Maria Pita – Brothers in Lucid Dreaming

 

I am myself, but part of a row of men playing a game that involves turning down wooden handle/ slots, one at a time, in the process of discovering the winning number, which is apparently supposed to be ‘9’. The final lever is pushed down, and the winning number is not ‘9’. One man says that whoever said it would be ‘9’ will be replaced because his success rate is down to 80-90.

 

We all turn to face the center of the space as the ‘leaders’ in charge of whatever is going on here troop out, about five of them, and go stand on an elevated platform looking down at us. We are all wearing dark clothes, and I sense the men are in heavy coats. The central figure on the platform is the one in charge, but he is actually a very tall shining silver Christmas tree. It does not seem strange at all.

 

Then a man standing to my right, between the performers and the audience, looks right at me as he strides over to me, and with a somewhat hostile, sardonic expression, tosses something into my lap. I start, feeling it is a weapon of some kind, a sharp little blade, but when I look down, I lift up between two fingertips a tiny silver Christmas ornament in the shape of a Christmas tree. Now I see the living tree closer to me on the stage, leaning forward dramatically to try and reach something (near where the hostile man was standing) and I’m afraid he will topple over, but he doesn’t.

 

I turn to leave this place, and as I walk toward the exit, a silvery chiming music follows me out that inspires me to raise both my bare arms over my head and undulate them in response to the lovely ethereal sound. I walk out onto nocturnal city streets again, and the memory of the delicate, transcendent chiming lingering in me makes me want to dance, so I undulate my hips and sway my arms in a sort of restrained belly dance style, gently walking myself into lucidity. I finally realize I’ve been dreaming, and looking around me at the buildings, and above them at a dark night sky, I declare, “Here I am, Lord!” Then I think—But where is here? The dream feels like a stage set. I am free in the dream space, but still caught in the semblance of a waking reality scene, a facade I suddenly long to transcend.

 

Walking and gyrating my hips, enjoying my dream body, and how dancing roots me effortlessly in the dream, I suddenly perceive a colossal cloud just above the dark building in front of me… a cloud in the shape of a man’s head. He has dark hair, his eyes are closed, and his slightly orange-red skin puts me in mind of a Native American Indian.

 

The head is slowly revolving, turning toward me. Still dancing in place, I rise up into the sky, and as his face is revealed to me, I become hyper-aware of the long-sleeved drab brown uniform I’m trapped in made of an annoying stiff material. I begin pealing it off me impatiently so I can move freely.

 

Parallel to the great head, I drift gently away from it, and from this distance—as more light suffuses the dream scene, and the shadowy countenance is filled in with rich colors like a painting—I find myself gazing upon what looks like a young and handsome Frenchman or Spaniard with shoulder-length black hair. His eyes are closed, and there is a gentle, heartwarming smile on his lips. Even though I don’t see his mouth move, I know He is the one who speaks, his VOICE filling the dream as it utters just one word, ‘L’AMOUR.’

 

I cry joyfully, ‘El amor!’ The sun has risen, the city below me is clearly delineated by vibrant colors, and I cry, ‘España!… Cuba!… Mi pobre Cuba!’ (‘Spain! Cuba! My poor Cuba!’) The buildings are on a human scale, no cold metal skyscrapers in sight, and I glimpse blue water beyond the rooftops. I twirl in place as I float through the sky, and become aware that behind me, and to one side of me, there is now a long white wall hung with great rectangular paintings alive with deep, vibrant colors—human figures in a variety of settings and activities, but everywhere smiling at each other. The dream has created an outdoor gallery displaying works of art on pure white walls high in the sky. So beautiful! So vibrantly alive! So full of a deep joy expressed in the painting’s colors.

 

I drift happily, until passing the edge of one of these walls, I suddenly feel myself heading inside, and cry, ‘Oh no, not inside!’ and promptly turn around. But it doesn’t work, I simply end up entering another room of what is now an enclosed museum. Everywhere I look there are mostly prone statues of figures. I only perceive male forms, one in particular, lying on a table cluttered with other objects, about half life size, and wearing dark-brown bronze armor of some kind, or so it seems to me.

 

I feel myself heading deeper and deeper into this museum crowded with ancient objects. Now I see a small white counter at the back of the room, and I somehow know there is a room opening off it (to my left) which is where I’m headed. Before I reach the counter, however, a man exits this room. As he passes right by me, he says to me, ‘My brother?’ I don’t reply as I drift behind the counter marveling at how realistic the clutter back here is as I discern hats, clothes, all sorts of department store like items crowding the shelves. Just before I reach the ‘secret’ back room, I wake.