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The Unexplainable Guard

Morning of September 19, 2014. Friday.

I am in a presumed unfamiliar building though of which has aspects as a possible composite that includes the Cubitis living room and our present home’s living area. At one point, there is some sort of telephone call or paging for me, but the call comes from some sort of intriguing larger coin-operated video game of the kind from the mid-1980s. This does not seem unusual to me. I press a button under the top front edge of it to take the call by way of a small hidden microphone and the (unrecognized) caller’s voice comes from the speaker of the machine.

Supposedly, I am to do some sort of job which may relate to mowing and maintaining a public building. I had done work like this (with several others) in a previous dream at either a shopping mall or hospital (or both in being in the same area). There seems to be something else, though - something mysterious and possibly relating to another job regarding surveillance.

My voice sounds a bit unusual; not like mine, but like a fairly young boy’s (and not like I sounded as a boy, either). Even so, the caller says that I sound like Steve Finch (who is older than I) and for a time, thinks I am him. (Steve Finch is the misremembered name of a troublesome and relentless fake dream journalist who has continuously trolled me and other genuine dream journalists while pretending to be a victim and still continuously violates that site’s terms of service, and yet for some reason has not been banned, which just does not add up, either for me or the other people who know of him).

Over time, I try to speak more “correctly”, though the caller still thinks I may be the other person. Oddly enough, I am supposedly Bruce Willis. I seem to think I am to some degree in my dream though this is quite ambiguous. I explain that I have a “voice modulator” - so this is why I sound as I do. I tell him that I have forgotten how to turn it off.

We arrange some sort of meeting with a “guard” of some kind. Supposedly, this guard is a representative and “protector” of a certain type of dream environment in another location of the collective supraconscious “mind” as well as being some kind of judge of dream workers. Oddly though, I do not relate it to the fact I may be dreaming at the time so I never become lucid. I am to meet her in another location, which is apparently like some sort of portal to other types of dream states. Even though I will be instantly killed if I do not meet with her approval, I do not seem to be worried by my state of mind relating to the unexplained and dreaming itself due to my continuous and validated experiences with remote-viewing and precognition since earliest memory.

There is another person who explains this to me; an older unknown female on my left. We walk to an area near a small wooden fence where the “guard” is to judge me. As this unknown female approaches, I have a very precise and clear open and honest perspective, wanting to express all of myself with full sincerity to avoid my potential destruction. She towers over me - over twice my height (not as a real giant - as I am of a child’s view now with an amazingly clear memory and orientation of when I was that size). She seems almost like a bag lady and is slightly grungy. She soon approves of me, allowing me to live, this being because of my lifelong connection to the supposedly unexplained and my sincere interest in the mysteries of dreams.

Before she leaves, I ask her about how precognition works. I ask if it is related to (event-horizon-based) fractal “threads”, like individual threads of a spider web, from both the potential future, and the “threads” of prior thought and memory simultaneously aligning in the present (in the sense of a fractal equation balancing out). I probably do not clearly explain myself as she shakes her head “no” in a very subtle way (but does not at all seem displeased) before walking off as my dream slowly loses cohesion. It may be that she did this to express that she did not have the time to answer any of my questions regardless of what they were.

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