Morning of July 22, 2015. Wednesday.
This title is not that relevant - as the cat itself does not glow, but for some reason it just came into my head as the title (and who am I to “argue” with self-titling excursions into the surreal).
Yet again my dream alters the features and layouts of real locations. This time our bed that is in real life in what would otherwise be the dining room (head to the west) is now in the front computer room, which is adjacent to our older children’s rooms; the head to the east (though feasible, not that likely to be as such - especially as our oldest son’s room has a window in his wall into the room). At the same time, the computer desk is near the window (where the bed was).
I “realize” that I am at 611 North Monroe Street (in America), which I rarely dream about anymore, especially considering I have not lived there since early 1968 (before moving to Cubitis off Highway Seventeen). My cat Tiger (long gone in reality), an orange tabby, is walking about. I “realize” that I am about seven years old but am concerned that Tiger has stepped in paint and is tracking it around the room. He is hesitant and shaking each leg in rotation, just as in reality when a cat steps in questionable liquid. However, the footprints are like a light and almost like a “hole” as well, somehow.
I “remember” after the tracks are giving off an annoying amount of light, that I can “turn off the footprints” (that is, anything glowing in the room) with a special light switch. I move my hand around to feel for it but cannot find it. I vaguely also recall (real memory) that there is a stack of about six or seven comic books on the left side of the toilet tank in the bathroom and am wondering if they will be knocked into the toilet as a result of the cat’s actions. I am trying to remember if this already happened at a previous time and if as such they had been there for several days thus far (which makes no sense of course).
The cat walks up the wall, leaving an even pattern of footprints (which start to look more like upright five-pointed stars than cat paw prints), almost to the ceiling. “Come down from there,” I command. The animal comes down and starts purring very loudly on my chest but seems eventually to be my own breathing (and likely Zsuzsanna’s as well).
My thinking falls into the slightly abstract. I realize that a “star pentagon” is not a pentagon at all but a decagon (as it has ten sides and angles, not five sides and angles). I feel a strange uneasiness over humanity being “wrong” yet again, then realize everything in the world is misnamed and misunderstood anyway, so it does not matter that much.
I approach three (unknown) girls in somewhat plain dresses (sitting on the floor in the form of a triangle for the most part) who seem to be speaking Portuguese and involved in an occult ritual. There is unexplainable luminosity in the setting. Looking more closely, I see they are actually playing Jacks. However, looking again, I see the game box looks suspiciously like some sort of ritualistic system with the box shaped like a hexagon. I then confirm this by the fact that, even though they are playing Jacks, it is on a hexagram painted carefully on the floor. Then I get annoyed once again as I realize that the “hexagram” is actually a type of dodecagon, as it has twelve angles and twelve sides, not six angles and six sides.
“No one knows what anything is,” I say calmly. One of the girls (to the left and closest to where I am standing) turns and looks at me curiously though smiles in understanding and seeming familiarity (with a vague thought she is my wife when much younger). She says, “A minha estrela guia” (“my guiding star”) and I am not sure if she means me or the game piece (Jack) she is holding. Then I realize she may not have said “A minha estrela guia” but “I’m in Australia”, which sounds the same (and it slowly dawns on me that this is yet another “missed clue” or “confirmation”, of millions, about finding Yin incarnate, yet I recall I already have).
I feel slightly nervous and enter a more luminous state of “quivering” (where the foreground and background quickly shift inversely to each other) and see a large electric fan (all white, including the blades) where the rotary keeps changing in diameter, smaller and larger, but somewhat randomly. The fan blades sometimes curve out as if in attempt to touch or at least reach me (with a perceived sense of care and compassion, not as a threat). The imagery shifts in unusual ways. Every now and then, a small narrow crocodile head emerges (again, with no sense of threat, and the mouth remains closed) horizontally and evenly from the center and is seemingly pulled back in. Other things the spinning fan blades become is a cycad palm, a sunflower, and some sort of floral kaleidoscopic design. I watch it for quite some time (with a vaguely perceived buzzing) and eventually shift into a dream where Steve J (an old classmate) and I are walking just below rafters on roof support beams and ceiling joists in a large building. The rafter patterns become more and more complex. This last part, Zsuzsanna says she also dreamed of - though she was the one walking mainly on the hanging beams (without any actual reason or prior cause to dream as such, though this shared dreaming happens fairly often). (However, I did have a lot of similar dreams when about thirteen.)