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Morning of March 16, 1989. Thursday. (Anniversary of classmate Michael G’s death in 1974. Newly researched and studied April 23, 2015.)



I am entering the house (probably from the front door though the layout is different) and home of Niles and Holland Perry (from the movie “The Other” from 1972) as if I am a part of the family or a very close long-term friend. I am not at all aware of what city or state it is or should be, but I feel as if I know this place from actual visits. (I had known each scene and line from the movie, and the eerie opening theme is probably more recurrent in my mind than any other music during the course of my life). It seems to be late morning, perhaps around 10 o’clock. I see sunlight streaming through the windows. My dream, however, is not faithfully atmospheric (in an occult or potential “horror” sense) to the movie or with any relevant mood other than with a pleasant sort of nostalgic feel - or maybe it is described better as an enhanced essence of the movie before the plot intent is unveiled. There is a very comfortable feeling of timelessness and perfection (as well as being within another time in afterthought). It is rare that a movie-related setting has such a personally “realistic” feeling in a dream.

I walk with either Niles or Holland across the living room and there is a very cheerful mood. Everything seems quite vivid and there is no threat of any kind from anyone. I am eventually right at the lesser point of lucidity, but not quite full lucidity or of the type where I desire to question or change anything. Mostly all that happens is that I see an unusual and colorful toy harpsichord in one corner of the room sitting atop a rectangular antique end table (which was not in the movie). I do not recognize that it is “out of place” in any way. In fact, it seems as if I am seeing something special that the Perry family had never shown to outsiders, although it does have a sense of personal familiarity for some reason.

Night of January 1, 1989. Sunday.



I find myself wandering around in an unknown city, though of which is not very defined, walking from out of an alley, becoming more aware of my existence, though with only partial passive lucidity. It seems to be early evening, though there is not that much light. A low-lying mist, of which comes up halfway to my knees, drifts over some areas of the ground.

After perceiving a few unfamiliar people on the streets, I find myself in the presence of Columbo (the fictional TV detective played by Peter Falk). At first, I am somewhat wary of his presence (though I have no thoughts of having done anything wrong) but then I realize he is only puzzled by his surroundings and sees me as someone of whom he can ask directions. I do not recall all of the conversation but when I start to tell him where Fifth Avenue is after he asks, he holds his right hand up (as an indication for me to wait a minute) and takes out a yellow legal pad and pen from inside his rumpled beige trench coat.

Unexpectedly, a pigeon soon flies out from under his trench coat. He takes a step back and looks up, with a very puzzled visage, as it flies away. I feel very amused.

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dream processing dynamics; causes, and meanings:

the presence of mist is a factor of being in the dream state (as sometimes inferred and used as such in movies and stage plays)

reticular activating system mediation as vestibular system personification as Peter Falk as his fictional TV character detective Columbo because of being in the dream state as being “a mystery to solve”

liminal anticipation of the waking process causes transference of vestibular system correlation as a bird in flight (rather than the biologically induced sleep start)

Preconscious: Columbo, Emergent Consciousness Factor: flying pigeon, Dream Type: vestibular system correlation (bird in flight metaphor)

This is a unique transmutation of the “walking in a city and tripping, misstepping, or stepping off the curb and falling” dream, which has otherwise occurred on a nightly basis for over fifty years.

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Morning of October 9, 1988. Sunday.



This was one of those dreams that did not seem to have me as the dreamer or the main character (though I do not quite feel disembodied in-dream).

I am in an unknown house where a girl lives with her pet cat (and at least one parent, it seems) in a small town in either the UK or Australia (not sure of the accent in regards to this one - sounded almost Scottish). Although it does not seem to be a stronger or clearer version of the “mystery girl” - she did have a long-haired male whitish cat of the same breed (a silver chinchilla) when I made contact with the girl who was to become my wife in real life a few years later (in Maryborough). I am fairly certain that the town in my dream even ended in “borough” (I think it was “Landsborough” though, or something very close, not sure of anything else) but I do not know (or seem to know) the girl’s name.

The cat’s name is “Spitfire”. Mostly, my dream solely involves the cat spitting fireballs at mice and burning them up before they are eaten by the cat. As I said before, fire is a common feature in my dreams, but not as common as cool, clear water.

Curiously, “Landsborough” is actually the real name of a small town in Queensland near where we live now , but I did not know it was a real place at the time, or if I did, it did not “register” - plus, it was also very close in sound to my sister’s married surname at the time anyway.

Also, at the time, I apparently did not know (or at least think about) that one definition of “spitfire” was “a person given to outbursts of spiteful temper and anger, especially a woman or girl”. That does not seem to have any personal connection, though.

Coincidentally, my wife had a pet cat named “Sparki” when I first met her.

Morning of October 11, 1988. Tuesday.



I am on an old-fashioned passenger train (as if from an episode of “Gunsmoke”, though a few people here and there are dressed rather anachronistically relative to more modern dress as well). I seem to be dressed typically as I often am in reality. I have a strange atypical focus, as if I am in a type of ambiguous faux lucidity and am trying to work out how I got where I am and with a vague ominous perspective. A younger version of the “mystery girl” (the female archetype that represented, in almost every accurate way possible - my wife-to-be - something “normal” people would never believe no matter how many hundreds of dreams had already clearly established it for me since birth).

Being on a train may or may not be a good thing, I contemplate “realistically” in-dream. There is some sort of “anniversary” premonitory thought in-dream related to both the scene from “Twilight Zone: The Movie” from June 1983 (where the Jewish people are being taken away on a train), and “Love My Way” (by The Psychedelic Furs) from June 1982, with the line “They’d put us on a railroad, they’d dearly make us pay”…which seems to relate to how I knew things (and proved to be correct) when everyone else was always in denial, which has been mostly the theme of my entire lifetime since early childhood, always giving me a weird advantage in some ways but pure puzzlement in others (yet again remembering that “normal” people, especially the cop-out mentality when facing the unexplainable, always baffled me far more than the unexplained or so-called paranormal, now more than ever).

It dawns on me that the “mystery girl” may be in danger, though I do not feel threatened in any way, as I seem to be “invulnerable” in the setting for some reason I cannot quite focus on. The girl turns around and smiles at me but looks quite puzzled. She is wearing a black veil of sorts and a black dress. Some sort of unknown military character chops off my right hand with a sword, but being curious as to this unexpected affront, I look down and see my hand is floating in the air, attached to the end of my arm with a yellowish silk ribbon. It “spirals” back on, almost as if I was in a gravity-free environment for a very short time. There is no blood and it is slightly transparent. I am strongly reminded of M.C. Escher’s “Rind”.

This will not do. I feel I must take the girl and myself away from here. I go to get her and hold her to my front without resistance, attempting to lift her, and as I do, I lift both her and myself (with some sort of in-dream telekinesis) from the floor of the train, hovering in a fetal position. As such, I remain in place, passing through each train’s wall as it continues on until it is then beyond us on the track (and it keeps going). We then fly to a “familiar” location. It is familiar somehow in that it seems to be the “fictional realm” of an older dream from June 1972 which involved a deer’s “ghost” in an abandoned mansion, which was located in a forest fairly close to a truncated section of railroad tracks - therefore creating some sort of odd but “stronger” relationship between two sixteen-year-apart dreams - not that common of an event - though it is possibly loosely based on the old train at Copeland Park in La Crosse (as there have been several other more intense associations along this theme, including synchronicity with the “mystery girl”, such as the one where the Mississippi River lowers to reveal an old railroad, which becomes active again). There is a vivid sense of late autumn. Also, these supposed “barriers” between in-dream locations have often occurred before, almost as if each (fictional) dream location was part of a system of “bubbles” where you could go from one to another with some sort of particular focus or “portal”.

There is a unique perspective at this time. I figure that I can leave the girl here in this environment (until she “safely wakes” into her “real” location somewhere) because there is some sort of “barrier” between it and other facets from later dreams (oddly, even though I am not lucid as such). I also feel a bit odd about leaving her, though. In the back of my mind is the very early childhood association with seeing her in a tree in a park (on my family’s real-life trip from Wisconsin to Florida) and being threatened by wild hogs. Still, she has survived, although she was “older then” (which of course is faux “dream logic”).

Of course, there is more as there usually is. My wife had taken a train to get to school, and she had (when we first started writing) sent a photo of herself feeding a deer…

Morning of October 1, 1988. Saturday.

Dream #: 7,957-03. Optimized 2 min read.

My dream concludes briskly. Its foreground is defined by rich imagery and lively movement but without adequate realism. (Its content is unrelated, but the outcome has a similar essence and momentum as a childhood dreaming experience in which Toby and I rescue Brenda from a fire.)

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It is late morning in La Crosse. Without evidence, I assume an accident has occurred in the factory where my brother-in-law Bob is working. The mentation does not infer any details of the accident. I remain standing near the street, about half a block from the factory (probably Machine Products Co. Inc. - where Bob works in real life, though lacking its correct appearance). The rest of the setting is a featureless lawn. There is a sense of urgency, but I do not interact with my dream’s surreal content. There is awe but no concern regarding Bob’s fate or how he might recover.

An ambulance suddenly arrives off to my left, but I do not focus on it. The ambulance crew rushes into the factory. Immediately (with my dream not including any intermediate details or realistic timing), I see my brother-in-law lying on a stretcher, being quickly carried into the foreground by unfamiliar young men in white. Bob is oriented with his head away from me, though partly at an angle oriented to my right. One man holds the end of the stretcher near Bob’s feet, though grips it from behind him while running forward. The second man is supporting the other end.

Bob is on his back, with only the right side of his body remaining. His left side is missing as if he was vertically cut in half, yet there is no blood or gore. Even so, he seems to be alive but semi-conscious. The exaggerated stride of the two interns is vaguely reminiscent of a Mad Magazine Don Martin panel. The impossibility of the scene does not register with my dream self as such.

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This dream is merely a waking trope, correlating with the absence of mind-body connectivity resulting from sleep. Its self-evident causation is immediately recognizable.

Half of Bob’s body on the stretcher is an atypical feature caused by anticipating vestibular system correlation, feasible mobility, and viable physicality in emerging from in-dream sleep paralysis (of which I usually am only instinctually aware other than when I navigate the hypnopompic state). Bob is this dream’s sleep simulacrum, a fundamental factor of my dreaming experiences each sleep cycle for over 50 years.

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A lifetime of experience has taught me that waking tropes usually do not have a real-life meaning or significance. Why would they? They are fundamentally the result of navigating dream space or emerging from sleep. Whether sleep simulacra appear as deceased, sleeping, in suspended animation, or with surreal or impossible injuries as here does not have to correlate with anything other than my depth of sleep and my anticipated transition into mind-body reconnectivity and wakefulness. Even the sense of urgency is often irrelevant, sometimes triggered by an insignificant sound in the environment.

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Morning of September 17, 1988. Saturday.



Not as pleasant as it sounds, this was a long meandering dream which became fairly uncomfortable by the end (in the sense of in-dream boredom and physical tiredness).

I own a small yellow submarine and go on an excursion in the Black River region of the Mississippi River. I am very cramped in the machine. The submarine is smaller than a Volkswagen. Later on, it seems to be too small to even be inside it, and in fact, I seem to swim or move along the outside of it in a somewhat frustrating way. (This is similar to all of the many car dreams where I could not sit down inside a car because I could not fit in it - one of my most common recurring dream themes, in fact.)

The area near the river bottom also seems a bit more like the ocean depths at times, but with a sort of artificial appearance. I do not go near the surface at any time. I feel very annoyed at most points. There are not that many fish or things to look at at the time, either. It does look a bit like the Beatles animated version in form.

I believe this is a play on the fake charges made against me in Vernon County (false charges were common at the time, to keep their jail at a “quota” or some such) - I had to plead “no contest” (meaning “guilty”) for a false “fishing without a license” charge, which was fabricated by the authorities, and even the judge was a known crook who stole someone’s property through a supposed “loophole”. It comes from the fact that other people arrested (one male for “stealing” his own car, for some sort of report mix-up by a girlfriend) had a song they sang to the tune of “Yellow Submarine”, which was “We all live in the Vernon County Jail”, etc. That experience taught me a lot about the bizarre level of corruption in authority and how they do anything they want. Ironic that the ignorant public believes you have to actually do something wrong to be documented within any agency or department with more falsified records. Amazing, really; happens in both the USA and Australia and probably everywhere else. My brother-in-law helped me a bit in this, as he knew about the high level of corruption, but I still had to plead guilty for something that did not happen - taught me a lot about how things really “work”, and all through this, I was as passive as possible as I usually am, because I know how the wrongful dominant culture thinks and acts.

Morning of September 13, 1988. Tuesday.



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

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

Night of August 16, 1988. Tuesday.



This was a very long “search” dream that seemed to last all night. I was wandering around in La Crosse on the south side starting out near the King Street boarding house.

I was looking for General, my cat. He was a temporary pet that was a stray that showed up and which eventually left to go his own way (or someone else started feeding him more, or whatever the situation, as cats are not loyal, especially strays). I wander around on the streets and do not see any other people or cars. The cat General only makes a few appearances. I see him running down the street as well as seeing him sleeping in the middle of the street at one point (and there is a vague concern, but again, there is no traffic of any kind though I do question why cats do this in real life). There is a light mist in some areas at times.

I feel as if the search will never end. I end up going all the way to the northside of La Crosse and back again. At times, there seems to be more than one “version” of him in different areas of the neighborhood. Of course I need to find the “real” or “non-ghost” version. Although I wander about the streets for what seems like hours, there is no sense of tiredness and it seems to stay around eleven or twelve o'clock at night for nearly an entire day. My perception seems extraordinarily clear. At times, I seem to be floating without body, incorporeal, and then back to being in human form again, and I sometimes wonder if the cat is staying mostly in “spirit form” in a similar manner at times.

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Domestic cats are commonly a preconscious avatar as a “witness” to the dream state and the nature of liminal space.

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Morning of June 1, 1988. Friday.



This dream has very strange imagery and seems of the type where I am both disembodied as well as somehow “outside” my dream. I am apparently looking at a magazine (though it seems like a “real” scene as well, eventually), and focusing more and more on it. I see the “Dennis the Menace” character and he appears to be in a store, perhaps in preparation to look at or buy comic books, though his dog Ruff is also in the store and standing to his left (my right in perspective but a bit more in the foreground). I seem to be looking at a large colorful drawing or perhaps a sketchy oil painting by Hank Ketcham. (It somehow does not seem at all like part of a comic strip or comic book.)

The more closely I look over the scene, the more things seem “off” even though it seems “real”. Dennis the Menace has only one large eye on his forehead, which is somewhat dome-like and a sort of “sickly” brownish green. It may also be implied to be somewhat reflective (or mirror-like, though also “dirty” or murky). There are no other eye-like details, just the oval green “blob” on his forehead. This causes me to feel somewhat strange and out-of-place as if I am almost looking at something “wrongfully” otherworldly. I do not become lucid but begin to “understand” that everything is otherwise “normal” about this character’s drawing at this point in time. Prior to waking, it almost seems like the “real” Dennis may have been “taken over” by an alien threat (or at least as such relevant to semiconscious waking thoughts).

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Explanations for this dream are not all that diffciult to determine. Firstly, dreams typically have surreal and bizarre imagery, often incidental, so this could just be a “glitch” as such. However, it could also be a play on the “third eye”. Dennis is not a real character, which could reflect the “unreal” dream state. The “eye” could also represent a “portal” (that is, the return to waking reality as my dream “melts” into one color and with less detail). Because of the color it may relate to looking down into the ground.

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The “Dennis the Menace” comic panel prior to this date was a gag where he said “Guess what, mom! All the mirrors in the house look like ME!” - which may have vaguely influenced my dream on one level (and the one on this date - not yet seen at the time - having him ask Mr. Wilson, who is digging, “Who buries the worms here in the first place?” - nothing I know of relating to any “explanation” for this imagery other than the eye being partly mirror-like relating to a meditation I had been doing). I also had read many of the “Dennis the Menace” digests when younger but this is the only significant dream of this nature ever documented.

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Update: On this date in 2001 (exactly 13 years after this dream), Hank Ketcham passed away. This makes both my dream and his own comic panel published on this date in 1988 seem a bit eerie (no disrespect intended).

Night of May 1, 1988. Sunday.



I am watching in my dream (having fallen asleep on my back), the associated imagery of the actual music of Abba’s “I’m a Marionette”, with a somewhat disoriented awareness - much like falling asleep in a movie theater and then wondering where you are as you are waking. In fact, I actually do perceive I am in a theater of some sort before realizing I am in my bed. It seems like it might be the end of a big stage production but I am uncertain. It is mostly of a black silhouette of a marionette (which seems male even though the singer is female). It is moving fairly rapidly at times, reminding me vaguely of the motions of an insect. Part of the music seems more like a soundtrack for a film about a haunted house, I note, especially with the seemingly “gasping chorus”, but I also get the impression of the “fleeting” life of an extremely despondent female. I also get the impression of people in a mental institution randomly cheering some sort of game, but as a stage production.

Hearing the song through the veil of my dream, with associated “unnatural” rhythms, was very unpleasant, causing a slight nausea (though not nightmarish to a greater or clearer extent). This, for quite some time, caused me to rethink just how much music alters personal focus and internal emotions and ideas, especially music with negative or surreal implications. It caused me to once again question why people would deliberately listen to music with negative lyrics, especially while sleeping.

Morning of April 3, 1988. Sunday. Easter Sunday.



CS and her daughter NS are at my sister Marilyn’s house on Loomis Street. It involves the appearance of the “Anti-Easter Bunny”. It is fairly large and black and actually seems to have a “dark” and somewhat menacing presence in my dream (yet does not directly threaten or attempt to harm me or anyone else in any way). It appears on the dining room table, but moves about in a couple other locations in the house. My sister is also there. There is no actual fear, though, just a sense of awe and eeriness and an unusual awareness of something other than my own existence or in-dream awareness. It does seem like an external presence from outside my dream, as I am semi-lucid and eventually lucid, but no drama ensues. I get the awareness that its ears have the essence of larger bat wings (though they do not look like bat wings) and there is the essence of the hooves of a horse in sound and movement somehow, supposedly when it moves or “teleports” elsewhere. Again, it does not come near me in any threatening sense, but appears a few times.

Curiously, NS said that she had the same dream around the same time (with no indications or cues of any kind) and she said that she “threw a jelly bean at it and it disappeared”.

Morning of March 18, 1988. Friday.



This was a long dream, but mostly uneventful and primarily involving forgotten conversations and some sort of board game at first, possibly Monopoly. The plot centers around friends coming to see me in Cubitis. They mostly sit in a circle in my bedroom, both girls and boys. It seems I may be around fourteen years of age or older. I am seated in the circle and facing due east.

Eventually, a spider monkey, which seems to be very active and intelligent, starts talking profusely, as if he is in charge of everything. He mostly remains on my right, sometimes standing in the center of the arc of the semicircular formation of friends on my right (if left and right sides were divided into even half-circles). He talks about his “career” which I think is relative to music and radio as well as politics. It also seems that he is a prince of some kind, seemingly of a large country. At one point, he is wearing a gold crown and a red robe. Oddly, I do not question the fact that a small spider monkey is talking so clearly and with such authority in my dream (it is very vivid but I have no idea I am dreaming). At one point near the end, he is more and more articulate, eventually holding a banana, and I believe, talking about politics and mentioning “Washington”. My friends do not seem to think it that strange to see a talking monkey.

I think about producing an epic documentary detailing his life and times, but that thought soon fades. My dream is very vibrant prior to losing cohesion.

I get the impression he is the “Duke of Swing” (vaguely reflecting on “Duke of Earl”), which is eventually replaced by “Sultan of Swing”, which seems to be his actual title. The Dire Straits song, which seems directly related in afterthought, did not cross my mind at all when in my dream, and only at the waking point did I remember the song title, which seems to somehow have “created” my dream from the start.

Morning of February 13, 1988. Saturday.

Dream #: 7,726-02. Optimized 1 min 15 sec read.

I find myself in the backyard of an unfamiliar house I associate with being in Southside La Crosse, possibly southwest of the King Street mansion. (It may be on Cass Street though its front is never visible.) It is late morning. Through a window more on the right, I see a group of about five unfamiliar men who are all at least ten years older than me. They are wearing formal clothes in what seems to be a kitchen. I get the impression they are having a business meeting. My bicycle is leaning against the outer wall of a utility room to my left.

When the men come out, none of them seem to see me as a trespasser. I notice one cheerful man in a business suit who is now walking a bicycle not only identical to mine, but it is somehow the same one. I ask, feeling an increase in mental clarity (on the threshold of dream state recognition), “How is this possible?” He says, with a friendly tone and as if he knows me, “Parallel ground, Claude.” The men continue walking away to the right (when looking at the back of the house), presumably to use the private sidewalk adjacent to the house’s east side.

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Bicycles in my dreams are primarily vestibular system response indicators with literal correlations (chiefly imaginary kinesthesia that exponentially vivifies and sustains a dreaming experience the longer I focus on my activity) unrelated to symbolism. In this dream, however, I do not utilize imaginary kinesthesia by riding a bicycle.

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What does “parallel ground” mean? Here, it is a declaration from my protoconsciousness or personified preconsciousness at the threshold of my waking. The term occurs in electronics, so there may also be a reference to the mentation of dreaming and mind-body reconnectivity. It may also originate from the duality of dreaming and metacognitive dreaming as a whole.

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Morning of November 23, 1987. Monday.



Even though it makes no sense at all, there are (at least three) sharks under the floor (under the carpet in most cases) of the second story apartments of the King Street boarding house, mostly “swimming” north to south and back somehow just out of sight under the floor (and the floor is supposedly only water in some areas under the carpet where they can come up through), and even though there seems to be no flood or anything resembling the ocean this far inland. Regardless of the utter absurdity of the scenario, there is no hint of lucidity or dawning of even basic common sense. I am somewhat angry and frustrated over paying rent ($25.00 per week) under such conditions. I can walk down the steps and outside into the front yard or onto the front porch with no danger.

I believe some (or most) of the other tenants have left to find somewhere else to stay, including Leonard S, who is probably one of the last to leave. I do see him somehow fishing into his floor at one point though the floor seems mostly still solid.

How can a shark be in a house on dry land? Mental associations possibly destroy in-dream logic with the 1970s “Jaws” game, which I had, and at least one photograph exists where I have my face near the three-dimensional game’s open “mouth” in profile. I am never attacked; I just have to be wary of how I walk through my room to the door to the apartment. My large old (and loud) refrigerator, probably made in the early 1960s, sits inside the large clothes closet as in real life (which is where it was when I started to rent the particular apartment, strangely enough). Although I got along well with my landlord and landlady, as they lived in the residence below, it is possible that I viewed them as “sharks” on one level. It is also possible I had heard about carpet sharks previously.

Morning of October 30, 1987. Friday.



My dream’s title is based on having been a fan of Marvel’s “Werewolf by Night” comic book (the original series).

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I have had similar dreams as this where I am able to focus on my hands and grow claws and feel very vivid sensations of their emergence from my fingers, even though this dream is not fully lucid, as I know things are “different” yet I do not fully associate the state with being in a dream (but I do recognize its unrealistic nature). My dream colored my mood in a very lighthearted and positive way. I believe my name as a werewolf is “Sawtooth”. My becoming a werewolf is fully determined by my own cheerful desire to and not a result of the full moon’s influence. I am also aware of wolf canines growing but this is not uncomfortable, though I do clearly feel changes and pressure in that area (through semi-lucid threads of intent at one point).

The ending of my dream provides a strong state of happiness and an augmented sense of freedom, primarily freedom from the negative aspects of human society. I have become half-wolf, half-man, but I am still running upright like a human, to the southwest. It is about ten o'clock in the morning. Not that far away, to the south, my target is a very dense (fictional) forest, the trees seemingly only a few feet apart at least on the perimeter. It would otherwise be located about two blocks south of my older sister Marilyn’s house. I am blissful about living in the deep dark forest. Even though it is late morning prior to twelve, with no full moon anywhere - and in fact the sun is shining, I hear the howls of fellow werewolves from within the woods, and although there seems like twenty or so, I never see another werewolf in my dream. I still feel a strange seemingly serious kinship, even though the overall dream at this point is quite silly. There is a very cheerful, positive feeling, although I feel as if I will somehow completely “lose” myself upon entering the forest (not in a negative sense; more like being a playful child again, free as I was in the woods of Chipmunk Coulee before I went to public school), which is to be my home from then on. However, I awake before reaching the edge of the forest, the edge being east and west and almost perfectly straight across. Upon waking, in addition to general freedom, I realize that another aspect that was in the back of my dream self’s mind, is freedom from the expectations of others.

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The main influence here was “I Was a Middle Aged Werewolf” (even though I was young at the time of this dream), a “Highway to Heaven” episode, where the angel played by Michael Landon (who was born on Halloween in 1936) was also in “I Was a Teenage Werewolf” from 1957.

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