Dream dictionary: thiago ic dream meanings

…Most writers and artists live in dreamland. In their hours of wakefulness, Phantasmagoria comes to them; in their hours of sleep they go to Phantasmagoria. Pursued and pursuing, in bed, at work or at play, they are never free from fantasies. In my novels my imagination runs riot, I make no attempt to suppress it. I write of the fantastic the weird, the occult; for at night I move, I breathe, I think in phantom land. So often have I visited this same phantom land that I have made a map of it, naming its isles, seas, mountains, lakes, forests, rivers, and plains. With many of the smaller landmarks, too, I am familiar, and I know what each turn and twist of certain roads have in store for me. Everything is portrayed to me so vividly that I believe my spiritual body, separating itself from my material body, actually…

…turmoil, speed, and darkness; I could feel a thousand objects brush against me, hear the jarring echoes and vibrations of a thousand voices, and then — in one brief instant — all had changed. It was light, a peculiar phosphorous glow pervaded everything, and I found myself in a new plane sitting astride a gigantic beetle with all the trees in the forest running after me. I say “running,” for they all had legs, long and spidery legs, and arms too, whilst their stature having considerably decreased, their proportions differed little from that of tall human beings. As they ran they all laughed, a deep mechanical “Ha, ha, ha!” and raising their hands above their heads, they waved them menacingly at me. But the beetle bore me gallantly on, and, despite the desperate efforts the trees made to overtake us, we still maintained our lead. We had progressed a considerable…

…scents suggestive of all the charms of an idyllic summer; made me long to linger there for ever, and, in an ecstasy of delight, I flew from flower to flower, filling my lungs with their soul-inspiring nectar. While engaged in this entrancing pastime, I heard the joyful utterance of a bird, and on looking up, perceived a lark. With a movement of its little head, which plainly bade me follow, it flew slowly away, and, obeying its injunction I speedily found myself on the banks of a stream where a boat lay moored. Springing into it and taking up the oars, I pushed out into the middle of the current, the lark still continuing to be my guide.The stream, in whose marvellous pellucid depths was reflected the red green of the foliage that lined its shores, took a thousand turns, so that one could never see any great stretch of…

…few yards away from me, and in a quavering falsetto voice cried out to me to stop.Complying with his request, I approached the edge of the pit, when out of it sprang an enormous lion. It had hurled me to the ground, and was in the act of mauling my throat, when I awoke. I interpret the foregoing dream thus:The kangaroo signified a journey; the bees, success in financial matters; dancing, minor troubles; whistling, a lover’s quarrel; metamorphose to a monkey, the breaking off of a marriage through my agency; the lion, marriage.Shortly after this dream I went to the Pacific Coast of America; a great friend of mine was very successful in his speculations on the Stock Exchange but was much worried over a series of troubles at home; whilst another friend, equally dear to me, foolishly got engaged to the daughter of a nouveau riche who was vulgar…

…Huntsmen not infrequently figure in my dreams. On July 1st, 1909, I dreamed I was standing on the veranda of a house, overlooking a neatly kept lawn and a broad white carriage drive, beyond which was a spinney. It was a beautiful evening, and every object stood out with startling perspicuity in the powerful moonlight. Whilst I was gazing admiringly at the transcendental loveliness of the landscape, I felt a soft hand laid caressingly on my arm, and, on looking round, saw a lady clad in the costume of the middle ages. As she often figures in my dreams, I was in no degree astonished at her appearance. ”How romantic we are!” she said, with a smile; “I was quite under the impression that lingering so long in a great city had spoilt you for the pleasures of the country. With me it is too much country, I long…

…raging rapids; and then, tearing past my hut with the thunder of hell, hurled every tree in the forest to the ground. The effect of the sky was now apparent in everything; the whole landscape — mountains, river, and sands, and even the prostrate forest — shone with a violet glow. So far the rain had held off, but presently a huge hand was thrust out of the sky and shaken menacingly, whereupon a great fissure opened, and a whole sea of bubbling, violet water descended with such terrific force that the earth gave way beneath it; and amidst an inferno of sand, rafters, and water I was borne down, down, till all became suffused in the blackness of hell — and I lost consciousness. On recovery, I was standing knee -deep in an ocean of violet water that seethed and hissed on all sides of me. From time to…

…in which I found myself, was at least three times the size of any I had hitherto seen. It was already full of white-faced people, who, sitting and lying among innumerable boxes in, apparently, the most uncomfortable postures, were fast asleep and snoring — snoring to the most fantastic and taking of tunes I have ever heard. My not having a ticket greatly perturbed me. I expected every moment the collector would put in an appearance and make a scene, and, sure enough, in accordance with my forebodings, in he came, accompanied by the guard, engine-driver; foreman, and half-a-dozen other officials, who, rushing on me with livid faces and flashing eyes; were about to annihilate me altogether when a tremendous hubbub on the line attracted the attention of one and all, and a most extraordinary spectacle presented itself to our gaze. Exactly opposite our compartment was a monstrous green engine…

…I dream I am in the entrance hall of a huge castle. The walls, floor, and ceiling are all of stone. There is no one about, and throughout the vast building reigns an omnipotent hush. Confronting me is a broad spiral staircase, which I proceed to ascend. Up, up, up I go, and I am beginning to despair of ever arriving at the summit, when from far below comes the faint sound of footsteps. I pause to listen, and my blood turns to ice. There is something in those footsteps that suggests the grotesque and sinister. Panic-stricken, I assay to run, and my feet seem weighted with iron. The footsteps grow more and more audible. They are no longer walking but bounding — bounding prodigiously, three stairs at a time. Wild with terror, I struggle feebly on; the footsteps draw nearer and nearer — three stairs — two stairs…

I often dream of the same town. Sometimes all the inhabitants appear wearing costumes of one colour, sometimes all appear wearing costumes of another colour, sometimes they all appear clad in black. Having dreamed one of these dreams quite recently, I append the following description:I found myself approaching the town from the direction of a desert. It was a glorious evening, and the walls and windows of the houses shone like burnished gold in the ruddy glow of the slanting sunbeams. But what impressed me on this occasion, over and above all, was the silence; it seemed assumed for a purpose and to be part of a plot, in which everyone and everything participated, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that I was to be the victim of some unpleasant hoax. I cast my eyes in all directions — there was not a soul to be seen —…