lucid

For the past week or so I’ve thought to resume my dream journey but I had not taken any steps forward until last night when I created a new account here on DV and read through an old dream journal. When I woke this morning with the baby around 3-5am and could not fall back to sleep per usual, I recited that old familiar mantra “I will dream and know that I am dreaming.”

I received many fragments. I know one of which I was briefly lucid. I was in what appeared to be an underground subway. I knew I was underground, I knew this was a place where travelers found direction and there was a long hallway before me. It was particularly bright, as if there were light radiating from the walls. The walls were two toned. There were small square inch tiles, clean white on the bottom and iridescent blue on top. As I became lucid I tried to grab hold. I focused in on the details of the tiles. The blue shimmered as if it was alive, subtly dancing. It was a beautiful bright royal blue. I reached to touch and they were uniquely textured, rough like sandpaper but soft like sand. I woke again. Every time I woke I recited the mantra and fell back to sleep.

Other fragments included more dreams about trying to measure my blood pressure in various stressful situations. RL I have struggled with medical anxiety due to several traumas over the past year and it has been the subject of my nightmares for the past few weeks which is one of the reasons I was drawn back here.

Blurry. I dreamt I was at a party of sorts. The party goers were nurses. I made friends with them. I was at a table with several of them. One nurse spoke to me as if I was diagnosed with a terminal illness, confirming a lack of comorbidities and listing all the reasons I had to be grateful. She was kind and reassuring. I was confused. She thought I had cancer. Another nurse indicated to her that I did not. She looked embarrassed. I probably looked frightened. My husband beside me squeezed my hand.

There was a large hill. Someone one was hurt at the bottom of it. I tried to help.

I made more friends. We talked. We shared our vulnerabilities and laughed together. I felt lonely when I woke up.

October 8th 2021

I was in a desert. I was climbing a sand dune. On the other side there was a man. He was about my age with shoulder length dirty blonde hair. He wore sandals, shorts and an Aztec print jacket. He sat on his knees in front of a headstone shaped ruin. There were four heiroglyphs at the top of the stone. The far right resembled a monk, to its left there was a male monkey and then a female, I instictinvely knew both were Divine. The heiroglyph to the far right beside the female was yet still imperceptible. Beneath these there were sygils drawn in chalk as well as vibrant gems of various shapes and sizes intentionally set inside cavities of the ruin. He was methodically moving these gems as if trying to solve a puzzle. Beside him was another ruin that he had used as a book shelf. It was full of books. I tried to speak to him but in his concentration I was a fly on the wall, not even as annoying, just there. Without looking up he pointed to the top of the sand dune to our right, “He will help you.” An older man suddenly appeared at the top and beckoned to me.

The old man was kind. He talked to me as if we were old friends. It was mundane conversation. He was agile for his age. He told me to follow him. He led me into a library. It was not grand or ornate but it was beautiful. The cielings were high but not extravagently so. There was a long stained wood table that sat in the middle of the room. There were paintings on the far right wall. There were more than just books on the shelf, ancient artifacts and magicks. The room resembled the ambiance of an old church, it was sacred. It reminded me of the The Sistine Chapel. But the energy here swelled like nothing I have ever experienced before, not even The Pope himself could compete. I gasped. The old man nonchalantly meandered behind the desk.

An old woman, very old, approached me. She was inhumanly tall and lanky. She hunched under the high cielings. She wore a long black and purple dress that seemed as frail as she and hair as white as light fell to her waist, given her height it must have been as long as I am tall. “What are you here for?” “I don’t know, he guided me here.” “Oh, you’re one of those. I will find what you need.” She was gruff but kind. She headed towards the back wall. She pulled several books out from the shelf and grunted with dissappointment at each one. “I will find one that is for your level.” She pulled out a small rectangular book and tapped it, with each tap the book changed in cover, shape and size. “Here we go.” The book title was “—- dreaming.” I did not recognize the first word but it was not lucid. I got the feeling lucid dreaming was no longer sufficient. I asked her how I was supposed to keep up with the book in my dreams. “Oh, they come and they go when they are meant to.” I do not even know how to read in my dreams but somehow I knew that would not be an issue with this book. I asked how the man I had seen in the desert had a bookshelf full of books. “He has ways I could not even gain access to.”

There was a man staring at a painting on the wall. I stood beside him and stared at a painting to his right. I recognized it. My heart felt like it was going to burst open. I turned towards the old man behind the counter and exclaimed, “I recognize the painting, what is it?” He nodded towards it. When I looked back it had morphed into something else but it was imperceptible, like the far right heiroglyph. The man beside me was looking at his own painting changing shape and writing vigorously in a note book. I do not know how I knew but I knew that these paintings were exclusive to the viewer, a map of sorts but instead of directions they were guides? The old man told me that I was not ready for that yet. Behind him someone limped out of a doorway. It was my Papa.

He was frail. He used both canes. He was as thin as the last time I saw him but wore the same smile. He leaned up against the desk. I spoke with him casually. I asked him where we were. He explained in his own vocabulary that this was a middle world, a joint between spirit realms. I asked him why some of the older, even ancient, individuals I had met here were so agile and he was not. He said, “You all just have better genes for this.” The old man behind the counter said, “Speaking of, I think I am growing weary. I am going to rest now.” He stood up slowly, he seemed his age now. He walked through the shadowy doorway that Papa had limped out of. The dead could only visit here. Papa said he needed to go too. We said goodbye. I said I love you.