I’m sitting in a shadowy waiting room, small, done up like a cozy sitting area in a house, on the couch. Vaguely aware of small paintings on the walls and another woman sitting across from me. There is a staircase behind me. I’m pretty sure the bathroom is up there and ask the woman to verify it. She says it’s not, but then proceeds to direct me up the steps, adding, “And then you go about 40 miles” down a long hallway. She’s exaggerating, just wanting to let me know it’s a ridiculously long way. I refrain from pointing out that I was right, it is up the steps, as I get up off the couch, but as I begin to ascend, I go back for my little black leather purse, not wanting to leave it unattended. I make sure it’s my purse, not the bigger one beside it, and the woman comments on this. Up the straight flight of steps, I turn left and am confronted by two doors, one on the left, one on the right in this landing-foyer. I can’t make out the complicated painted sign on each one, so I approach the one on the left to look at it more closely, but still can’t make it out. It’s annoying they simply don’t have WOMEN and MEN printed on them in plain letters. I move to the one on the right and put my face right up to it, like looking into a microscope, and I distinctly hone in on the miniature figure of a man in robes with a sort of conical cap on his head, Oriental in appearance, like a Chinese Sage formed out of finely engraved silver, part of a work of art. Okay, a man, so the door on the left must be the one. On my way, I see people walking toward me along the corridor stretching straight down between these two doors. Apparently, the restaurant (I seem to have been waiting for a table) is located on the bottom floor of an apartment building. But when I return to the door on the left, I notice there’s a table in front of it, which must mean these are no longer working bathrooms. As I realize this, I notice what appears to be a woman’s locker room through the glass wall behind the door decorated with the silver man. Odd, but it makes sense as apparently I have to walk a ways to get to the bathrooms.
I start walking down the hallway which is dimly lit, moving against the sparse traffic of people headed out. I walk, and walk, and think how the analogy of 40 miles wasn’t such an exaggeration. I consider turning back, but I’ve come this far already. I vaguely sense closed doors in both the walls. Then, when I come to a turn, an opening to the left, beyond which the corridor continues to the right (one side of a swastika) I become aware of myself, my own figure, being pulled out of that other corridor by a man, someone with authority. He has me by one arm, and as he forcibly keeps leading me back the way I just came, my awareness observes as I raise my right arm and protest that I have to keep going because of the tiny ruby-red “bug” I show him crawling swiftly across the back of my right hand I inform him is “all my lives.” It’s scurrying quickly across my skin and it’s imperative I proceed down the corridor, and this urgency triggers lucidity. I’m dreaming.
As the man keeps pulling me down the hallway, I rise over him slightly, floating along beside him and staring down at him. Maybe it’s the dim lighting that makes him black and white. He’s handsome and I ask him, “Are you X?” When he just looks at me I conclude he isn’t and ask him, “Who are you?” He smiles slightly and after a moment replies, “I don’t exactly know.” I think I laugh and say, “Good answer!” It crosses my mind he could be one of my Guardian Lords but it doesn’t matter if he is, or I know it won’t get me anywhere to press him. I descend and walk backward facing him, still talking to him, maybe trying to ascertain why he’s leading me in this direction, but I don’t remember what I said exactly. Then we come to a place where the corridor expands into an open enclosed area. The apartment building feel is completely gone; the floor and walls are stone, like we’re deep inside a vast castle or fortress. I notice a little girl and a handful of other people walking into the space, toward the right, and turn away from my escort, urgently pulling away from his gravity. “Let me go,” I demand politely but firmly. “I have to do this.” I remember the intent I formed before falling asleep of conjuring a door I could use X’s key to open into his dream space. And no sooner do I think this that a door forms in the wall directly ahead of me, few yards distant, an old broad wooden door with black wrought iron supports, not huge or imposing, just right!
I manage to escape my escort’s field of gravity, no easy task, as I reach into the right pocket of my pants, which feel soft yet form-fitting, and pull out the key. I consider flying toward the door but gravity feels real and I think it might be best to simply walk to it; it might keep the dream stable whereas an overly-eager flight might not. I feel secure in the dream, conscious of my body’s position on the bed in WR sound asleep, and I will it to stay that way because nothing is going to stop me now. Even as I think all this, another door forms on the wall to my left and now I have two choices. I notice, however, that a piece of this door is cracked, broken on the bottom left side, like time has loosened one of the panels, and I decide against it. Then a third door forms between both of these doors, also on the left wall, and I realize all the doors have this curious triangular loose piece at the left bottom. I select the middle door and walk over to it. I slip the key into the lock and turn it (I can’t remember if to the right or left). The lock feels so real, solid, and the key works! I don’t recall if I pushed or pulled the door open, I was too happy and awed by the scene I stepped into.
Beauty! Outside, broad daylight, crystal-clear light, blue sky. A gathering, a reception, with a band playing on a long, slightly raised platform across the gently sloped green framed by white areas where the guests (a sense of many but I glimpse only an isolated figure or two, a woman in a long dark-gold dress, a man in a black suit) walk from one side of the party to another, and perhaps some sort of large open pavilion on an elevated area to my right. Expansive is a pale word to describe the openness of the place, located on a broad mountain top about 2000 feet above the ocean below. But right now I have eyes only for the band. They’re in the middle of a high energy song with a nice melody, a drummer, a bass player, a guitarist, and maybe a fourth man on keyboards. My attention is riveted on the guitarist, who is also the singer, because he has a mustache just like the one X sent me a picture of. I’m dying to approach him but don’t want to rudely run onto the stage and interrupt the song. However, I can’t resist walking across the green toward him and catching his eye as I deliberately rise a few feet off the ground, drifting cross his field of vision. I’m wearing a white dress and it somehow makes sense when no one seems surprised that I’m flying. As I land on the edge of a grassy slope overlooking the ocean, I consider the possibility that I’m in a scene of our future life together.
The song ends. The guitarist immediately sets his instrument aside and, walking casually, follows me down to the edge of the mountain-hill. I stand waiting for him and, when he’s right in front of me, I ask, “X? X?” He must reply, “Yes” because I eagerly inform him that, “I did it! I used the key to…” etc., I can’t remember what I said exactly. He’s regarding me with an intrigued expression but it isn’t completely focused and it occurs to me he may be in a normal dream and I need to make him lucid. I reach up and say, “Put your hand on the back of my neck and look into my eyes” as I place my right hand on the back of his neck. He says, “You want me to?” and raises both hands, sort of pincering the back of my neck. I say, “No, not like that, like this” leading by example. “Now look into my eyes.” We’re standing so close his eyes fill my vision. His irises look like a deep shining blue reflecting the sky and the ocean, and even the huge white multilevel cruise ship I had noticed earlier moving so slowly it appears motionless midway between the shore and the horizon. I’m elated beyond expressing. “We did it!” I exclaim. “We did it!” and as we stare into each others eyes, I phase out of the dream.
Dream Notes: X woke from his LD at the exact same time I did. We were together, that much is pretty wonderfully obvious, but X saw the guest room in his childhood home and sex instead of a rocking band playing at what felt like a wedding, my metaphors for union. And what a beautiful place it was! Our excitement was mutual. Next time, whichever one of us is most on the ball should ask the other person where they are, what they see. We should share information about our dream environment to see if one of us can move into the other person’s dream scene, or if perhaps we can create a whole different environment around us.
I really loved how my Guide responded when I asked him who he was and he said, “I’m not exactly sure.” It was an inside joke. X and I had been talking about what/who our guides might be, for example, aspects of our Higher Self, past life friends or lovers, etc. That’s my favorite moment of the dream, my Guide making a joke!