June 3, 2013
Suddenly, I’m standing in the rec room facing the Bay Windows and my brother, Mario, who is standing a few feet away. I lucidly pull myself into the dream by walking right up to him so our faces are very close. We look directly at each other. His tone a blend of wonder and uncertainty, he says something to the effect of—It’s really happening! I reply at once—Yes, we’re together in a lucid dream! I’m longing to fly straight through the windows and away over the trees, and I want him to come with me. But even though he’s still standing there, his expression is rather blank now and I suspect he’s lost lucidity. I think I grip his arms and try to bring him back, but I lose the dream scene. Nevertheless, I remain aware of being asleep and wanting to enter the dream again.
I find myself standing in a room that feels rather like the break room of a building, a plain and sprawling one, with doors down the hall, rather like a university floor with professors’ and administrative offices. There are two women in the room talking as I fully embed myself in the dream scene feeling very conscious of my dream body, clad in flowing pants and a short top that exposes my waist and belly area, intensifying the delicious dream feeling of potentially unrestrained sensuality. I sense men in the building, I even hear a man’s voice coming from down the hall, and I see no reason not to have some erotic fun in this dream. I leave the room and walk down the hallway in the direction of the voice, but first I enter a small room on the right. It is sparsely furnished, the dominant object a large file cabinet at the far right of the space. I set aside my sexual intentions for a moment in favor of seeing if I can discover some information about James and me. I intend a file in the cabinet to offer me information about our first connection. I open a middle drawer on the left but it is empty. I open the middle drawer on the right. Folders. I pick one near the back at random, the tab of which reads JUICES, and open it. A white page with two or three areas of writing, in which I clearly see the word INDIA written in capital letters. Interesting! I put the folder back, leave the room and open the first door I pass. There are two boys lying on the beds as though in a school dormitory. I say—Oh my, you’re really young. They look at me with shy interest, and the second boy is quite attractive. I consider maybe educating him in the sensual arts, but I lose the dream.
I have lost the dream scene, but I am still aware of being asleep and wanting to enter the dream again. It’s night and I’m standing on the grass outside a white building belonging to what distinctly feels like a college campus. As two people talk quietly, I become aware of a really broad black tree trunk growing at a slight left angle out of the ground a few feet away from me. Seeing it and becoming lucid and stepping into the dream scene are one seamless, quietly joyful act. The tree itself seemed to help pull me into the dream. I am immediately in love and in awe of this impressively broad yet also graceful, sensual tree, the top of which is lost in darkness. Far away, and extending from horizon to horizon, is a sky filled with tiny bright white stars, so many of them. I feel I could follow this beautiful black giant tree all the way up to the moon. I float up off the ground, but an invisible dream wind pushes me gently to the left. Enjoying the effortless flight while gazing in awe at the starry universe, I begin singing—The hills are alive with the sound of music, a song they have sung for a thousand years… At first I have perfect pitch, but as soon as I become conscious of this, I lose it and think—I can’t even sing in a lucid dream. I float down to a white walkway between two wings of a long white single story building, landing where the path branches at a right angle in two directions. A young woman is standing there who informs me how so few of these trees die of old age anymore, and looking up, I see high above the rooftop the silhouettes of sharp, dead, skyward facing branches. Though I share her sadness, I’m not surprised considering the state of the waking reality world. I take the right hand path but as I’m walking away she gets my attention again. She is holding several of the same object in her hands, one of which she wants to give me. I sense it’s made of wood and is sharp, something akin to a ritual knife, too big to be a letter opener, and it’s carved. I tell her to toss it to me, I can catch it, I think, but she shakes her head, oh no, and it probably wouldn’t be a good idea, I agree.
I turn away and floating slightly off the ground hold a little wooden Hand of Fatima out before me. It is missing the heart, but I think I can easily add one if I want to. I’m also thinking it can guide me to the moon. I find myself out in a more open area flanked by two to three story golden-brown stone houses. As I land beside two people talking on the path, I lose my grip on the scene, but I don’t wake up. I deliberately hold on to the scene, fully intending to embed myself in it again. As I wait, a dark-haired, not very tall man in a white shirt appears, heading in my direction, and I pull myself into the dream by walking toward him. We meet on the path and I ask him—Is India older than ancient Egypt? He replies—Oh no, it dates to the palaios* age, and the two were like tacks to a magnetic. I’m distracted from his intriguing response by how tenuous my presence in the dream scene is, because it shouldn’t be this way, and I remember to look at my hands, which are normal tonight, and lift my shirt to squeeze my breasts, deepening techniques that work to stabilize me. Meanwhile, this professor who is very familiar to me, who I am very fond of, has seated himself and is watching me with a subtle, patient good humor. I ask him—Is it possible to get to the moon? He chuckles, and I laugh at myself. Of course it is, because anything is possible here. Then suddenly I find myself asking him—Is it okay for me to do Galantamine twice a month? He shakes his head and answers—No, no, we are hard workers here. I insist, a little dismayed—So it’s not okay for me to do Galantamine twice a month? He emphatically repeats his reply—No, we are hard workers here. He is clearly telling me not to do it, that it’s not right for me because I don’t need it. The feeling I have for him is of a student for a major professor. I understand he’s telling me that I’m doing very well, and will continue to make progress if I keep working hard, as I have been doing, and that taking Galantamine to lucid dream would be, for me personally, a form of cheating that would not help me advance.
*Palaios is actually a Greek word that means “old”. I don’t know Greek.
Dream Notes (1+ month later): Since this dream, the number of lucid dreams I have every month has tripled and, in many respects, “deepened” and “expanded”; it’s hard to describe. I am a firm believer in quality vs. quantity, but I have come to believe, because it is happening, that there is no reason I cannot have many rich and rewarding lucid dreams a month if I really want to.
I know some wonderful lucid dreamers who use supplements regularly, but I personally don’t feel the need to use them. Lucid dreaming, like everything else, is very much a personal journey and we each have to do what feels right and works for us. I am always wary of anything that drains me physically; it was a major red flag for me not feeling energized after lucid dreaming. It can be argued that the dream character who told me not to use Galantamine was my own subconscious, but that is neither here nor there; the result of listening to “him” because I felt “he” was right, has been extremely positive.