Castle Dragon

Note: I deliberately wait over a year before posting my lucid dreams, in chronological order.

Dream of March 21, 2015

I spend most of the night dreaming of my old friend, Cookie, and consequently thinking about her, and other things, in between dreams.

Asleep again, I’m in a dark old apartment, waiting, and finally Cookie arrives; I was afraid she wouldn’t come. She and I are both in our early twenties again physically, and she has on a blue jacket. She tells me she’s leaving today but wanted to say good bye. Out on my landing, a young dark-haired man is waiting. I take Cookie aside and hug her fervently, so sad she can never stay longer. She returns my embrace, then starts down the steps of what now is a subway station. Suddenly feeling really stoned, I follow more slowly, already having lost sight of her. I’m not at all sure I can manage being out in the world right now, because I am very stoned. I will have to concentrate on just the simple tasks, but I don’t turn back to my empty apartment. On the bottom floor, I see the glass doors of an exit leading out to a sunny day. Some women are standing in front of it, but I have eyes only for the bright golden coin lying on the floor between them, about the size of a U.S. quarter made of solid gold and reflecting the sunlight where it lies right in front of the glass doors. I quickly walk over and pick up this gift of a lucid dream, for I know that’s what this coin represents—a little reward for having immersed myself in love all night, for daring to love even though it can be difficult and painful sometimes.

Picking up the bright golden coin and becoming fully lucid, I open the glass doors and step into a great foyer with a high ceiling. In a semi-circle around me are three tall broad archways, through which I see different sunlit spaces which at first seem to lead outside, but as I approach the one on the left, I realize it’s an indoor scene, albeit very spacious and flooded with sunlight. Well, one of them may be interesting.

I choose the archway on my right, and enter a great dining hall of sorts full of long tables with white cloths set in spacious rows. There are many people sitting at the tables conversing as much as eating. Like the other chambers, this one is part of a great structure. I walk around, curiously studying my surroundings and the animated smiling faces of the people, before pausing at a table where a man of middle years with dark hair is sitting by himself on one side of the table, and not engaged in conversation with the women across from him. He has pale skin and, unlike everyone else, a self-centered, moody preoccupied expression.

Walking up to the man, I ask, “What are you thinking?” Without looking up at me, he either replies, or continues talking to himself, saying something about going down to the bathroom and…” I wonder if he’s thinking about committing suicide. I listen intently… No, he seems to want to perform some kind of experiment? He keeps mumbling to himself while I alternate looking at him, and at the faces of the other people at the table, in order to keep the dream stable, but I soon conclude out loud, “Okay, you’re boring” and walk away.

I leave the chamber and this time, when I enter the circular foyer, I notice a silvery door that clearly leads outside. I walk toward it, but then notice the open window to the door’s right, which is covered with the finest of screens, and I decide to fly Superman-style through this opening. It’s a tight squeeze for an instant, during which I become aware of music emanating from a small radio on the windowsill. I can still hear the music as I make it outside into the sky. Noticing a pair of women just below me to my left, I say, “Listen to the music” even as I wonder why it’s coming from a small radio instead of emanating from the dream space all around me.

High up in the air, I gaze across the lovely rural landscape toward a row of trees, all soft red and gold autumn colors, rising in the near distance, behind which towers a great sandstone-colored castle. Nice! I decide to go explore it, but I have no intention of doing the old-fashioned flying routine again. I will bring the castle to me. Willing the castle to come to me, I think passionately—I’m going to move mountains! And in a series of two-dimensional flashes, I perceive the line of trees and the castle behind them quantum leaping closer and closer, and it’s here! Wow, I did it!

I look down. I seem to be standing on one of the towers, but it looks more like a mile-high conical hut with a thatched grass roof, something primitive. Looking around and down, I see what appear to be the ruins of the castle I first saw, with half walls and empty rooms. I myself am perched on the undulating edge of a stone wall, very high up in the sky. Well, this is different. My perch bobs up and down gently as I scan the countryside and then look up at the clear, pale blue sky. I feel, suddenly, that this isn’t enough… I have a whole dream space to explore, but it feels almost as confining as waking reality.. This too is a creation, and my usual methods of interacting with it feel limited… I want more… some new, more transcendent approach. Even here in a lucid dream, all I want is to feel closer and closer to the Life, the Power, the Source of the dream, and of everything. Opening my arms, I let myself fall backward thinking—Lord, I’m going to try and help… You!” as I fall really fast toward the ground. But before I hit it, I slow down, and am gently supported by the dream air, just as I knew I would be. I wake.

In my next dream, I’m telling my husband, Stinger, and some other people, about my lucid dream, and soon find myself following Stinger into what looks like the partially ruined remains of the Cathedral-like building I was in, and from the outside of which I saw the castle behind the trees. There is clear blue sky visible above the half walls, and for some reason, Stinger is referring to what I saw in my lucid dream not as a castle but as a dragon, and he really wants to see it for himself. I keep telling him we can’t find it here, it was in my dream, but he is so insistent that I stop to stare at him where he stands behind a glass door, and I think—Why not? I’ll give him some basic training in lucid dreaming while we search for my dragon.

Lucid now, I grab his hand and begin flying toward another glass door, tugging him behind me. “Let’s name the dragon,” I suggest. “If we name it, I think we’ll have a better chance of finding it together.” He attempts to fly on his own and I watch, amused, as he flies Superman style, but only a few inches off the ground. “Straighten yourself out,” I instruct, “and reach that door before it closes!” I have to help him, but together we manage to pass through this barrier/portal.

Outside at night, we look up at a vast and vaguely horse-shaped cloud undulating against the dark sky. Stinger declares that’s our dragon, but as the cloud formation drifts from left to right, I study it skeptically. First of all, in my earlier lucid dream I saw a castle, not a dragon, and this looks more like a cosmic horse… Oh, what the heck, “Okay, let’s go for it!” I agree, feeling there is something especially powerful and intriguing about this cloud, which can take any form it wants to, or rather, any form The Creator chooses. I slowly wake.

I love that I spontaneously said, “Lord, I’m going to try to help… You!” My dreaming soul understands that a personal creative relationship with God is a dream that come true if we want it to.

2 Talks with my Deceased Father

Note: I am now waiting nearly two years before I post my lucid dreams, in chronological order. I have a backlog of approximately 120 lucid dreams.

Dream of October 16, 2014

In the midst of dreams, I abruptly find myself standing in front of my deceased father, right next to a threshold on my left formed by a tall archway. The location feels like it is both outside and inside: a vast complex of some kind. In waking reality terms, it feels like a blend of a truly grand hotel, or series of hotels, with shops and restaurants, and numerous other amenities I can’t begin to guess at. The lighting is atmospheric; it may be night, but it’s hard to say, because there are subtle golden lights everywhere, especially in the lintels of doorways. But I don’t give the scenery too much thought, because I have eyes only for my Papi!

He is talking animatedly to me, grinning and gesturing, and I’m smiling back up at him happily. Wow! I am totally present with Papi in a dream, completely lucid. I look around me in awe. My lucidity feels as natural and steady as being awake, and I think—This is the most lucid I have ever been with Papi. I look back at him just as he points up toward heaven and delivers the punch line, “Such an interesting person!” In no time at all, I “download” the gist of his joke: It is about a man who is dead, but continues to cause delightful havoc as the journey of his soul’s growth continues.

I’m smiling as we cross the threshold beneath the archway and begin walking side-by-side. I feel myself consciously poised between two worlds, and that the death of my physical body will be, or at least can be, a seamless, peaceful transition to this spiritual State. We cross another open archway into a different section of the sprawling “complex” at which point I notice that Papi is holding a small package as he asks me, with happy impatience, “Where do you pay here?” I discern a short, curved line of people who all look as though they’re waiting for a cashier, and we move toward them. As we take our place, Papi asks me, looking around us with that wonderful smile of his I can never forget, “So, what have you been up to lately?”

I’m a little surprised by the question, and am about to say, “You know what I’ve been doing, Papi, lucid dreaming” but I keep silent, thinking how this is very much the Papi I remember—wrapped up in his own affairs, with only a certain amount of mental and emotional energy allotted for me and my life. Yet I always felt his love for me, and his desire to help me in any way he could. Oddly, this exchange is reassuring, because I would never have imagined him behaving this way in the after life.

The transaction happens quickly. Papi hands the attendant money, and doesn’t wait for change as he turns away and hands me another bill, which I slip into the right pocket of my wrap as we keep walking. Then another exchange, invisible to me, occurs, in which Papi ends up with another bill he also gives to me, and which I again slip into my pocket. It feels natural that my deceased father is giving me money, and that I am accepting it.

Passing over a third threshold, I feel we are now outside the “complex” which stretches along with us to our left. The lighting is clear and even now, like daytime on earth. As we follow a straight path, I hold tightly to Papi’s left hand with my right hand. I remember that I ask him four questions, but even though I remembered all the questions after I woke up, and his answers word-per-word, after a few seconds they just slipped out of my brain like water through a drain when the plug is pulled. I tried very hard to “re-download” his replies, but I could not, and I only recall my first two questions:

“Papi, are you still in the same place you were when I last dreamed of you?


“Do people of different religions go to different places on the other side?”

His reply begins with the statement:

“If it’s true, it wouldn’t be right to…”

I heard everything he said to me, and although his exact words elude me now, I understood them in the dream. In essence, he told me that there is no linear time, and no objective space, outside material existence, only an eternal present perpetually being created by souls in constant relationship with God, so that any answer he gave me now in my dream might not be true in the future, as I still experience past and present. He told me that when something is true it must be known/experienced in order to actually be; the truth cannot merely be conceived of in certain ways we assume are objectively real.

After his final reply, I wake.

Dream of October 21, 2014

I find myself in a house, which I sense is filled with loved ones and a few other people I am close to, engaged in an activity I can’t remember now. I hear someone arrive at the front door, which is concealed behind the wall of a small entrance foyer behind me. I can’t interrupt what I’m doing, so I urge Mami – who drifts toward the door reluctantly in a long pale nightgown – to let the person in. I suffer a twinge of guilt at making her do this, because I know it’s my deceased father at the door, and that she’s afraid of the nightmares my dream encounters with him might give her. But I also think it’s time she got over this, and acknowledged his continued presence in our lives. She opens the door, and finishing up my task, I hurry over to greet him as, making a left around the wall of the foyer, he steps into the main room. He is wearing an immaculate, exquisitely tailored suit of a color blue that does not exist on earth, an uplifting, beautiful blue.

“Papi, you’re wearing the suit you wore in my last dream,” I exclaim, “the suit I knew you would wear!” He walks a little deeper into the space, and I stand happily before him, looking up at his face… looking up and up! “Papi, you’re getting taller!” I observe joyfully, because I feel I know this means he’s growing spiritually.

He stands there a moment, gazing over my head, a gently gratified smile on his face, which looks younger and darker, with a slight golden tan. (Normally, I see him as he appeared later in life). Then he looks down into my eyes, and suddenly we are face-to-face as we “glide” into a small room behind me, as though he is pushing me backward, his dark eyes gleaming with intense feeling. We “land” on a comfortable couch in this alcove, which is like a lucid drop of water in the rushing river of my previous dreams.

Papi looks grave now as he tells me about going to see his own long dead father, and I have to struggle to grasp what he’s saying, as I recall my paternal grandfather, who I rarely saw and didn’t much like, and the time I went with Papi to visit his grave. I’m confused, because Papi seems to be talking about his father as though he is still dead. “We couldn’t go back to our house,” he tells me, “because of the people who live there now…”

My confusion peaking, I exclaim, “But Papi, there are no physical bodies on the other side.”

He was staring into the distance as he spoke, but now he looks at me and says, “Oh, no, but together we help each other get through it…” That makes sense, that he and his father are helping each other in ways only they can fathom.

I’m sitting on the edge of the couch, gazing down at him where he reclines against it. At this point, I ask him a question I can’t recall now, but I clearly, vividly, remember his response:

“God is there,” he says, and suddenly I perceive slender shafts of golden light shining down from above and behind him, as if cradling him. “You feel pain in your essence…” He rests his left hand over where his physical heart would have been, and I observe a soft, white light that seems concentrated in his chest area. “Forceful people come to you…”

A perfect understanding fills me as I look at his face, and the light, and listen to his words.

We stand up together, but I quickly move over to another couch, where I find pen and paper, and quickly write down his responses to me word-per-word, determined to remember them this time when I wake up. Then I go stand beside him where he is leaning against one wall as my deceased maternal grandmother, standing close to an adjacent wall, silently observes us from a few feet away. I’m thinking hard about the question rising up from my heart without my conscious intent:

“You can’t ever see God?” I ask, and know at once it did not come out right, because Papi looks astonished, and a little incensed, as if what I just said is ridiculous, and I quickly add, “Of course you can see Him! You see Him all the time, because He is All, the Absolute.” 

Papi’s mollified expression seems to confirm my words as I phase out of the dream.

Lucid Gang

Note: My thoughts and feelings have evolved, in some cases quite dramatically, since I began lucid dreaming nearly five years ago. For example, in the Dream Notes that follow many of my earlier lucid dreams, you will find me considering possible past lives as an explanation for some of my experiences. I no longer believe in reincarnation, and this change came about as a result of some of my most powerful dreams. I am now waiting a year, or longer, before I post my lucid dreams, one at time, in chronological order. This means I now have a backlog of approximately sixty lucid dreams.

Dream of September 4, 2014

Night time. From inside a very large and dark building, I lead two men into a dark, tree-filled garden. I’m dreaming of being lucid in a dream. It’s odd, but I seem to be lucidly observing the lucidity of my dream self. I sense the men came with me reluctantly, and that they don’t know why I brought them outside in the middle of the night. I ask them, “Want to go flying?” They do not, so I leave them behind as I soar up into the star-filled sky. At the same time, I’m conscious of being back inside the building, thinking about how I can do things differently so the two men will better understand we’re dreaming. I decide it won’t work either way, and permit my dreaming awareness to fly really fast through the trees in the darkness. I know they won’t get in my way as I surrender to a strong pull toward the road I know lies outside the grounds of the building.

The road below me glows a dim white, and is deserted. I’m flying in a standing position, at a sedate pace, in the direction of vague golden lights that aren’t far away, and which I sense belong to some small city square. I feel I may have flown off into the starry sky if the dream hadn’t pulled me in this direction. As I glide along, I experience a strange excitement that prompts me to laugh beneath my breath.

Very soon, I clearly distinguish the figure of a slender man hovering a few feet over the road, flying in a standing position just like me, but in the opposite direction. He also sees me, and I study him intently as we slowly converge, then begin orbiting each other. I identify him as another lucid dreamer, but I want to know what his intentions are; what he’s planning to do in the dream space. Our conversation is telepathic (at least I don’t recall any words being spoken) and his responses disappoint me, although they don’t surprise me. It seems that, for him, being lucid is all about having sex, and power.

Suddenly, I’m afraid this dreamer may be a member of the “lucid gang” that walks out of the darkness, heading straight for the town walls behind me. I seem to know they are all lucid dreamers returning from some seriously selfish fun. Their leader has light hair and, as he passes by me, all he has to do is look at me for me to know he just raped, and devoured, a little girl, literally. Another telepathic exchange of communication occurs in which I let him know just how I feel about lucid dreamers like them.

Abruptly, as I stare at this terrible person, I distinguish the faint but unmistakable outlines of a little’s girl’s head inside his belly—her entire body is inside him, and she is still alive. I don’t even think about it; I immediately reach toward her and say, “Come out, sweetie! You can do it! This is a dream, and nothing can hurt you here!” She apparently hears me, because she emerges, stepping out of the man. I hug her thin little body, and tell the man, iron in my voice, “She belongs to me. In the dream space she is under my protection now. Do you understand?”

Holding the little girl in my arms, I enter something resembling an empty elevator shaft, and begin ascending at a steady pace, rising up through a misty gray atmosphere, up and up away from that dangerous “lucid gang.” I sense they will not, because they cannot, follow me, but I desire to put as much space between them, and us, as possible. I don’t really know where this shaft-like vertical tunnel will take us, or even how long it is, but I soon come to a ledge that leads us into a large, open space. Here I become aware of a man with dark hair, and wearing dark clothes, who is accompanying me in order to help us. The space I’m in now seems to be the top floor – almost like an enclosed roof – of a large building with windows lining one side.

I watch as the man smashes a hole in the window directly across from where I’m standing on the opposite side of the room. More telepathic communication, although it’s already obvious to me that he’s helping us find a way out. But the glass is resistant, and the hole he made is not yet large enough for us to fly through. He consults with a woman to my right, who is also aiding us, and who temporarily takes charge of the little girl for me as I walk over to the window. For some reason, I lie down on my back in front of it, looking up at it.

When we first entered the space, I wondered why this window posed a barrier, why I couldn’t simply fly through the roof and away, since this was a dream. But for some reason, that isn’t possible, so I continue the man’s work of trying to create a hole big enough to fly through. I reach behind me, pick up a nice big chunk of ice, and throw it as hard as I can against the loose section of icy glass hanging from the top left side of the window. I succeed in hitting it, but it only weakens the section a little bit more without dislodging it. I repeat this procedure three or four times, even though each time the ice-rock I use bounces back toward me, and I risk being struck hard by it myself. Eventually, there is a large enough hole in the glass for all of us to fly through.

We fly down to the ground outside the building. The man is holding a phone, and I see, close up, his fingers pressing down on the circular numbers without any effect. He says, “It doesn’t work.”

I take the phone from him impatiently. “Of course it does, this is a dream and we can make it work.” I dial the man we’re trying to reach – the man who raped and devoured the little girl I rescued. I hear him pick up on the other end, where I sense he is leading a discussion. I warn him, “This is about a little girl…” He replies, “Oh-oh” but he doesn’t actually sound concerned. I wake.

Dream Notes:

Seeking counsel from the Gospels about this dream, and about the book I feel the Lord wants me to write Lucid Dreams and the Holy Spirit, I randomly opened the New Testament to this passage:

“And in the synagogue there was a man who had the spirit of an unclean demon and he cried out in a great voice: Ha. What is there between us and you, Jesus of Nazareth? Did you come to destroy us? I know you, who you are, God’s holy one. Jesus reproved him, saying, ‘Be silent and go out of him.’ And the demon flung him down in their midst and came out of him, without doing him any harm.” Luke 4:33-35

This struck me as an uncanny mirror image of my dream, in which the little girl emerged, unharmed, from the demon-like man who had consumed her.

This is not the first time I have encountered and banished “demons” as well as protected/rescued people in the dream space. In fact, this happens regularly. 


Note: My thoughts and feelings have evolved, in some cases quite dramatically, since I began lucid dreaming nearly five years ago. For example, in the Dream Notes that follow many of my earlier lucid dreams, you will find me considering possible past lives as an explanation for some of my experiences. I no longer believe in reincarnation, and this change came about as a result of some of my most powerful dreams. I am now waiting a year, or longer, before I post my lucid dreams, one at time, in chronological order. This means I now have a backlog of approximately sixty lucid dreams.

Dream of September 1, 2014

I deliberately stayed awake in bed intending to surf hypnagogic imagery and hopefully lucid dream.

I’ve managed to poise myself between waking and sleeping in a vivid black and white scene, where the dream in front of me is a window into the universe, and I interact with it as though with a massive screen. I know my soul-player can affect the ultimate outcome in this reality-game. A ball of misty white light, toward the left of the portal, is the hero. My own soul? At the moment, my soul-player is touching a long shape, also made of a misty white-light, from which it either emerged, or into which it is being sucked in, or both. I know the key is to detach my soul-light from this “energetic umbilical cord” and move to the center of the structure, which dominates the immediate universe before me. I succeed in doing so, but then my soul-light slips back toward its anchor. I exercise more conscious control, and move my soul-light back to center, and that does the trick—my consciousness is now able to enter the dream-portal.

Exhilarated, I suddenly see, very clearly, a cosmic Dragon-Person-Ship looming directly before me, and gazing back at me as I drift toward its mysteriously brooding, yet also peaceful and benign countenance. Then it closes its eyes, and I distinctly see an eyelid with lashes surrounded by infinitely fine wrinkles… My eye? It really does look like a reflection of my own eye embedded in deep space. The eyes open and close again, then again, and I feel I’m looking at my own sleeping eye, until I am pulled out into that twilight between waking and sleeping to stand in front of the cosmic screen. I am now accompanied by a man, who gives me directions to get back home from where I am. The total cost-score is 90: I clearly see 90 written in white light on the screen…

I suddenly become aware of riding in a speeding car just as it flies off the crest of a steep hill. I’m familiar with this sinking sensation of soaring perilously above the ground, and beginning an inevitably fatal descent… No… this is a dream sign. I finally recognized this recurring event as a dream sign! I’m aware I’m dreaming now, but I’m still headed straight for the rear window of a car, but instead of crashing into it, I land harmlessly facing it, my dream body weightless. I realize the interior of the vehicle is an aquarium alive with big beautiful fish, and think—That’s the key, to diffuse every potentially disastrous situation with beauty.

The fish are utterly realistic in appearance and texture, and a lovely blue color of subtly varying shades, a blue I can’t really find comparisons for. The fish closest to me is aware of me; it half turns to face me as it swims. I dissolve the clear pane of glass between us, simply by intending to do so, and begin swimming alongside it. I think how, in waking reality, I would feel unnerved to be surrounded by fish, and squeamish about them brushing against me, but of course I don’t feel that way in this luminous dream. We’re not underwater, we’re swimming in a crystal-clear ocean of sky. But there is no sky or ocean, no up and down, in that sense, and no heaviness of water. The ocean is the sky, and I can see everything clearly and distinctly.

Far below me, and slightly to my right, I witness a black killer whale feeding, its long, huge body surrounded by a golden-brown haze of silt as it rousts krill (or whatever small sea creatures it’s hunting now) from the sandy ocean bottom. Wow! It’s incredible to be here, watching in awe as this whale, followed by a companion or two, begins swimming upward in my direction. But when it turns toward me, its massive jaws opening, I suffer a thrill of concern, because I’m as tiny, as insignificant, as krill in the scale of things, and I could easily be consumed… Well, why not? The black and yet structured interior of the whale’s body looks intriguing, like another space to explore, there’s no reason for me to be afraid. Just as I think this, the magnificent creature—as long as several city blocks—closes its mouth, turns to one side, and regards me with one big gold-encrusted eye. Then it begins speaking to me in a rumbling voice that vibrates like quiet thunder, filling the dream space.

At first, I cannot understand what the whale is saying to me, but there is no doubt it is addressing me as my dream body, caught in an invisible current, drifts backward and up away from it, slowly spiraling toward some kind of dock-shore. Then I glimpse a white surface beneath me, and begin to understand the meaning in the whale’s rumbling voice; it becomes perfectly understandable to me as I never lose sight of its golden eye looking after me. The whale is saying:

“Heroes… the ages have left… over time they develop their own symbols…”

Somehow, I know the whale is referring to my soul. There was so much more contained in this communication, but that’s all my waking brain can remember and make sense of. I am absolutely elated by this encounter as I soar upward, propelled as if by pure joy. A white tiled ceiling tries to get in my way, but I simply push lightly against it with both hands, and it curves around me like cloth as I ascend. The blue sky, the blue air—the color blue is the dream space, and it has no substance, as in no barriers, no limits. I know the only thing that is real and true is how I am feeling now in this heavenly blue atmosphere—totally wonderful, and free.

A Pocket in Space and Time

Note: My thoughts and feelings have evolved, in some cases quite dramatically, since I began lucid dreaming nearly five years ago. For example, in the Dream Notes that follow many of my earlier lucid dreams, you will find me considering possible past lives as an explanation for some of my experiences. I no longer believe in reincarnation, and this change came about as a result of some of my most powerful dreams. I am now waiting a year, or longer, before I post my lucid dreams, one at time, in chronological order. This means I now have a backlog of approximately sixty lucid dreams.

Dream of August 24, 2014

Sara's Self Portrait

Sara’s Self Portrait

I’m in the Sun Room, sitting to the left of my deceased friend, Sara, both of us facing the open door. Visible out in the driveway, leaning against my black car, is a very tall, thin woman wearing a short, spaghetti strap dress of turquoise blue. She is lovely, in the idealized way of supermodels, but scarcely seems conscious—she almost looks propped weakly up against the car, where she perpetually awaits a man who appears at regular intervals, his strong body hiding her from view as he does whatever he pleases with her her. A passionate drama is repeating between them in a seemingly endless loop.

Sara and I are sitting very close to each other, and now I look directly into her vivid, sentient eyes which, in the dream, are a deep, glimmering blue. I speak slowly, very much wanting her to understand, “We’re here for a reason, in this pocket outside space and time.” I feel something very special happening; I feel we have been brought here, and that I am somehow more than dreaming. My beloved friend was always brilliant, and I sense she understands what I’m telling her.

But, not surprisingly, she appears distracted by the drama that keeps repeating between the man and the woman. She asks me quietly, “Aren’t you excited by what’s going on out there?”

I shake my head. I am not excited by it—to me the scene is a visual metaphor expressing a cry of unending despair. It looks to me like a visual synthesis of Sara’s various disastrous love affairs, in which she gave all of herself, only to be used and abused by men not even remotely worthy of her great intellect and heart. No man every truly appreciated her beautiful, shining spirit, perhaps because she so often picked the wrong men.

We wander outside onto my brick courtyard, where the couple has been replaced by a slightly larger group of people playing and/or performing in some way. All I recall is an improvised “set” of “boxes” with colorful sides, and a short dark-haired couple. There is an understated festive feel to the gathering. Where in waking reality the glass outdoor dinner table sits next to the firewood grill, I turn to face Sara, and grasp both her arms. I refrain from bluntly telling her that she’s dead, and instead say, “Look, Sara, I’m still in physical matter reality, but you’re not in physical matter reality anymore.” Above her small smile, I glimpse skepticism in her intelligent eyes, but before she can say what she’s thinking, I urge her to, “Feel the space between your atoms.”

As she seems to think about this, we walk arm and arm toward the group of people. Smiling at us, the dark-haired woman says, “Your friend…”

Sara immediately pulls me more tightly against her as she replies, “My best friend.”

Her declaration makes me very happy, because I feel the same way about her, and as we begin turning away from the gathering, I tell the woman who spoke, “You have a reason for being here… There is a reason for this bubble in space time…” I pause, then add, “You may not having anything to do, but it’s important.”

Sara and I stroll closer to the glass doors of the Den, at which point I say, “Let’s fly. You know we can fly.” I demonstrate by moving over to one wall of the house, and rising leisurely up to the level of the roof. Then I turn, and becoming aware of my golden high-heeled shoes, I execute tap dance like steps in midair, moving in a straight line from left to right as Sara watches me. “See,” I smile down at her, “of course this a dream. And isn’t it great what you can do with all that space between your atoms?”

Descending, I ask her to come flying with me, and she readily rises above the ground, all the time smiling at me in that special, considering way she had. Encouraged, I turn toward the open sky above the workshop, and fly into it, gradually picking up speed. A small flock of white geese is visible in the distance above the tree tops. I feel Sara grab me from behind, as if to steady herself, and I say, “That’s right, just hold onto me” as we head in the direction the geese were flying. I phase out of the dream.

Dream Notes:

What fascinates me, among everything else about dreaming reality, is what I find myself spontaneously saying and doing. I never would have imagined saying to Sara in a dream, if I met up with her: “Feel the space between your atoms.” We are that space, otherwise how could we feel it? Emptiness is really Pure Being, and our atoms “emerge” from It, are mysteriously created, given specific forms and experiences with which we identify, so we forget we are not so much these atom as the Space of infinite potential “between” them. And this mysteriously creative “emptiness,” this void space, is the Heart of everything—God. But this is just my waking brain trying to explain what I expressed much more elegantly and succinctly in the dream.

When I emailed this dream to one of my dream partners, Sean, he wrote back:

“I always enjoy reading about people’s encounters with the deceased. Most of my encounters involved the person not really understanding that they were dead (as with your encounter with your friend here.) Why is this, do you think? Do you feel we are more likely to be in the same boat when we pass, or do you think, because of our successes with lucidity throughout our lives, that we may have a better chance of “knowing” where we are when we pass? I’m also guessing that, because of the nature of time within the dreaming, that when we talk to the dead, we may be talking to them at any point in time, so possibly right after their death, or maybe even when they were still alive!

When I woke up, I immediately wondered about the continuity of the dreams I have had with Sara since she passed. In the first dream, she seemed to have transformed into her ideal self, who kissed me confidently on the mouth (a mysterious way of transmitting information in dreams.) Then she sat up straight and, raking her right hand across her chest in a diagonal downward motion, told me firmly, “Sara is dead.” I got the distinct impression this was not a reason to be sad, but rather a long awaited relief for her soul. When she passed away, I had only just begun my lucid dreaming practice, and the first long lucid dreams I had (I realized after the fact) were obvious premonitions of her death. This latest dream is the most wonderful one I have had with her. I feel we truly connected, and how willing she was to follow the geese, flying eastward, fills me with peace.