Maria Isabel Pita – Another Talk With Papi in Lucid Dreaming


I find myself in a house, which I sense is filled with loved ones and a few other people I’m close to. I’m engaged in an activity I can’t remember now. I hear someone arrive at the front door, which is concealed behind the wall of a small entrance foyer behind me. I can’t interrupt what I’m doing, so I urge Mami – who drifts toward the door reluctantly in a long pale nightgown – to let the person in. I suffer a twinge of guilt at making her do this, because I know it’s Papi at the door, and that she’s afraid of the nightmares my dream encounters with him might give her.


But I also think it’s time she got over this, and acknowledged his continued presence in our lives even though he’s technically dead. She opens the door to him, and finishing up my task, I hurry over to greet him as he makes a left around the wall of the foyer, and steps into the main room. He’s wearing an immaculate, exquisitely tailored suit of a color blue that doesn’t exist on earth, an uplifting, beautiful blue.


‘Papi, you’re wearing the suit you wore in my last dream,’ I exclaim, ‘the suit I knew you would wear!’ He walks a little deeper into the space, and I stand happily before him, looking up at his face… up and up! ‘Papi, you’re getting taller!’ I observe joyfully, because I feel I know this means he’s growing spiritually.


He stands there a moment, gazing over my head, a gently gratified smile on his face, which looks younger and darker, with a slight golden tan. (Normally, I see him as he appeared later in life). Then he looks down into my eyes, and suddenly we’re face-to-face as we ‘glide’ into a small room behind me, as if he’s pushing me backward, his dark eyes gleaming with intense feeling. We ‘land’ on a comfortable couch in this alcove, which is like a lucid drop of water in the rushing river of my other dreams.


Papi begins talking to me, looking grave now, as he tells me about going to see his own father. I have to struggle to grasp what he’s saying. I remember my paternal grandfather, who I rarely saw and didn’t much like, of the time I went with Papi to visit his grave. I’m confused, because Papi seems to be talking about him as if he’s still dead?


‘We couldn’t go back to our house,’ he tells me, ‘because of the people who live there now…’ My confusion peaks and I declare, ‘But Papi, there are no physical bodies on the Other Side…’ He looks at me – he was staring into the distance as he spoke – and says, ‘Oh, no, but together we help each other get through it…’ That makes sense, that he and his father are helping each other in ways only they can fathom.


I’m sitting on the edge of the couch, gazing down at him where he reclines against it. I ask him a question I can’t recall now, but I clearly, vividly, remember his response: ‘God is there…’ I suddenly notice slender shafts of golden light shining down from above and behind him, as if cradling him. ‘You feel pain in your essence…’ He rests his left hand over where his physical heart would have been, and I observe a soft, whitish light that seems concentrated in his chest area. ‘Forceful people come to you…’


I have no wish to mar the perfect understanding that filled me looking at his face, and the light, and listening to his words, by explaining the profound sense of what he conveyed to me. We stand up, and I quickly move over to another couch where I find pen and paper, and quickly write down his responses to me word-per-word, determined to remember them this time when I wake up.


Then I go stand beside him where he’s leaning against one wall as Abuela, my maternal grandmother, silently observes us from a few feet away where she stands close to an adjacent wall. I’m thinking hard about the question rising up from my heart without my conscious intent, ‘You can’t ever see God?’ I mean face-to-face, but I know at once that did not come out right.


Papi looks astonished, and a little incensed, as if what I just said is ridiculous, and I quickly explain myself, ‘Of course you can see Him! You see Him all the time, because He is everything. He is All, the Absolute.’ Papi’s mollified expression seems to confirm my words as I phase out of the dream.


I think it’s because I wrote down his responses to me while still in the lucid dream, not after a false awakening, that I was able to hold them in my brain this time. I pictured the words as I wrote them, saw them, and this anchored them, for otherwise I feel they would have flowed away just like last time. Nevertheless, it’s impossible to describe how I felt seeing my father resting against those fingers of golden light. Just seeing them, being in their Presence, was a blessing.


Even though I always wrote stories and novels and poems since I was a little kid, Papi always encouraged me to study journalism in college, a possibility I laughed at every time he mentioned it. Curiously, it now seems, Papi, that you’re getting your wish of me becoming a journalist as you make it possible for me to interview you in dreams about life on the Other Side.