I am now waiting 10 months before posting my lucid dreams, which means I am approximately 55 lucid dreams behind.
Dreams of July 7, 2014
My Lord, the Holy Spirit, speaks to me, He is very near, right beside me, I see Him clearly as He earnestly tells me, “You are very special to me… You are close to me… and you will be.” I partially wake, joyfully recalling His words to me, elated by the promise “and you will be.” I continue repeating what I heard Him say as I wake up completely, and realize I just saw Him, was with Him! “And you will be.” I can scarcely grasp the sweet immensity of this promise, spoken in a warm, almost urgent tone brimming with love and approval. The dream was fleeting, but I remember it vividly, and I still feel it imbuing me with a subtle but irrepressible strength indistinguishable from gratitude and happiness. I am close to him, yet I can grow ever closer to Him, know Him, and love Him, more deeply and dearly?! What a sweet, sweet promise!*
*This dream appears in my new book, Lucid Dreams and the Holy Spirit.
I fall asleep again, and find myself in a vehicle comfortably surrounded by my family, and a handful of special friends. The “car” is moving smoothly but none of us are actually driving. Gliding some distance above the ground, we’re all along for the ride. The first monumental installation we pass is a colossal, and perfectly realistic, figure of an Apollo astronaut. I smile inwardly, aware of Mario, my brother, sitting beside me. I understand this one’s for him—a reminder of our childhood together, and the first form taken by our souls’ desire to explore inner space. Gradually ascending, we pass many more colorful and monumental figures. No matter how they are each dressed, and what they represent, these Disney-like statues all have round, and broadly smiling cartoon faces. I wonder about this, and then think—They all have dog mouths. How can I not feel comfortable and happy here?
We leave behind the giant three dimensional figures, which seem to represent different vocations and personalities. Our vehicle makes several turns over snowy ground, ascending more dramatically, before smoothly arriving at the top of the mountain. We all exit, and as I look around me, I wonder at the fact that we all ascended to this mountain top together. We walk toward a one-story building, which is not regularly inhabited, only visited. Smiling, and looking around me, I tell my loved ones, “I strongly suspect this is a dream…” I want them to understand anything can happen here, in a good sense. I want them to be prepared for the unusual, for wonders. “This is a dream,” I repeat. “Why would we drive all the way up here through the snow?”
We pass a small wooden building to our right, and head left toward a glass wall and door. As we do so, a new member of our party suddenly joins us, a tall, dark-haired man wearing a bright-red jumpsuit. He isn’t a family member, and I don’t recognize him, and yet he is familiar somehow, and I know he belongs with us. Still trying to make my loved ones aware that we’re dreaming, I ask my brother, “What about the new member of our party? How did he get here so suddenly?” Then, playing the devil’s advocate, I say, the gently sarcastic tone of my voice making it clear what I think about the limitations of human reason, “Of course, we could have arranged for him to meet us here. There’s a rational explanation for everything.”
Mario and I are the first to walk through the glass door into a narrow glass corridor. Immediately to our right, there is no wall, just a great open window, and in the far distance—framed by other lofty scenery boasting lots of heavenly blue sky—are brown and white mountain peaks. “Look at those mountains, Mario! They look like a painting, don’t they?” They are so obviously painted, I can’t imagine how he won’t realize now that we’re dreaming. It feels as though the dream landscape in this place is deliberately seeking to make people lucid, gently but obviously, like a school-grade primer. We are now joined in the corridor by a little girl in a red dress, but she vanishes almost as quickly as she appeared, running back out the door. She is related to me somehow, I know her, but not by blood.
Because he still hasn’t responded to my insistence this is all a dream, I ask Mario pointedly, “And where did that little girl dressed in red go?” I open the glass door through which she appeared. “Where did she go?” I’m pointing out to him that it’s not possible she simply vanished; that can only happen in dreams.
False awakening: I’m sitting at a table, still on this mountain top high above the world, in a small room filled with other people, all of us intent on what we’re doing. A classroom of students silently engrossed in answering questions on an exam comes to mind. It’s an interesting place, an indefinable space so high above the earth, it no longer seems to be of the earth even though it is still connected to the earth.
When I woke up, the space in my dream reminded me of the cloud-shrouded Andes mountain top in Merida, Venezuela, where a statue of the Virgin Mary – her arms open as she gazes down at the world – stands just outside the glass wall of the room where my family and I all huddled, on a cold dark day decades ago, drinking hot chocolate as we waited for the cable car that would take us back down to earth. Or so it felt to me, for I was only nine years old, and it seemed to have taken forever to get up there. With clouds completely obscuring the world below, the small waiting room where I stood with my family, surrounded by strangers, felt like a mysterious, and just a little frightening, antechamber to heaven. Through a window, I could just make out the larger-than-life figure of the Virgin, her profile to me as she faced the world below. I remember feeling that she was sad, and that her sadness was deeper even than the mountain was high.