Recent DJ Posts

Morning of August 4, 2017. Friday.



I am not of my conscious self, though there are a few threads in which I am aware of a few facets of my identity. I am not sure of my implied age; perhaps it is only about twenty. Mostly, I am only aware of my mother. My mother has recently died. However, I think I can talk with her by initiating some sort of will.

The scene is distorted and my memory is askew. My mother is in the baby cot of our present address, though the baby cot unrealistically accommodates her full height. I do not see it as my present address (even though it is) as I have no discernible memory of my conscious self’s present living location. I speak to her, trying to will her eyes to open, on thought alone. It seems to work at times, but is she really okay with this act, or is she angry at me for “waking” her? Holding her eyes open by my mental will alone eventually seems a bit strange.

I go into a room that might be considered to be my room in Cubitis, last seen in 1978, although I have no memory or viable association with Cubits and the room is different anyway. I realize that keeping my mother’s remains in the box from the Barnabas Collins “Dark Shadows” board game is proving to be problematic. I do not even consider that, realistically, my mother would never have fit in this little pretend coffin of cardboard. By way of a false memory, I know that other people are known to keep the bodies of the deceased around their house. It is not unusual; it is a tradition, and yet, a part of my mother’s remains have leaked from the bottom of the box, like acid from an old battery, reminding me of my Kenner Easy-Show movie projector being ruined by leaking batteries so that I could no longer repeatedly watch the same short Thor and Flintstones cartoons on my Cubitis bedroom’s south wall. (My mother had told me to throw out my movie projector, which had been a combined birthday and Christmas gift from my older sister Carol, and to not touch the leaking batteries that had ruined it.)

The gore may be toxic and I am concerned that I had better not eat or touch my face or mouth until I wash my hands, so that no decaying syrupy gore poisons me. I spend a very long time washing and rinsing my hands under the bathtub faucet. The light is bright and I am actually in our present home, though I am not my conscious self and I have no clue to my real life status. I still have to find a place for the Barnabas Collins cardboard container with the plastic lid, which contains my mother’s remains, even though it is just a little box. I have to bury it somewhere. It is in too poor a condition to keep in the open now.

There is some sort of temporary offset dream, where I find myself living on Barolin Street. Two unfamiliar men seem to think that I have taken their truck. They come in through the back way without even knocking. Apparently, the truck was at the front of my house. I certainly did not steal it. I was not even aware of it. These imposers annoy me. They come back a second time as if I had put it back and taken it again. I certainly had not taken it and tell them so. I do not even know what it looks like.

I have to take care of my mother’s remains in the little Barnabas Collins “Dark Shadows” coffin. Her whole body somehow fits in there, with room to spare. She is on her back in this toy coffin from a board game that I had not seen in real life for many years. I decide to bury it inside a set of concrete steps in the Loomis Street backyard, which is also somehow the Cubitis front yard at the same time. The small set of steps does not go anywhere in particular.

For seemingly a long time, as long as it took me to wash my hands, I dig with my hands in the sand. I feel the sand flowing through my fingers. I do not question how a step in a set of concrete steps could be or become sand, but this is where I will bury the toy coffin.

I dig and dig with my hands, and the oblong hole keeps filling back up, not being quite deep enough for burial. Still, I persist with confidence.

The concrete steps have somehow separated, and have transformed into, or have always been, small cardboard boxes of mostly paperback Gothic novels. The area of the ground I had been digging in looks untouched, and it is now normal soil. Will this work out?

---

Morning of August 25, 2015. Tuesday.



Notes:

It always gives me an extraordinary sense of fulfillment when I get a continuous flow of insight and am able to more fully decode certain patterns in dreams over a lifetime since earliest memory. I am very grateful for the technology that has allowed me to do this; that is, type faster and with continuous editing potential (rather than writing and correcting and rewriting and correcting when I was little), put documents all together in one place, and have a listing and potential day to day timeline of my lifetime from around age four (with sparse family references and records since my birth date in 1960) as well as having access to resources that are able to validate and enhance so many of my earlier records. Not only will I be able to, in about ten years (only an optimistic estimate of course), bring all of my dream records and notes together as I want them, I will also have the ability to do extensive searches with a fair amount of precision. This dream, as odd and unlikely as it seems (even to me at first - I did not expect the flashes of realization when working with it), gave me the required focus somehow to unravel a small and isolated set of dream metaphors and associations going back to 1968 as well as relating to the path to my beautiful soulmate. There are too many layers to get into in this entry (and one would have to understand hundreds of summarized pages of my personal back story to “get” any of it anyway). I can only loosely touch upon some of it. Obviously, there are still limitations to my personal symbols and metaphors being fully decoded. This is mainly because some symbolic associations are rather sparse and fairly rare even at my present age. Still, I feel very happy today with another new breakthrough.

Sewing Machine Bulldozer:

I am mournfully back as I was when I was in my twenties and working for the Onalaska Street Department (not that I was sad at that time - it is just that something seems to be “missing” somehow in-dream). My job at this time was picking up large pieces of eroded embankment (on a fairly difficult inclination) and placing them on the roadside - placing them directly in front of the bulldozer. This was very difficult work and not many could do it for very long. Over time, I begin to be annoyed and tired over why I am even doing this. (It does not dawn on me that I am no longer this age, and do not even live in America anymore.) I am concerned about the speed of the other workers. The bulldozer even bumps me a few times, though not in any harmful way. I grow impatient and realize that I may have missed pieces a far distance back and think that the stretch will have to be worked over again. I do some of the work incorrectly, that is, I bend over to pick up a heavy piece instead of squatting and flinging back. Any sense of weariness of course, is an illusion in-dream. I start to ask myself what I am doing here. Is this where I am supposed to be?

I absentmindedly turn about and put my foot against the blade of the bulldozer. This results in a very strange event. The blade and push frame begin to wobble and very small “plates” fall off the front (reminding me vaguely of “Bathtub with Grill” from June 26, 2015). The exhaust pipe stack begins to move up and down like a “giant” sewing machine needle. It is almost like the tension building up in a cartoon (but not cartoon-like in any way). When I look down, I see that the bulldozer’s blade has actually transformed into an oversized antique sewing machine’s treadle (with floral scroll design), though at an angle and somewhat elevated. My leg is automatically working it to create (and actually sew together, apparently) some sort of clothing within the bulldozer’s cab. It is some sort of gossamer white lacy material flowing out from the side. Around this time there is a very strange mechanical sound behind me and when I dare look, it is a downward rolling “wave” suggesting a ghostly staircase. Soon, it is a luminescent staircase (recurring feature mostly from early 1991 to early 1994). My wife (as she was when we first made contact) in a glowing wedding dress and some sort of oversized tiara (somewhat like a crown) is standing there with a bouquet of flowers. I can see a blue layer of light just under her skin. “I’m not going to be late, am I?” I ask. “I never intended to be la…” (My dream is swept away.)

Connections:

Bulldozer history: I have found some links I did not really fully put together before. “The Dead One” dream (February 13, 1971, age ten - that is, first version of it) had a bulldozer run over Brenda W when I was taking flowers to her late at night on the eve of Valentine’s Day (so that only her hand is seen emerged from the soil and I feel a terrible sense of loss), yet she was resurrected (not in a zombie sense) near the end of my dream, yet “I could not yet have her”. (There were several dreams where she was resurrected, none of them relevant to any zombie lore - more in a divine “ascension” sense.) Brenda was the fully confirmed “stand-in” for my wife-to-be and also appeared in composite forms (such as “The Bad Witch” from March 18, 1978, which had a recurrence on March 23rd - the same date I got my first letter from my wife-to-be in 1991). Other layers - my sister died on February 13th (though the 14th from my perspective at one point in Australia as we are about a day ahead) and my father also died on the 14th of February. I have often associated the bulldozer with mortality and loss as such. Thus, there is very odd synchronicity with only a 1 in 365 chance it would be relevant as such - though it is - and all through my life extremely unlikely synchronicity continued with almost every event and association.

The origins of this (that is, the very seed) may or may not be related to the tree I used to spend time near at primary school. One of my friends used to take palmetto sticks and push sand off the concrete bench, chanting “bulldozer bulldozer”. This was the “same” bench that Brenda was seated in most versions of “Bridge Over a Prehistoric World” (though she also appeared in distorted composites associated with the “dream girl” or “mystery girl” as I preferred).

At any rate, from here, I made somewhat of a breakthrough in one very early version of the “divine staircase”. However, the features are quite different. It turns out to be my “Rocket Science” dream from July 2, 1976. This is not the first version of the implied “soulmate staircase” by any stretch. One of the oldest appears in “The Ghost Marriage” dream from October 16, 1971. I am linking only to the “Rocket Science” dream because of a few odd parallels. Firstly, the white sheet of paper that makes the “staircase” is like a miniature implication of the one in this latest dream (which I never even began to note before for whatever absentminded reason) as well as the commonly recurring ones as already mentioned above. It moved exactly the same way; that is, like a diagonal wave that suggested a complete “pure” or “divine” staircase (phantom or not).

Aside from that, there is also the shared “whirligig” element and the strange “impossible” technology, the “whirligig” obviously being a Merkaba form, but I am not sure what the sewing machine needle and fictional helicopter rotary design “pumping” relates to (well, on a spiritual level that is - some sort of spiritual “motor” or cosmic mechanism perhaps). As most of this had already come about in 1994, it is more like a decoding breakthrough than anything relevant to what may come.

Morning of March 29, 2015. Sunday.



I am walking up a very long and steep flight of stairs (both by my choice and my seeming simultaneous creation of it by way of non-lucid dream control). Others, including a wealthy old lady, are ahead of me. This flight of steps is so steep and high, I get a strong impression that I will not be able to go down them comfortably. (This is mainly due to the fact that I am facing the solid structure of the stairs as I am ascending them but when walking down the steps, I will be facing open space, which might cause me to feel ungrounded.)

I decide that instead of using the stairs on my way out after I do whatever it is that I have to do, I will teleport from the second floor of the building down to ground level (though this never occurs by the end of my dream).

I notice that, as I am climbing the stairs, the building I am in is like a huge cathedral. Eventually, I find myself in a large L-shaped area that has numerous bookshelves along all walls. Apparently, it is a book sale, displaying both new and old and worn secondhand books. My wife Zsuzsanna eventually appears and looks over different sections.

A young Japanese male seems to be responsible for most of the book sale, regardless of how large an area it seems to be in (at least one city block). At first, I talk to him about the books in broken Japanese but eventually I decide to implement a translator where I can speak English and it will automatically be translated into Japanese. This translator even forms a holographic matrix around my head to display the correct lip positions for each word and syllable, so that it also looks correct. It is as if I am actually speaking Japanese to anyone watching me. My translator works both ways. I hear the Japanese male speaking English even though I know he is speaking Japanese. His voice is loud and clear.

I look over a set of small but thick softcover books on a low shelf that seem to be in a series and are mainly about mythical monsters, though one has a triceratops on the cover. At first, I notice only book number four, but eventually find all of them and decide to buy them. I carry them around with me to another section closer to where Zsuzsanna is.

I pick up a large hardcover book from a top shelf and notice that the writing is very small and sideways on some pages, which seems to relate to statistics, old census reports, or other government records. I see that the front covers (though not the back covers) are missing from most of the books in this particular section including the one I am holding, which is also damaged in that the spine is at a slanted angle. Even though most of these books are in English, it seems that they may have been printed in Japan. I do get a lot of various information from the young male but cannot remember all the details, as there are a lot of different books I look at and talk about.

I find a large book in the area where Zsuzsanna is looking around. It seems to be someone’s dream journal in the form of a novel. It is about a man and his wife and young daughter traveling over an isolated desert region in a station wagon. I read one entry about a drive over a particular stretch of hard, cracked ground and what was seen, the dream journal being from the perspective of the male, who is the driver. I decide to get that one as well.

Eventually, Zsuzsanna and I are ready to leave. She has a large canvas carry bag full of books. Mine is smaller than a backpack. In order for us to pay, the young Japanese male has to put on a blindfold and determine the price by weight alone as he stands near the section we stopped at. I do not question this. The total cost is fifty dollars. As I go to pay, I see that there is about two hundred dollars in fifties and a few twenties in my wallet. For the third time in this dream, I implement an idea that seems to prove that a part of me knows I am making my dream. Even though I have enough money to pay for the books, I mentally create an additional fifty dollar note on the other side of the twenties.

From here, my dream fades. However, as it does, I begin to notice additional bills of odd amounts, such as a thirty-four dollar bill, a seventy-dollar bill, and several other fictional values.

---

Very interesting colors and shapes swirl around as my whole experience for a bit. Then I decide to go to a class I hadn't attended in a while. Some sort of English class, I'm not really sure what it is about yet. But most of the term has passed, and I think it's a good time to check in and see what's going on. I walk into the classroom, filled with college kids, and am warmly greeted by the teacher. I'm flattered she is so nice, considering I haven't been to any of the classes until now.

I look for my seat, but get a strong urge to use the bathroom, so I step out for a brief break so I can focus better. I go down a hall, and see a stairway. Two people are in the stairway, discussing where the bathroom might be. They don't know, and neither do I. Instead of following them, I trust my intuition, and go a different route, pretty confident that they will also find a bathroom in time.

I try to go down another stairway, but run into a large group of people, all walking slowly, carrying their book bags and talking to one another. I make my way past them, turn down another hall, and see a urinal at the end. It is strange that there are no doors to the bathroom. It looks to be a room that the janitors must use for something. I go up to the urinal, and am surprised to see that it is actually a sink, with a faucet at the top, and a urinal basin for the bottom.

I don't want to pee in the sink! So I look around and spot a toilet right next to it. I set something valuable down on top of the urinal/sink, and relieve myself in the toilet, keeping careful watch down the hall in case someone comes this way. Two people turn the corner, so I stop peeing out of respect for their sensibilities, mostly relieved so I'm okay, and go to wash my hands. One of the people goes to use the toilet, and I worry about splash back on my item I put on the urinal, but try not to worry about it.

Suddenly, I'm misted by a blast of water spraying from some unseen source. Ah, this must be the hand washing water... I wash my hands in it, careful to let some water pass behind me and not to block the entire jet of water so the people behind me can have some too. But they are more annoyed that I'm washing my hands in that water than anything.

Alright, I better get back to class now. But I'm lost. I have no idea where I am. All I know is that my class room was on the second level of a massive bridge connecting two large buildings to one another. It must be B-Wing. I try to back track my steps and end up outside the building. I know I didn't go outside to get here, but it is sort of familiar, and I think I can get there this way just as well as the other way.

Walking around the building, I approach a large group of people just relaxing outside, laying in the sun, happily talking amongst themselves. There are a few builders taking a break on the hill, eating their food and enjoying the sun right next to the stairs up to B-Wing. I can nearly see my class room through the doors atop a few tall flights of outside stairs leading up to the bridge area. To my right is a goat with long blonde hair, and a rather human like face. She says hi to me, then starts talking to the builders. I'm not sure if this goat/woman speaks English, or if I can understand goat language really well. I am a goat whisperer after all.

No time to ponder that now, I'm late for class. So I walk past all this, shoot a quick smile at goat/lady, and approach the stairs. As soon as I take my first step on the stairs, I get that heavy leg thing. My legs feel like they each weigh 100 more pounds, plus like they're bungee corded to the ground, and are now unresponsive to usual motor control. It takes all my effort and focus to move just one foot up to the next step. There are many steps to go, so I use all my focus and concentration to consciously move my legs to get me up the steps in a timely fashion. My automatic movement part of the brain seems to have turned off for some reason, so all of the motion is now conscious motion.

It seems like it has taken so much time to climb the stairs that the class must surely have ended by now. But I push on anyway to prove to myself that I can overcome this obstacle, and also because the teacher might still be there so I can talk with her. Is it an English type of class?

/// I interpret this as I know the next steps to take in life, but they're hard. Although no matter how difficult they are to take, I can do it, and there's something important to be learned once I've taken these steps. Also, if I weren't so distracted by bathroom things, I could have learned what I needed to by now. Focus!

I'm looking after a little girl and a little boy. My IRL father's recently married their mother. At the moment we're heading for the car, and the little girl asks to stop by our parents' new house. I say sure, we can swing by and take a look if you want - it has pretty steps, doesn't it? She says that's not it, she wants to go inside. I tell them we can't do that yet. The little girl doesn't understand why not - she says the divination's already been done. I hadn't been aware of that. The results of the divination must have been bad. I see an image of something being driven into the ground outside the house with a hammer - if it's blocked by anything, if it doesn't sink completely into the ground in one blow, then it's a sign of misfortune and they'll have to clear the misfortune before anyone can enter. I see my IRL father walking away from that divination and getting into a car, and I think about the traditions associated with the place our families come from.

Transition to that place - it's a small New England town. I'm walking down main street - well, 'walking'; I think I was disembodied at this point - and I overhear snatches of conversations with words like "dreams" (a girl pointing to a phrase in her friend's book) and "luck" (a goth girl talking on her cell phone about her boss). I pass by a church where the window is covered by cardboard. People are milling around outside, just left a service, and someone's commenting on how the priest here never gives any blessings and never reads from the Bible. Someone who works for the church is insisting, offended, that the priest is not a vampire - he's just unwell.

Transition to see that priest - he's giving a speech to a group of graduating students on an overcast day. He's making a point to appear in public during the daytime, to prove that he can. It's a small graduating class, maybe thirty or so people, and they're standing around him in a circle, very casual. The priest looks like he's in his 80s or 90s, slightly hunched, and he's got Nosferatu teeth. As he's speaking, the clouds are beginning to thin - the sun will be out soon. I'm mentally trying to get the priest to notice this, but he doesn't. Eventually one of the students comments on it, and the priest finally looks up. He finishes his speech and leaves in a hurry.

02.02.2013

Developing robots and playing tag. (Non-lucid)

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

I was with some friends indoor talking about how to develop a robot with artificial intelligence. The home interior was pretty dark since the windows were very small. We had a lot of computers and some robots that also could be used like cell phone (not smart phones though) and they were about one feet tall. I was taking with them about the inconvenience to do some phone calls with them.

For those who do not know me, I am a 30 years old working Psychic Medium despite the dream how follows.

Suddenly, we went outdoors and we started to play Tag. I started to run with a made up best friend I had in life, and we were tagging each other all the time. We ran a few blocks and we went inside a few buildings, some of them, had stores and restaurants.

Each time I tried to tag him, he would hold my arm and tag me back, sayng "Tag, you are in!" I felt a bit upset because he was too fast for me to scape, plus there were a ton of tables and chairs and it was hard to run. We got to the exit of this restaurant, and I saw some stairs, I tagged him and started to run the stairs down. He claimed he was afraid of the stairs and he needed to use the elevator. I started running down the stairs, jumping sometimes 4-5 at a time or even the whole floor using the hand rails as a support to bounce. When I reached ground level, I could see how still the elevator started to go up (we were at the 4th floor)

I found it pretty funny that he was not going to be able to catch me anymore, since he wasted a lot of time. I wondered where my other friends where.

Type: Regular dream.
Lucidity: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Vividness: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Notes:
This is another dream that I recalled the same night as the previous entry, Fragment - I Didn't Study!.

I was outside, on the top of a grassy hill that sloped down into a long river. This river was situated in a small public park (my dream-self knew I was in a park, even though I didn't actually see a park sign or anything). It was night and therefore very dark, but there were a few black street lights along the side of the river, lighting the area dimly. I could see the faint outlines of objects and people against the midnight blue color of the sky.

The hill I was on was rather steep, and at max it must have been fifteen feet above the surface of the water in the river. On the top of the hill was a row of flat, square-shaped concrete stepping stones that had the texture of pumice, but they were light beige or something like that. Each one was about half a foot from the next one. I was on one of these stones, and I peered over the edge to look into the river. I saw the highlights as the pale light caught the ripply waves of the river, which were a bit more turbulent than you'd expect in a normal river. The water was flowing relatively quickly, too.

I heard somewhat-exhausted breathing and immediately turned to my right to see the source of the noise. I saw a young girl with olive skin; she was wearing a light yellow dress and was skipping along the stones, jumping from one to the next, right along the side of the hill. She would fall any minute.

As the girl passed me, I remember scornfully saying out loud, "what idiotic parents would let their child do that?"

Mom, Aunt Jenny, six-year old neice Miranda and I are going up huge, snowy mountain. I think my Dad, brothers and cousin Peter are there but they stay at the foot of the mountain for some reason. There are three plateaus where climbers can stop and rest, or catch a red tram that goes from the foot of the mountain to a chalet at the second plateau. There is a stop at the first plateau where people can take a bathroom break in a facility that has been carved into the mountain side.

My mom and Aunt Jenny go on ahead while I am left with Miranda to walking up the first part of the mountain (which is also the least difficult). At the first plateau we have a quick rest and watch people getting on and off the tram before continuing on our way. Because the mountain becomes dramatically steeper, there are stairs cut into the side of the mountain to assist people who decide to walk up. We are almost at the second plateau when Miranda slips and begins to slide down the mountain side. I throw myself after her and act as a human sled so that she will not be hurt. We slide all the way back down to the first plateau on our butts (well, my butt actually). Miranda thinks it is great fun but I am sore and frustrated.

It is very late in the afternoon and soon it will be dark, so rather than waste our time trying to climb again, we agree to take the tram. We quickly go to the bathroom (we only have two minutes before the tram leaves), get on and ride it up to the second plateau, where Mom and Aunt Jenny awaits us in the chalet. I want to stay there for the night but Mom and Aunt Jenny say that Miranda has school in the morning and they take the tram down the mountain. The entire family leaves and since I no longer have a ride home, I decide to continue climbing the mountain myself.

The next day I am eager to continue on. Since the tram does not go up any further, I have to climb the steep stairs that have been cut into the side of the mountain. The climb to the thrid and final plateau is the longest and hardest, but it doesn't seem so bad because there is a steady line of climbers trudging up the mountain. I see a few people fall or slide off, but since there is nothing I can do to help them, I have to keep going. I reach a peak and grab the slippery ridge just as I lose my footing. I cannot see what's on the other side but I assume it is the final plateau because I can see what appears to be a wooden roof. A hand grabs mine and pulls me over the ridge and I find my self under a small gazebo where an elderly lady with pink coloured eyes is drinking hot cider with two old men. One of the men is completely blind and the other has one eye missing.

Behind the small gazebo there appears to be a small town where many people are walking around. The buildings are just shells (four walls and a roof), with padded floors. There are no windows and no doors so the buildings offer little shelter from the elements, though I suppose they were better than sleeping outside. People can buy, sell and live in these building for as long as they want. I cannot see what or where the source is, but there is a steady and abundant supply of food. The little town sits in the shadow of the summit, and many climbers think it is so great that they forget about reaching the top and stay in the town instead. I have grown tired of the mountain and want to leave. I have lost my desire to reach the top but neither do I want to stay in the town. I buy some skis and start down the other side of the mountain from the plateau town. The view is exhilarating but the decend is long, isolated and dangerous. There is no one attempting the decent but me.


I was only half way down the mountain when the dream suddenly ended and I woke up.

Morning of October 6, 1969. Monday.

Dream #: 1,022-02. Reading time: 1 min 40 sec.



Five or six schoolmates and I slowly become aware of, and choose to investigate, another part of our school in Arcadia that most people supposedly do not usually go to on the east side of the high school building (even though we are in elementary school, though we did have classes in the high school building).

Bossy schoolmate Susan C is present. She is the authority for our tentative exploration. It is seemingly very early in the morning before sunrise. At one point, she lifts her finger to her lips in a “shush” gesture. (I consider this a dream sign as people sometimes do this when someone else is sleeping.)

We arrive at a staircase behind a doorway, directly accessible from the outside of the building. It leads to the highest floor, to a big bedroom where a possibly dangerous male giant is sleeping. (There is never a sense of impending danger.) I get the impression he is about four times larger than a normal human being. We all walk up the steps slowly and cautiously, Susan in the lead. Eventually, everything starts shaking. The giant is possibly slowly waking for the day, but there is no immediate danger. We ascend the steps with curiosity and caution. Perhaps the shaking of the school building is only caused by the giant’s snoring, and he may not wake after all. We do not reach the top before I wake, yet I visualize him in my mind’s eye. He is asleep in his bed on his back kitty-corner from the doorway I peer through, his head in the opposite direction of my viewpoint, the soles of his feet facing me and uncovered (by the bed sheet) with one sock half-off.

---

Here, the preconscious, as my classmate Susan, serves as the transitional vestibular system simulacrum as I remain passive to the dreaming process. She is guiding my infra-self into the subception that my conscious self is sleeping. The top of the stairs is a precursory factor that correlates with the extent of my readiness for getting out of bed and going to school. However, in this case, it is nowhere near the time to wake up for the day. That is why Susan “shushed” my infra-self, despite the incidental emergence of vestibular system awareness. It serves as a reinduction process rather than consciousness initiation. This shaking effect occurs in the first part of the sleep cycle.

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See my series, “Staircase Autosymbolism and Dream State Mediation” for important revelatory notes on dreams of this nature.

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