Lucid Gang

Note: My thoughts and feelings have evolved, in some cases quite dramatically, since I began lucid dreaming nearly five years ago. For example, in the Dream Notes that follow many of my earlier lucid dreams, you will find me considering possible past lives as an explanation for some of my experiences. I no longer believe in reincarnation, and this change came about as a result of some of my most powerful dreams. I am now waiting a year, or longer, before I post my lucid dreams, one at time, in chronological order. This means I now have a backlog of approximately sixty lucid dreams.

Dream of September 4, 2014

Night time. From inside a very large and dark building, I lead two men into a dark, tree-filled garden. I’m dreaming of being lucid in a dream. It’s odd, but I seem to be lucidly observing the lucidity of my dream self. I sense the men came with me reluctantly, and that they don’t know why I brought them outside in the middle of the night. I ask them, “Want to go flying?” They do not, so I leave them behind as I soar up into the star-filled sky. At the same time, I’m conscious of being back inside the building, thinking about how I can do things differently so the two men will better understand we’re dreaming. I decide it won’t work either way, and permit my dreaming awareness to fly really fast through the trees in the darkness. I know they won’t get in my way as I surrender to a strong pull toward the road I know lies outside the grounds of the building.

The road below me glows a dim white, and is deserted. I’m flying in a standing position, at a sedate pace, in the direction of vague golden lights that aren’t far away, and which I sense belong to some small city square. I feel I may have flown off into the starry sky if the dream hadn’t pulled me in this direction. As I glide along, I experience a strange excitement that prompts me to laugh beneath my breath.

Very soon, I clearly distinguish the figure of a slender man hovering a few feet over the road, flying in a standing position just like me, but in the opposite direction. He also sees me, and I study him intently as we slowly converge, then begin orbiting each other. I identify him as another lucid dreamer, but I want to know what his intentions are; what he’s planning to do in the dream space. Our conversation is telepathic (at least I don’t recall any words being spoken) and his responses disappoint me, although they don’t surprise me. It seems that, for him, being lucid is all about having sex, and power.

Suddenly, I’m afraid this dreamer may be a member of the “lucid gang” that walks out of the darkness, heading straight for the town walls behind me. I seem to know they are all lucid dreamers returning from some seriously selfish fun. Their leader has light hair and, as he passes by me, all he has to do is look at me for me to know he just raped, and devoured, a little girl, literally. Another telepathic exchange of communication occurs in which I let him know just how I feel about lucid dreamers like them.

Abruptly, as I stare at this terrible person, I distinguish the faint but unmistakable outlines of a little’s girl’s head inside his belly—her entire body is inside him, and she is still alive. I don’t even think about it; I immediately reach toward her and say, “Come out, sweetie! You can do it! This is a dream, and nothing can hurt you here!” She apparently hears me, because she emerges, stepping out of the man. I hug her thin little body, and tell the man, iron in my voice, “She belongs to me. In the dream space she is under my protection now. Do you understand?”

Holding the little girl in my arms, I enter something resembling an empty elevator shaft, and begin ascending at a steady pace, rising up through a misty gray atmosphere, up and up away from that dangerous “lucid gang.” I sense they will not, because they cannot, follow me, but I desire to put as much space between them, and us, as possible. I don’t really know where this shaft-like vertical tunnel will take us, or even how long it is, but I soon come to a ledge that leads us into a large, open space. Here I become aware of a man with dark hair, and wearing dark clothes, who is accompanying me in order to help us. The space I’m in now seems to be the top floor – almost like an enclosed roof – of a large building with windows lining one side.

I watch as the man smashes a hole in the window directly across from where I’m standing on the opposite side of the room. More telepathic communication, although it’s already obvious to me that he’s helping us find a way out. But the glass is resistant, and the hole he made is not yet large enough for us to fly through. He consults with a woman to my right, who is also aiding us, and who temporarily takes charge of the little girl for me as I walk over to the window. For some reason, I lie down on my back in front of it, looking up at it.

When we first entered the space, I wondered why this window posed a barrier, why I couldn’t simply fly through the roof and away, since this was a dream. But for some reason, that isn’t possible, so I continue the man’s work of trying to create a hole big enough to fly through. I reach behind me, pick up a nice big chunk of ice, and throw it as hard as I can against the loose section of icy glass hanging from the top left side of the window. I succeed in hitting it, but it only weakens the section a little bit more without dislodging it. I repeat this procedure three or four times, even though each time the ice-rock I use bounces back toward me, and I risk being struck hard by it myself. Eventually, there is a large enough hole in the glass for all of us to fly through.

We fly down to the ground outside the building. The man is holding a phone, and I see, close up, his fingers pressing down on the circular numbers without any effect. He says, “It doesn’t work.”

I take the phone from him impatiently. “Of course it does, this is a dream and we can make it work.” I dial the man we’re trying to reach – the man who raped and devoured the little girl I rescued. I hear him pick up on the other end, where I sense he is leading a discussion. I warn him, “This is about a little girl…” He replies, “Oh-oh” but he doesn’t actually sound concerned. I wake.

Dream Notes:

Seeking counsel from the Gospels about this dream, and about the book I feel the Lord wants me to write Lucid Dreams and the Holy Spirit, I randomly opened the New Testament to this passage:

“And in the synagogue there was a man who had the spirit of an unclean demon and he cried out in a great voice: Ha. What is there between us and you, Jesus of Nazareth? Did you come to destroy us? I know you, who you are, God’s holy one. Jesus reproved him, saying, ‘Be silent and go out of him.’ And the demon flung him down in their midst and came out of him, without doing him any harm.” Luke 4:33-35

This struck me as an uncanny mirror image of my dream, in which the little girl emerged, unharmed, from the demon-like man who had consumed her.

This is not the first time I have encountered and banished “demons” as well as protected/rescued people in the dream space. In fact, this happens regularly. 

Someone Else’s Reflection

February 8, 2014

My husband, Stinger, and I are in a house planning to meet up with a woman we know. It’s not our waking reality home. I walk into one of the rooms, and he tells me to turn on the lights in the hope that she’ll see them and know where we are. One of the lamps is like one I have at home in my study, and I decide to turn off the bigger brighter one as that seems safer. Everything looks and feels very real; I’m positive I’m awake. My purse is on the dresser, and I fish my little black address book out of it, intending to call the woman… The next thing I remember is standing in the middle of a crowded pub. Stinger is on the phone with a man who works at the restaurant-bar our female friend works at. I can hear both sides of the conversation. The man is telling Stinger that Annie can’t come to the phone now, she’s busy working… Some time later, I’m in the same pub, or perhaps a different more brightly lit one. I look around me, and consider asking one of the many smiling relaxed people what the name of the pub is. But that seems silly. I notice a wooden sign on the wall and distinguish the letters GW and maybe NYTH, although I can’t be sure. I spot a bathroom and walk into it.

A woman enters the single stall before me, so I decide to use the toilet outside it. As I’m sitting on it, I become aware of a man in uniform overalls, of an indistinct blue-gray color. Apparently, this us a unisex bathroom. The man is accompanied by a large black dog. I notice him because he’s suddenly too close, and then it’s obvious he’s deliberately pretending to look into another stall so he can rub up against me. I remember this happening a few times before. Having finished my business, I get up and tell him, “Stay away from me, you’re just too horny!” I move over to the sink and look at my reflection in the mirror. I am not Maria Isabel Pita. I am a completely different woman. This does not surprise me, and I lean toward the glass to better examine the dark circles beneath my-her eyes. Wow, they are really black! This woman is not well. I wonder if this means I too am suffering from some hidden illness, but the face is not mine, and the skin beneath her eyes is not only black but oddly wrinkled and scaled, almost reptilian. Is this some kind of deliberate make-up she has applied to accentuate her eyes? I study her short darkhair, which is full enough that she can artfully pin it up here and there in a sort of retro style. She has small, dainty features, and is very slender. She’s not bad looking, but definitely past her prime. She is resigned about this, but still rather proud of her looks. On her-my way out of the bathroom, we pass the man with the dog and warn him, “If you come near me again, I’ll call the police.”

Outside the pub now, I join a stream of pedestrian traffic. It’s night time, but the city is brimming with life. I pause for a moment. The mall-like facade on my left is not where I want to go. I walk quickly and purposefully in the opposite direction, sensing my destination is not too far away. I’m very conscious of my tight jacket and pants and high-heeled boots, and of my confident, sexy stride. I still have a really great figure even if I am a little older now. I pass the man in the overalls, who now appears to be fishing through a garbage can. I, Maria, not the woman whose body I’m inhabiting, sense this man’s hostile focus on her, and the danger she put herself in by angering him. She is very sure of herself, she believes she can fight him off if he ever dares lay hands on her. But I’m concerned for her because I somehow know he plans to follow her, and if he catches her somewhere in the dark, and alone, it will be bad. As we keep walking, she-me delight in being surrounded by people all out for a good time. This pedestrian walkway is well lit, and I clearly see the pale face of a rather attractive blonde man, which somehow confirms to me that I’m somewhere in Europe. It’s a nice change from living out in the country, and I’m thinking how much I’m enjoying visiting a city for a while, when I phase out of the dream.

Dream Notes:

I woke up trying to make sense of this dream, which was incredibly vivid and, I felt, important because of the way I phased out of it as I tend to do after a semi-lucid or a lucid dream. It happened around 3:00 in the morning, which is unusually early.

In the dream, I was trying to get in touch with someone in the dream space whose name reminded me of an old bartender acquaintance. The name of the woman I inhabited in the dream may be, or sound like, Annie, and she may work in a pub or restaurant. She definitely looks like the woman I saw reflected in the mirror, and she lives in a city. She is in some kind of danger from a man who is stalking her. This man may be homeless and/or he may be accompanied by a large dog. Or this dog, which made me think of a police dog, may indicate he already has a record, perhaps as a sex offender. She may live near a restaurant pub the name of which begins with G.

I have to wonder why I picked up on this woman at all. There are many possibilities. I will probably never know. But the experience seems to reinforce the concept of parallel lives, because I was consciously myself, Maria Isabel Pita, and yet I was also this other woman at the same time. Looking in a mirror and seeing someone else, even while retaining your own conscious identity, is an uncanny experience. I felt detached from the woman, and yet I could sense much of what she was feeling. Perhaps one reason I had this dream is because I’m increasingly aware of how Maria Isabel Pita isn’t who I really am but only one of countless possible reflections of my soul. I imagine my soul feels about my current personality as I did about the woman I saw in the mirror, I was her and yet I wasn’t, I was more, an awareness that both inhabited her and transcended her, and was aware of what might happen to her.

Maybe one day some woman might read this dream and recognize herself in it? Anything is possible. It’s an intriguing mystery why I so vividly saw and experienced myself as someone else for a time, someone I sensed was in danger of being hurt.