I’m not sure when I realized what was happening in my dreams was real. My first memory is from when I was 10, shortly after my cat, Sassy, was euthanized from old age. Each animal I have had since then has had the same beginning, middle and end. The only difference is the time in my life.
I had been frustrated with my lack of lucid dreaming for months. Then on the first night that I quit smoking I had the most elaborate lucid dream I’ve ever had. I had to wake up enough to remember it . . . but realized if I had continued sleeping I would have forgot. I think my lucid dream “drought” is more of not being conscious enough to recall my dream experiences.
become lucid and walk a bit, but the dream is always fading the last two times so I ask the dream to show me what I need to do. A white lady with glasses has a book next to her.
It seems like the start of this dream is at the house where I grew up in Eastern PA. I’m at a golf course just down the street (where there is no golf course in waking reality), in a clubhouse with other people. I’m trying to find out where the first tee is but none of the dream figures will tell me anything. Finally I see a course map and figure out where to go. I start to go there carrying my golf bag (I never carry my bag in waking reality), which seems to have no weight.
I recently restarted recording my dreams in order to have more frequent lucid dreams, a sometime practice of mine since 1982. One early morning I was awake but attempting to fall back asleep, hopefully directly into a lucid dream.
Towards the end of a long dream of being on a huge campus with two friends, I am now on my own, exploring the place. At some point I stop to watch all the people around me, bustling about, lots of activity. I notice that there seems to be no roof above us, and yet I am ‘inside’ a large building.
For me, it seemed like a lucid-dream drought. Normally having several such dreams a month, I hadn’t had one for some time. Then, for whatever reason, the lucid-dream tide came in for several nights before receding again. On one of the nights, I had my longest lucid dream ever, a powerful one with some thought-provoking insights in addition to the usual lucid-dream fun.
I know that I’m sleeping, but there are no dream images—only darkness. Since I am lucid, I create a door in the darkness in front of me, open it, and head down a long tunnel with the intention that I will get to the source from which my life comes. I feel a fire-like warmth burning on top of my head. I feel great speed.
In the last scene of this lucid dream, I ask the dream for guidance, and, after receiving it, have a new outlook on waking life and am even able to release some of my suppressed emotions in the lucid portion of the dream. Therefore, I would say that this dream has offered me an enlightening resolution as to how to be more giving in waking life:
My dad got MS when I was about 10, and his ability to walk deteriorated rapidly until he was in a wheelchair full time. From my teens until about age 40 (1983) I had a recurring dream that as I crossed a street my legs would get progressively bogged down as if walking through dense goop until I could go no further.
For several days before I had the following dream, I had been reading The Three Pillars of Zen by Phillip Kapleau. In this book I was fascinated by the Zen Master Bassui’s sermon on One Mind. In this talk Bassui exhorts his students to resolutely push on to the root bottom where they would discover that their own mind is itself the Buddha, the Void-Universe.
In this dream, my lucidity was almost instantaneous, as I’d been meditating shortly before going to sleep. Initially, I was in a hypnogogic-like state as I fought some individual. Then the scene quickly shifted, after which I found myself in some elegant house, to which I would mysteriously return at various times throughout the dream.