Maria Isabel Pita – On Top of the World in Lucid Dreaming
I’m strolling down a country road, not one familiar to me in waking reality. It’s a broad unpaved road. I’m alone. I’m walking close to a shoulder-high stone wall on my right. The lighting is luminous yet subdued. I sense open fields, a very soft green, stretching out beyond the wall. On my left is a dark forest. I’m perfectly relaxed, absolutely convinced I’m awake and out for a long, meditative walk. I’m very lucidly aware of what I’m doing, pleased to be where I am but not questioning where that is because it feels perfectly right, familiar without being known or recognized.
I become aware of the sound of a car slowly approaching behind me, I can hear its tires crunching the gravel, but it doesn’t concern me, it will simply drive by, but I do consider moving to the left side of the road, which is the proper protocol. Suddenly I think about Sara, the feel of her fills my heart, and I say out loud, ‘God, I miss you, Sara.’
I’m looking straight ahead of me and even as I speak, I distinctly feel her presence, indistinguishable from what I see, several yards ahead of me—straight narrow column-like shafts of white light forming in a luminous mist obscuring part of the road, the wall and the field beyond, mysteriously dissolving any barriers or differences between them. Magic! Magical! It’s the only word I can find to describe what I saw, what I felt—Sara, my love for her, and her love for me, in the form of this gift.
The colonnade of luminous mist has an aura around it not exactly visible yet utterly discernible, as though all borders are erased, and this impression is strongest to the right where the open field, now a soft golden color, begins.
I finally cross to the left side of the road as I keep moving forward, but abruptly I hear and glimpse a car approaching from a driveway hidden in the woods and quicken my pace to get ahead of it. That’s when I begin rising off the ground, slowly but inexorably moving up and to the right, beyond the wall and a fringe of trees, gently and inexorably realizing—and what a wonderful feeling it is!—that I’m in a dream.
Poised at the edge of the luminous columns of mist, just on the other side of the wall, before me a vast golden field with distant shapes as of mountains and maybe low town walls, I make an effort to fly, to move forward into the scene, but gravity is remarkably dense, resisting even the dolphin kick method I try that usually propels me forward at a good clip. I’m conscious of being dressed entirely in black, a long-sleeved shirt and slacks.
After a moment, I give up and surrender to the embracing current lifting me up off the road. I pat my breasts, rooting myself fully in the dream, relaxing back against the wind’s strong yet embracing force as it propels me forward and up. Through dimensions of time? For spread out below me, for as far as I can see in every direction, is a wondrous landscape I seem to recognize as Tuscany the way it might have appeared centuries ago, deep-green landscaped lawns with perfectly shaped conical pines and round bushes arranged in artistic symmetry alongside, and in the center of, curving walkways.
And yet this invisible rustic villa’s gardens are vast, much more impressive than the runways of a major airport. I’m hovering over this scene of nature contained in geometric shapes, so beautiful to behold and untainted by the sense that money or peasant labor is involved in its creation, for there are no people anywhere. The landscape reminds me of Italy centuries ago but it also feels timeless, like much more than what I’m labeling it.
And then I become aware of a black line that forms beside me from below as though emerging from my own black figure, a line that is slender and yet dimensional enough for me to perch on its sharp tip, my arms outstretched, as I look down. Wow! I am suddenly so high up the world is only just barely visible, a flat expanse without borders of circular rooftops and rectangular buildings, walls and avenues, so far, far away the colors are softened, a light-brown sandstone predominating.
No words can express the breathtaking awe I experienced poised on this black, sword-sharp shaft with no discernible beginning, gazing down at the world. I hadn’t flown up there on my own, I knew in my heart I had been brought there, this view, this vision, felt like a special gift, and I joyfully appreciated it.
Now what!? I experience a tinge of concern wondering if I somehow fell asleep on the road I was walking on, which wouldn’t be a good thing as a car might run me over, but I can’t worry about that. I want to remain in this incredible lucid dream, so I do what I’ve done in all my most recent lucid dreams and reach into the right pocket of my pants intending X’s key to be there. I find it, but it feels really small.
I pull it out and look at it. It definitely resembles the actual key, the only problem is, it grows as I stare at it, becoming broader and more brassy looking. I’m on the ground now; the key brought me straight back down to earth and the street of a city, a pleasant one, no skyscrapers, a foreign feel. I’m next to a building with an open balcony above a short flight of steps. A good source for doors on which to use my key.
I proceed inside along a narrow and short corridor with a door opening on the left into a very small office with distinct masculine touches. It occurs to me if I open something in here I might learn something about X and look around me for a possible object. There isn’t anything except a terracotta-like container, only about two feet in diameter, I can’t really remember it clearly. The problem is, the key hole is way too small.
I turn away, intending to continue my search, but then it occurs to me I can fish another, much smaller key, from my right pocket, and that’s just what I do. Turning back with the little silver key, I thrust it determinedly into the lock and turn it to the right. I open the tight, narrow drawer, which is crammed with stuff. The only distinct object in the junk-like clutter, the first thing I see, is a thin pewter-like letter opener with a sharp, tapering end while the top is carved in the shape of a bird. More birds I think, sifting through the paper and handling a curious charm-bracelet-like object made of yellow and red squares that look like plastic, but I’m not really sure what the heck it is.
I abandon the drawer, with most of its contents strewn across the desk, and leave the room just as its owner returns, a young woman with dark hair. We smile at each other, but once out in the corridor, I consider that she might not appreciate having her drawer rifled through. Sure enough, I hear her complaining and hurrying out after me. Time to go! Smiling, I Superman straight up through the ceiling, which is solid and resists but gives way to my absolutely determined intent. It was the fastest way out of there.
I’m still in this quaint feeling city, and as I bridge a barrier, climbing over it, I think there’s no reason for me to wake up yet. As I begin walking along a street, I remember I want to try and heal an annoying little cold sore that keeps coming back. To this end, I raise my right hand to the side of my face and point my index finger at the spot, the right side of my mouth where my two lips meet, even as I become aware of my reflection in the glass side of a building and approach it.
I intend the violet healing energy I used to cure my tendinitis to emanate from my index finger, and waiting for it to appear, I notice that even though I’m sure it’s me I’m seeing, the reflection is showing me a man’s face. It’s not a perfect mirror reflection, but I can see that he’s handsome and smiling. I’m immensely gratified by the thin, laser-like shaft of violet-purple light, with a circle around it like a targeting system, emanating from my finger aimed straight at the spot where my tiny cold sore is in waking reality.
This is much more powerful looking than the faint violet glimmers I was able to conjure more than a year ago in lucid dream healings. I focus this beam on the exact spot necessary in the reflection of the man’s/my face for a good amount of time, actually able to feel something happening on my dream face as I wake.
Dream Notes: I really can’t describe how I felt when I saw that columned mist form that was filled with Sara. I’ll never forget it. Once I became lucid, I tried to take control of the dream but was not permitted to do so. As X pointed out, I was being shown something for some reason. I feel it was a gift from my late bff, Sara, whose unpublished writings I am currently transcribing, a painful and yet also wonderful process as I feel so profoundly close to her as I read and type her handwritten poems and stories. The first half of the dream which felt like a gift, felt very different from the second half after I took control.
I wear black yoga pants a lot, but seldom black shirts anymore. I was unusually conscious of my outfit. Light is something whereas darkness is nothing, and yet everything is latent in its ’emptiness’ which is really full of energy. I was dressed by the dream in a black that perfectly matched the black ‘line’ I perched on above the world, my outstretched arms reminiscent of the Christ statue in Brazil. I comprehend this metaphysically – my Inner Self is an infinite nothingness from which springs forth light, substance and form in the Divine gesture of creation.
At the end, I used a tried-and-true system of healing for my cold sore that wasn’t necessarily the best approach, as a cold sore is a symptom of an underlying virus and therefore not such a simple issue to address. With that said, there was no sign of it when I woke and, curiously, where it had been burned a little, as though I had swabbed it with rubbing alcohol.
I can guess it was X’s face I was seeing in the glass because our telepathic link is proving to be extremely powerful. As he suggested, using his key may have established a connection with him indicated by this reflection. There have been lots of birds in his dreams these past few days, hence my thought more birds when I found a pewter bird-shaped letter opener in the drawer. What’s curious is that I always use his key on a door, but this time the dream presented me with a terracotta container, or an urn?
The Etruscans practiced cremation and their remains were usually stored in terracotta jars and pots. It seems significant considering my aerial view of Tuscany earlier in the dream. My mother pointed out that Etruscan Divinators (Augurs) used birds to predict the future; they released birds and watched their flight patterns, etc.
She said, ‘You and X, in desiring to explore past lives together, are seeking, as the Etruscan priests did, to pierce the fabric of time.’ I then told her about X’s 3 birds in a cage dream and she stated emphatically, ‘They must be released.’ That’s what Augurs did, they released birds to read the future. X and I are seeking to read the past. Hence the heavily tarnished silver letter opener carved like a bird (I saw it as pewter but it could easily have been ancient silver) I found in the drawer of a terracotta urn. The letters could refer to our email correspondence and what we’re opening with it, as in discovering.