Last night I dreamed I saw U2 in concert (if only we could record our dreams! the new song they played was incredible, the Edge was on fire). After the concert, I was walking home and I saw someone move a live deer off the road onto the footpath, then leave. I was with my sister (at least, I think it was her -- there was a female presence with me) and we were in an industrial inner suburb. I said to my sister that the deer couldn't stay on the concrete, I had to go move it somewhere more suitable. As I said this, my surroundings were no longer urban, they changed to the central park in my hometown in the country. I thought to myself that the passerby should have moved the deer to the park, where a ranger could have looked after it, so I decided to do this myself.

Interestingly, my other dreams last night included being on a spaceship with other people, involving a plot that I can barely remember. Whenever I dream of animals, almost always my other dreams of the night include scifi elements like this.

Perhaps the deer is me?

Originally posted to The Fourth Kind news, but I thought I'd update my dream blog:

I had a vivid dream about 10 years ago I think, in which I was on a bus driving along a coastal road. Staring out the window at the beach, I saw stranded whales, so I yelled to the driver to stop and I immediately got off the bus. When I ran over to the whales, they were small enough to pick up, so I carried them one at a time and waded out to deeper water where I released them and they swam away. There was broken glass and I was barefoot, but I managed to save all the whales. When I looked back at the now empty beach, I was surprised to find I was a long way from shore, in deep dark water. A jetty extended out to sea near me, impossibly long, so I swam over to it. Climbing onto the jetty, I saw I was now miles from shore, the land a distant line on the horizon. Suddenly a boar charged me. I should have been scared, but for some odd reason I wasn't and held my ground. The boar changed into a stag with magnificent antlers and stopped in front of me. It motioned with its head to a large deck above, so I climbed the ladder. Everything was incredibly dark now, pitch black, and I could see nothing but the four corners of the deck. Perched on one corner railing was an owl.

That's all I can remember of this brilliant dream!

I've had several dreams of surviving a nuclear war over the years, but last week I had a particularly vivid dream. I was near the launch of a nuclear missile, and I saw it rise into the sky... and falter, then fall back towards the ground. I instinctively ducked down, even though it was futile, as the bomb hit the earth. This was incredibly vivid and sharp, like a blu-ray dvd. There was complete silence as the bomb fell, then I heard a cracking BOOM! as the nuclear warhead detonated. A shockwave of blinding light hit me and I turned to ash.

I hope this isn't a dream that comes true!

And in the news today, North Korea aims missile at Hawaii, and the US rallies a Pacific defence in response.

Maybe the missile fails, and it lands on Kim Jong Il's head?

I'm going to upgrade my doona while the mid-year sales are on, and I was looking at a very nice, comfy goose-down doona. On the packaging it says the down is collected from free-ranging geese, but on closer inspection it's all made in China. Which makes me suspicious of the "free range" claim. The problem is, there's simply no way to find out what conditions the geese and ducks are kept in. I'm guessing the down is a by-product from Chinese meat processors, most of which are battery farms with appalling conditions. No way will I sleep soundly knowing where the down that's keeping me snug and warm came from. I contacted the distributors of the Dana Dream brand, and they couldn't tell me. I'm contacting another brand, Downia, next week. I'll also ask the RSPCA, but considering that the last person I spoke to there didn't know about bear farming in China, I won't be holding my breath.

This is the code:

zed 4nG7aS8bN4 zed.

It's for a game that deals with conspiracies and ancient mysteries, from Knights Templar to Illuminati, mixed with Lovecraftian and modern horror, called The Secret World. Right up TDG's alley. What throws me is zed and the regular pattern of upper case and lower case letters with numbers. I'm sure it translates to a word, but what?

The other code is:

3e4gHjmS456 ™e‘ÍÏÍ^ü

and

™e‘ÍÏÍ^ü ΨξδДЖ #tsw

The codes were twittered by darklaydeep, shadowscome, and nox_noctis_cado. The latin is figured out, but the code I've quoted is a mystery. Why Greek/Cyrillic? It could be a name, a website url, anything: the guess is it leads to another clue/piece of information.

Any help is appreciated.

I was acting in a play I think, a medieval play about a prince or a knight and a maiden. There were three of us, another man and a beautiful red-haired woman. There was also an older woman who was the theatre manager or in charge of the play, she had authority, and I got the impression she didn't think I was good enough to be there. Other people were there, but these were the only people I can remember speaking to and interacting with. It was a beautiful Renaissance-like Shakespearean stage, with lush red velvet curtains and polished wood floorboards.

There was a chalkboard set up, with the names of the actors. I can only remember two of the names, Lidaux and Lagu (or Iagu?). I'm fairy sure Lidaux was the name of the beautiful red-haired woman with whom I got along famously with.

I have never seen or heard the word Lidaux before that I can recall. Searching online, Lidaux is a surname. The first link off the google rank shows a Lidaux family in Louisiana in the 1920s. Creole?

Lidaux is Old French, according to the Catholicon Anglicum: an English-Latin phrasebook from 1483, but I can't find what the meaning is: the text that shows up on google is "...with hokes like a sithe'} were called in Old French lidaux (Koquefort)... A pype, a melody."

Lagu is interesting, it's an Indonesian term for melody. Which links to the Old French above, which mentions a melody. Lagu is the surname of a Sudanese rebel leader, but that doesn't make much sense. British artist Rima Staines has a great picture titled The Lagu People, and art is something I wish to get back into.

I still have the image in my head, as clear as a memory, of the chalkboard with the names Lidaux and Lagu and something else written on it.

Does anyone else dream of words?

I recently had a dream where I was in a medieval village, but modern, in a barn-turned classroom with wide open doors, old stone floor and walls, ancient timber beams above. Chickens and livestock were out in the sun-drenched courtyard and there was hay scattered across the cobblestones. There was a large chalkboard and basic desks set up. I'm not sure if I was a young student or adult me. I did something right and please the teacher, and was rewarded with unlimited access to a store of previous pistachio nuts kept in a loft. I climbed the ladder, like in a bell tower, and began eating the nuts, but I felt that I couldn't eat them all myself -- I'd feel sick and there was enough for everybody. Wooden slats covered the window and I could see and feel sunlight streaming through the gaps.

Someone called me Toccio. Tocchio? I remember wondering in the dream how it should be spelled. I know how it sounds. Tock-ee-oh. Like an Italian pronouncing the Japanese city Tokyo.

The dream continued and I was in a city, as a small boy. I was going somewhere important, accompanied by elders (an old lady was talking to me along the way). I had to get undressed and put on a rough woolen robe, or ankle length tunic, and climb vast wide stairs to leading to a courtyard and another medieval building that I couldn't see much of. Next I was inside, a barn like the classroom, with ancient stone walls and timber roof beams. It was circular, with plain wooden benches surrounded a central platform. Everyone, adults and children of all ages, were wearing the same rough-spun woolen robe, and I distinctly remember trying to get a sense of what it smelled like -- the wools, the wooden benches, the ancient stone. Again, someone called me Toccio.

That's all I can remember. I talked to several people in the dream -- to the teacher, and I get a sense I was me as an adult but a child in a classroom simultaneously. The old lady. I can't recall what we talked about though.

So tonight I google "Tocchio", as this is how I think this is how you spell it. Tocchio is an Italian name! I try "Toccio", as I get the sense this is another way to spell. Toccio the grumpy Angel, a children's book by a Japanese author, is one of the top 3 results!

What can the dream mean, if anything? I don't care what the skeptics think -- insight and meaning is to be found in this dream, I know my subconscious better than the skeptics do! Writing fiction is something I dearly want to do more of, and I've always wanted to visit Japan. Tock-ee-yoh, here I come! Tokyo makes sense, my subconscious would tell me to go there in such a convoluted way. However, what's with the Italian theme? A psychic told me last year I must visit Tuscany -- not maybe, but must. Which is one of the last places I'd consider traveling to, to be honest -- right now I'm um-ing and ah-ing between Japan, Peru (ayahuasca), or Egypt. Ireland, China, Nepal, Morocco, Mexico... I'll keep dreaming. ;-)

When is a dream just a dream or something else? I"m not expecting to find deep and meaningful messages in this dream, I just find it interesting to follow random thoughts and see where they go. I'd never heard the word Tocchio before in my life, that I know of, so it's a weird dream for my subconscious to play me.

Update: Toccio is a town in Umbria, just a stone's throw from Tuscany. Which is near Gualdo Tadino, with architecture just like in my dream. Curiouser and curiouser! But I'm still thinking Tokyo, Japan -- the global consciousness has a sense of humour.

I'm off to hike the Milford Track in a few weeks with my 82-year-old grandfather. Five days, almost 60km, across rivers, up mountains, through forested valleys, down mountains, the works. At the end of each day I get to sleep in a bed in a lodge with staff who cook meals and serve cold beer!

Has anyone done this hike, and can you give me any advice on what kind of shoes to wear? I hate boots, they have no grip on rocks and going downhill, and once they're wet inside they stay wet. I prefer trail runners -- better grip, comfortable, and they dry quickly. A friend recommended Merrell Chameleons, and I saw a pair of North Face Vindicators that look the goods. I don't want Gore-Tex -- it's a very wet hike (17 days of torrential rain in February), but once water's inside a Gore-Tex shoe it's misery.

Or the weather could surprise me and be sunny for four days. Everyone advises to be prepared to get wet though. The South Island in summer can be warm and dry one minute, pouring rain and freezing the next.

I'd also like something I can wear hiking the Inca Trail later this year, or walking around Japan. I don't want to spend too much on a pair of hiking shoes I'm only wearing for four days. The last time I went hiking, I wore a pair of $20 Dunlop Volleys -- very comfortable, great grip. But I don't think I'll be looked at seriously if I turn up with Volleys in New Zealand! I'm a strong walker, but 60km in $20 shoes is pushing it.

Recently I had a dream of a blue tattoo. It was a brilliant, bright royal blue. Someone else was preparing the dye in a big tub, which I had my feet in. I removed my feet, stained blue past my ankles, and I thought to myself that I'd always have blue feet now.

The tattooist prepared the needle, and began painting my right arm. It was a rough sketch at first, to be filled in piece by piece. A swirling pattern spiraled from my forearm up to my shoulder, and on my bicep a scarab beetle was sketched.

For one brief moment, the hairs on my arm became grey, and I thought I was looking at an old man's arm, possibly not even my own. Was I someone else in my dream? I can't be sure, but it was a jolting image to suddenly wonder, mid-dream, if it was my arm as it is now. Before this occurred, I was definitely myself in dream -- so did I become someone else, or age, after getting tattooed? I can't be sure.

I don't have any tattoos, never considered getting one. This dream literally came out of the blue.

This blog entry from the UFO Reality says UFOs aren't ETVs (extraterrestrial vehicles), but the author presents the most spurious illogical argument it's hard to take it seriously and I'm a little puzzled where they're coming from (but that may be due to my own regular confused state).