I was assisting a group of scientists in performing a behavioral experiment. We would pick up a large, thin sheet of translucent rainbow-colored material by its edges and follow a cat around the room with it. When the cat stopped, we held the sheet of material just above it. The material would then melt onto the floor around the cat, and the multi-colored droplets on the floor would then start to arrange themselves into a symmetrical pattern, like a giant snowflake. The cat would watch the pattern taking shape, and would then use its paws to help complete the design, pushing the droplets along to their final positions before they solidified. When the pattern was complete, we would pick up the new solid sheet of material, the cat would begin to wander, and we would follow it around until it stopped. Then we would hold the sheet over the cat, the sheet would melt, and the cycle would repeat.Eventually the cat grew tired of the game, and refused to stay under the sheet. “Looks like the jig is up,” I said.

I was holding a device that I had somehow reconfigured such that when I pushed its button, it would cause a bird to slowly fly down from its perch over a reflecting pool, perform a series of graceful swoops and curves, touch the surface of the water, and finally return to its perch - after which it would dive down again and continuously repeat the pattern. Every time I pushed the button, it would cause another bird to appear, in a different shade of brilliant red, yellow, or orange. Each new bird would begin perched next to the previous bird, and would then begin to perform the same flight in the same pattern, but in just a slightly offset position. I began to push the button as rapidly as I could, until there were hundreds of birds. At first they were spread out in a continuous ribbon that flowed in a slow, shimmering loop. But after a while, they began to synchronize to each other such that they resembled a giant flickering smear that would start up at the perch and pour itself through the air above the reflecting pool.It was beautiful to watch, but somehow in the back of my mind I knew I was breaking a rule. My fears were confirmed when a crowd began to gather, and an old man in a raincoat curiously stepped close to the path of the birds. When the flickering red smear passed by him, they caught the edge of his coat and lifted him off the ground. They continued along their usual path, and when they returned to their perch, I could see that he was being crushed as they pulled him through an obstruction above the perch.

I knew that the shocked crowd was about to come after me, so I put the device to my ear as if calling for help and began to run.

Some friends and I were experiencing a particularly bizarre sequence of events, when suddenly I realized, “This is way too ridiculous, we must be dreaming.”

When I expressed my revelation to my friends, they all shook their heads in shock and wonderment and congratulated me on my insight. We then proceeded to occupy our idle minds by performing such tricks as levitating objects and eating giant strawberries.

However, I then had another realization. I asked my companions, “Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that we’re all having the same dream?”

We all agreed that this was not very likely, and that in reality it must be only one of us that was having the dream. I personally was fairly sure that it was me, since I knew that I was self-aware, which should theoretically prove my existence under René Descartes’ philosophical statement, “I think, therefore I am.”

However, my companions resisted the idea that I was the one having the dream and that the rest of them didn’t exist. Being not totally convinced myself, I asked one of them the following question:

“So in your mind, you are totally convinced that you are self-aware, that you are the one having a dream, and that the rest of us are just constructs of your imagination?”

She thought briefly and replied, “Yes, I am.”

This made me begin to seriously doubt my own existence.

But then I woke up, and my first conscious thought was, “Whew! It WAS me!”

While visiting a large, comfortable house somewhere in the South, I very unwisely chose to climb into a bathtub of chicken soup while fully clothed. I soon realized the folly of my situation, but fortunately there was a second bathroom right across the hallway where I could go to clean myself up.

While in this second bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror. I was drenched with chicken soup, and had had several days of beard stubble. As I focused on my image, I realized I was beginning to levitate above the floor by sheer will power. I floated throughout the bathroom, occasionally hovering near the window to see the beautiful sunset that was taking place outside. I found I could also levitate miscellaneous small objects in the bathroom with my mind, such as towels, and toss them about, leaving the room in a state of disarray.

Then I found that I was outside. I flew over the hills and fields, remarking at the colorful landscape and winding roads. When later I returned to the house, I met a friend outside who suggested that I join her in a walk to her house in Oakland. I told her I still really needed to clean myself up, as the chicken soup I was drenched in had now become raw egg. I also decided that since I didn’t remember coming outside, I must still be in the bathroom, projecting myself outside psychically.

When I brought her to the bathroom to prove my strange claim, to my surprise, I wasn’t already in there. But there were several startled people lounging amid the disarray I had earlier created.

Later, I sat on the porch with the house’s matron, discussing the constant arguments and disagreements she had with her daughter. While absently brushing a white long-stemmed flower against the steps, I gave her some very sage advice on how her daughter just needed to be herself.

As I was getting slightly drunk with wine at a social gathering, a friend told me he desperately needed my help. One of the performers in the dance routine scheduled for that evening didn’t show up, and he needed me to fill in. There was no time to rehearse.

Several minutes later, I found myself on stage, dressed up in a banana suit, trying to follow the movements of the other dancers. I stumbled around the stage, cursing my luck. But after the grand finale, the audience burst into thunderous applause.

Later, still slightly tipsy, I wandered along the waterfront until I happened upon Steven Spielberg, who was relaxing with my dad and uncle on the cluttered patio of a condo.

They invited me to catch a movie with them.

I was rudely awakened by little bits of the ceiling falling on my bed. Apparently my upstairs neighbors were doing some “improvements” and were creating a widening hole in the ceiling and adjacent wall above me.

I quickly stumbled out of bed. My bleary eyes watched as the rapidly widening hole started to reveal the structural skeleton of the building, and light began to stream through the gaps.

Soon the hole was large enough that an abalone fisherwoman in a wetsuit was able to fall through.

She was as surprised as I was.

I was working as a temp for Michael Douglas at a large corporation, doing research on using tofu as a meat substitute in cooking. As I was chasing after Mr. Douglas with my stack of notes, I ran into Julia Roberts. Then it occurred to me that this must be the making of a movie.

“Hello, Miss Roberts,” I said politely, in awe of her greatness.

“Please, it’s Julia,” she answered with a smile.

“This movie flopped, didn’t it? I’ve never heard of it before,” I said.

“Actually, it’s still being made,” she answered.

I felt like such an idiot.

I was sitting in a nicely furnished living room with Joan Collins and some guy I didn’t know (I assumed he was a friend of Joan). We were all armed with automatic weapons, and we were calmly firing blanks at each other’s heads.

Now, this house was built on one of those circular iceplant-filled areas inside of a freeway onramp, so out of all the windows we had a view of the surrounding stop-and-go traffic. The outer perimeter of the onramp was lined with enormous state-owned bookcases filled with enormous state-owned books (I knew they were put there because the onramp is state property, obviously). I only read the title of one of the enormous books (about 4 inches wide by 4 feet high), and the title was “Meat Loaf Recipes of the Old West”.