Woven Energy

May 24th, 2011
Final dream of the night, very vivid. I’m in a bathroom and when I raise my arms I’m appalled to see a huge irregular beauty mark covering the bottom of each one of my arms. I’d never noticed them before! How could I not have seen them?! I’m terrified it’s melanoma. Out in the house proper, on a second story, I tell my friend Beatrice about it. I don’t know her in waking reality but in the dream she’s a beloved friend. I’m so glad she’s there, but as we head upstairs, I’m worried. We end up outside in a courtyard of sorts. By natural light, beneath the sun, I’m profoundly relieved to see that what I thought was a solid dark mole is actually ethereal chords stretching and ‘flowing” like loose basketwork. I can see my skin through and between these threads, and a fine white powder, some of it forming solid-looking white “cakes”. I demonstrate to my friend that there’s nothing to worry about by sticking my hand into the white “web” and breaking up one of the white cakes, then brushing the white powder off the “metal” surface (lunar gray) it’s collected on. I’m hugely relieved to realize the seemingly solid dark-brown mass I feared was melanoma is merely an illusion caused by low indoor lighting. If it had been melanoma the doctor would have had to cut the skin off most of my arms, it would have been inoperable, far too advanced to treat; fatal. My friend is sitting down now and I see her face clearly for a few instants—it’s ancient, a Bodhisattva’s face, androgynous. She’s sad because, she communicates to me wordlessly, when we separate again, as we will soon, she’ll be left with nothing to remind her of me; with nothing to ward off the cold of separation, no memento to cherish in between our meetings. I don’t understand why we can’t see each other more often.

Dream Notes: Those “chords” strike me as energy paths, and just the other day Stinger told me that when you dry something it usually turns white as it crystallizes. Those white “cakes” are blocked energy. These “chords” were attached to my physical body, they wove them, and I could literally see where they went in and out. I can scarcely describe the relief I experienced when I saw what was really there as opposed to what I had feared, and been taught to believe. This and other healing dreams have enabled me to finally rise above the dread instilled in me by conventional modern medicine that treats us as mere physical machines. My body is composed of, woven of energy, the life-force, and if I know this I can “dissolve” the blockages of disease. I Googled the meaning of the name Beatrice: “Voyager (through life); blessed.” I get the feeling Beatrice is a part of me, perhaps another self privy to an ancient wisdom my current ego is only just now beginning to catch up with, all part of my Soul’s mysterious journey.

Healing Someone I Love

After two long plane flights to Australia and back, my husband, Stinger, received a preliminary diagnoses of Deep Vein Thrombosis. His right foot and the lower part of his right leg was swelling up, apparently as the result of a blood clot, and he was scheduled for an emergency ultrasound in the morning. Treatment would have entailed spending approximately a week in the hospital, and taking blood thinners for three months. When we went to bed, his leg was worse, and growing more painful. Before falling asleep, I prayed to my Lord, fervently asking Him to help me in my desire to have a lucid dream in which I could attempt to heal my husband’s leg. There was not the slightest doubt in my heart such a healing was possible.

Dream of August 3, 2011

Stinger and I are in a grocery store shopping, but we walk out of the building without any bags or packages. I feel happy because we’re together, and I know everything will be all right even though we have to drive to the doctor’s office first thing in the morning. It’s night time, and the parking lot is mostly deserted. I feel so good, I can’t resist doing a little skip and a jump, which causes me to notice that gravity is very forgiving; I feel wonderfully light in the Indian dress Stinger bought me in Brazil. I think—If this was a dream, I could fly. I do a little run in a pretend dream take off, and actually keep rising higher off the ground in defiance of gravity. I become aware of a group of people exiting the store, who stop to watch me, and I wonder what they think about this flying lady. Pretty cool, huh? I look down at my husband, who has kept walking across the parking lot, and say with calm urgency, “Take my hand! Take my hand! If you don’t catch me, I’m just going to keep going.” He reaches up, pulls me down, and I land facing him. Looking directly into his eyes, I ask him, “Is this a dream? Are we dreaming?” His expression is more skeptical than confused as, after thinking about it for a moment, he replies, “No, we’re not.” I’m inclined to believe him, because even now I’m absolutely sure myself that all of this is really happening, that we’re out in the waking world shopping. But once the question is asked, I somehow know that I am, in fact, dreaming. “But if this isn’t a dream,”I point out,”why did you keep walking? Our car is back there.”

 

As we gravitate toward one end of the parking lot, I remember my intent and command, “Show me your leg.” Stinger obligingly rolls up his jean, and I kneel before his right leg. Where the pocket of swelling is in waking reality, there is a largish flap of skin, raised to reveal an opening through which I can see into his leg. There is a distinct welling up of blood in this space evocative of a subterranean cave where the water (blood) is about to rise up over the edge. A very dark red at the center, the blood is nearly black around the edges, but shining in that blackness are stars. I cannot possibly describe the awesome beauty of this blood welling up out of a fathomless darkness shimmering with stars! I will never forget the sight. The blood clot (for that’s what it must be) is definitely there. I raise my right hand (and perhaps also my left hand) in front of it, intending a blue healing energy toward it. I don’t see any blue color, but I do surprisingly see a reflection of my mouth taking some of the blood into it, tipping it between my lips as I massage the clot, the bulk of it, with my lips and tongue, somehow helping dissolve it in this manner.

After what seems a short time, I sit back and tell my husband, “I could see in there.” Then, crossing my legs, I assume a prayer position directly in front of him. Raising my hands, I instruct him not to touch me as I separate my palms into a Reiki position so that healing energy may flow “down” between them into his leg. I just sit there directing healing energy into his leg, and in the dream I sit there all night. Just before I wake, we are both “teleported” from the dark public parking lot to an intimate sunlit courtyard. The stone wall to the right of a door, which appears to lead into an ancient villa, is hung with a beautiful tapestry-like painting depicting a lovely golden-haired woman wearing an old-fashioned gown and standing in a colorful garden.

I woke suddenly and, after a moment, thought—I had a lucid dream in which I healed Stinger’s leg! I then said softly to him, as he moved slightly in the bed next to me, “I just had a lucid dream in which I healed your leg!” He replied something to the effect of, “That’s nice” and went back to sleep as I lay there remembering the dream, committing every detail to memory. I got up a short while later, pulled back the bedsheets, and looked at his leg where it was propped up on a pillow. In the soft morning light, his bad leg looked exactly the same as his good leg. I could scarcely believe my eyes. I stroked the skin of both his lower legs, and carefully studied both his ankles and feet, before whispering, “Stinger, look at your leg!” He lifted his head off the pillow and, after a moment, asked, “Did you do that?” I replied, “Yes!” with an elation I cannot describe. The improvement was nearly one-hundred percent, and by the time we got to the doctor’s office, there was no sign anything had ever been wrong with his leg at all.

My lucid dream occurred in the early hours of the morning, when it was already growing light out. Stinger had gotten up to use the bathroom, waking me in the process. He said his leg was as bad as it had been before we went to bed. I fell asleep again almost immediately, had my lucid dream, and woke approximately an hour after I heard, and saw him, limping to the bathroom. The odds are very slim that in such a short amount of time the swelling in his leg would have gone down nearly one-hundred percent. Stinger is a scientist, but he freely admits that, taking all the evidence into consideration, it is perfectly reasonable to conclude that I did, indeed, mysteriously assist in healing his leg in a lucid dream.

Heart Chakra Cleansing

August 23, 2012
I’m in a bedroom floating a little ways above the floor facing it, my limbs and head hanging down perfectly relaxed. I’m clearly conscious of the fact that my heart Chakra is being worked on, cleansed, purified of past transgressions. I can feel it in the sense of actually seeing the circle over my heart, which is a red-orange color and alive. It isn’t so much an opening as an energy center, and I think it’s spinning around and around even though it doesn’t really move like that. All I know and still remember clearly is that my heart is been completely “emptied” of bad stuff, of karmic dregs, if you will. There is a young woman sitting to my left observing (and reading instructions from a manual?) who doesn’t really know what’s going on, but I do. At one point, I list slightly to one side (left) and, by simply willing it, without any apparent physical effort, I straighten myself again because I’m so happy to be undergoing what I can feel is a successful “treatment” or “purging.” Finally, I land gently on my right side (I believe) and the young woman curiously inspects the area over my heart because I had told her something of what was happening. At first she’s a little embarrassed to be seeing my naked breasts and then she says, “There’s nothing there.” I explain patiently, gently amused by how clueless she is, that the effects aren’t visible to the eye because they’re not physical; the change happened inside me, in my heart.

Confronted by a Demon

January 5, 2012
Two women and myself are contemplating starting an internet business. The idea is occurring to me as I close curtains and do other things around a house, a website that sells books and the key items mentioned in them. For example, a leather whip and extreme high-heels in the case of a bondage novel. I will ask authors to contribute their ebooks. I wonder at the audacity of contemplating starting up a new .com. I don’t really expect it can succeed, but we don outfits to wear that will look professional. I choose a tasteful black-and-white jacket and skirt ensemble and help the other two women pick out different styles that nevertheless mirror the black-and-white theme. The third young woman frowns upon how similar we look and insists we go for contrast. I disagree strongly, saying we need to look unique while also presenting a coherent, united front indicating we’re all of the same mind where it really matters. I point out that she can’t simply order us all around, that we have to discuss matters and reach a consensus, even though I fully intend things to go my way because I’m perfectly confident I’m right about this.

We sit down on comfortable chairs arranged in a semi-circle (crescent shape) on the lawn of a large house. I’m in the center. It’s daylight and I get a feeling of openness to my left even though it’s not countryside; more like a suburban area. The house, broad and imposing enough to be called a mansion, is before me, and slightly to my right. The woman on my left seems the youngest, dark-haired and contrary. I tell her she’s always too negative about everything. The woman on my right is more my age (even though we are all ageless) attractive, with a classical face and long blonde hair (like mine is now) and she’s much more balanced and tends to be in accord with my views, yet she’s also slightly arrogant and detached, in contrast to the aggressive emotionalism of the dark-haired girl.

As we sit there, ostensibly having a conference about our forthcoming enterprise, I become aware of an ominous rumbling sound, and perhaps even movement (similar to when in waking reality I was sitting out on the front porch with Mary and Mami during the record earthquake in Virginia.) Then I realize the disturbance is coming from inside the mansion, and that it’s swiftly building in intensity. I see spouts of fire rising up out of the roof, but I’m more annoyed than alarmed as I command, “Stop! Stop!” I feel my command will be obeyed, that my intent has the power to quell this loud chaotic outburst of fire and fury. I think I yell “Stop!” a third time before realizing that the surging power behind the walls has no intention of obeying me. I sit there a moment longer before rising and urgently telling my companions, “We have to get out of here!” I don’t wait for them but immediately take off down the street running away from the house as fast as I can. I glance over my shoulder. The blonde is still placidly seated, her smile condescending, as though she’s not frightened and thinks less of us for being so cowardly; so easily put out. The brunette has begun to run after me, but too late. A long thin yellow filament of light-energy shoots out from the house straight toward her head and its tulip flower-like end engulfs her head. I know she’s been possessed and I run even faster while still looking behind me. I’m afraid I didn’t get up soon enough and that I won’t be able to put enough distance between me and the house as I see two other thin, long filaments shooting straight toward me. I raise my arms and swat at them, crying, “No! By Maat, no! By Maat no!” They disperse like insubstantial cobwebs.

The supernatural filaments were stretched out too far and I succeeded in dissolving them, but I realize, with a terrible sinking sensation, that the blonde woman who remained seated has been fully possessed. Even as I understand this, she surges toward me and grabs my wrists, forcing me to look straight at her lovely but now demonic countenance and eyes. I know she says something about desire, about how the dark side she serves will assume full control of me by way of desire. I can’t free myself of her grip, I can’t look away but what she’s saying is so not true that I sound and feel almost calm as I reply, “Sexual desire doesn’t have any power over me anymore, I’m in menopause.” This is a good thing and, really, any self-respecting demon should be more familiar with their subject. In response to something else she says, I repeat that I’m a menopausal woman. She corners me against a wall and I see and hear her very clearly as she tell me, “You’re beginning to fall in love with power.” Her tone implies I’m going the way of all people who play with dangerously seductive forces. But she’s wrong again. “I’m not in love with power,” I reply because it’s absolutely true, I’m not. She’s sneering in disbelief and I think about it a moment before adding, “I’m in love with Life. That’s what I love, Life.” I notice that my statement dims her aggressive confidence somewhat, surprises her just enough for me to grab her by the shoulders and declare, truly meaning it, “And I love you.” It’s like throwing water on a fire; she continues smoldering with aggressive evil but I glimpse uncertainty in her eyes now as well, a human being wearing a demonic mask obeying a dark, inscrutable, unknowable power. As she retreats before me, I sense-distinguish a recognizable human form. “You’re a boy, aren’t you?” I ask and, indeed, I see a young boy now also wearing a mask. “Why did you take this gig?” I query in a casual language I feel he can relate to. “What’s in it for you?” I insist. He looks chagrined and incredulous at the same time as he informs me that it’s obvious why, because the alternative is oblivion, the void, ceasing to exist forever. I assure him (with words or telepathically, I can’t say now) that this is not true and that there must have been someone who loved him once. There was, he remembers, and I cradle him against my breast. He’s small as a very young child now, and he rests there helplessly as I say, “Concentrate on that feeling of love. Don’t try and remember or think, just focus on that memory, on that feeling of love.” I feel him doing so, and behind my right shoulder I both sense and see a bright golden light appear full of warmth and benevolence, the tunnel of light that will “take” him. I ask him if he’s ever seen episodes of The Ghost Whisperer and that he doesn’t need to be afraid anymore, he simply has to follow the light. The brunette woman is there now observing, no longer possessed, as the demon-boy slips out of my arms and, in the form of a small white dog, trots down a blue ramp, turns left and disappears. I’m intensely gratified even as I remark, “Now that was a rather cheesy representation of the tunnel of light.” I’m aware it was only a symbolic approximation but am nevertheless a little disappointed it looked so much like the tunnel you walk down to get into an airplane. I mean, really. The blonde woman is now also there and herself again and I can’t resist commenting, “You see, you should have listened to me.”

In another dream later, I see a woman doing an acrobatic swing across a bar placed over a chasm, a dark-brown rocky canyon. She is fearless and incredibly beautiful, tall and voluptuous, and her skirt flys up and her clothes fall away as she enjoys this sport. Zoom in to a close-up of two men in a car that has stopped (hovering in mid-air, it seems) to watch her in lustful amazement. Zoom in on the driver’s face, pasty white flesh, fishy eyes, slightly overweight, dark hair, a gangster-like stereotype of a face. I can feel the animal lust radiating from him, how much he would like to fuck this exhibitionist, totally self-confident woman. I know exactly what he’s feeling as though I am him but I’m actually disembodied and staring straight at his low-life face, which I swear I could recognize in a police line up in waking reality. Then suddenly I’m observing a crowd of young men on the floor of the canyon. They’re shirtless and their lean, attractive bodies are decorated with a modern gang version of black-and-white war paint. They look magnificent, but it’s terrifying to know they’re all lost souls.

Dream Notes: The three women are, it seems, all me and how I’m learning to manage myself better, becoming more conscious of my thoughts, emotions, attitudes, etc. and how they’re all woven together, sometimes into knots that require subtle unraveling so they stop sabotaging, blocking, the energy and growth of our Soul. The woman in the canyon is the Goddess and her defilement by materialistic greed, and the gang makes me think of Mexico’s La Santa Muerte cult. It’s all related. (For more on this see my post What’s Wrong With the World)

Lucid Dreaming to Heal

March 26, 2012
Note: Did the surfer technique and saw some hypnagogic imagery, including a statuesque Whispers (our cat) perched on a portal-pedestal of sorts.

I’m in a car, preparing to get out, when a man in a dark suit slips into the front seat. I’m relieved to see it’s not a threatening stranger but X (real name withheld to protect his privacy.) His suit is pitch-black and velvety, textured, so it appears to me, and his bowler hat is antique-looking. Without actions or speech, he’s very insistent on remaining in the car, he needs to, but I want to get out and I take the keys with me. It’s my car and I have something to do. I think perhaps Mami is in another vehicle and I walk up to her, but I can’t concentrate on my purpose because X is in my car and wanting to turn on the radio, needing to. I walk back and say something like, “Well, I can’t very well toss you my keys through the windshield, can I?” But even as I “say” this I realize there really isn’t a glass in my way, and stubbornly I smack the air to pretend there is a barrier. I hand him the keys before turning back to what I was doing thinking naturally there isn’t a barrier because this is a dream

I don’t remember the transition to the interior of a store, quaint feel, like a place that sells postcards and writing supplies. X, still in his black Film Noir suit, is standing at the register purchasing something. I’m not sure, but I think I tell him to follow me or meet me upstairs, and he does, because next thing I know, I’m fully lucid where I’m sitting in front of him at the back of the room. There are other people there, it’s sort of like a living area above the shop, but I’m concentrating exclusively on my purpose, which is to heal him. I am acutely lucid. I clearly see my hands (there are windows that let in sunlight) and consider how best to go about my intent. At once I recall doing Reiki in the dream where I healed Stinger’s blood clot and understand this is the proper way to proceed. Holding my hands facing each other, and leaving a few inches of space between them, I raise them before me and silently request healing energy flow (down) into them. At once, I feel an answering warmth growing cradled between my palms. I’m so happy at how quickly the universe responds and intensely lucid, distinctly aware of this very real warmth. Almost immediately, tiny squares of jewel-like multicolored lights become visible, generated by my palms. They are so beautiful! They shine, sparkle, glow, every adjective you can think of, and are much more lovely and potent-looking than the sparkles of violet light I used to heal my tendinitis. I know what I need to do with them. I lean toward X and place my hands on either side of his head, just barely touching him. He’s not wearing the old-fashioned black hat anymore (I may have told him to remove it or removed it myself.) He seems skittish, squirmy, but I somehow make it clear to him that he needs to let me do this. I’m using these lights to stimulate the electrical synapses in his brain, because they mysteriously correspond to them. The lights aren’t computer chips, they aren’t electricity, they’re a living energy I caress over X’s brain and I can feel them falling into place over his synapses like a map stimulating, while also perhaps “rewiring” or strengthening, even forging “relationships” between some of them. Nearly impossible to describe. I somehow know when to stop, and briefly caress his chest, which again recoils slightly as I sit back, telling him, “I love you” understanding it was his brain I needed to concentrate on, not his body.

I may have done all I can, in this dream, for X, and now I head toward Mami, sitting toward the back of the room. It’s a little darker here and I make myself comfortable before her, cross-legged, as I hold my hands up before me, palms facing each other, to call down healing energy, only this time nothing happens. Mami is even more skittish than X, wanting to know what I’m doing. She’s wearing a blue, long-sleeved shirt and, leaning over her, I tell her I’m there to heal her. “I’m visiting you in a dream, Mami. Where is your discomfort?” But I know it’s in her intestines, and even though there’s no healing energy emanating from my hands, I pass them over her stomach and move down. “There’s nothing really wrong with you,” I conclude, realizing that the Reiki didn’t work because there was no need.

It’s time to move on! I look around and feel the desire I always experience in a lucid dream to escape the confines of an enclosed space and get outside. I walk down a corridor with other people, searching for the exit. I don’t even think about doing deepening techniques; I’m perfectly lucid and deep in the dream. I have my eye on a man and his companion, who I sense are leading me to the exit, and as I follow them, attracted to him, thinking-feeling how sexy he is, I remember other men in lucid dreams I’ve responded to in this way, which brings me to a sense of awe and wonder, looking around me at the crowd of people I’m part of, at how many people there are and yet how each individual is a unique, beautiful creation. Each and every person is a whole universe of unimaginable forces come together even though the power of attraction is more strong with some for me, perhaps because we’re related in the sense that how we were created is related. It’s not really possible to find the right words for what I felt-knew. I believe I’m outside, walking down the street with the man and his friend slightly ahead of me on the right. I think about Waggoner’s description of beautiful women in his lucid dreams and wonder, “What about men?” For me it’s all about handsome, sexy men, not women, and I think about pointing this out in waking life.

Then I forget about the man when I realize I’m still inside! The building is so vast, I thought I was out on a sidewalk. “No way!” I think-say, meaning I have no intention of remaining trapped inside and waking up in frustration. I enter a large open space with a really high ceiling that’s an odd cross between a Cathedral and an office building. The ceiling is arched and a blue-white. “There will be is a hole in the ceiling through which I can fly!” I command in my mind, and there it is! Effortless. I soar up toward it and pass through it, only to find myself in a similar space with another ceiling I spy a hole in. Okay, I wasn’t specific enough. “There will be a hole through which I can fly outside, to open sky!” but the hole was already there before I realized my mistake, and even so it’s such a joy to experience flight, the sensation and freedom of it. Now I spot a western-facing door below me. I fly down to it determined not to obey any barriers in this dream, and I go right through it because I’ve learned, once and for all, that the apparent solidity of material substances in a dream is only an illusion, a product of bringing the rules of the physical world with me. I pass effortlessly through the door, and then to the north-east I spot a revolving glass door, yet another apparent barrier to freedom, but through the glass wall it’s a part of I glimpse the ocean! I’m overjoyed and I rush/fly right through the door, on the heels of two people passing through it and with whom I collide in an awkward fashion. But instead of flying off, I decide to simply perch on their heads, and I’m very amused by the sensation of standing as they keep walking, untroubled by my presence. “Now this is something (else) I’ve never done in a lucid dream before.” I’m amused and pleased.

I think I’m heading for the ocean, but it’s only a river I come to, not very broad and brown, murky, as though polluted. I stand on the shore, disappointed but also taking a detached attitude because what’s important is how lucid I am and continuing with the dream. The water is rushing eastward and I decide to fly over it and follow it to the ocean. As I do so, I consider traveling to the moon, as I requested to do in my previous lucid dream. In waking life, I’ve been thinking the moon would be a great place to establish a healing center, a place where I can learn about and perform lucid healings, but I’ve already done that in this dream and I decide it feels too far away so I keep flying over the river. At some point, I’m going through a wall and stepping over some barrier, wondering at how present I am in the dream, how effortlessly lucid, and thinking not bad for a relatively inexperienced lucid dreamer even as I realize that’s not true and that I’m perhaps one of the most skilled lucid dreamers there are at this point in time.

I somehow end up in a residential building on the shore of the river, standing in front of a door and a woman holding a suitcase who lives there. I have the distinct thought-feeling that lucid dreams aren’t meant to be personal hedonistic adventures but rather that they’re intended for service and I know that for me that means healing people, and I’m ready to find someone who needs me. This woman is looking at me, her expression full of curiosity tinged with confusion, as if she doesn’t quite know how I got there or who I am, and I think I must be out of body and she’s seeing me. I ask her, “How do you feel?” wondering if she might need my assistance, but she seems fine, and even as I turn to head back down the stairs, I wake up in bed.

I’m absolutely sure that I’m awake as I get up, searching for my red robe, intending to slip it on and walk into my study to write my dream down, anxious not to wake Arthur up in the process where he’s curled up asleep in his crate next to the bed. But in my office, I somehow end up with a pair of J’s pants. I go to put them back and suddenly I’m sitting at the dining table with Stinger across from me and we’re having breakfast. I tell him I just had one of the longest, if not the longest, lucid dream of my life, that it lasted (according to the digital clock I looked at when I woke up, moving pillows out of my way and grumbling that we really need to keep the clock more visible) a good part of an hour, if not more. “I haven’t had such a long lucid dream since the one I had with Papi last year Easter Sunday,” declare. “I feel fantastic,” I am indeed full of energy and well being, “like I just did some incredible, wonderful drug.” Then I add, “Can you do me a favor please and walk Arthur this morning? I really need to write my dream down before I go to work.” I know I’m going to have a big, important day at the office, and I’m more than ready to handle it (in reality I work at home.) Stinger says he will and suddenly I phase out of the dream and wake up for real, clearly remembering the lucid dream even while wondering at how real the false awakening felt.

Keep Dreaming Little Boy

I had this Lucid Dream February 22, 2012, the night of the New Moon:

I’m living in an apartment in some quiet city and I really want Mami to come over for dinner. I know she lives nearby and that it will be a simple matter to drive her home afterward. I really want to see her and have her over, so to this end I find myself out on the street in front of my building communicating with my brother, ostensibly by telephone. He seems to think it isn’t possible and I say, “Ah, but you see, I’m dreaming, and in this dream I know her address. It’s 118 Vial Street.” I begin walking as I speak, clarifying, “V-i-a-l as in a vial, not v-i-l-e.” At this point, I can’t see a thing, as though my eyes are closed, but I’m determined to imagine/visualize the streets and houses as I know they’re laid out. I come to a corner and have to decide if that’s zero or 1st street. I determine the next one down is 1st street and I keep following my visualization even though it’s difficult to construct an entire residential neighborhood with just my imagination. I make myself arrive at the appropriate address (these are older three-story residences as found in Arlington, MA) walk up the steps and tell my companion, a featureless silhouette, to try the key, and it works! “Good job,” I say, and enter the building with confidence, because now I know the door to the apartment can also be unlocked.

I start up the steps and when I come to the first landing, suddenly I can see it very distinctly. Yes, there’s the white paint and slight orange stains on it, all very familiar, I’m really here! I made it, I’m in a lucid dream. In that instant, someone grabs me from behind and propels me up the remaining steps to the door of the apartment. It feels good, part of the thrill of being conscious in a dream, but I don’t want to get too excited and wake up. We enter the apartment and I wonder to which one of my probable selves it belongs and what I’m meant to discover and do there. Such a sense of achievement already that I made it into the world of one of my Soul’s other selves. The person behind me is still propelling me forward and I see a man’s silhouette as we pass in front of a mirror hanging on the wall. A very small part of me is anxious but for the most part I’m more curious than concerned when I ask him, “Who are you?” and when he doesn’t respond, again, “Who are you?” I manage to turn around and am pleased to make out in the darkness a hard but handsome face and hair that’s at least shoulder-length even though he remains a silhouette. “Is there something I’m supposed to know?” I query, thinking he might have something to tell me. I think I repeat the question before he answers, “Just go for it” his voice firm yet encouraging. I say, “Okay!” I get that he wants me to just flow with the dream and see where it leads and I’m more than happy to do that.

Now it’s obvious that the occupants of the apartment are asleep because it’s night time and the place is dark and quiet. I get the sense of white walls and furnishings. It’s laid out essentially like my waking life house but it is not in the least familiar; it’s another home entirely. I head down the hallway and see a little boy standing just outside the bedrooms in the dark corridor. I approach him smiling. “Hello,” I say, “are you dreaming too?” He seems to nod but I sense he’s confused, he’s very young, and like many little kids he has a natural ability to see disembodied people. I speak reassuringly and brightly, “That’s great, we’re all dreaming. We’re awake in a dream.” What’s curious is that he has what appears to be a mask that covers his entire head quite tightly, as though made of thick plastic wrap that’s a rather sickly green in color.

The door to the master bedroom is open and I can see his parents sleeping in there. I know without thinking about it that they are not very pleasant or intelligent people, and I discern the big pot belly of the boy’s father and the not generous or caring thinness of the woman. Their personalities are clear to me even though I can barely see them. I follow the boy into his parents’ bedroom, into which he’s backing up as if pulled in that direction. Indeed, his mother sits up and impatiently tugs him up onto the bed with her, telling him to shush because he’s mumbling as though talking in his sleep. In a flash, I understand that he’ll grow up being told dreams aren’t real and receive no encouragement in developing any ability he possesses. I lean over him where he’s lying in bed with his mother and tell him, “Don’t believe what they tell you. Keep dreaming!” As I speak I understand that I’m a teacher and that the man with me has brought me to, and is supervising, my first lucid instruction, because I know that I’ve been helping, or teaching people in a similar fashion in non-lucid dreams for a very long time, but that I’m being promoted, in a sense, and this is my first time on this level. I understand all this in a flash but don’t allow the thought to distract me with pride; I’m simply content.

As I leave the bedroom, I wonder how the kid can breathe in that mask, which he has to wear around his parents, but I am hopeful, I seem to know for a fact, that for the rest of his life he’ll remember this dream; he’ll remember the man and woman he met in a dream who confirmed the fact that he was dreaming and that it was real, and that this memory will aid him in overcoming all the obstacles he will encounter in his upbringing. Back in the living room, I am drawn to the western wall, which has a window lining the bottom, where I crouch and gaze out at a beautiful bird sitting right outside the glass. “Oh, look at this bird!” I exclaim to my companion, clearly seeing it’s deep yet bright-blue feathers that are faceted like jewels with other rich colors. I force myself to look away from it because I don’t want to wake up as a result of focusing on one thing for too long.

I can feel the sun rising and it does indeed seem to be morning because the family is waking up, walking out into the living room. My companion (still a tall, dark presence I don’t really focus on) remarks on the attractive sight of the man’s hairy pot belly rising from the mattress, which amuses me. And what’s interesting is that the little boy can still see us. As his parents go about their groggy morning business, he stands against the wall staring at us. My companion then demonstrates to him that you can fly in dreams, that you can do anything, and I join in by rising off the ground and doing a slow backward flip, something I’ve never done before in dreams, and I’m not quite sure how to do it, but I seem to succeed and understand that I’m educating myself as well, learning not to be so linear in the sense of behaving in dreams as though I’m in waking reality.

I get the feeling it’s time to leave but for some reason we can’t go out the front entrance and I spend a few urgent seconds prying open a glass door from the wall. I succeed and it’s a relief to get out of the apartment’s stuffy atmosphere into a lighter, fresher space. I can see through the walls and ceiling of the corridor to the outside world, a sort of city street scene, but I’m still inside. This is a familiar problem from other lucid dreams, and I’m determined to find a way out. I spot some stairs and head down them, wondering and hoping my companion will follow me, but then I hear him ask me where I’m going. I look up at him and tell him, “We went up to get there, so I’m going down to get outside” which makes perfect sense, but he informs me, telepathically (as all the speaking in this dream has been really) that’s not where we want to go, and I understand he means it’s real busy and distracting down there. But I’ve found a door and walk outside in triumph; I’ve made it out of the confining space and am now free to fly away if I please. I distinctly see two men in suits speaking and I admire the face of one of them as I walk by, especially his mouth, thinking, what a sexy mouth he has and hoping he’ll notice me and tempted to interact with him, but I keep walking and feel the dream fading away as I find myself lying in bed at approximately 5:00 a.m.

***
In another dream, I recognize events as ones that I’ve foreseen in a dream. Walking past my sister sipping juice in a corner of a restaurant, I tell her I’ve seen her doing this in a dream. I’ve also seen the men helping me load my belongings into a moving truck doing it in a dream. I’m elated that what I’ve dreamed is coming to pass exactly as I saw it. I walk outside at night, on cold wet flagstones, to the shining dark-blue car I’ll be riding in to my new home, and in which I sense deceased family members already sitting, waiting. I watch as items that might have been left behind are hastily stacked on a round, Indian-style table with a raised gilded border, items I recognize from already having unpacked them in reality, so I know they’ll make the journey safely. I seem to recall a carved ebony elephant and other aesthetic items with an Oriental look. Then walking with Mami inside a small, shadowy, tasteful gentleman’s-club-like bar, I’m telling her, in an excited voice, about how my dreams are coming true. The dark-haired bar tender can’t help but overhear, and I’m glad he’s interested in what I’m saying. But then someone walks in and demands his attention and I have to keep moving. Just beyond the bar, in a white, well-lit foyer of sorts, I pause before walking outside. Now the man is standing in the doorway of a small space like a break room listening to me and watching me as he leans against the wall smoking a cigarette. I really have to leave but, before I go, I walk right up to him and kiss him full on the lips. When I step back, he dramatically blows out the mouthful of smoke I almost made him swallow. I know he’s deliberately being amusing, but that the truth is he doesn’t really want me to go, he’s only acting this way to make it easier for me. I recognize, as in countless other dreams, that we can’t be together now, not yet.