Din

Between Sleeping and Waking: Dream Diary of the Man Who Doesn't Make Sense.

Monday, July 11, 2011:

Day 2: The Man on the Balcony.

I was in a massive dome, filled to the brim with people I had and hadn't known throughout the years. I was amazed at this meeting, for I hadn't anticipated to see these people again. Just as quickly, a thought came to me.

"I must be dreaming".

Then, quickly my perception of the scene changed. I was then aware that this room, these people, had all been bred from a single source - my mind. They were dream manifestations of my attitudes and personality, and I knew it. As I looked about the room in amazement, the folk had smiled at me. Yet, even with that realization, I was at a rather low level of lucidity. Though I knew I was dreaming, that still didn't stop my interactions toward others. I still thought I had a social reputation to maintain, in spite of knowing that I was dreaming.

In accordance to this, I had faintly whispered, so as not to disturb others, "Awareness now".

Obviously, not much had happened. I had then ignored this, moving outside with a few DC friends (whom I didn't know previously). We were on top of a large, steel, balcony. There were stairs directly to our right, and the dream characters had set off to use those. I, however, had opted for a different method of reaching the ground floor.

"Do you know what's more fun than using stairs?" I asked the two DCs.

"What?"

"Jumping off the balcony".

And then I quickly got up to the balcony and, in spite of feeling coldness in my veins, attempted to bring myself to jump directly off, knowing that I would land on the floor without harm. Upon getting up on the balcony, I felt nauseated. It wasn't necessarily the pain that concerned me, but the speed of the fall. This isn't specific to my dream. In waking life, I am terrified of many amusement park rides - particularly roller-coasters.

Come on! I prompted myself. Jump! You'll be alright.

I couldn't do it.

I then lost lucidity.

Between Sleeping and Waking: Dream Diary of the Man Who Doesn't Make Sense.

Sunday, July 3, 2011:

Day 1: Under the Radiant Stars.

All was empty, and twilight had settled on the silent, stone courtyard. It was there that I sat, the cool marble underneath my butt welcoming me, the courtyard's sole visitor - or so I had assumed.

"Hey," rang a low, musky voice.

I walked over to what seemed to be a man in the ground, his head and arms protruding from the earthy barrier beneath. Chunks of flesh had been ripped from his blue, ripe skin. And yet, the strange thing was, he wasn't at all frightening. His aura held a strange wiseness.

"You know, this is all a dream".

I stood, my mind and face in total contemplation. But, honoring the man in the earth's suggestion, I took my index finger and thumb. It was then that I had pinched a piece of my forearm.

Nothing.

It was as if my arm had been replaced a piece of flabby rubber. No pain could be felt whatsoever. That was when I saw the truth in the man in the earth's statement. Sleep paralysis had befallen me. That could only have meant one thing.

"I'm asleep," I said, astounded at my new-found dream body. "That means..."

At this realization, I had laughed and laughed like a child, with exclamations of "I did it!" spurting from my mouth. At last, after many weeks of reality checking, I had achieved lucidity. This had marked my very first lucid dream. Then, I had remembered from my waking life that, during a lucid dream, the only limit is the imagination. With this, I jumped as high as I could. I was amazed at the height my particularly light-footed jump had scaled as I came back down, landing on both feet with ease. But, I knew what it was that I truly wanted to do, and that was to fly. And so, I sprung myself forward as far as I could.

I then promptly landed belly-first.

Now, had I attempted that stunt in my waking life, I surely would have shattered every bone in my body. Luckily, that wasn't the case. I quickly got back up on my feet, and pondered what it was that had caused my inability to fly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man with long blond hair to the side of the courtyard, sitting in an old chair and rocking forward and back.

I walked up to him and, without second thought, asked, "How do you fly?"

At this, he looked at me for a moment. Not in frustration, but in patience. He then said...

That was when I awoke in my soft wooden bed to the footsteps of my schoolmate and the iridescent, dull light that had shone in from the nearby window. Though I was sad at not hearing the man's words, today was a day like any other. I got myself out of bed and went to get my books for school. I was a bit sad that I had woken up so quickly, for my lucid dream had just begun. Yet, this feeling of sadness was quickly replaced with one of eccentricity. I had my first lucid dream. Very few in our society could truthfully say such a thing. Yet, I questioned my new-found consciousness. I had remembered that text read would generally be jumbled during a dream. At this, out of my own curiosity, I checked the textbooks on my writing desk for verification that I was awake. As I looked at the title and author of the first book I saw, I noticed that the name and author seemed to be gibberish. However, I craved further confirmation. I then opened up a book and looked at the text of its pages, which held multiple words, which I do not remember now. I quickly lost myself in the reading material.

Then I woke up again.