in with his co-workers to talk about the removal of the millimau, which now seems to be a trick to stealthily rob our house while pretending to get rid of vermin. I clearly say, “Eh, none of that here”. I throw up my right arm, and they fall back, shrink, and merge into a stack of older photographs (mostly of open city areas) sitting on a corner of a box near our kitchen, with some of the photographs flying across the room and going under furniture and appliances, such as our refrigerator, mostly upside-down. Zsuzsanna is concerned about the mess, but we can “stack” the trapped people later but maybe just toss them into our fireplace or hold them over a candle. We become romantic and I make loving comments.

Dream #1:

I’m supposed to be going to see “Beauty and the Beast” (the musical) with my sisters, my mom, and some random guy I don't know. But when we’re getting into the car, I realize I don’t have my ticket. I go back into our house (which looks like my grandparents’ house on the outside, but on the inside it looks like the house we lived in when I was 11) to look for my ticket, but I have no idea where it is. I go into a room and start searching. There are a lot of folders piled around on the floor and I’m sorting through them all trying to find the ticket, but I can’t find it. I go into the bathroom. I can hear the rest of my family talking outside, all of them also looking for the ticket, but apparently they can’t find it either.

Dream #2:

I have another dream where my dad and I are looking at pictures of my grandpa and talking about him.