Someone Else’s Reflection

February 8, 2014

My husband, Stinger, and I are in a house planning to meet up with a woman we know. It’s not our waking reality home. I walk into one of the rooms, and he tells me to turn on the lights in the hope that she’ll see them and know where we are. One of the lamps is like one I have at home in my study, and I decide to turn off the bigger brighter one as that seems safer. Everything looks and feels very real; I’m positive I’m awake. My purse is on the dresser, and I fish my little black address book out of it, intending to call the woman… The next thing I remember is standing in the middle of a crowded pub. Stinger is on the phone with a man who works at the restaurant-bar our female friend works at. I can hear both sides of the conversation. The man is telling Stinger that Annie can’t come to the phone now, she’s busy working… Some time later, I’m in the same pub, or perhaps a different more brightly lit one. I look around me, and consider asking one of the many smiling relaxed people what the name of the pub is. But that seems silly. I notice a wooden sign on the wall and distinguish the letters GW and maybe NYTH, although I can’t be sure. I spot a bathroom and walk into it.

A woman enters the single stall before me, so I decide to use the toilet outside it. As I’m sitting on it, I become aware of a man in uniform overalls, of an indistinct blue-gray color. Apparently, this us a unisex bathroom. The man is accompanied by a large black dog. I notice him because he’s suddenly too close, and then it’s obvious he’s deliberately pretending to look into another stall so he can rub up against me. I remember this happening a few times before. Having finished my business, I get up and tell him, “Stay away from me, you’re just too horny!” I move over to the sink and look at my reflection in the mirror. I am not Maria Isabel Pita. I am a completely different woman. This does not surprise me, and I lean toward the glass to better examine the dark circles beneath my-her eyes. Wow, they are really black! This woman is not well. I wonder if this means I too am suffering from some hidden illness, but the face is not mine, and the skin beneath her eyes is not only black but oddly wrinkled and scaled, almost reptilian. Is this some kind of deliberate make-up she has applied to accentuate her eyes? I study her short darkhair, which is full enough that she can artfully pin it up here and there in a sort of retro style. She has small, dainty features, and is very slender. She’s not bad looking, but definitely past her prime. She is resigned about this, but still rather proud of her looks. On her-my way out of the bathroom, we pass the man with the dog and warn him, “If you come near me again, I’ll call the police.”

Outside the pub now, I join a stream of pedestrian traffic. It’s night time, but the city is brimming with life. I pause for a moment. The mall-like facade on my left is not where I want to go. I walk quickly and purposefully in the opposite direction, sensing my destination is not too far away. I’m very conscious of my tight jacket and pants and high-heeled boots, and of my confident, sexy stride. I still have a really great figure even if I am a little older now. I pass the man in the overalls, who now appears to be fishing through a garbage can. I, Maria, not the woman whose body I’m inhabiting, sense this man’s hostile focus on her, and the danger she put herself in by angering him. She is very sure of herself, she believes she can fight him off if he ever dares lay hands on her. But I’m concerned for her because I somehow know he plans to follow her, and if he catches her somewhere in the dark, and alone, it will be bad. As we keep walking, she-me delight in being surrounded by people all out for a good time. This pedestrian walkway is well lit, and I clearly see the pale face of a rather attractive blonde man, which somehow confirms to me that I’m somewhere in Europe. It’s a nice change from living out in the country, and I’m thinking how much I’m enjoying visiting a city for a while, when I phase out of the dream.

Dream Notes:

I woke up trying to make sense of this dream, which was incredibly vivid and, I felt, important because of the way I phased out of it as I tend to do after a semi-lucid or a lucid dream. It happened around 3:00 in the morning, which is unusually early.

In the dream, I was trying to get in touch with someone in the dream space whose name reminded me of an old bartender acquaintance. The name of the woman I inhabited in the dream may be, or sound like, Annie, and she may work in a pub or restaurant. She definitely looks like the woman I saw reflected in the mirror, and she lives in a city. She is in some kind of danger from a man who is stalking her. This man may be homeless and/or he may be accompanied by a large dog. Or this dog, which made me think of a police dog, may indicate he already has a record, perhaps as a sex offender. She may live near a restaurant pub the name of which begins with G.

I have to wonder why I picked up on this woman at all. There are many possibilities. I will probably never know. Maybe one day some woman might read this dream and recognize herself in it? Anything is possible. It’s an intriguing mystery why I so vividly saw and experienced myself as someone else for a time, someone I sensed was in danger of being hurt.

Lucid Triptych

October 18, 2013

I: Lunar Lovemaking








I’m lucid and aware of lying in a bedroom on a bed and of a man sitting in a chair before one of the several windows. Everything is tinged a blue-white as though bathed in moonlight. There is a soft white light outside the windows that also seems part of the room. I reach out to him as he gets up. He is turning away as though preparing to fly out the window. “No, come here, please!” I beg, and the act of him walking back toward the bed roots me in the dream and lucidity. He says, “You know he can’t” and I feel he’s talking about one of my Guides, who can’t be with me like this. I understand, and also somehow know that he can be with me in place of my Guide. I’m still holding my arms out to him, pleading with him to come to me. I need him to make love to me. He is a slender attractive man with a distinct look to him. His hair and face are both pale in the light from the windows. Looking intently at me, he quickly walks around the foot of the bed toward me as he warns, “I’m not going to be gentle.” He looks serious but of course I’m not frightened, and deep down I think he might be teasing me because he knows I have liked it rough in the past. I look down, very aware of my breasts, smooth and round as they swell partially out of a bodice as he kisses them both ardently and admires them, saying something like, “Oh, look at these…”

My memory of what follows is broken up into vivid highlights punctuating a flowing sense of sensual contact and gradually deepening in intimacy… We prepare to kiss, our faces very close, but at the last moment I seem to shy away… We’re sitting together on the edge of the bed. He’s no longer wearing a shirt and I’m curiously fingering his necklace. It consists of two long, thin, and somewhat stiff cords that somehow relate to what he’s telling me: He has no memory of the different lives he has lived, of the different people he has been, as though he’s been wiped clean. I sympathize; this is quite terrible. “But aren’t we our memories?” I ask, because memory is everything. He seems to be enduring a penance imposed on him for some reason. And yet I know he is a also somehow a soul worthy of working with, or for, one of my Guides. His slender pale chest contrasts with the dark and sharp, almost like barbed wire, or fine thorns, of his “necklace”. He rises and walks over toward a couch. I get up and follow him as he sits down and watches me approach. I wonder how excited he really is about making love to an older woman, but of course, I remind myself, I’m in my dream body, which has the power to look as lovely as I feel. I’m very aware of wearing only a skimpy top as, beneath his unwavering regard, I embrace the knowledge that my attractive powers are never diminished except by my own thinking. I get on the couch with him and he lies back across it, his eyes never leaving me. I obligingly pull off his sand-colored pants and, kneeling over him, study is long lean pale naked body. His shoulders, chest, waist and hips are nearly all the same width, as though he is not fully formed, and yet at the same time his extreme slenderness is proportional and pleasing to look at. He obviously wants me to ride him but this has never been my favorite sexual position. So of course it makes sense this is what he is making me do. I straddle him and position him to slip him inside me, but his desire seems to be slackening as I do so, and I’m afraid I’m not turning him on. At that moment it hits me, as he smiles up at me, that this whole experience is a series of tests in which to pass I have to confront and overcome all my various insecurities. It all feels perfectly real as I begin phasing out of the dream.

Dream Notes:

I think perhaps the thorny nature of the necklace worn by my dream lover relates to the crown of thorns placed on Christ’s head by those who crucified him. I was having many thoughts before I went to sleep, and one of them was about Christ and how the image of him hanging on the cross was created centuries after his death by the church and is at odds with the spirit of his words and resurrection. A lifetime is akin to a rose that blooms and dies and the pains, the sorrows we suffer in it are the thorns. Our Inner Self/Consciousness wears all our earthly incarnations like a necklace against Its heart.

I have reason to believe the man in my dreams is a real person I am acquainted with in waking reality and that I interacted with a piece of his consciousness. I may even have pulled part of him to me, for in the beginning of the dream I begged him to stay in my room, in my dream space. He does not remember the encounter and yet he possessed a presence my experience with dream sharing has taught me indicates he was not a projection of my mind.

II: Lion Love

I get ready to exit a building with broad corridors. Wide double doors open as I approach them. It’s night outside but I’m still able to discern a lioness reclining in the darkness on a low stone wall only a few feet away. I immediately turn around and hurry back inside. I turn left around the corner as I warn someone, “Don’t go outside, there’s a lion out there!” I worry that the doors stay open behind me for several moments before finally closing. I enter a dark room that feels like it belongs to me. It isn’t a bedroom or an office, but I’m not really aware of the furnishings because my attention is all on the lioness I can see still reclining on the ledge outside. And I know she can also see me through the long glass window. I also know now that this is a dream and that I’m not going to run because I have to face her. I know she can’t really hurt me even though I can’t stop her from entering the room. So I just stand there as she jumps onto the window ledge and passes through the glass barrier as though it isn’t even there. She comes to stand beside me in the dark space and I put my hand on her head. “I love you,” I tell her, and she slinks around me in a warm, friendly manner as I declare, “You’re so beautiful!” at which point she falls onto her back like an ecstatic dog or kitten. Now it’s a male lion and I bend down to scratch its silky, furry belly and caress its mane, repeating, “You’re so beautiful! So beautiful!” We’re shamelessly wallowing in appreciation of each other, filled with a joyful, scarcely containable energy. And as I pet this big gorgeous lion, I wonder what it would be like to be a lion myself. Even as I consider trying to assume the form of a lion, I seem to see and feel my hands transforming into large, fluffy paws as our mutual ardor increases. Now it’s almost like I’m having sex with him as a lioness, only we’re doing it human style, facing each other, although all I feel is a glowing and arousing friction against my sex.

Abruptly, there is more light and I realize there is a man below me now who is screaming at the top of his lungs, his face red with exertion as he looks away from me toward whatever invisible aggressor is tormenting him. The tendons in his neck are extended as though he’s in terrible pain or suffering some kind of horrible torture. His fear and agony have nothing to do with me; he doesn’t even seem aware of me. I ask, “What’s wrong with you?” and notice my surroundings along with two other men hovering nearby. We’re all in some kind of normally lit apartment and I hear what sounds like a radio station, and a male voice I clearly distinguish talking about “double agents” and what can be done about them. I know I will clearly remember the term “double agent” when I wake up, and that it relates to dream characters or people who appear to be one thing and then another. There is a general air of confusion that almost amounts to chaos as the two men urgently tell me to call a train for them. I get up and clap my hands loudly two or three times. “Okay, everybody out of here!” I command. They look at me oddly, as though taken aback, but I’ve lost all patience. “You’re the most frustrating dream characters ever,” I tell them, conscious that I sound a little like a petulant teenager. “Just go away!” I shoo them out of there and slowly lose the dream.

Dream Notes: 


My encounter with the lioness-lion evokes the Tarot Card entitled Strength:

Self-confidence, the power of conviction, patience, wisdom, courage, gentleness, and harnessing instinctive desires. Empowerment by way of faith in yourself. 

I see the lioness as an expression of my inner Self, full of Divine love and power and always hunting for everything it desires and needs to thrive and grow.


III: An Attack

I’m walking down a crowded city street in broad daylight when I see a man in black robes running straight toward me, his arms stretched urgently out before him. “Help me! Help me!” he begs. “You can heal me! You can heal me! You’re my healer!” I already know I’m dreaming and, hurrying over to him, I slip a supportive arm around his shoulders. I become rooted in the dream scene as I help him walk quickly in the direction he had been running. I’m trying to understand what happened to him… I lead him to temporary refuge against a wall. He’s now wearing a thin hospital robe as he crouches down, weak and helpless. He’s confused; he can’t seem to understand where his pants went. I leave him there in search of something, perhaps his possessions. I seem to be walking on rocky, sandy cliffs.I remain conscious of being in a dream, and yet I also act as though I’ve woken up and am telling someone about this lucid dream, broadcasting what I’m seeing as though communicating via a hidden microphone. I tell my contact how real everything looks, that it’s like watching a huge screen TV, but not really because everything is in 3D and absolutely true to life.

I watch troops climb and assemble on the upper level of a metal structure protecting a large compound. They’re all lining up there in preparation for something, overlooking the open white concrete of what might be the tarmac of a large airbase or simply desert. I inform my invisible audience, “It’s so realistic! I can’t see their faces because the sun is behind them.” The troops are in full uniform, and suddenly I know it’s wrong to call them troops because they don’t look like American military uniforms. Their uniforms are slightly different; they look and feel foreign to me, and there is a distinct circular dark-green patch on their sleeves. Many of the men are holding rifles, and they are all wearing caps of some kind.

Dream Notes:

After waking from my final lucid of the night, I Googled key words and found a breaking news story about Afghan insurgents attacking a residential foreign compound. The International Security Assistance Force was called in and their uniforms, logo patches and caps exactly matched the ones of the troops I saw in my dream.

As I was leading away the man in the black robe, taking him somewhere, ostensibly to safety, I was suddenly alone, without any sense of my own body, observing the scene. I feel he may have been one of the two fatalities cited in the news report. I have read, and believe this to be true, that when people die abruptly and violently, they don’t always realize they are dead, out of their physical body, and dreamers are sometimes “called” to assist them, or they just mysteriously happen to be around. It’s not the first time I’ve had a similar experience in a lucid dream. It’s curious the victim recognized me as someone who might be able to help him.

A dreamer on the forum Mortal Mist, where I post my dreams, commented, “Could be the fact that you’ve had a similar experience made him recognize you as a healer/helper” which I think is an interesting possibility.

The Ancient Mirror

August 21, 2013: Full Blue Moon

Stinger and I are in the process of securing a very desirable property on a tree-lined street in, I realize with surprised trepidation, the heart of Washington D.C. As we enter a building with our agent, we are both pleased with our success but also determined he understand we still want to live in the country; there’s no way we’re moving full time to the city. Stinger is wearing a dark suit and as I follow him to the front desk, I look around me, feeling very present in what now feels like a hotel. When I make some comment he barely glances at me as he says coldly—Did I say something to you? He’s busy filling out a form and does not want me there. I smile and—once more looking around me at the sunlit hallway, standing where it divides in a right angle into two short corridors leading to glass door exits—I reply—Okay… and you know what, I’m going out flying, because this is a dream. My attitude is knock yourself out, I have something better to do. I start toward one of the exits and am somewhat amazed, as well as very pleased, when after an instant’s hesitation, he follows me!

The double doors open onto a rural landscape and an open field that looks as though it was recently covered with wildflowers but has since been hayed and is now brownish gold. I say—This is perfect! I break into a run, Superman it up into the sky, and Stinger follows me up! We’re flying through the sky together! It’s wonderful, and a little funny too because he’s wearing a business suit, which looks brown now. There is a flock of large white and golden-brown geese on the ground below us, and some of them take wing now to fly up around us. They are very intent on us, and one of them flies right up to Stinger and latches onto the back of his neck with its beak, pulling his flesh out slightly while applying a firm pressure. I worry it might be hurting him but I don’t interfere, sensing this might be a very good thing; the goose might be healing or energizing him. I recognize the area of the body the ancient Egyptians believed was where the soul enters the body. I’m very curious, watching to see how Stinger will react, but he merely accepts it. The goose finally releases him, but now Stinger is holding it in his arms. I say—Okay, let go of it and let’s keep flying. We’re thousands of feet above the ground, the earth is a flat map of marshy land, vivid greens and narrower strips of blue, very much like a river delta. Stinger releases the goose, and we watch it plummet like a rock straight down toward the ground. I worry the poor thing won’t be able to get it’s wings working before it makes impact, and it looks like it’s going to miss landing in water. We watch it falling and when it’s far, far below is, we at last see it spread its wings and begin placidly flying again, which is nice. As we soar together through the blue sky, I turn in the air and, looking back at Stinger, ask him—What color was that goose? He replies—Red. I say—Really? To me it was yellow. I’m trying to determine if we see things the same in this dream. But in waking reality, we often don’t see the exact same color, so it doesn’t seem to prove much. We’re suddenly just a few yards above the ground, and there are a lot of animals down there (it feels like Africa) congregating around a tree. Stinger isn’t wearing a suit anymore; he’s dressed in field clothes and a hat, the kind he might have worn when he lived in Africa. He touches ground and says something to the effect of—Go away, to which I reply happily—Okay! and take off on my own.

I lose all visuals but instead of darkness I’m immersed in a bright heavenly blue color. It’s very strange because there is an oval or egg shaped opening directly before me I can see through to a space beyond the blue but that is still part of it, but there’s still not really anything to look at except a slightly darker blue but which is very faint and pix-elated, like a dry brush stroke, or a very, very far away cloud. I’m still lucid, fully rooted in the dream, which feels very stable as I wonder how I can get through this blue. Void space is usually black or filled with stars. After a short while, a scene literally forms out of the blue as below me I see two very real looking brick fences or walls parallel to each other, the outer one slightly taller, which seem to front a long structure. I’m able to quickly fly between them and through am opening in the innermost one. I land in a very pleasant and very long open air courtyard area of sorts. I remember seeing but can’t identify elegant black wrought iron details. The clear sunny atmosphere is part of this location’s elegant wealth. Yet even as I turn right and begin walking, I’m suddenly inside and the atmosphere is dark and shadowy, the muted illumination hinting at a time before electricity. Some of the tables to my right are occupied by dark figures, but I’m primarily aware of myself. I’m very tall and very slender, and I’m conscious of being in a constant state of sexual arousal, which I have well under control but which is definitely there, and stoked by the sense of eyes on me as I walk, displaying myself and my availability. I’m wearing a long dark-red dress with a subtle gleam to the material held up by thin straps, the bodice and ankle-length skirt meeting tightly at my waist contributing to my contained excitement.

I come to the end of the broad isle where it is much darker and suddenly see a large mirror hanging on the stone wall. I walk right up to it curiously, and am astonished to see that I don’t look remotely like myself in this life. The tall thin body and face are most decidedly not my own. I study my reflection closely. It is that of an older woman with small, almost pinched features framed with branching wrinkles. I’m somewhat dismayed to observe that not only am I not very attractive, I’m seriously getting up in years. Who I see reflected before me is someone completely unknown to me. I step even closer to the mirror to study this woman, wondering what incarnation she hails from, what past or parallel life. The curious thing is, I distinctly sense that her looks don’t affect her contentment, her quiet, if somewhat resigned, pride in herself and what she has to offer. I understand that in this place there are still people who will take pleasure in her, who will use her, satisfying her own needs in the process, and that this is enough for her. I get the sense of an ancient location where she is akin to an offering made to a temple; she has no other life and does not desire one. She is glad to be in service here. Obeying some unknown impulse, I open my mouth wide, so wide that my jaw dislocates like a snake’s, and in the black cavernous opening I perceive a substance akin to quicksilver that also possesses the muted glowing softness of a pearl, its dark-green depths lightening on the surface to jade. And from this liquid mist (for lack of a better way to describe it) another egg-shaped face emerges or is born, as though rising from the black depths of my throat. I’m slightly amused by the ghoulish scene, but primarily I’m intrigued by the appearance of what I take to be another incarnation, just one of innumerable others. Staring at what feels like a very ancient egg-like embryo of another me, who once was or still is somewhere, I phase out of the dream.

Dream Notes:

In Ancient Egypt the goose could symbolize the soul, and the “eggs of the Goose” were pharaoh’s children. The goose here seems to represent our Inner Self, and its eggs our individual lives.

My Dream Partner, James commented:

“You rising above the earth with Stinger could represent your physical deaths. A Goose representing Stinger’s Inner Self latches onto the back of his neck, a place indicative of the connection point between body and soul. There is a potential mirror image here. Correct me if I’m wrong, but in Physical Matter Reality (PMR), the soul’s entry point into flesh is behind the neck. Perhaps the reciprocal is true: in Non Physical Matter Reality (NPMR) that area behind the neck might represent a connection point to the physical body? The goose extracts the dead physical aspect of Stinger’s body and falls to the earth, apparently dead and/or in danger of death. Just before hitting the earth, it flies again, symbolic of re-birth or reincarnation into his next life. Then there is the aspect of Stinger telling you to just go on without him. To me, this element of the dream summarizes the possibility that when you each face your respective physical deaths in this incarnation, Stinger will have another run through PMR, whereas you won’t fall back to earth, and will be given the challenge of acclimating to NPMR.

If indeed any of my interpretation is correct, it surely is not some imminent prediction of death. I suspect, and hope, your physical deaths are a long way off. Your projection into that past life you saw in the mirror seemed to be from a time very long ago. And I think this potential projection of the future is far off as well. Why dream about this now? Maybe you sense that exploring on the Other Side, as we are doing, is one mandatory step toward “graduating” to that plane?”

Stinger was holding the Goose in his arms like a baby.. When you look at a river delta from space, it resembles an artery and veins, the physical body… And the Inner Self sends a piece of itself back “down” to earth…

UPDATE – Added September 24, 2013:

Stinger and I went to the emergency room yesterday because his breathing was not getting any better after 3 days of his bronchitis medication. We knew we had reason to worry because 12 years ago, shortly before we met, his right lung collapsed as a result of a lingering cough that irritated the pollop on his lung and caused it “burst” and deflate his lung. His right lung had, in fact, collapsed. If not caught within a matter of days, it cannot be re-inflated. Last time, he had to spend a week in the hospital, but technology has improved such that they were able to re-inflate it and leave a temporary tube in his chest that lets air out but not in. He’s home now and in no pain at all. After the scary part was all over and we were waiting to be released, he checked his emails and discovered that the magazine Wildlife Professional had published the interview they did with him.

In the dream the goose latched onto the back of his neck, then he held it in his arms, then we watched it fall, down, down, down, and there was concern it would crash to earth and never fly/rise again. This is what happened to his lung, it fell/collapsed and there was the threat it would be too late to re-inflate it, and the doctor indicated there were other factors that could have made the event fatal, but we caught the issue in time, just as the goose stopped falling and began flying again. Then in my dream Stinger landed on the ground where I literally saw him surrounded by wildlife dressed in field clothes, which belong to his work, his profession. At the beginning of the dream he was filling out form at a front desk, which in reality turned out to be a hospital, not a hotel. And I was so happy when instead of remaining there he came out flying with me. In reality, we were thrilled he did not need to spend a week in the hospital but that instead we could leave that very day.

Before we knew whether or not the procedure would work, I suffered a real stab of fear remembering this dream, but what kept me calm was knowing the goose did not fall to its death but spread its wings to keep flying.

I told Stinger about the dream, confessing I hadn’t mentioned it before because I didn’t want to worry him or myself. It was so metaphorical and yet so obvious, I slipped it under the subconscious rug, not wanting to think about it.

UPDATE Added October 9, 2013

Stinger’s lung collapsed again and he underwent the surgical treatment for his condition to prevent this from happening again. On his last day in the hospital, in search of some ice tea for him, I ended up in a part of the complex I had never been in before, on a second floor walking along a window looking down at a long brick patio with black wrought iron tables, and a brick wall with an arched opening leading into it. I wondered why it looked so familiar, and then suddenly realized I was seeing the location from my dream, just as it had appeared to me in the dream, sunny and deserted:

brickwall&patio-sm“After a short while, a scene literally forms out of the blue as below me I see two very real looking brick fences or walls parallel to each other, the outer one slightly taller, which seem to front a long structure. I’m able to quickly fly between them and through an opening in the innermost one. I land in a very pleasant and very long open air courtyard area of sorts. I remember seeing but can’t identify elegant black wrought iron details. The clear sunny atmosphere is part of this location’s elegant wealth…”

I was definitely in a heightened state during this ordeal, which hadn’t happened yet, but which mysteriously got broadcast loud and clear to my consciousness exactly two months before it all began happening. My Inner Self sent me a dream postcard metaphorically summarizing the experience that added a life-affirming magic to it.



June 20, 2013

I find myself in the back seat of a car and actually sort of wake up there. Outside the windows there is a dusky blue light. It’s strange how long I slept, failing to keep Stinger company as he drove. I know we’re on a road trip headed north. I sit up and lean over the seat to talk to him. I sense we’re in a rather rural setting, passing through a small town, but the car is stopping and starting in heavy traffic on a major highway. I can’t really tell, but we seem to be near a bridge.  Stinger turns right and makes a U-turn in the empty lot of a white building I perceive as a municipal warehouse or factory of some kind, empty of people at this hour. But there are two young men moving purposefully around the white square columns, and I watch their sinister yet smiling faces as they each plant an electronic timer in a strategic location. They look like they’re having fun, not like deadly terrorists.

As Stinger pulls out of the lot, I cry—Hurry, the building is going to blow up! We don’t seem to be going fast enough, but by the time I hear the sound of a massive explosion, and see the dark plume of smoke in the distance, we’re far enough away. I know the building was destroyed and that the highway is definitely going to be closed as a result.

Dream Notes: This dream clearly seems precognitive because a few hours later there was a major explosion at a fireworks factory near Montreal. My dream relates to this breaking story in many ways, including the rural setting and the ensuing traffic jam. Two employees, working in a smaller building adjacent to the warehouse, were killed in the blast. The cause of the explosion is not yet known. Explosion at Fireworks Factory


Forward and Backward in Time

A very intense night with two lucid dreams that both appear to have contained strong telepathic and precognitive elements.

May 19, 2013

I’m in a dark room observing a woman working on our Screenplay. She is me and yet she isn’t. She is keying in corrections marked by someone else in green and/or orange ink. She moves over to the computer to pull up Screenwriter and, conscious of being a little cold, I get up and leave the room, thinking I’ll go find my brown wrap. I find myself in an expansive white courtyard belonging to a very large white building, which is now behind me and stretching far away to my left. It’s a perfectly clear day.  As I walk parallel to the wall on my right, I’m increasingly filled with a sense of well being and sheer, joyful presence. The feeling intensifies to the point where I have to give expression to it by quickening my pace and extending both arms before me, thinking that if this was a dream I could fly, just take off right now. I’m completely surprised when I lift off the ground. This can’t be happening! I’m awake, so I can’t possibly be flying! It must be the sudden, powerful wind lifting me up.  I wrestle with fear as the wind flings me beneath a covered section of the courtyard. For a moment it looks as though I’m going to be bashed against the edge of a gilded white wall, but at the last minute I somehow avoid that fate and, propelling myself backward slightly, grab hold of an exposed white beam. I cling to it, watching in trepidation as more white structures folded up against the the ceiling are pulled down by the force of the wind. I can only describe them as frameworks that snap down but also look as though they can move along hidden rails. I’m afraid one will slide toward me, forcing me to let go of my beam, in which case the wind will snatch me away.

I hang there for a while but when the situation shows no sign of improving, I give up and let go, because I can’t stay there forever. The sky is still blue but the tornado-like wind propels me over the courtyard, where I cling for a moment to thick silver cords strung between two poles, before just as quickly letting go of them, chastising myself for touching what might be live electrical wires. I’m terrified of being swept out to sea by this relentless wind because beyond terraced white rooftops and colorful foliage, I glimpse an endless expanse of ocean. I also catch a glimpse of the shiny blue skirt belonging to the dress, or gown, I’m wearing as I coast through the air, leaning back against it. If I surrender , I’ll shoot straight out to sea as fast as a bullet and then, when the wind inevitably dies down, I’ll fall, have nothing to hold onto, and die. Because I’m awake, I know for an absolute fact that I’m awake, that this isn’t a dream because it doesn’t feel like a dream at all. I don’t remember going to bed or falling asleep, so how can I possibly be dreaming?! Not remembering is as disturbing as anything else. It’s really frightening, but would be even more so if Mario’s email hadn’t been fresh in my mind talking about what I have believed for some time—that everything really IS a dream, waking reality included, it is ALL a dream! I don’t merely think it, I’m experiencing the indelible proof of it. It’s as scary as it is elating and I wish I had someone to help me deal with it, to offer me some guidance, but I’m on my own, and I let go. There’s nothing to do but surrender to the wind.

I rush toward the ocean across the rooftops, but catch myself for a moment on a large red frond-like leaf, and see a man walking along a road in my direction. He’s tall, ideally built, with shoulder-length hair, yet he’s odd, and has a dangerous aura as a wild animal is threatening without being evil or hostile. His clothes seem more like a skin and don’t look like any style I can describe. Then I become aware that he has an enormous erection thrusting out of his pants. Yet it is no ordinary penis because there are vines twining around it that are also part of him. I think—My God, look at that cock! just as he sees me and heads my way. I let go of the red palm frond and face him as he says something to me. I’m trying to wrap my brain around being penetrated by such an immense cock, there’s no way! I reply tartly—I’ll bet you do! but when he speaks again it’s in Spanish, which surprises and delights me. I declare—Español! The language of my childhood puts me more at ease. Abbey Dore painted Green ManThen I notice a woman walking right up to me beside him, at the same time that I realize they’re both made of clay. They’re like life-size, sophisticated claymation people clad in leaves with bright flower-like details. I remark—But you’re made of clay, I’m not like you. I see in the man’s eyes that he understands me as he reaches out a hand to touch the bare skin of one of my thighs, a reverent expression on his face. I, too, am aware of how fine, almost luminous, my skin is, so fine it nearly shimmers with a transcendent aura alongside their dull, heavy, jungle green-brown clay bodies. I phase out of the dream.

Did I imagine or dream I walked into a small, one-story building akin to an empty post office and see James standing there waiting for me and running to him, really seeing each other?

I’m with Stinger, we’re talking outside, when Arthur, who was curled at my feet, wakes up, only he looks like a really big lanky Dalmation with a very long nose. I stroke and kiss him and say—Isn’t it wonderful that I know and love you as my Arthur? That even though you look completely different, I still recognize your being? Yet I also hope he’ll change back to looking like my Arthur again because I miss his adorable face. Then the man who seems to be leading the tour, or the game, instructs everyone to lie face down on the model train, that proceeds to cross a narrow bridge suspended high above a light-blue body of water by intricate, web-like grids. I tell Stinger to follow because it’s fun being in a game, and I’m confident Arthur will hop on after us. I’m very conscious of lying on this small but real train moving through a narrow, tight space suspended in mid air, aware of the mechanics of it, which could fail and trap us, but I’m confident that won’t happen as we coil along slow as a serpent.

We arrive somewhere, and I’m delighted to see my Dalmation Arthur made it with us. As we cross the patio of a one story house on our right, I see a man walking along a hill that rises straight up from the lawn on our left. I become lucid as I very deliberately take a few steps toward him and ask—Who are you? I glance back at Stinger to make sure he’s paying attention. When I look back, the light-haired man has transformed into a big beautiful male deer looking down at me and speaking with a man’s voice. He tells me his name. I hear it clearly, and I seem to remember he said Sebastian Ro___? It’s a foreign, maybe Nordic name. Behind him, other wild animals line the ledge-like hill before us, including two large male lions who dominate my attention because they’re fighting, loudly and dangerously. Sebastian Vrancx Landscape With a Deer Hunt

This may be a dream, but it still seems like a good idea to get the crowd of people we arrived with into the house, and I proceed to herd them inside. I enter as well and stand at the open glass door. As they file past me, I recite in a humorous sing-song—Lions, and tigers and bears, oh my! Once everyone is inside, the dimly lit space is a bit crowded. I leave the people standing there obediently shoulder-to-shoulder as I proceed to lock all the glass doors, sliding the rectangular black locks, pointed like an arrow at one end, into place. Some doors are already locked so when I slide the lock it actually opens the door and I have to lock it again.

There is an adjoining room with two more glass doors, and after locking the one leading outside, I walk through the one in the back that leads into an inner courtyard. Stinger, and one or two women, follow me. I turn to him and look him square in the eye as I command—Remember his name when you wake up, Sebastian, Sebastian Ro__. Remember that! He repeats the name, and the women begin chanting it, over and over again, until it sounds to me like they’re changing the name and I tell them that’s enough, afraid they’ll confuse me… Then I’m back inside, walking down a corridor. I know that in waking reality it’s early in the morning but I feel securely rooted in this dream, not afraid of waking up. I’m also aware this lucid dream has gone on for so long, I won’t remember parts of it. I’m with a woman, and as we pass a hanging decoration—colorful miniatures of people and objects I know are meant to be year round Christmas ornaments—we comment on how lovely it is, and how we wish we could bring it with us into waking reality. I tell her—It’s just like what my niece says, and give her the example of how in one dream Emily, who is twelve years old and a natural lucid dreamer, was given a dog as a present and she thought—But it’s just a dream, disappointed because it meant she couldn’t really keep it.

Dream Notes: 

1st Dream

The day after the first dream, massive tornadoes hit the mid west. I could have asked the dream “What is causing this frightening wind?” but fear interfered with my lucidity.  I have never before experienced fear at the onset of a lucid dream. It seems clear to me now that I was convinced I was awake because I knew the terrifying wind I was experiencing was a real threat which, like the killer tornadoes, struck abruptly. It’s as though the fear of hundreds of people was broadcast on the Other Side before it happened in waking reality and I picked up on it, loud and clear. In the future, I hope to be able to better distinguish between dream states so that when I find myself in a similar hyper-real-feeling dream, I retain the presence of mind to ask the Dream questions which might help explain what is happening, and why. I like to think that in the future, when going OBE is as natural as logging onto the Internet, precognitive dreams will serve as “forecasts” that can help people.

In the first dream, there was a crystal clear quality to the air and visuals I have experienced only a few times. I hate to use the word higher but I think I was on another level of the Other Side. Consider the crude heavy Claymation couple vs. my light, almost luminous skin: the forces of nature, of corporeal substance vs. higher vibrational bodies. Some of the carved faces of the mythical Green Man look very much like the clay-like stuck on features I saw on the man’s face, and the colors I perceived are the red, green and yellow associated with Osiris, the original Green Man, who is associated with the Celtic Wild Man; that could have been hair covering his whole body. Very interesting that this archetypal figure appeared in my dream, with the ancient Egyptian touch of Amun-Min’s erect, vegetative penis. Min is the verile form of Amun-Re, essentially associated with the conception of the physical world and command of its cycles of death and resurrection. My skin compared to his seems to express how the dreaming Self transcends the cycles of death and rebirth embodied by these figures which is a property of physical matter and of the physical body, all creations of the Inner Self.

2nd Dream

I find the snake train crossing high over a river through web-like beams supporting it very interesting. The train can be likened to our Inner Self and its compartments to all the lives/forms it takes, and how our conscious understanding mysteriously bridges the two worlds, the two banks of the river of Life, and of course the web is the Magic Pattern. I’m not surprised this crossing brought me to what appears to be past life information.

I Googled Sebastian, Nordic, deer, and found this, interesting because of the deer, the arrow shaped locks, the battling lions, the endangered people, and the “ro” of his last name since he was a Baroque painter:

Sebastian Vrancx – Flemish Baroque Painter 1573-1647

His most famous painting is Landscape with a Deer Hunt. He is esteemed as one of the main painters of battle scenes. Most of his pictures represent scenes of war, such as the sack of towns, and allegorical subjects.

That it involves a painter doesn’t surprise me either because during WBTB I was thinking about the forthcoming IASD Psiber Dream Conference, which got me to thinking about the precognitive dream contest and how I won 2nd place because the 1st place winner became lucid for an instant and saw the actual name of the painter, Vermeer. So maybe I honed in on this other painter for two reasons, because it relates to my soul’s history, and because I was thinking about painters.

Dream Notes Update May 24, 2013

Turns out Sebastian was an interesting character, and his wife’s name was Maria Pamphi. He was a member of the Violieren, a movement that played an important part in the literary scene of the Dutch Golden Age experimenting in poetry and drama. He collaborated with numerous leading Dutch artists, experimenting in a wide variety of genres. He essentially created the battle scene genre in the Netherlands, for which he was unrivaled, displaying, in amazing detail, and with superbly animated figures, the brutality of war and its innocent victims. He visited Italy between 1596-1601, was a member of the Fraternity of St. Peter and St. Paul, and Chief Dean of Antwerp’s guild of St. Luke. He had a long successful and diverse career.

So why am I dreaming about this man? Is he a past/parallel life? Why did he show up in my dream, with his reddish hair, and then turn into a deer and tell me his name, enabling me to find him on Google? He must have some relevance to my Inner Self. What is curious is that, after having played a few Battlefield video games, and similar games, I’ve been thinking even more than usual about adamant pacifists who insist no war is a good war. And yet if we are not willing to kill to prevent even more death and atrocity, we are like a body without an immune system, weak and doomed. Everyone pretty much agrees it’s okay to kill in self defense, but aren’t certain battles the equivalent of self defense on a societal scale? I’ve been thinking lately that it’s no more wrong to fight certain evil minded people than it is for my body’s white blood cells to attack dangerous, potentially fatal viruses. So maybe this Sebastian self showed up now as a reflection of my internal obsession with battles.

The Next President of the U.S.

November 5, 2012

Lots of vivid, semi-lucid dreams. After 5:00, looked at my hands, knew I was primed for having a lucid dream.

I’m sitting in my car after work in the same place I was dreaming about earlier. For some reason, I had decided to linger in the neighborhood after work. Waiting for something? At some point during these dreams I experienced a distinct sensation as I stroked my legging-pants, soft, slightly velvety, expensive, that also translated into a pleasant contentment, because I can now afford a comfortable life that enables me to present myself in the best possible way. I was entering a clothing store or some such establishment as I felt-thought this. (It’s not the first time sensations and actions in a dream are more than just “physical” but are equivalent to thought-emotions, almost like a condensed instant form of conceptual processes.) Now, sitting in the car, I’m listening to a conversation between two men, one a waking reality acquaintance from Miami and the other his gay friend. The latter is complaining about how Miami just isn’t the same anymore, that once you could go out at any hour of the morning for food and coffee now it’s all closed down, a wasteland, since most of the Cuban population was overcome by other nationalities. He’s lamenting that he won’t be able to go out for his favorite food as the man I know basically agrees and commiserates with him. When I realize they don’t know I’m also on the line, it occurs to me to wonder how I can be listening to their conversation. Did they somehow dial my number without realizing it? They say their goodbyes and we all hang up.

Meanwhile, I’ve had my eye on a man standing outside a building that feels like a restaurant-hotel of sorts. He’s wearing a dark suit and as I exit the car he starts walking toward me. Abruptly, I wonder if his presence somehow tuned me into the phone conversation, opening a channel to it. Am I a medium?! Rather, are my psi abilities suddenly strengthening and coming out into the open? I proceed down the street, which is shadowy now, after sunset, and all the shops are gone. All I see on either side of the wide, empty road are dark, rectangular buildings a few stories high. I look behind me, sensing a boardwalk and the ocean, and think—This is a dream! I’m dreaming.

At once I rise a few feet off the ground, buoyed by the joy of having become lucid, and I notice a large dog that had been running toward me at full speed abruptly turn around and begin running back in the direction from which it had come. I have a quick, confused thought about calling for my spirit animal (been reading Dr. T’s posts) but then it seems silly because clearly it had already come to me and the dog, “sensing” my thought-intent, is running back toward me. He’s very large but slender, with a narrow snout, and he’s a slightly luminous silver-gray. He’s big enough to be threatening but though I vividly recall dreams in which I rose up into the sky to avoid aggressive black dogs, I have the opposite reaction and response to this one. I reach down to let him sniff my hand and he even seems to lick it, practically quivering in his eagerness, and I encourage him to jump up on my lap where I’m hovering a few feet of the ground. Of course I’m not at all surprised that my spirit animal is a dog. I think of it as a “he” because I “know” he is.

Then I remember my intent. I try to speak out loud, but it’s like trying to talk under water. I struggle with it, wondering about the resistance, and I’m not sure if I speak or simply cry out in my mind–Who will be the next president of the United States?! The dog seems to know I’m preoccupied and doesn’t attempt to get closer as I ask the dream—Show me the next president of the United States! At once I hear the far off sound of a television and turn toward it. For some reason I can’t just fly Superman style toward it but I’m determined to get to it and I discover that sitting in the sky and moving my arms in a breast stroke gesture, opening them wide and closing them again, while at the same time lifting my outstretched legs up and down in a yoga-like exercise, enables me to move swiftly enough, if not as fast as I would like to.

I enter a building and what looks and feels like a combination cafe diner and drugstore where a crowd of people is relaxing watching a huge flat screen on which I see the colorful shapes of what appears to be a map or a graph and there’s no doubt it relates to or depicts the United States. I watch it for a moment, but I don’t have time to wait to see if my answer will appear on the screen. I crouch down and ask a little blonde girl—Who’s the president now? She replies in a muffled voice but I distinctly hear her response, “Barrack Obama.” I’m elated, but only for an instant. I add—What year is this? She has a pleasant, open but not very intelligent looking face (she looks about 8 or 9 years old) and clearly my urgent question confuses her so I quickly amend it to—What month is this? She replies—March. March, and it’s November! But that’s still not good enough. I ask her, controlling my impatience—Do you have a calendar? Is there a calender in here? Even as I speak, I spot one on the wall just behind her and to my left. I immediately go and crouch in front of it and distinctly make out the date March 2066. The future! But wait, that makes no sense, that date is decades from now. I clearly see the ‘2’ and the ‘0’ and the final ‘6’ but am not sure about the third number being a ‘6’. The date could be 2016. No matter, vision is iffy in dreams, and the evidence seems clear—it’s the future and Barrack Obama is president!

I “float” into an adjoining cafe-bar, and pause-sit for a moment at a circular counter crowded with people. I’m suffused, “glowing” with, elation. I fulfilled my intent and the result is the one I was praying for! I realize the emotional intensity of my response threatens the stability of the dream but I seem to be controlling it even as I simply cannot resist enjoying it. But it’s time now to focus on another one of my three intents as I “get up” to leave—to experience the embrace of Atum-Re (my version of Waggoner’s Clear Light dreams) or to visit a probable-past life in ancient Egypt. I’m really not keen on the Atum-Re intent as I’m too excited and “peace” and “bliss” and all that just don’t appeal to me at this point. I remember Dr. T’s purple portal to the pyramids and actually glimpse it outside the window of the establishment. I’m heading for it, moving obstacles out of my way, stuff associated with drug stores and diners, and I’m almost out of there when I experience the phasing out sensation and find myself in bed. Damn!

Dream Notes:Lingering after work somewhere before going home—work a full night of semi-lucid dreams and home WR. I was perched in between, waiting, waiting for an opportunity to become lucid. When I woke, I did the math and realized that if Obama is reelected he will still be president in 2016. That could very well be the date I saw on the calendar: March 2016. I hope so!

2012 IASD Precognitive Dreaming Contest – 2nd PLACE Maria Pita

The Target Image: The Geographer by Johannes Vermeer

The target pool contained 131 random images. Participants had to post their dreams on the PDC discussion board – date and time stamped – by midnight, at least 9 hours before the target selection. Each target had a number assigned to it. A random number generator selected the target image from the target pool.

2nd PLACE – Maria Pita

The hits I posted for the judge’s review after posting my full dream:

The title of my dream was “Maps” which are the heart and soul of a geographer, and the figure in the paining is leaning over, ostensibly viewing, a map. I provided an image of Norway, a close approximation to the long slender shape of the country-countries I saw in my dream map. I felt it was a country in a far northern clime, an impression strengthened by a hypnogogic flash of looking down on green rolling hills, an image of which I also provided. The word “captain” clearly appeared in red on the map bordered by ocean. Ship’s are commanded by a captain and relates to the objects in the painting.

I’m seeing shapes from above akin to countries on a map, three, maybe four of them. They are the (I describe what I felt-thought as best I can with words!) areas of a game. My fellow player, male, and I are sharing a joke about “Captain” and as I watch him “move” up the “map” I realize Captain is not a person but the game’s core component as I see the word written in red inside the topmost “country” shape, very narrow as the map moves up, what must be ocean meeting its northern and western borders.

All night in my dream I felt the target image was, or was related to, a map.

my driving motivation the whole time, even as I dally to interact with certain dream characters, is to get to the IASD 7:00 a.m. meeting… to write down my precognitive dream about the target image being a map of some kind.

William Reed’s last name struck me, in WR, as reinforcing the map motif because you “read” a map. (Not included in my submission but it also sounds a little like Vermeer.)

I find myself seated beside a grown-up William (Bill) Reed, a boy I had a crush on in 3rd grade who grabbed my arm and said, “We’ll miss you” the last day of school, because I would be spending 4th grade in Venezuela traveling, and the contact was my first taste of sensual desire.

I was given a map to show me the way to the IASD meeting, green-white, or green-yellow, very much the color of the map framed on the back wall of the painting.

I ask a woman if this is the IASD Precognitive Dreaming meeting, but she’s clueless, and moving deeper behind the scenes into some rooms, I come across a table of seated “officials” one of whom, a man, in response to my question, hands me a green and white laminated fold-up map.

I refer to an enclosed dark room and the distinct colors: black, white, red, yellow, natural wood tones, all of which appear in the painting.

Major Structural Elements: … a dark room… distinct colors: black, white, red, green, yellow, natural wood tones.

Maps show points of longitude every 15 degrees. The North Pole is 90 degrees North and each degree is divided into 60 minutes: I was urgently looking for room number 6015 and then room number 9015. I was in essence navigating, getting from one room, one set of coordinates, to another.

I run out when she tells me, in response to my question, that this is room 6015 and the one I must want is 9015.

At one point in the dream, I felt surrounded by fish and water and felt the event I was attending was located overseas.

I get the sense the event I’m attending is overseas. She’s teasing me about how uncoordinated I am as I bemoan how late I am for the meeting, already past 8 when it began at 7. Then I jokingly go stand in a bathtub that was a fish tank and I still see some fish and water there.

The clock-compass at the end of my night of dreaming, a navigator’s (geographer’s) tool, akin to the object the figure in the painting is holding.

Just before waking one final time, I clearly see a clock-compass

Loving my Enemy & Pottery

May 4, 2012
I’m hurrying down a dark city street. I’m not flying but I’m moving much faster than actually possible. All the buildings are mere shadows of themselves. I’m intent on getting some place safe; it feels dangerous out here. There may be a sound like that of a wind howling or of an incoming storm. I’m searching for the bright new blue-and-white Fairfax High I saw in another dream, I know it has to be farther up the street on the left, I’m willing it to be. But it’s still at an amorphous distance when I become aware of the fact that I’m being pursued. I look over my right shoulder and see a hostile female figure gaining on me; there’s no escaping her, she’s caught up with me. I’m only slightly concerned and not at all frightened. Almost calmly, I turn to fight her, swiping at her with an object I’m holding that might have been red but which is an ineffectual weapon. It seems silly but I don’t feel the need to make a greater effort against her even though she is truly armed to harm. I swipe at her more earnestly, looking into her face, intent with malice, when abruptly I realize what I’m doing is wrong, that there’s another way. At once I drop my “weapon” and declare, “I love you! I love you!” We’re both floating in the air as I put my arms around her. She lets me do it because the moment I told her I loved her, her aggressive expression was transformed into an almost helpless, melting look. We embrace, as close now as we were enemies before.I take her hand and pull her up with me, intent on exploring the place we’re in now. She’s a relatively young woman with a curvaceous, substantial body in which I distinctly remember the colors red and yellow. As we swim together through the air like human dolphins, I turn her to face me. “You’re so sexy,” I say, feeling attracted to her, and she seems willing to let me do whatever I want with her. Then as our eyes meet I exclaim, “This is a dream! We’re dreaming!” I wonder if she understands me, but that’s not as important as being lucid myself. “Now that I know Arthur is really safe in his crate,” I tell her, remembering an earlier dream, “I’m free to explore! Come on.”

Instead of continuing to fly upward, I turn back the way we came and walk along the floor in front of a long display of hand-crafted objects and small statues with a rustic, terracotta feel, all of them a soft green with hints of blue and gold and a homogeneous look as though made by a single person or tribe. I’m intent on seeing each individual piece even though I’m aware that my intent to clearly remember what I’m looking at is wishful lucid thinking more than truly possible. Getting my fill of this display, I look around me and decide it’s time to get out of the confining building. “Come on!” I say to my companion as I begin rising up toward the ceiling. “Let’s go, up through the ceiling, it’s not really there.” She hesitates, and then seems to try and lift up off the ground without success, still believing in gravity. “You can do it,” I urge, but I don’t wait for her as I command the dream to take me up and up! I’m ascending but the ceiling is resisting, partially solid. I distinctly feel and see myself passing through a mesh-like structure, a somewhat viscous white honeycomb of sorts. The sensation is not unpleasant; I’m more annoyed than anything that, no matter how forcefully I command to go faster, I can’t escape yet another layer of “ceiling” identical to the first, which inevitably slows my progress. I make note of the interesting experience even as I’m disappointed I can’t duplicate the success of the previous night’s lucid dream.

At last I make it out of the actual ceiling layers onto a rooftop of sorts, where there is one more barrier of blue sun room-like windows opening out at a slight angle. As I insert my body between them I exclaim, “Finally!” and yet though I’ve made it outside, I’m surprised to find myself on street level after all that struggle to go up and up! It’s annoying, and my companion appears not to have made it, but at least I’m outside and freely walking down a sidewalk on a sunny day. What now? I think of repeating another lucid dream in which I asked to be taken to the pyramids in the time of Menkaure the Divine to see if I get the same results, but I’m not entirely sure that’s the best option. I’m still considering what intent to form when I abruptly feel the pull back toward my physical body and wake up in bed.

Dream Notes: Sitting out on the porch the afternoon after this dream, Stinger suggested we drive to Harper’s Ferry on Saturday. I looked it up on my iPod and browsing through the website of one of the shops located in the historic district, I exclaimed, “This is just like the pottery I saw in my dream!” We drove out there and I discovered that the store contained even more pieces that looked almost exactly like the ones from my dream. I bought two of them, but I especially love the green and gold mixing cup with the miniature whisk; I look at it every day in my kitchen and it makes me so happy because it’s both lovely and functional and serves as a constant reminder of how dreams can and do come true. In another store selling gorgeous hand-made jewelry inspired by nature, I saw the woman from my dreams, the same short dark hair and voluptuous figure, and the colors of her dress were the colors she had been wearing in my dream. This is a clear example of a precognitive lucid dream.