Lucidly Pursuing Ray Jackson  I'm near a soccer field on which two teams are playing. One of the teams is supposed to be a lot better than the other. That team scores a goal very quickly: minutes after the game has started. There is a young player on the team named Jeff. He is very cocky. I go up to him and call him over to the side; He isn't playing at the time. I warn him that though he is a good player he needs to put a little more effort into his sport: to not slack off, but keep honing his skills or he may suffer the consequences. He leaves the area with his girlfriend. He may be wearing a blue jersey. The announcer comes over the loudspeaker with the scorer and time of the goal. He then says that Jeff has been kicked off the team. I walk up a path away from the field. It's difficult to walk: I go slowly, and limp. I move in slow motion. I walk by an open, fenced in area, on my right; maybe tennis courts. I can see people sitting inside the area, but can't distinguish them. I walk by a group of people on the side of the path. A woman with long blond wavy hair waves at me. I wave back at her without stopping. I pass another, smaller, group, where an identical looking woman with long blond hair says hi to me. I say hi back to her without stopping. I think the blond women may be identical twins; they are very pretty. A strong collie-like dog with orange/gold/brown fur prances around. I call the dog, but it won't strictly follow me. It runs up to a small hill on the path and stops, turning back. When I get up to the hilltop I see that down below is a zoo. Two large black bears are being trained for photographs. The dog was scared, so I go on a different path off to the right. I walk down in an area where trees have been cut and the stumps remain in a field. A house is on my right. I job briskly down this downward sloping path. I'm on a wooden path, and I hop briskly from log to log. The dog goes its own way, up the slope to the right. I walk on and come to a wooded area. I think I see a deer, and slow down, realizing it would be spooked already if it were a deer. I slowly walk and do see deer. I see a four-point buck with a large rack, 12-15 inches high. I also see a six-point buck. The deer seem to be everywhere! I see eight to ten very large deer, at least 180-200 pounds each. They dash away as I approach. I watch. I continue on through the small forest and enter a shack. There are three men in the warm shack, which is adorned with antiques on the walls: very cozy. One of the men says he started work at the shack today, which is a little cafe/supply store. They ask me if I have land around here. I tell them yes, thinking that the Ramos' land is around here, but then I realize I'm in New South Wales. I talk about the deer I just saw, and they say it's a good thing this is a shotgun hunting zone (because the shack is so close). There are many deer around, and since my friends the Ramos' and I are to hunt in a few days, the prospects look good. The working man says he has two kids that are hiding behind the counter because they've never heard a shotgun blast before. I leave. I'm in a very old pickup truck with two men my age, one on each side of me, two older men, and one or two younger kids. We drive. I want to make it to a football game where my housemate Glen Ryan is. I need to find the Dark Green Stadium where the game is being played. I may somehow get there in the truck. The man on my right pinches my thigh/butt. There is not much room in the truck: we're packed in standing. I grab his hand and tell him to stop. He continues to pinch my thigh and butt, and gets the man on my left to pinch my thigh and butt on the left side. I'm fed up with this. I punch the man on my left squarely in the nose with my right fist, and then elbow the man on my right. I yell to be let out of the truck: I'm in the company of mid 1900's rednecks! The driver stops and I get out, grabbing my green and red sweatshirt. The man that was on my right gets out after me. He it tall and strong, with short, neatly combed hair: a homegrown farm boy! We fight. I think that he has the size and strength advantage. I punch him three times in the testicles with my left hand and smash his face into the truck and ground while I hold the back of his head with my right hand. The other man my age gets out of the truck. I punch and beat him as well. I then hurry away from those hillbillies for fear that they may pursue me. The area I walk in is an old 1950's city, but fully functioning. It's being built at the same time. It is cloudy. I walk or jog along a road, hopping over logs, kitchen plates, and armchairs that are lying around because of the construction. A sidewalk is being built. The white cement looks modern in contrast to the old-fashioned town. I get to the football stadium and enter. The bleachers don't go up very high: it's an old stadium, uncovered. As soon as I enter the quarterback of the driving team makes a long pass that goes over the end zone and nearly hits a lady in the head as she walks out the door, about three feet away from me! I walk and look for Glen. The stadium is small and made completely of wood. It looks brown on the inside. Two men approach me, one on each side, and grab me. I am moved into a corner where one of the men stands in front of me. He is wearing gray. The other man takes a photograph of the man and I with a camera that has a large lens on it: very high tech. They seem to do this to somehow get a false identification card because they're younger than I: about 16 years old. I wrap my right arm around the head and neck of the man in front of me and threaten to break his neck if he doesn't leave me alone. Several of their companions show up. One shorter man deems their behavior useless, and slices an identification card in half with another identification card. I continue on. There is not much space in the stadium. People sit on picnic tables. I walk by and see my grade school classmate Ray Jackson sitting at a table. Immediately I recognize that I'm dreaming because Ray is not in New South Wales with me: he's in the United States. I say out loud, "I'm dreaming" at the exact same time that Ray looks at me and says, "You're dreaming". As I say "I'm" he says "You're", and our saying "Dreaming" coincides. I float or fly backwards, away from the table where Ray is. I will myself to fly towards Ray, and I do. He is then outside. I fly left, passing through a window without breaking it, and fly after him. He flies faster than I: I can't catch up to him. He has honed and practiced his flying skills. I follow him distantly, flying over trees. I fly upwards into white clouds and fog. I can't see anything. I fly in loops, arching my back, like I am a roller coaster. I try to fly back down to the ground. I can't see myself. I may make it down to the ground, but if I do I can't get a clear image of the stadium or the people. I can't seem to stop flying, so I open my eyes (in real life).