Maria Isabel Pita ― “Heavenly” Music in Lucid Dreaming

 

In a normal dream, I’m standing outside at night, and I think there’s snow on the ground. To my left is a three-story apartment building. Some people are on the porch, walking up the steps to go inside, when in the northeastern sky I clearly see a large shooting star—a comet shimmering with orange-gold lights falling toward earth at a pace that enables me to get a good long appreciative look at it.

 

I’m aware that the people entering the building have their backs to it. ― “Did you see that comet?!” I exclaim. ― “You missed it!” I remain outside, and am astonished when I see another comet, and another one, a whole group of them, raining down at an angle from the heavens.

 

A tall young man, and his friends, are on the sidewalk in front of me. I walk up to the tall youth, very deliberately, because it doesn’t seem possible I’m witnessing a real meteor shower. I look at his face, shadowed by night, and ask him, ― “Is this a dream?” He doesn’t reply and I state, quite lucidly, ―We’re dreaming. Can you fly?” He still doesn’t reply so I rise straight up into the sky, calling back down to him, ―See, it is a dream, you can fly too, or something to that effect, but he just stands there.

 

I turn my back on him and, still in an erect posture, glide into a dark forest. I don’t rise above it, I am surrounded by quietly rustling trees. And yet despite this almost subliminal rustling, the atmosphere is absolutely still, utterly silent, and there’s an eerie quality to it which somehow swallows my voice; it’s scarcely audible when I try to call out the name of my best friend who passed away. Instead, I end up barely whispering her name three times. As I come face-to-face with the top of a tree, I say quietly to her, ―I have to be careful,‖ for though I want very much to try and find her, the rather sinister magic of the forest inspires this sentiment. At once my lucidity fades…

 

I’m standing in the rec room of my home telling my mother and brother about how I became lucid when I saw all those comets raining down to earth. I crouch down in front of the television, suddenly seeing it as the portal into a lucid dream as I reach into it, attempting to pull myself into whatever scene it opens onto. I realize then that the glass door on my left leads out into a dream and I slide it open, triumphantly lucid once again.

 

This time as I step outside the atmosphere is not sinister, on the contrary, and I’m not surprised. The setting is different, and I can only describe it as the forecourt of a temple with columns rising on either side of me and an open area with no discernible end extending before me. It’s night time but there are soft gold-orange lights in the darkness. And from the east, directly to my right, emanates a beautiful music made by voices, and this wonderful music let’s me know there is nothing in this dream that can harm me.

 

Half gliding, half floating just above the ground in a vertical position, I say, ―I’m sorry,‖ apologizing to my friend for my cowardice in the first dream and for my inability to find her in these lucid dreams. I’m in no hurry to fly out into open darkness; I don’t actually feel that I can. I remain in the forecourt, floating there blissfully listening to the “heavenly” music, which is more beautiful than I can ever hope to describe. The atmosphere of this place was so open, so peaceful, so perfectly lovely and yet full of a sense of promise. It was a magical place I hope to return to again in a lucid dream.