Maria Isabel Pita – Interior Castle in Lucid Dreaming
I wake up lying in the middle of a large empty intersection or grand city square. The ground is nearly the same color as my naked body, a soft rosy flesh tone. As I sit up, I know I have “woken up” in a lucid dream. Content and full of wonder, I look around me. The first thing I see in the distance, past the end of a long gently rising street, is a structure the vision of which stuns me with its vast power and beauty. I see the three pyramids of Giza—no longer ruins but a smooth soft golden color—rising one behind the other and forming the front of an immense Cathedral growing around and soaring high above them. I feel stunned by joy, for I have never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
I say out loud, “Oh my God!” as I gaze in awe at my own uniquely special Cathedral. I feel like I’m looking at a gift, offered me in this lucid dream, made especially for, and somehow also by, my soul. It also feels special the manner in which I entered this lucid dream, lying naked on the ground, and aware the moment I opened my eyes that I was lucid. I feel I have been brought into this dream space filled with an inner light.
I get up, but just stand there studying this most beautiful of cities! I see no people; the pedestrianstyle cobbled streets are all empty. No earthly city can begin to compare to the luminous, pastel-colored yet vivid beauty of the buildings rising only a few stories beneath a clear blue sky. I begin moving in the direction of the pyramids-cathedral, but as I walk, it seems to get closer, and looks less far away than it originally did, until it resembles a large but otherwise ordinary red roof top over white walls. I’m disappointed but not surprised I can’t reach that glorious place yet.
I call out, “My Angel?!” and immediately spot something like a big hawk perched on a narrow black pole—as though for a street sign or a flag— extending directly over a black wrought iron balcony approximately three stories up a building to my right at the end of the street closest to me. The creature’s movement as it turns to face me catches my eye, and between its dense gray-white wings I discern the figure of a person dressed in black. I hurry toward it because I can see—I know—it’s my Angel!
Beneath the balcony is a small crowd of people standing on the street, but I ignore the black-clad figures as I levitate gently up to the balcony, and hover beside it, so it is just below my chest. The balcony is now roughly the size of a large planter, but inside it there is neither soil, or the bird I saw from a distance. The balcony-planter is filled to the brim with a long-haired white cat lying in a pool of almost completely frozen water. This, of course, is impossible. The cat should be frozen to death, but it moves slightly, it can see me, and my concerned, curious touch seems to have the effect of swiftly thawing it out. Unharmed, it rises from the balconyplanter in the form of my Angel become a man approximately the size of a three-year-old child.
As I talk with my Angel, he remains a fully formed but doll-sized, handsome, dark-haired male figure wearing a black ankle-length tunic of sorts. In the midst of our conversation, I catch a glimpse of my face reflected in a window of the building, and it’s me exactly as I look now.
I tell my Angel, “I’m sorry for being so lame most of my life!”—regretting all the unpleasant things I put him through. As I apologize, I lean my forehead against his, and at this point, for an instant I perceive what appears to be the silvery beak of a hawk gently butting foreheads with mine.
My Angel says, “If you are a fighter, if you try hard, you can…”
Almost laughing, I declare, “You know I’m a fighter! I’m dying, right?” I’m surprised by my own question, because I certainly didn’t intend to ask it. I wonder why I did, because in waking reality I’m not at all worried about dying soon.
“No,” he replies. “I think you’re being very creative right now.” In the dream, the word “creative” feels synonymous with “healthy” which makes perfect sense to me.
I ask him, “What’s it like being an angel? Do you have a home?”
His reply to the latter question seems to be “No” because heaven, and all the realms in between— which I sense relates to “wherever” my soul is at any given time—are all linked to Home for “him.” At one point as we speak, I wonder what the point is of asking my Angel all these questions in a lucid dream because I don’t seem to be learning anything the Church doesn’t already teach about Guardian Angels. Yet it’s really nice, and viscerally confirms the reality of Catholic dogma while also providing me with enticing details about my own personal relationship with my Angel. And frankly, it’s just wonderful being with my Guardian Angel again in a lucid dream so naturally and openly.
As we talk, I glance back and forth from his face to the book he is holding in his hands. It looks like a medium-sized notebook or journal, the kind that might serve as a personal diary, with a vivid red cover, and I think I even notice a string in the form of a loop designed to seal it closed. I’ve only asked him a few questions, but I get the strong sense that if I keep going, I won’t be able to remember what we said to each other, so I slowly let myself wake up.
Dream Notes: Never in my life have I seen anything that gave me more joy than that pyramid Cathedral. It was like a visual representation of my soul. Saint Theresa of Avila likened the soul to a castle. Interior Castle is one of her books. I feel like I saw my Interior Castle last night.
The child-size Angel surprised me but is not unprecedented; Angels appear as Cherubs in many religious paintings. I’ve never been into Cherubs myself, but Angels of that size are common in the tradition. It pleases me that I saw my Angel in a way I never would have preferred to see him. It was not wish-fulfillment.
I call my dog, Arthur, “My Guardian Angel’s glove” and he is very much like a cat-dog the way he purrgrowls, and he is about the size of a large cat, and he has long hair. I think this relates to why I saw a big long-haired cat-like animal where I expected to see my Angel. I don’t know yet why the creature was frozen and I had to thaw it. Perhaps it’s a reference to how, for most of my adult life, my relationship with my Angel was “frozen” as in the sense of suspended, and only recently, with my fully conscious embrace of Catholicism, has my poor Angel been awakened from his suspended animation, so to speak. The creature was nearly frozen to death. Maybe it’s my Angel’s way of telling me, “And not a moment too soon or it would have been too late!”