May 9, 2011
Note: Late in the night I lay awake thinking about the fact that you have to think about lucid dreaming to have a lucid dream. I also thought about the film Inception and R. Waggoner’s blog post on how to make it the movie “true” lucid dreamers would have liked.
I’m deep in a dream observing a couple who are enjoying themselves in a lucid dream. They’re modeled after Leonardo DiCaprio and his co-star in the movie Inception, but Leonardo is “disguised” as a dark-haired and bearded, handsome man who spends all his time dancing with, and enjoying the company of, a lovely dream character. His partner, who is also his wife in my dream, doesn’t seem to mind, which I find odd. At some point, Leonardo is lying across a couch and someone, maybe his wife, is attempting to rouse him. He opens his eyes and says something about having gone in for too long, meaning he slept too long in order to stay inside this lucid dream. He rouses himself and he and his partner go and stand in front of a door. At this point I become a character in the lucid dreaming scene as, forming a loose circle, the three of us slowly and deliberately look at each others faces, and then all around us at the furniture and art works hanging on the wall. I’m careful not to focus for too long on any one item but I remember seeing each piece distinctly. We’re in an elegant parlor of sorts, decorated with wooden furniture, and I seem to recall the feel of dark-green upholstery. I look at a painting of a fierce red-and-black Mayan-type mask and I’m startled when it suddenly “growls” and leaps out at me—but it was only Leonard being mischievous, for he somehow merged himself with the painting in order to give me a fright. To my right, against the wall, on the eastern side of a dark fireplace, I notice a tall slender object I seem to recognize as an ancient Egyptian lamp stand, long and slightly wider and rectangular at the top. As I grasp or observe it, it falls straight down toward and into the floor, leaving behind a white object like a banister, or the smooth bud-like shape found at the head of a staircase, which I sense leads deep and down. I also get the feeling the dark fireplace is going to begin emitting a supernatural heat we have to be careful not to be burned by.
I don’t know how we end up below levels in a very large unlit building staring out glass walls at people walking along a sidewalk in some city. I comment on the scene to make sure my companions see what I do. We’re sitting at the base of a giant white chair. In fact, the whole building is filled with white couches and chairs that appear to have been made for giants, but then I realize what’s actually happened is that we’ve shrunk! This is unnerving because it puts us at the mercy of any insects and rodents that might appear. Leonardo seems unconcerned. I follow him and his partner as they somehow climb to the center of a vast white bed, and then delight in wriggling beneath the fine smooth sheet, cocooning themselves in it. I, however, am not comfortable with the idea of spending the night in a public “store front” which doesn’t feel truly private or safe. Then abruptly all light vanishes and we’re plunged into complete darkness. Leonard moans, sincerely, “Oh, I’m so afraid of the dark!” and I promptly tell him to simply make light as I point my finger and, after a few seconds, manage to create a sort of flash-light beam I cast around us. But then I seem to see the huge head of a beaked bird looming out of the darkness just beyond the foot of the bed and panic. Leonard and his partner also get up and run away from the windows toward the back of the “store” where I hear people entering. They manage to escape but I’m caught there watching a delivery man of sorts talking to one of his companions. I wonder at the fact that they don’t seem to notice me but then I spot a small white dog (like my Arthur) “hiding” on a seat in a corner, and I understand that’s the form I’ve assumed in the dream and why the delivery men aren’t suspicious of me. And yet I’m also walking around like a person as I pick up the animal, murmuring assurances to it as I retreat, leaving the scene of the dream.
I’m in my home, which looks just as it does in waking reality and is overrun with people, lucid dreamers all. A man is carrying Leonardo’s female partner—who is standing nearly upright and is wrapped up just like a mummy—into my bedroom, and her confused, unfocused eyes meet mine as I watch, somewhat incredulous. I walk down the hall into the kitchen, where Leonardo is standing between two or three other men. As I walk past him he turns toward the sink and says quietly, “Do you remember?” Softly I reply, “Yes” because I know we don’t want the other dream characters to hear us. He says, “Noted” and I walk away, elated and thrilled at this lucid contact and the conspiracy between us. I enter the rec room, which is colder than it should be and filled with more people engaged in some activity I can’t remember. Leonardo was referring to our previous “lucid” dream together. He did not look as he did in those dreams, he possessed much more presence and gravity and was dressed in a dark suit, beneath which his body was more densely built, and older as well.
Dream Notes: Remembering the dream, I immediately noticed the cocooning motifs: the white sheet we crawled under, and a mummy wrapped, cocooned, in white bandages being taken into my bedroom. I feel this dream promises me that if I continue to apply myself to remembering my dreams that my lucid dreaming skills, still in a chrysalis state, will unfold as slowly but surely as the time it takes for a caterpillar to transform into a butterfly. Then there’s the bud-like bannister. My lucid dreaming skills are still akin to a closed flower bud but they will open… He asked me “Do you remember?” in the kitchen, where things are cooked up, dreams, books, all good things, where I spend a good deal of my waking reality. Standing next to the sink can also imply I’m “cleaning up my act” as the expression goes, the purification process associated with all spiritual growth. Now every time I’m standing at the sink where he stood beside me I remember him asking me that question and my response. Yes, I remember! I will remember more of my dreams, and that this very moment is a dream on a different level but still a dream, and become more fully lucid in my dreams more often. Every day remembering how he asked me, “Do you remember?” further helps merge my waking reality with my dream life.