2 Talks with my Deceased Father

Note: I am now waiting nearly two years before I post my lucid dreams, in chronological order. I have a backlog of approximately 120 lucid dreams.

Dream of October 16, 2014

In the midst of dreams, I abruptly find myself standing in front of my deceased father, right next to a threshold on my left formed by a tall archway. The location feels like it is both outside and inside: a vast complex of some kind. In waking reality terms, it feels like a blend of a truly grand hotel, or series of hotels, with shops and restaurants, and numerous other amenities I can’t begin to guess at. The lighting is atmospheric; it may be night, but it’s hard to say, because there are subtle golden lights everywhere, especially in the lintels of doorways. But I don’t give the scenery too much thought, because I have eyes only for my Papi!

He is talking animatedly to me, grinning and gesturing, and I’m smiling back up at him happily. Wow! I am totally present with Papi in a dream, completely lucid. I look around me in awe. My lucidity feels as natural and steady as being awake, and I think—This is the most lucid I have ever been with Papi. I look back at him just as he points up toward heaven and delivers the punch line, “Such an interesting person!” In no time at all, I “download” the gist of his joke: It is about a man who is dead, but continues to cause delightful havoc as the journey of his soul’s growth continues.

I’m smiling as we cross the threshold beneath the archway and begin walking side-by-side. I feel myself consciously poised between two worlds, and that the death of my physical body will be, or at least can be, a seamless, peaceful transition to this spiritual State. We cross another open archway into a different section of the sprawling “complex” at which point I notice that Papi is holding a small package as he asks me, with happy impatience, “Where do you pay here?” I discern a short, curved line of people who all look as though they’re waiting for a cashier, and we move toward them. As we take our place, Papi asks me, looking around us with that wonderful smile of his I can never forget, “So, what have you been up to lately?”

I’m a little surprised by the question, and am about to say, “You know what I’ve been doing, Papi, lucid dreaming” but I keep silent, thinking how this is very much the Papi I remember—wrapped up in his own affairs, with only a certain amount of mental and emotional energy allotted for me and my life. Yet I always felt his love for me, and his desire to help me in any way he could. Oddly, this exchange is reassuring, because I would never have imagined him behaving this way in the after life.

The transaction happens quickly. Papi hands the attendant money, and doesn’t wait for change as he turns away and hands me another bill, which I slip into the right pocket of my wrap as we keep walking. Then another exchange, invisible to me, occurs, in which Papi ends up with another bill he also gives to me, and which I again slip into my pocket. It feels natural that my deceased father is giving me money, and that I am accepting it.

Passing over a third threshold, I feel we are now outside the “complex” which stretches along with us to our left. The lighting is clear and even now, like daytime on earth. As we follow a straight path, I hold tightly to Papi’s left hand with my right hand. I remember that I ask him four questions, but even though I remembered all the questions after I woke up, and his answers word-per-word, after a few seconds they just slipped out of my brain like water through a drain when the plug is pulled. I tried very hard to “re-download” his replies, but I could not, and I only recall my first two questions:

“Papi, are you still in the same place you were when I last dreamed of you?


“Do people of different religions go to different places on the other side?”

His reply begins with the statement:

“If it’s true, it wouldn’t be right to…”

I heard everything he said to me, and although his exact words elude me now, I understood them in the dream. In essence, he told me that there is no linear time, and no objective space, outside material existence, only an eternal present perpetually being created by souls in constant relationship with God, so that any answer he gave me now in my dream might not be true in the future, as I still experience past and present. He told me that when something is true it must be known/experienced in order to actually be; the truth cannot merely be conceived of in certain ways we assume are objectively real.

After his final reply, I wake.

Dream of October 21, 2014

I find myself in a house, which I sense is filled with loved ones and a few other people I am close to, engaged in an activity I can’t remember now. I hear someone arrive at the front door, which is concealed behind the wall of a small entrance foyer behind me. I can’t interrupt what I’m doing, so I urge Mami – who drifts toward the door reluctantly in a long pale nightgown – to let the person in. I suffer a twinge of guilt at making her do this, because I know it’s my deceased father at the door, and that she’s afraid of the nightmares my dream encounters with him might give her. But I also think it’s time she got over this, and acknowledged his continued presence in our lives. She opens the door, and finishing up my task, I hurry over to greet him as, making a left around the wall of the foyer, he steps into the main room. He is wearing an immaculate, exquisitely tailored suit of a color blue that does not exist on earth, an uplifting, beautiful blue.

“Papi, you’re wearing the suit you wore in my last dream,” I exclaim, “the suit I knew you would wear!” He walks a little deeper into the space, and I stand happily before him, looking up at his face… looking up and up! “Papi, you’re getting taller!” I observe joyfully, because I feel I know this means he’s growing spiritually.

He stands there a moment, gazing over my head, a gently gratified smile on his face, which looks younger and darker, with a slight golden tan. (Normally, I see him as he appeared later in life). Then he looks down into my eyes, and suddenly we are face-to-face as we “glide” into a small room behind me, as though he is pushing me backward, his dark eyes gleaming with intense feeling. We “land” on a comfortable couch in this alcove, which is like a lucid drop of water in the rushing river of my previous dreams.

Papi looks grave now as he tells me about going to see his own long dead father, and I have to struggle to grasp what he’s saying, as I recall my paternal grandfather, who I rarely saw and didn’t much like, and the time I went with Papi to visit his grave. I’m confused, because Papi seems to be talking about his father as though he is still dead. “We couldn’t go back to our house,” he tells me, “because of the people who live there now…”

My confusion peaking, I exclaim, “But Papi, there are no physical bodies on the other side.”

He was staring into the distance as he spoke, but now he looks at me and says, “Oh, no, but together we help each other get through it…” That makes sense, that he and his father are helping each other in ways only they can fathom.

I’m sitting on the edge of the couch, gazing down at him where he reclines against it. At this point, I ask him a question I can’t recall now, but I clearly, vividly, remember his response:

“God is there,” he says, and suddenly I perceive slender shafts of golden light shining down from above and behind him, as if cradling him. “You feel pain in your essence…” He rests his left hand over where his physical heart would have been, and I observe a soft, white light that seems concentrated in his chest area. “Forceful people come to you…”

A perfect understanding fills me as I look at his face, and the light, and listen to his words.

We stand up together, but I quickly move over to another couch, where I find pen and paper, and quickly write down his responses to me word-per-word, determined to remember them this time when I wake up. Then I go stand beside him where he is leaning against one wall as my deceased maternal grandmother, standing close to an adjacent wall, silently observes us from a few feet away. I’m thinking hard about the question rising up from my heart without my conscious intent:

“You can’t ever see God?” I ask, and know at once it did not come out right, because Papi looks astonished, and a little incensed, as if what I just said is ridiculous, and I quickly add, “Of course you can see Him! You see Him all the time, because He is All, the Absolute.” 

Papi’s mollified expression seems to confirm my words as I phase out of the dream.