After being awake for a while, I am instructed on how to leave my body by two people, men I think. Lying there listening to their instructions, I “let go” of my legs first as a roaring sound gets louder and louder—it’s like taking off an a B52 bomber plane! I feel that I know how to do this now, after the instruction I received. I’m aware of lying on my stomach, my arms around my pillow, as I begin “taking off.”
Very soon, I know I can raise myself up slightly on my elbows, and what I see is amazing. It’s as though I’m lying on the wing, or the flat nose, of this heavy, incredibly loud plane flying high above the earth. It’s rather dark, but there is an ambient light of sorts, because far below me I discern three narrow long black rectangles. When I raise myself up and look around, I’m surprised I didn’t feel there was any danger of actually trying to sit up with my physical body; I simply knew I wouldn’t wake up. The transition is such an incredibly powerful experience, that sense of take off, and the sound, like that of a massively powerful engine.
I raise my left hand, and for a moment one or two of my fingers look a little twisted, vine-like, but they quickly settle into normal focus. I feel very solidly in my dream body as I sit up, and look through the window into the cockpit. The interior looks more like the inside of a large car, with a front and back seat occupied by a handful of women. The young woman in the driver’s seat is the one most visible to me, and she just gazes at me. I consider entering the plane to find out who they are, but decide to remain outside. Eventually, I relish the sensation of falling back into midair at high speed.
The next thing I know, I’m walking through what feels like the old heart of a large city, like downtown Boston, a pedestrian dominated area lined with brightly lit store fronts. It’s night, but there are lots of lights, and people enjoying themselves. I abruptly become aware of the fact that I’m naked as a nice looking dark-haired man steps out of some establishment and sees me. I do not want to be naked in the dream space, because this will just invite all sorts of trouble with guys like him. He’s approaching me with obvious interest, but I turn around, and opening the trunk of a black vehicle, pull out what I want to wear – a white, sleeveless, ankle length tunic. The man is calling after me as I walk away with the dress, and slip it on. (In the dream I’m not surprised by how easily I produced exactly the dress I wanted, but this is something I have never done before in a lucid dream.) There’s something weird about the neckline, it feels like a really broad but constraining collar, so I look in a mirror a few yards away, and notice that the dress reflected is not white, and I’m not even sure that’s me in the mirror. The garment is red, gold and black. Oh well.
I’m walking through this same city, very aware of being out of body, but feeling rather aimless. I haven’t heard from Sean, so there was no plan, but then – when I see a tall brick facade across the street that has the promising look of the side of a great church – I decide, what the heck, I’m going to call out for him, and Illeana, and everyone else. I yell, “Sean! Illeana! James!” And I know I call out to more people, so I must have also yelled, “Olivia!” while crossing the street, and entering some other area. I notice a low fence in front of me as I spot a group of people walking alongside it toward the opening, and I feel they are responding to my call, coming to meet me. I’m amazed. Wow, did that really work? But when they walk right up to me, I’m disappointed, because I don’t seem to recognize any of them. At least I don’t think I do.
False awakening: I’ve moved a little ways from this group of people who seemed to respond to my call. Two men are talking to me, and one of them explains that instead of just yelling out names I should have “tuned into “gone into” my spirit; that I should have taken a more spiritual approach. I agree, and not wanting them to think I’m entirely clueless on this point, I tell him, “Look, just because you saw this lucid dream of mine doesn’t mean they’re all like that. There are more than one-hundred dreams on my Lucid Living Lucid Dreaming sight.” To which the same man replies, “I believe there’s more than three-hundred.” Wow, really?
Later in the night, I become aware of deliberately walking through the door of a building like a university, where there are classes in progress, but there are also people, mainly young men, sitting around in the spacious entrance hall. I’m extremely conscious of my appearance – I’m in the prime of life, I know just what my face and hair and clothing look like, that I am deliberately very reserved, with an almost severe and sad expression, because part of me know I shouldn’t have come in here, but another part of couldn’t resist the temptation, so I am not happy about it or myself. I walk around a corner, open a classroom door, and look inside. A nice looking young man see me, and immediately reacts to the beauty of my face, despite its less than open expression, and immediately gets up to follow me. But I close the door on him as I slowly make my way out of the building again, reluctantly, thinking how much I miss men, and how they used to look at me when they saw my face.
The typical thing – compensating for lost youth, and the drug-like fix of men being attracted to me. But I made progress last night by resisting and being almost lucidly conscious of what I was doing and not getting trapped in this old weakness by giving into temptation. This is one of my strongest attachments to earth, the sins of the flesh, which I indulged in excessively, along with pride and vanity, which thrive on being desired and desirable to others, but in the wrong, superficial, ultimately destructive and profoundly unsatisfactory ways. When I was fully lucid earlier in the night, I was trying to be good, to be seen in the right way in the dream space, as purely my soul.