Blue_Opossum

Morning of July 23, 2015. Thursday.



I am sitting at my computer desk as in real life though the room is mirrored longways (so that the open area of the room is to my left rather than to my right where the end of the desk is now against the opposite wall; however, the rest of the house, though I cannot see it, “feels” the same, as my oldest daughter’s room still, in in-dream “memory”, is to my left on the other side of the east wall). The room is mostly dark as I do not have a light on, and I assume it is nighttime.

The more I type with my keyboard (though I cannot recall the nature of what I am writing, though I am fairly certain it involved in-dream affirmations), the brighter it gets, until it is just a “slab of white light” (originally though with a bluish glow). Even though I had not been looking at my fingers, I am somewhat annoyed as it eventually seems too smooth to tap keys correctly.

Not only that, the computer monitor (the old large squarish type I still use that is about the length of my forearm) becomes black and blank and I cannot see what I am typing on the screen either. It almost reminds me of a large cloaked head (though not quite ominous).

How do people cope with this nonsense? (This is what I am thinking for a time.)

Morning of July 22, 2015. Wednesday.



This title is not that relevant - as the cat itself does not glow, but for some reason it just came into my head as the title (and who am I to “argue” with self-titling excursions into the surreal).

Yet again my dream alters the features and layouts of real locations. This time our bed that is in real life in what would otherwise be the dining room (head to the west) is now in the front computer room, which is adjacent to our older children’s rooms; the head to the east (though feasible, not that likely to be as such - especially as our oldest son’s room has a window in his wall into the room). At the same time, the computer desk is near the window (where the bed was).

I “realize” that I am at 611 North Monroe Street (in America), which I rarely dream about anymore, especially considering I have not lived there since early 1968 (before moving to Cubitis off Highway Seventeen). My cat Tiger (long gone in reality), an orange tabby, is walking about. I “realize” that I am about seven years old but am concerned that Tiger has stepped in paint and is tracking it around the room. He is hesitant and shaking each leg in rotation, just as in reality when a cat steps in questionable liquid. However, the footprints are like a light and almost like a “hole” as well, somehow.

I “remember” after the tracks are giving off an annoying amount of light, that I can “turn off the footprints” (that is, anything glowing in the room) with a special light switch. I move my hand around to feel for it but cannot find it. I vaguely also recall (real memory) that there is a stack of about six or seven comic books on the left side of the toilet tank in the bathroom and am wondering if they will be knocked into the toilet as a result of the cat’s actions. I am trying to remember if this already happened at a previous time and if as such they had been there for several days thus far (which makes no sense of course).

The cat walks up the wall, leaving an even pattern of footprints (which start to look more like upright five-pointed stars than cat paw prints), almost to the ceiling. “Come down from there,” I command. The animal comes down and starts purring very loudly on my chest but seems eventually to be my own breathing (and likely Zsuzsanna’s as well).

My thinking falls into the slightly abstract. I realize that a “star pentagon” is not a pentagon at all but a decagon (as it has ten sides and angles, not five sides and angles). I feel a strange uneasiness over humanity being “wrong” yet again, then realize everything in the world is misnamed and misunderstood anyway, so it does not matter that much.

I approach three (unknown) girls in somewhat plain dresses (sitting on the floor in the form of a triangle for the most part) who seem to be speaking Portuguese and involved in an occult ritual. There is unexplainable luminosity in the setting. Looking more closely, I see they are actually playing Jacks. However, looking again, I see the game box looks suspiciously like some sort of ritualistic system with the box shaped like a hexagon. I then confirm this by the fact that, even though they are playing Jacks, it is on a hexagram painted carefully on the floor. Then I get annoyed once again as I realize that the “hexagram” is actually a type of dodecagon, as it has twelve angles and twelve sides, not six angles and six sides.



“No one knows what anything is,” I say calmly. One of the girls (to the left and closest to where I am standing) turns and looks at me curiously though smiles in understanding and seeming familiarity (with a vague thought she is my wife when much younger). She says, “A minha estrela guia” (“my guiding star”) and I am not sure if she means me or the game piece (Jack) she is holding. Then I realize she may not have said “A minha estrela guia” but “I’m in Australia”, which sounds the same (and it slowly dawns on me that this is yet another “missed clue” or “confirmation”, of millions, about finding Yin incarnate, yet I recall I already have).

I feel slightly nervous and enter a more luminous state of “quivering” (where the foreground and background quickly shift inversely to each other) and see a large electric fan (all white, including the blades) where the rotary keeps changing in diameter, smaller and larger, but somewhat randomly. The fan blades sometimes curve out as if in attempt to touch or at least reach me (with a perceived sense of care and compassion, not as a threat). The imagery shifts in unusual ways. Every now and then, a small narrow crocodile head emerges (again, with no sense of threat, and the mouth remains closed) horizontally and evenly from the center and is seemingly pulled back in. Other things the spinning fan blades become is a cycad palm, a sunflower, and some sort of floral kaleidoscopic design. I watch it for quite some time (with a vaguely perceived buzzing) and eventually shift into a dream where Steve J (an old classmate) and I are walking just below rafters on roof support beams and ceiling joists in a large building. The rafter patterns become more and more complex. This last part, Zsuzsanna says she also dreamt of - though she was the one walking mainly on the hanging beams (without any actual reason or prior cause to dream as such, though this shared dreaming happens fairly often). (However, I did have a lot of similar dreams when about thirteen.)

Morning of July 21, 2015. Tuesday.



I am semi-lucid but do not rise to full lucidity and just let my dream render the settings and circumstances automatically (without any previous scripting). I first find myself with my wife and three youngest children, as they seem to be ready to go to a park, though I falsely “know” it is south of our home rather than north (something dreams do a lot). I am deciding if I should go with them, as it seems to keep “resetting” over time, even though, at one level, I know that there is no park south of us. (The orientation is mirrored rather than rotated, as the front door seems to the south instead of north as well, yet immediate surroundings are otherwise mostly correct.)

In the next scene, I examine a very old large hardcover book (which is somewhat worn) which I was apparently sent in the mail recently. It is based somewhat on the concept of friendship books (FBs) from years ago that many people send on as they are supposed to, though there are always those who do not “get it” and keep them. The book seems to contain ghost stories and mysteries of perhaps a few pages each, and over many years from different amateur writers. I, as well, have a thought in my mind that I could keep the book, though I am not sure if that would be fair or right. Upon looking more closely, I see that several pages from a modern notebook (including the notebook’s cover) had been stapled on as the front cover (the real front cover seemingly missing), though it is partly coming off. I am trying to decide if it is just the notebook pages I should fill out (with my name and address) and send on after detaching the already loose staples, or the old book as well. Obviously, if each person is to add a story to the book, it needs to be sent on, yet the scene is somewhat ambiguous, especially as only the last few pages are blank. I already have the book, yet there is a statement on one of the first notebook pages expressing that you should write why you think your story should be included in the book, which contradicts why I received it in the first place.

The first page of the book has about a hundred small signatures in various styles of handwriting going back to the late 1700s. I see the names “James” and “John” (though do not recall the last names) but do not attempt to focus on the entire long list. Each one had been an author of a story in the book. I remain perplexed and my dream shifts.

I am then with my (deceased) sister on Loomis and Gillette and asking her about the changes that have occurred. I notice the area on the east side of Loomis looks very different. Instead of the neighbor’s house that was there on the corner, it appears to be an old church with all the windows sealed up with concrete blocks and the entire building painted over - which is actually like a real building across from my childhood (short-term) home on North Monroe in Florida, where people went a bit “off” and sealed the church possibly due to belief in “evil spirits”. (I am not sure of this, but I know that some people actually believe in such things, though I cannot imagine why.) She talks to me about it though it takes a little time to dawn on me that the whole area is not of the original buildings. There is also a strange “sign” made of three-dimensional letters (though I do not know the phrase as I am mostly perpendicular to it) that runs north to south along the east side of Loomis, that is, just the phrase sitting upright (vertically) over the lawns, somewhat like a miniature (but longer) version of the “Hollywood” sign, about chest-high. I do not bother to walk over and read it. Our conversation is not that vivid though my sister seems to be expressing puzzlement about my not knowing of the (fictional) changes, and my dream shifts again.

Finally, I am with my wife Zsuzsanna in a mostly undefined setting. I notice that her face is glowing in a similar manner as when someone shines a flashlight from under their chin in a dark room, though in photographic negative, though with correct colors, so that the light both appears to come from inside as well as the colors rendered correctly (instead of with blue skin as would otherwise be the case). She is smiling intensely. “That’s sexy,” I say, though I am not sure of the dynamics of the setting (which seems indoors and outdoors at the same time) and my dream finally fades.

Night of November 11, 2013. Monday.



I am wandering around on a fully-stabilized plane, having moved into the first manifestation that formed, becoming integrated into the new environment to more closely examine the domain. I soon notice it is mostly old boards, somewhat scattered at different angles, lying about on the mostly bare ground everywhere as far as the eye can see, although my vision is mostly oriented towards the ground, not to the horizon. Many of the old boards appear to be partially covering holes of various depths, but I never look down directly into them, and there is no concern at all about falling into one. Most boards are brown, with a gray one here and there. Many of the boards are of similar lengths, about arm-length or longer. I mentally will them to move about along the ground to see a slight glow coming from some of the holes. With subtle thoughts now and then, I mentally will the loose dirt to fly away from particular areas. The soil and particulates are not so loose as to bother my breathing, though, and it seems that the area is not as old as it would logically seem. At the time, I do not perceive that they are related to any type of closed mine, and there are no buildings or land features anywhere. I reach the highest state possible into pure vividness, looking around. No one else is around anywhere. At times, a gentle breeze also blows a bit of the loose soil about. There is a slight essence of yellow above other earthly colors. At one point, I do get a very vague impression that I am in the future and looking at the remains of the house we are presently living in. However, there would be additional features if this were actually the case unless the other materials were removed, leaving only the wooden pieces.

I do not presently or immediately recall having been on this plane before. I mostly only focus on the local regions of where I am and do not move that far beyond. The only association I seem to make in afterthought is that perhaps (and it is only perhaps) someone had fallen down a well or a mineshaft somewhere and needs my help. However, that is only one lesser association. There did not appear to be any negative energy on the particular plane, and I found it very attractive and interesting.

Morning of September 24, 2013. Tuesday.



We are living in a different house, seemingly some sort of apartment that is somewhat like the King Street boarding house except that the area that would otherwise be the downstairs foyer is extended out into a much larger living area, oriented east and west.

At one point, a light-haired young man comes in from his own entrance downstairs at the east side of the building, yet it seems the staircase is part of a larger room of our own living area as I am able to look up and see him walking up the steps. He yells really loudly to someone as he is walking up the steps and I hear his friend upstairs yell back. They are still talking at a ridiculous volume even when right next to each other. I am very annoyed. It reminds me of people in real life who talk as loudly as possible even though the other person may be close or even right next to them - have never made much sense of why people are like that (even when I was a child), and it is not when the person is angry, either. It is just another way to impose, while having no self-control or respect for others, I guess.

However, I take an odd approach to how I confront them. One of them comes downstairs again. I say (not aggressively), “Could you please stop shouting? There are other people who do not want to hear it.” I seem to be implying to him that I personally do not mind all the yelling. Strangely enough, he does not get angry. We have a somewhat lengthy and friendly conversation before he continues out of the building. I seem to be in my own place, near the middle of the living room, and he is in his own place by his front door at the bottom of the stairs, even though we seem to be in the same general living area (even the same room), yet living in our own separate homes at the same time - a scene/environment that would not make any sense in real life other than perhaps as with an apartment building with a shared court or similar area for such as hanging clothes or parking or such.

Time passes and things are picked up by an “invisible force” and thrown against the wall, including some of our children’s toys, such as Lego blocks. The furniture is not disturbed that much and I also feel a slight breeze as the curtains are swept back and torn somewhat, like as with larger claws - but I still do not feel very alarmed.

I speak out so that my wife and kids (who are in other rooms) are aware of the events. “It’s a poltergeist,” I say, rather unemotionally, informatively, and with authority, but as if it is not that big of a deal at all. I notice that the other man has returned and is in my family’s living area now. There is also a (fictional) hallway that runs north and south along the east wall of the foyer. I now realize that the other two younger males are ghosts, but usually not all that mischievous. He (the one that had used the stairs) makes a comment about how he has “been like this for awhile” as if he is uncertain of his place in life.

I look at the east wall of the hallway near where there is also a door. The other (dark-haired) ghost seems to be having problems getting through the wall downstairs just to the left of another actual door. His hands come out, glowing green, creating a somewhat interesting unknown emotion (not fear). I make a note of it to my family as if we are watching a performance at a circus or music venue. I go over and help him by pulling on his hands to help him complete his act of going through the wall. The two ghosts are thankful for my help. I even throw a few things around (not in any violent way, just sort of tossing a few unbreakable objects about) supposedly to help them gain confidence in knowing what to do in their apparent new roles as “bolder guys” (poltergeists) so that they can do more of what they are supposed to be doing as ghosts. I then hear some sort of instrumental music, sort of like a harpsichord, but it seems to be coming from an iPhone that one of the ghosts has(?) Eventually, I am aware there are words to the song but I only hear the first few lines, something about waiting at a bus stop and the weather being nice and sunny (from a ghost’s perspective or as light coming in through the window of an old dusty room) as I wake.

Even though I was annoyed by their shouting at first, ironically, I come to “understand” that the poltergeists are normally less loud and annoying than living people in the neighborhood.

Oddly enough, before I actually took any notice, the last three dreams on here (before mine - this being in reference to the dream journal site only) include some of the same scenes or details (not all of which I even included in this shorter entry anyway - but this has happened quite often before and I do not always comment on it):

Exorcism

2 Dragonflies

Grandmother’s Haunted House

Morning of June 23, 1981. Tuesday.

Dream #: 5,300-02. Reading time: 50 sec.



I am in the Chipmunk Coulee region in Wisconsin, where I have not lived since I was about five years of age. I am in a clearing just outside a wooded area on a hill. It seems isolated, peaceful, and beautiful. I am unaware of anyone else.

Eventually, it is nighttime. I see a big bright greenish-yellow light that I cannot identify. At first, I think it may be a spacecraft. As it comes closer, I see it is a giant firefly, about the size of a small airplane. It does not seem to be a threat, though there is a sense of puzzlement and wonder.

---

[projected transitional vestibular system correlation]

This event type, though always different in each sleep cycle, is a result of projected anticipation of the waking process itself and stems from the correlation of the imaginary physicality of the dream state with my legitimate physicality and orientation.

Yellow (especially as light) is a factor of emerging consciousness associated with sunrise, often only discernible in the final stage of a dream.

I anticipate the dream state as being unlike waking life. The result of my thought creates a UFO, but it resolves as the increasing mental energy of my emerging consciousness. The result is a positive and wondrous association.

---

Morning of August 28, 1971. Saturday.



I discover a seemingly prehistoric coral-like “garden” underground that I had dug out from our front yard and put in shallower cardboard boxes and tried to maintain in a few different areas of my room, mostly on my tables and dressers (perhaps one or more on my floor). These “plants” (including supposedly prehistoric sea fans) are all of various colors (each one only of one color), including Pepto Bismol pink (fairly common in childhood dreams), bright glowing yellows, and that brighter glow-in-the-dark green used most often for certain toy surprises in cereal. My prehistoric garden seems very special; beautiful and nostalgic for reasons I am not sure of. Each type of plant has its own specific color. There is also a purple one that sort of looks somewhat lightning-shaped, with a bumpy surface as well as orange sponge-like “rocks” but of which may grow larger over time. Some “plants” are more rock-like, sponge-like, or fern-like than others and some glow more than others (the purple ones glowing the least, the green ones the brightest, I think - almost in the proportionate manner of glow-in-the-dark colors in real life). I am very glad to have these special plants in my room. They comfort me and radiate a sense of peace.

This is an interesting situation and one of my most comforting and deeply felt dreams of this time period. Coming from underground implies exploring more deeply into the unconscious realm or taking something (a gift) from the unconscious realm or perspective or mood of the unconscious self (the memories as such defining a more harmonious and joyful coalescence into whole consciousness), the “prehistoric garden” perhaps analogous to human DNA, yet the way the plants glow (and how they are stored - in plain cardboard boxes for the most part) implies the essence of the conscious self (and the light of day analogy). The light remains at a certain level however, which may be why my dream seems to last so long (seemingly all night), almost analogous to a reassuring nightlight.