Dream Diary 0013: Night Of 07/21/2014 — Supernatural’s Ryan/Sam & Raleigh/Dean Scales/Winchester

Pictured L-R: Supernatural’s brothers Dean & Sam Winchester, and real life’s brothers Raleigh & Ryan Scales

I woke up a little before 9 this morning, took my ADD medicine, and went back to sleep, and woke up again a little before 10.

According to http://indianapublicmedia.org/amomentofscience/time-passes-dreams/

“Many people believe that hours worth of events and activities can be dreamed about in a matter of seconds. Despite this common belief about how we dream, time in dreams actually is not compressed. If you dream of an activity that would take five minutes in waking life, you probably dream about it for a full five minutes.

Dream and sleep researcher William Dement conducted two studies that demonstrated that dream time was similar to real time. Because dreamers’ eyes move under their eyelids very rapidly while they are dreaming, Dement was able to monitor sleepers and record the length of their dreams by observing their rapid eye movement.

After recording this information, Dement would wake dreamers and have them write down a description of their most recent dream. He assumed that longer dreams would take more words to describe than shorter ones.

When he compared the number of words in each dream report with the number of minutes the dream had occurred, he found that the longer the dream, the more words the dreamer used to describe it.

In another related experiment, Dement woke sleepers while they were dreaming and asked them how long they perceived their most recent dream had taken. Eighty-three percent of the time they perceived correctly whether their dreams had been going on for a long time or for a short time.

With these experiments, Dement concluded that time in dreams is nearly identical to time in waking life. So the next time in your dreams you slay a dragon or fly from your house to your workplace, the amount of time it seemed to take is probably just about how long it actually took to dream it.”

I dreamed for less than an hour, because it took me awhile to fall asleep again, but weeks passed in what I dreamed. So much happened in it, that I am not going to be thorough in logging what all happened in this post, because it would literally take me hours.

I guess scientist don’t understand dreams as much as they think they do. I mentioned this to my mom today, and she said maybe it’s inherited, as she dreams a lot too. She didn’t say anything about having long dreams, but she was in a rush, and maybe she does…

Let me preface the dream, by saying I’ve been watching a lot of Supernatural lately. Like every day for a couple weeks now. For those unfamiliar with the show, it’s a series about the two brothers Sam and Dean Winchester, who hunt monsters, ghosts, vampires, demons, evil angels and the supernatural in general.

In the dream, my brother Raleigh and I were basically Sam and Dean Winchester. Our personalities are surprisingly similar, me and Sam, and Raleigh and Dean. We are even somewhat similar in appearance, at least as regards hairstyles. Dean, the older brother, is very protective of Sam, and Raleigh, my younger brother, is very protective of me, just to give one example. I could give further examples, but I don’t want to exploit my brother’s personality.

We were hunting demons in some foreign country, and all hell broke loose, and we found ourselves, the hunters, being hunted by tons of demons.

We got separated, but I assumed Raleigh had escaped into a protected forest area in the middle of the city, that no one was allowed to go into.

After a long awhile, I found my way to the forested area, and jumped off a wall onto a branch in a tree beyond the wall into the forested enclosure.

I spent at least a week, searching for my brother in the forest area. It was a crazy weird forest, it was like the mystical island from the show Lost. All kinds of weird things.

I found a giant canvas set up on a giant painting easel, and the canvas was made of some thick plastic-like material, and was like a scroll, folded in loops over the back of it. It was all blank. It was so big though, and as the loops of it over the back of it didn’t touch the ground, I saw they could be used as makeshift hammocks. I slept in them a few nights. When I first found it, in one of them, I found a snake sleeping, so I definitely didn’t get in that one. One of the nights I slept in one of the loops, I was woken up by a snake crawling over me. Freaked me out, so I didn’t move. It slept on top of me for awhile, before slithering away. I decided after that, not to sleep there anymore.

There were also some other giant objects around the giant canvas/easel, like a giant, expensive-looking point-and-click camera that professional photographers use.

I mostly ate fruit I found from the trees. It was late summer-time.

I came across all kinds of weird things in the woods, that for the sake of time, I won’t get into.

Eventually I found an underground hatch-like shelter (like from Lost) that Raleigh had discovered some time ago, and had been living in while I had been sleeping in trees and with snakes… which pissed me off…

I don’t watch or support the porn industry, but he even had porn he had been watching down there, something Dean watches from time to time to the occasional irritation of Sam on Supernatural.

I was like,

“You’ve been down here watching porn all this time??? Why the hell haven’t you been looking for me? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Raleigh shrugged, and said in typical Dean-fashion,

“What can I say Ryan, I got distracted. I knew you’d find me eventually, we’re safe here, the woods are hexed — demons can’t come in! You were safe! I thought camping out in the wild would be good for you — you know, build some character, you boyscout you!”

(I thought it was ironic he was talking about character-building, while he had been eating someone else’s food for days, and watching porn…)

I stayed in the hatch for a little while, recuperating from living out in the wild for like a week, and then we set out to try to find a way out of the forest, as there was a high wall and barbed-wire around most of it, based on what we had seen.

The dream ended with us finding a way out like a week or so later, at an area where  there was just a short barbed-wire fence, like you see on farms… to keep cattle within grazing enclosures.

It was by far one of the most adventurous, exciting and interesting dreams I have ever had!

July 22 – Streams In The Desert Devotional By Mrs. Lettie Cowman

And therefore will the Lord wait, that he may be gracious unto you… blessed are all they that wait for him (Isaiah 30:18).

We must not only think of our waiting upon God, but also of what is more wonderful still, of God’s waiting upon us. The vision of Him waiting on us, will give new impulse and inspiration to our waiting upon Him. It will give us unspeakable confidence that our waiting cannot be in vain. Let us seek even now, at this moment, in the spirit of waiting on God, to find out something of what it means.

He has inconceivably glorious purposes concerning every one of His children. And you ask, “How is it, if He waits to be gracious, that even after I come and wait upon Him, He does not give the. help I seek, but waits on longer and longer?” God is a wise husbandman, “who waiteth for the precious fruit of the earth, and hath long patience for it.” He cannot gather the fruit till it is ripe. He knows when we are spiritually ready to receive the blessing to our profit and His glory. Waiting in the sunshine of His love is what will ripen the soul for His blessing. Waiting under the cloud of trial, that breaks in showers of blessings, is as needful.

Be assured that if God waits longer than you could wish, it is only to make the blessing doubly precious. God waited four thousand years, till the fullness of time, ere He sent His Son. Our times are in His hands; He will avenge His elect speedily; He will make haste for our help, and not delay one hour too long.
–Andrew Murray

Another Wasp In My Room

I found another wasp flying in my room. I have a phobia of wasps and bees. Or at least, I did. It was flying around me like it was drunk. I swatted it with my keys, and picked it up while it was still alive, and flushed it. but not before getting this photo of it. Pretty weird stuff, for someone with a wasp phobia. How do all these bugs keep getting in my apartment, and why do they act intoxicated around me??? Do I seriously have some weird pheromone thing going on or something??? lol

Last week a brown recluse ran up to me while I was walking the dog barefoot, I thought to bite me, but it just bumped into me like a drunkard, and ran away back the way it came, and stopped next to the wall, and just sat there, even when I came up close to it to make sure it what it was… I found a brown recluse in my apartment last year, crawling towards me, and it froze up, and wouldn’t move, even when prodded with a piece of paper, except ever so slightly. I get that that is a defense mechanism for some spiders, so maybe it just looked like a brown recluse, and was some other type of brown spider…

These creepy crawlies need to learn to stay away from me…

Idea Incubation & Combinatorial Creativity

Pups 1
The 3 images in the picture above, going counter-clockwise from May 8, 2013 to 5 months later on October 22, 2013, and then 6 more months later on April 26, 2014, have been shared to illustrate the concept of “Idea Incubation” from T. S. Eliot’s The Use of Poetry and the Use of Criticism quote below, that I got from Maria Popova’s brainpickings.org blog post T. S. Eliot on Idea Incubation, Inhibition, and the Mystical Quality of Creativity + a Rare Recording. Her blogsite in general is a great creative resource for creative writers, and I have been reading her posts somewhat regularly for about a year and half now. She really does her research, and knows her stuff about the craft of writing!

“That there is an analogy between mystical experience and some of the ways in which poetry is written I do not deny … though, as I have said, whether the analogy is of significance for the student of religion or only to the psychologist, I do not know. I know, for instance, that some forms of ill-health, debility or anaemia, may (if other circumstances are favourable) produce an efflux of poetry in a way approaching the condition of automatic writing — though, in contrast to the claims sometimes made for the latter, the material has obviously been incubating within the poet, and cannot be suspected of being a present form a friendly or impertinent demon. What one writes in this way may succeed in standing the examination of a more normal state of mind; it gives me the impression, as I have said, of having undergone a long incubation, though we do not know until the shell breaks what kind of egg we have been sitting on. To me it seems that at these moments, which are characterised by the sudden lifting of the burden of anxiety and fear which presses upon our daily life so steadily that we are unaware of it, what happens is something negative: that is to say, not ‘inspiration’ as we commonly think of it, but the breaking down of strong habitual barriers — which tend to re-form very quickly. Some obstruction is momentarily whisked away. The accompanying feeling is less like what we know as positive pleasure, than a sudden relief from an intolerable burden. … This disturbance of our quotidian character which results in an incantation, an outburst of words which we hardly recognise as our own (because of the effortlessness), is a very different thing from mystical illumination. The latter is a vision which may be accompanied by the realisation that you will never be able to communicate it to anyone else, or even by the realisation that when it is past you will not be able to recall it to yourself; the former is not a vision but a motion terminating in an arrangement of words on paper.”

In Maria Popova’s post on Combinatorial Creativity for smithsonian.com via Combinatorial Creativity and the Myth of Originality, she said, quoting a plethora of other creatives, likely to illustrate the point of Combinatorial Creativity:


“You should stay alert for the moment when a number of things are just ready to collide with one another,” Brian Eno advised. “Creativity is just connecting things,” Steve Jobs proclaimed. “Science,” Darwin recognized, “consists in grouping facts so that general laws or conclusions may be drawn from them.” “Substantially all ideas are second-hand,” Mark Twain observed, “consciously and unconsciously drawn from a million outside sources, and daily use by the garnerer with a pride and satisfaction born of the superstition that he originated them.”

Scientific advances in our understanding of the brain can corroborate this. In his book, Incognito: The Secret Lives of the Brain, neuroscientist David Eagleman distills the unconscious processing that takes place as we come up with an idea we call our own:

“When an idea is served up from behind the scenes, the neural circuitry has been working on the problems for hours or days or years, consolidating information and trying out new combinations. But you merely take credit without further wonderment at the vast, hidden political machinery behind the scenes.”


I have loved Combinatorial Creativity for years, and it wasn’t until I heard about Popova through a friend of a friend sometime in Autumn 2 years ago, that I finally had a name for the thing that so fascinated me.

For the sake of further clarity of what I’m talking about, the first definition for “Combinatorial” via dictionary.com is “of, pertaining to, or involving the combination of elements, as in phonetics or music.” and I mean it in a creative context, which is the only context for the word, though there are a myriad of ways we manifest it in our daily lives, whether practically or artistically.

To give a further demonstration of the term, beyond the dated collage I shared at the start of this post, I am pairing with it the music video below, because of the themes of wolves, and the lyrics “I’m your friend not your post. We’re under Wolf’s Law. Another new scene that flies. Another empty picture for this collage of mine.” which partially inspired the constructive process of the rightmost image in my college, in my filling my body with the image of the woods, and my empty face with a t-shirt design of a woman whose hair was filled with wolves. [t-shirt designed by the artist andreahrnjak and titled "Wolf Spirit", which can be bought here.]

Wolff's Law

“Wolf’s Law”
by The Joy Formidable

Tell me the way you’ve been (so long)
I want to go along and pretend that it’s dawn
That’s the start not the close
I’m your friend not your post
We’re under Wolf’s Law

Another new scene that flies
Another empty picture for this collage of mine
Want to pull it back
And pretend that it’s dark
That we made it here unharmed
I’m your friend not your guard
And we’re under Wolf’s Law

I’ll take the gambling way
Let’s send it spiraling
Just to visit that box
Don’t wait, let’s go, go, go

Don’t wait, let’s go, go, go

Notes From The Bipolar Carebear (3 Tanka) [0011-02] & “Much Madness Is Divinest Sense” by Emily Dickinson

“INFP personalities are true idealists, always looking for the hint of good in even the worst of people and events, searching for ways to make things better. While they may be perceived as calm, reserved, or even shy, INFPs have an inner flame and passion that can truly shine. Comprising just 4.5% of the population, the risk of feeling misunderstood is unfortunately high for this personality type – but when they find like-minded people to spend their time with, they’ll truly feel at home.

Being a part of the Diplomat (NF) personality group, INFPs are guided by their principles, rather than by logic (Analysts), excitement (Explorers), or tradition (Sentinels). When deciding how to move forward, they will look to honor, beauty, morality and virtue – they are led by the purity of their intent. INFPs are proud of this quality, and rightly so, but not everyone understands the drive behind these feelings, and it can lead to isolation.

If INFPs are not careful they can lose themselves in their quest for good and neglect the day-to-day upkeep that life demands. INFPs often drift into deep thought, enjoying contemplating the hypothetical and the philosophical more than any other personality type. Left unchecked, the INFP may start to lose touch, ending up in “hermit mode”, and it can take a great deal of energy from their friends or partner to bring them back to the real world.

But at their best, these qualities enable the INFP type to communicate deeply with others, easily speaking in metaphors and parables, and understanding and creating symbols to share their ideas. The strength of their symbolic reasoning lends itself well to creative works, and there are many famous INFP poets, writers and actors. They have a talent for expressing themselves – their beauty and their secrets – through their fictional characters.

“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.”
J. R. R. Tolkien

Nor does INFP’s ability with language stop with their native tongue – as with most people in the Diplomat type group, they are considered gifted when it comes to learning a second (or third!) language. INFPs’ gift for communication also lends itself well to their desire for harmony, a recurring theme with Diplomats. But unlike their Extroverted cousins, INFPs will focus their attention on just a few people, a single worthy cause – spread too thinly, they’ll run out of energy, and even become dejected and overwhelmed by all the bad in the world that they can’t fix, a sad sight for INFP’s friends, who will come to depend on their rosy outlook.

Luckily, like the flowers in spring, INFP’s affection, creativity, altruism and idealism will always come back, rewarding them and those they love perhaps not with logic and utility, but with a world view that inspires compassion, kindness and beauty wherever they go.

“Notes From The Bipolar Carebear”
by Ry Hakari

Hey you over there —
will you split hairs, shred papers?
I’m a Bipolar
Carebear, not a ne’er-do-well
INFP, not lazy

When I’m by myself,
without a constant’s balance
I stall, I confess,
confused about my purpose
as a dark-horse candidate…

…but give me a cause,
damn straight I will count the cost,
and give it my all —
Underground Man’s Nargothrond
can break the glass ceiling watch!


“Notes from Underground (Russian: Записки из подполья, Zapiski iz podpol’ya), also translated as Notes from the Underground or Letters from the Underworld, is an 1864 novella by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Notes is considered by many to be the first existentialist novel. It presents itself as an excerpt from the rambling memoirs of a bitter, isolated, unnamed narrator (generally referred to by critics as the Underground Man) who is a retired civil servant living in St. Petersburg. The first part of the story is told in monologue form, or the underground man’s diary, and attacks emerging Western philosophy, especially Nikolay Chernyshevsky’s What Is to Be Done?. The second part of the book is called “Àpropos of the Wet Snow”, and describes certain events that, it seems, are destroying and sometimes renewing the underground man, who acts as a first person, unreliable narrator.”

“In J. R. R. Tolkien’s legendarium, Nargothrond (Sindarin portmanteau of Narog-Ost-Rond, “The great underground fortress on the river Narog”, called Nulukkhizdīn by the Dwarves) was the elvish stronghold built by Finrod Felagund during the First Age. The Realm of Nargothrond consisted of the underground city delved into the banks of the river Narog in Beleriand, and the lands to the north, the Talath Dirnen or Guarded Plain.”


“Much Madness Is Divinest Sense”
by Emily Dickinson

Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
’T is the majority
In this, as all, prevails.
Assent, and you are sane;
Demur,—you ’re straightway dangerous,
And handled with a chain.

“Boss Stallion”
by The Malpractice

it’s not a rebel yell
it’s not a battle cry
it’s not a call to arms
it wants to make no sound
it takes a quiet life
it occupies nothing
it is the silent kill
it wants to make no sound

all it takes is just
a slightly altered view
a shift in attitude
then we can make that change
accept the modern death
your human sacrifice
the exploitation days
are coming to an end

drink it up
go break the body down
make it sick
and beat it to the ground
drink it up
don’t turn an offer down
make it sick
yeah, kick it while its down

it is a simple plan
it has a simple goal:
to bring this system down
by wasting it’s resource

let us all become an expense, let us all be seen as ”problems”

take pride in the collapse
and celebrate the fall

drink it up
go break the body down
make it sick
and beat it to the ground
drink it up
don’t turn an offer down
make it sick
yeah, kick it while its down

be a foreign body in (put yourself to use)
the ailing system, bring it down (put yourself to use)
and we are shrapnel, traveling the veins (put yourself to use)

drink it up
go break the body down
make it sick
and beat it to the ground
drink it up
don’t turn an offer down
make it sick
yeah, kick it while its down

screw, lay waste
and break each other down
make it grand
and watch it as it falls
screw, lay waste
and break each other down
make it grand
and watch it as it falls

Dream Diary 0012: Night Of 07/20/2014 — “the scope of South Carolina” something-or-another

This morning, while between the state of sleep and wakefulness, I dreamed the following dream:

I was in a sunny dining room, adjacent to a kitchen. I believe it was morning.

I was reading the newspaper. I had just read something about a cat of some sort, and got to the bottom of the page, and saw that the story was listed as continued on another page in the paper.

Then I saw Kate in the dining room with me, also reading a newspaper. She was drinking orange juice or coffee.

I could tell we were married, and starting our day.

I flipped to the page the story was continued on, and finished reading it.

Then I set the paper down in front of me, and picked up a book that was beside me, set it on the newspaper in front of me, and flipped to a page where the top-half of the page was two columns of text, and the bottom half of the page was regular paragraph form. I can’t remember exactly how many paragraphs there were on the bottom half of the page, but about half of the bottom half of the page, starting at where the text transitioned to paragraph from, had been highlighted in yellow.

I then commented to Kate, something about “the scope of South Carolina” something-or-another.

Then I fully woke up.



To see or read a newspaper in your dream signifies that new light and insight is being shed on a waking problem that is nagging on your mind. You are seeking knowledge and answers to a problem. Pay attention to the dream as it may offer a solution. Alternatively, reading the newspaper implies that you need to be more vocal. You need to express yourself. It is time to make the headlines.


To dream that you are reading indicates that you need to obtain more information and knowledge before making a decision. You need to think things through and consider all you options.


To see a cat in your dream symbolizes an independent spirit, feminine sexuality, creativity, and power. It also represents misfortune and bad luck. The dream symbol has different significance depending on whether you are a cat lover or not. [I am a cat lover.] The cat could indicate that someone is being deceitful or treacherous toward you. If the cat is aggressive, then it suggests that you are having problems with the feminine aspect of yourself. If you are afraid of the cat in your dream, then it suggests that you are fearful of the feminine. The dream may be a metaphor for “cattiness” or someone who is “catty” and malicious. If you see a cat with no tail, then it signifies a loss of independence and lack of autonomy.

To dream that you cannot find your cat highlights your independent spirit. You need to allow yourself to be free and not let anyone or anything hold you back.

July 21 – Streams In The Desert Devotional By Mrs. Lettie Cowman

Let me prove, I pray thee, but this once with the fleece (Judges 6:39).

There are degrees to faith. At one stage of Christian experience we cannot believe unless we have some sign or some great manifestation of feeling. We feel our fleece, like Gideon, and if it is wet we are willing to trust God. This may be true faith, but it is imperfect. It always looks for feeling or some token besides the Word of God. It marks quite an advance in faith when we trust God without feelings. It is blessed to believe without having any emotion.

There is a third stage of faith which even transcends that of Gideon and his fleece. The first phase of faith believes when there are favorable emotions, the second believes when there is the absence of feeling, but this third form of faith believes God and His Word when circumstances, emotions, appearances, people, and human reason all urge to the contrary. Paul exercised this faith in Acts 27:20, 25, “And when neither sun nor stars in many days appeared, and no small tempest lay on us, all hope that we should be saved was then taken away.” Notwithstanding all this Paul said, “Wherefore, sirs, be of good cheer; for I believe God, that it shall be even as it was told me.”

May God give us faith to fully trust His Word though everything else witness the other way.
–C. H. P.

When is the time to trust?
Is it when all is calm,
When waves the victor’s palm,
And life is one glad psalm
Of joy and praise?
Nay! but the time to trust
Is when the waves beat high,
When storm clouds fill the sky,
And prayer is one long cry,
O help and save!
When is the time to trust?
Is it when friends are true?
Is it when comforts woo,
And in all we say and do
We meet but praise?
Nay! but the time to trust
Is when we stand alone,
And summer birds have flown,
And every prop is gone,
All else but God.
What is the time to trust?
Is it some future day,
When you have tried your way,
And learned to trust and pray
By bitter woe?
Nay! but the time to trust
Is in this moment’s need,
Poor, broken, bruised reed!
Poor, troubled soul, make speed
To trust thy God.
What is the time to trust?
Is it when hopes beat high,
When sunshine gilds the sky,
And joy and ecstasy
Fill all the heart?
Nay! but the time to trust
Is when our joy is fled,
When sorrow bows the head,
And all is cold and dead,
All else but God.