Afternoon of April 9, 1976. Friday.
I had fallen asleep in my father's original room in Cubitis that he also used as a music studio (until he bought the matte silver bus he kept parked in the backyard and by this time also had the new room he built into the carport). My mother sometimes sat near the south windows when writing letters to various friends and relatives.
In my dream, I am hovering upside-down, seemingly in the fetal position, in a vast expanse of darkness, both to each side of me and at least below me. It is not quite like my prenatal memories in that it does not have a sense of being in two places at the same time and no immediate "walls" around me. I do have a sense of comfort, but also feel a bit displaced. I am trying to recall my dream that I was apparently "pulled out of", thinking I must be awake now but am not sure of the setting I am in or why I seem to be hovering like this. My perception is about as vivid as possible for such a dream. I cannot see anything but my physical orientation seems as "real" as real life regardless of the unusual position.
Suddenly, I hear the mystery girl's voice (long-term precognitive wife-to-be presence) calling out "Honey...honey..." (louder the second time) almost as if it is an attempt to get my attention with the assumption that I am sleeping, though again I cannot see anything. This causes me to begin to question what is going on, though my dream is too short to think too much about it. I know it cannot be my mother (especially as she has a much older-sounding voice) because I perceive myself as an adult for some reason (as well as maintaining a growing lucidity where I seem to be awake and asleep at the same time and trying to work out why the mystery girl wants me - I also feel intensely connected to a "different time") and perhaps sleeping next to my partner while coming out of sleep because of her calling me. I come out of my dream fairly quickly (with a sudden somewhat startling shift in my physical perspective) and it is almost like the sound was actually perceived, with the residual faux echo (much as in real life when the consciousness is slightly shifted from being very tired and there is a faux echo when anything is spoken - something to do with slowed-down short-term memory, I think). This was one of my most vivid dreams during this time period as well as quite puzzling in terms of orientation and perspective. Of course, the voice matched my yet-to-be wife when I did talk to her on the telephone years later. This is one of thousands of dreams that validated who she was. Without a cue or clue from me (and although it is a common term of endearment), "honey" was the first thing my wife-to-be called me when we first started talking and even after twenty years, she is the only one I have ever heard with her particular unique accent and vocal nuances.
