Dream of the Asian Girl Staying at my Aunt’s Home whose Dream I Entered to Teach Her about Love

The girl liked the guy who was me who was visiting my aunt Maria.

Maria had improved her place since my last visit. She had built a retaining wall along the rear boundary of the property. Now there was now a lake below the retaining wall and alongside her property to the left there was a canal where cruise ships sailed. Also there were waterfalls on either side of her property as well as one that flowed under the middle of her retaining wall.

There was an Asian girl staying at her home. She was a friend of Maria’s. The girl liked me but Maria disapproved.

Three days went by and the girl and me were doing great.

In Maria’s garden I cut off a white rose and planted it in her now reduced garden. The girl would sneak out and watch me practice driving off the retaining wall. She would dive in after me and touch me. There was nothing sexual about her behaviour though we did kiss underwater.

Then I tipped my wooden raft over and took her down with me into the depths. I was entrapping her. In her dream. This was a dream within a dream. Her dream. I was teaching her about love and letting go. She would never have me but she would be free to learn to love.

I had this dream on Boxing Day 2021. This was the day our family used to gather at my aunt’s sprawling north shore home. Overflowing waterfalls i.e. Emotions. That retaining wall was keeping them all in. I miss my travels with my aunt. She gifted me Hong Kong and I’m grateful for that. Because of her I feel at home there. I used to keep her garden when she went overseas. That cruise ship lane is the corona. Omicron. It’s taking off again. My aunt too liked to sit in judgement on Boxing Day. The Keshi Queen. I played the jester whereas others took the bait. They never returned.

This is the context of characters and location.

These factoids though are incidental because what’s remarkable is what I did in this dream. Somehow I managed to enter the domain of the anima, her watery unconscious realm, in what I termed her dream. This dream did not feel like my dream. I was intentionally taking her on a journey deep into the recesses of her domain.

By entering her dream I was self-differentiating from her. She would never possess me, I asserted, meaning I am free from the curse called anima projection.

This demarcation gives her the space to learn to love. By corollary this love comes from knowing and accepting the self and its concomitant elements.

My words don’t do her justice. She was beautiful girl and this was a beautiful dream.

And then there was follow through. A few nights later – different woman the anima playing with form – we were in Rome holding hands.

As you think so shall you dream …

Dream of Climbing into the Queen’s Box at the Opera and more Kmart Shenanigans

I went to the Opera with Richard. We were up in a box above the main entrance doors. We were going to see three operas in a row. The Queen’s box was to our left. Her box was more spacious whereas ours had three narrow rows. These rows were so small it felt like I would fall forwards if I stretched my legs. I was also scared to lean towards the stage fearing that fall. So I climbed over to the Queen’s box. I had a feeling I’d feel more secure in her box.

Max then told me he wouldn’t allow that as next thing I’d end up in the Queen’s retinue a second tier Royal shaking hands in the palace etcetera.

No, I said, I felt stable.

Then someone opened the main door below my box. I was now able to climb out of the Queen’s box and out of the theatre. I followed the lead of a guy copying is footwork.

I found Richard outside the theatre. He was introspective. He said he was unhappy about Sue. He said he wanted to leave her.

This led to a shopping centre. I was all alone and it was after hours. I went to the Kmart. Security lights were triggered as I moved about the store. I then saw that music video featuring that singer, that video where he had sex with a young woman. The singer then became Joe Rogan having sex with a man. Horrible. I watched all this on a television. Then when leaving Kmart there was a ghost. I tried to ignore the ghost and to counter that the ghost said something in a scary voice.

Then outside the Kmart I was pushing a trolley.

Time to leave.

I went to the carpark.

And so it seems positive intentions pay dividends in dreams …

The Queen’s box represents the feminine in her highest form. Her box was to my left, the direction the unconscious takes in dreams, and this makes perfect sense since the anima’s domain is the unconscious. The three consecutive operas 1+1+1 means no number four, no anima, no Queen in her box. Still her space was there and I set forth to fill that void.

Max reprimanded me. Richard and me did our PhDs with Max. Again the number three. Max the scientific proselytiser represents the conscious rational function so of course he rejects the unconscious. I also recall the time I told Max about my mum’s aristocratic ancestor. He didn’t believe me. Like when I told him I’m part French (June 2020). Like when I mentioned my family’s war record. Why would I lie Max? But then again I didn’t believe him when he told me he was French. Our mistrust seems to cut both ways …

For the record I’m skeptical of Anglos and their ancestral claims. Industrialisation erased their culture. They need ancestry dot.com. Whereas my uncle Gunter has the state certified family tree. For me there’s no mystery just crappy villages up in them hills.

I rejected Max’s intervention. I said I was stable meaning I had unconscious stability. That stability though was somewhat shaky since I gingerly followed the footsteps of another when exiting her domain.

Outside the theatre I met Richard. Richard’s my Opera buddy. I love my ancient Operas. We haven’t been lately because of the corona. I found him outside the theatre. That is out in the cold bereft of the feminine. He questioned Sue. Was she enough? This is the anima projection for which blind men fall.

And then don’t All Roads lead to Kmart? Last time it was sex in a tent (October 2021). This time my unconscious tried to shock me with a sex video. I’d seen this video in a previous dream. Then the video screened Joe Rogan of all people engaged in sex acts I labelled horrific. This is the final phase of a dream sequence where according to Tibetan Dream Yoga the unconscious tries to shock you. This shock had to be withstood (March 2021). I suspect the video played the same role as Max. It tried to break the surety of the feminine. I rejected this interdiction too.

But the unconscious does not give up so easily.

It then produced a ghost. Its scary voice alarmed me. I needed that trolley to sure up my shaky legs. I pushed on towards my goal, the carpark. I wanted to leave that dark foreboding shopping centre. To the carpark. To cliché freedom. Because my car was there waiting for me. That car with its four wheels constitutes 3+1=4 the feminine in balance with me, Richard and Max, or, minus the dreamtime cast of characters film projector, the self, the shadow and consciousness (August 2021).

Dream of Inception and Being a Superhero and Encouraging a Fat Girl to be a Superhero too

I was like Matt Damon in Inception a dream superhero here to save the day etcetera. This dream continued on from another dream I knew from before. In that other dream I was with Iain, Emily, et al.  There was a night out and after that we all ended up in a little room. We went to sleep then all woke up together in the morning. Iain was still in bed when I was up and about. I went out of the little room to get a chair from the adjoining barbershop, which was being dismantled. I’d keep the chair, I said. Then back in the little room in conversation I said I nearly finished watching the film Inception. Then Revan dumped me at the critical moment. But that was okay. There was a fat girl who wanted to be a superhero too. I didn’t make fun of her this time. In fact I let her assume the role. She got her wings. Then they gave her an airborne vehicle. I smiled. She’d be able to fly now, I thought. Then they gave me an airborne vehicle too. These vehicles looked like flying jet skis. Off I went. I was up in the air shooting down a plane.

‘It’s more fun shooting this plane up than flying,’ and then, ‘but how do I land this thing?’

The plane would crash.

Inception. A dream within a dream in so much as I recalled the little room sleeping sequence after writing down the superhero sequence. All you’ve got to do is take a dreamtime nap and then you’re off like Leo fighting bad guys creating chaos shooting down planes.

That’s more fun than flying, I said.

I said.

I said means lucid engagement. I was thinking all through this dream. Like how do I land this thing? Like I’d keep the chair. Like I let her assume the role this time meaning unlike last time in another dream.

The barbershop is a conscious inception. I need a haircut.

I once said to Iain I’ve never watched Inception from start to finish. That comment led to unconscious inception.

IMHO Inception isn’t that good a movie about dreaming. Maybe it’s Leo. He doesn’t do it for me. I was once invited to dine with him. I went to Europe instead. Matt Damon does those kinds of chasing movies better. His Bourne Identity tapped the unconscious zeitgeist. They and Them in control hunting, hunting …

Jason Bourne was more like a dream.

I credit the fat chick superhero to Tenzin Wangyal Rinpoche (March 2021). If the dream is mine that means I control what’s said and done. Unlike Wangyal I’m yet to turn a tiny flower huge but I have turned a sand dune blue and I’m very proud of that (October 2021). What I’m not proud of is my taking advantage of the freaky Asian girl (February 2022).

What I did to her was contemptible.

I had trashed the fourth component of wholeness, the anima, and unless I can reconcile her needs I’m going to be stuck at level three, incomplete, alienated from the depths of my unconscious being (March 2020).

So change her I said to myself. Repeat after me. I am one with the feminine. I am one with the feminine. As you think so shall you dream. If I make the dreams I can make her a superhero too so long as I know I’m dreaming.

And so I did.

And I’m very proud of that.

Dream of the Scientist and Joe Rogan and our Heist before which I Caught Covid and Pursued a Freaky Albino

I was at work and was about to break the rules. To steal intellectual property or worse. Before this about I was with an esteemed scientist and Joe Rogan. They were in on the heist with me.

We then met Sanjev Guplar the CEO of Micron. I realised that half way through the conversation – Joe did most of the talking – Joe the scientist Joe said I had covid. Guplar was concerned. He had already had it. He gave me his phone number in case I needed advice.

Then I was back at the office. Like dad’s office only larger and there was an outdoor area too. I called Guplar. I got his voicemail. That disappointed me though I realised I had nothing to say. Also I’m no elite like Joe so why would he answer anyway.

The heist then commenced. Sewage and crap was pumped out on the floor of the office. Rats, tiny ones, started to crawl all over the place. This ruse was part of the delaying tactic.

Then I fell asleep on a couch.

When I woke up I couldn’t find my phone. I managed to get out of the office. All I had was a spare phone with me with no saved numbers on it. It was an old style flip phone like mum’s.

I walked the city streets.

I had other problem. I had to remove texter marks on my clothes. Revan had written on the inner side of my clothes and these words had come through to the outer side.

Then the spare phone rang. Joe and dad called. ‘Where was I?’ I had to go back to the office. They were waiting for me downstairs outside the office building.

I was walking to the beach with my sister. We went to Double Bay. When done I walked back to town. It was a long walk. I was by myself now en route to the office. I entered the Oxford Street art shop to buy the art pad I use for my dream diary. I saw the same guy who served me last time. He was outside the shop. I then joined a staff function in the shop. The staff treated me like I was the centre of attention. I made some jokes but soon realised I did not belong. I decided to leave.

I walked on.

I saw Iain next door in another shop were another function was being held. I had to pick him and Emily up later. That would be a problem because I had parked my car some distance away. I’d have to walk back here to pick them up in person first before getting my car.

I continued walking down Oxford Street.

I came across a crazy man at Taylor Square. He was shouting like a madman. He was wearing thongs and that annoyed me. I don’t like dirty feet. I walked past him quickly.

Then I walked too far and ended up in Chinatown. I’d have to walk through the Town Hall underground to get back to dad’s office, I thought. I was walking along a narrow walkway when a Chinese girl pulling a roller bag overtook me. I did not offer her any assistance. She then turned towards me and grimaced. I had to help her. I picked up the lighter package that was balanced on top of her roller bag and walked alongside her.

‘Share my pain,’ she said as we passed all the Chinese people everywhere.

Then it was sex time. She walked into a toilet that was like a place where women get their nails done. I was getting excited. She wanted to suck whereas I wanted to fuck. She looked different now. Ugly in point of fact. She had spots like measles on her nose and cheeks and her hair had turned blonde. The moniker that fit her best was freaky Albino. But I didn’t care. I wanted her …

Midnight blue ray screens are messing with my dreams.

It’s a bad habit, especially Twitter in bed. It’s addictive and serves no purpose. I get good data from certain sources and that’s okay that 1%, but the rest, politics, opinions, cretins, women hauling luggage – I spied that last night – is mind sewage. Twitter wrecks my dreams and that upsets me because I know it takes tremendous to cultivate one’s inner landscape and it’s all so fragile and to throw it all away for nothing more than swipe bait is a total waste of one’s potential.

Same goes for messaging apps before bed. My sister messaged me and I wrote back saying we should go to Double Bay and jump in off the boardwalk.

Boom. Just like that. Uploaded to my dreamscape.

Same goes for measles. I watched Apollo 13 on Kurosawa’s Blue Ray Panasonic Screen before bed too. The astronaut played by Gary Sinise couldn’t go the moon because he came down with measles not.

Boom. Uploaded too.

Same for Joe. Click bait. He took on that CNNNN journalist. My dream got his name wrong. Sanjay Gupta.

Boom. You get the picture.

In defense of Joe he was acting more the scientist than the good doctor. Science is about validating hypotheses and backing up claims with measurable evidence. The good doctor had no answers just clichés. Was that the heist? To steal science back from so-called TV experts? My Prometheus post was my blip for the cause (November 2021).

And don’t forget your washing. I’ve got that pile of Revanesque shirts beside my bed.

Boom. There you go again.

Omicron, O-micron, drop the O, Micron. I WhatSapped Maria our stock in Micron is set to go the way of AB inBev’s Corona. Micron’s CEO is Indian too. Sanjay Mehrotra. My unconscious associated that too to the good CNNNN doctor.

Boom. Boom. Sanjev Guplar there you go again.

I always get the traffic light at Taylor Square. From my car I watch the crazies. They’re always there. In my repetitive zombie-like meditative stare.

Boom. Another upload.

Of course I can try to beat the system. Like that one time I drove up to Iain’s without a phone during lockdown. No phone means no Stasiland ID. Now I can’t visit Iain because there’s really covid. What I do have though is my dreams. I buy my dream diaries from that Taylor Square art shop. I need another.

Uh-oh uploaded too.

And how did this nighttime ramble end?

When I saw that helpless woman all I wanted was to take advantage of her. In doing so I trashed my anima.

I cared nothing for her pain.

Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown. I’m tired of all this electronic crap. No wonder I took a dreamtime nap.

All these uploads –

And where was I

In this dream?

Nowhere.

Dream of Peter the Beggar Boy and the Pope who Picked Up a Text Book and Wanted to Help

Peter was a boy who was a beggar and he begged outside St Peter’s Cathedral. He was an Irishman from Australia. He had once had a paid job but that had fallen away. Now he begged in Rome with other boys.

The Pope had taken an interest in Peter. When the Pope entered the cathedral he was curt because he was running late for mass. I looked in on the mass. I saw Peter with another boy out back fooling around with a ruler and textbook. They were drawing lines and smashing a black square around the page with the ruler. The other boys were more focused on them than on the mass.

The Pope heard this commotion out back. After mass he approached the boys. The kids ran, including Peter, who dropped his ruler and textbook. The Pope picked up his textbook and followed Peter. Peter ran down a spiral staircase around which time he split into me and him and then he was me and I hid in the toilets. A girl was in there. She went to the toilet behind the shower curtain when she saw me occupy the cubical with the door.

When I left the toilets the Pope found me. He wanted to help me and give me the best chance in life.

He gave his mass, bloodied, on the top of a hill. He looked like John Paul II. When I saw him he was lined up with the cardinals all dressed in white. The Pope was a devout believer. I could tell that just by looking at him.

Now it’s me Live from Golgotha Pope John Paul II blooded on his Golgotha. Thank you Gore Vidal. I loved your juggling buggering Paul. If there’s a God in Heaven and Jesus was his son you’re in hell for that one.

Ironically, and unintentionally I suspect, Gore impressed upon me the fact that the New Testament is arguably the best-preserved written document from the Roman world. And I love my Romans. So, wanting more from Paul, I picked up my dusty old Bible and started reading the New Testament. It’s not the most riveting read but it has its moments. It’s as within so without message is the same with dreams. Changing oneself within is a hard and at first unapparent task. The Christians had the Love of God as their change agent and to that I’d add by a slight of hand that by loving God the Christians learned to love themselves. This self-love was an inner orientation devoid of any externality. It was a powerful stance for which many were willingly martyred. Their love of God and therefore self proved more powerful than the Romans who loved their laws and courts.

And of course it goes without saying the seed for this dream was a late night broadcast of a spiral staircase from the Vatican on my Panasonic. I don’t have a Sony like Gore’s Saint Timothy.

Why JP II? He was Pope when I last read the Bible back in school. And Peter here is not my friend Peter Peter here is Saint Peter the Rock crucified like Paul by Nero. Thrice did Peter deny Jesus and when the Pope approached Peter in my dream yet again he denied his earthly representative dropped his book and ran. The Pope picked up his book his being the operative word for whose book was it, Peter’s or Paul’s or the Pope’s?

Peter’s book was Kandinskyesque. With a ruler he drew lines and pushed a black box around the page like some 80s computer game. Kandinsky came from the ashes of Dostoevsky’s Russia. What was certain and orthodox was now abstract and chaos. Dostoevsky saw that train coming but unlike Kandinsky, who played with shattered parts, he knew the answer was love and only love. I first learned of the search for meaning in modern art when I read Jung’s Man and his Symbols. That book inspired me to make Roman art.

In retrospect my Roman art was no accident since my culture comes from the ashes of the Roman world. Christianity revivified Roman culture thereby rebooting western civilisation and that served us well until the reformation. For a thousand years that reboot lasted. In Jungian parlance that constitutes a deep ravine in the psyche (November 2021). And now with that reboot done the world is shattered. Peter the rock was trying to construct order from this chaos from whatever pieces he could find; a textbook (information), a ruler (linear order), a black box (the unknown). The Pope then picked this book his book the Bible up off the ground. The Pope kept his faith and so retains archaic meaning. And all he wanted was to help Peter the beggar boy stand tall.

Beggars in dreams are aspects of the self beaten down low. My rock was discarded long ago but my beggar shows that foundation’s still in there laying low.

My toilet is associated with parental punishment (February 2020). Parents are the first Gods we know so no wonder unconscious logic tied that to the battered rock. The feminine was in that toilet too. Does that mean quadratic wholeness requires God?

So endeth the sermon …