By Patrick Paulin © 2016

It was similar to the feeling of waking up from a midday nap only I was not lying down. I was sitting upright on a couch and my eyes were wide open. My surroundings slowly began to come into focus. While I sat quietly, a tall gentleman was moving about the room not saying a word. He seemed to be occupying himself with mundane tasks like straightening and organizing, moving items from one place to another. As I sat, tracking his movements, the remaining haze fell away and my vision snapped into focus. It was my father-in-law, Phil.

It’s hard to believe that four years have passed since an unexpected cancer diagnosis lead to a surgery that my father-in-law did not recover from. Beloved husband, father, grandfather, and brother, the sudden loss hit the whole family hard in a jarring kind of way. In the months that followed, he was present in everyone’s dreams and even those who were not skilled at remembering dreams were waking with clear and touching memories of encounters with their lost loved one.

As a practicing lucid dreamer, my experience was a little different in that each time I saw him, it was an automatic lucidity trigger. My hit rate for lucid dreams went through the roof for a period of time but what struck me as odd was my inability to interact with him. Each time, I would either be drawn quickly away or, when attempting to speak with him, would not get a response.

Now, four years later, my dream encounters with my father-in-law have grown fewer and further between. That is, of course, until recently when I woke up on his couch. Normally, in my dreams with him, we were surrounded by other people. Crowded in by other family members and low level chaos. This time however, it was just the two of us. Quiet and peaceful. Prior to becoming lucid, I recall my disbelief that he was back.

A moment later, I was fully aware that I was dreaming. Keeping with the first cardinal rules of lucid dreaming, I remained calm, shifted my focus around the room, and began to rub my hands together for tactical grounding. We were in an immaculate modern-styled home that must have been carved into the side of a mountain at high elevation. One wall was completely glass, revealing a breathtaking view of surrounding mountains and an ocean. “Dad,” I softly broke the silence, “Is this where you live now?” Continuing to shuffle around the room and paying little attention to me, he confirmed that it was.

A moment later, I was fully aware that I was dreaming. Keeping with the first cardinal rules of lucid dreaming, I remained calm, shifted my focus around the room, and began to rub my hands together for tactical grounding. We were in an immaculate modern-styled home that must have been carved into the side of a mountain at high elevation. One wall was completely glass, revealing a breathtaking view of surrounding mountains and an ocean. “Dad,” I softly broke the silence, “Is this where you live now?” Continuing to shuffle around the room and paying little attention to me, he confirmed that it was.

In the moment, I did not quite grasp the beauty of the location and how it was precisely the kind of place that Phil would love. Instead, I was perplexed by the solitude. “I thought that you would be spending time with Nonna.” I referenced my wife’s grandmother with whom Phil had been very close. She had passed away a short six months prior to his own passing. “Do you see other people?” He responded to say that he did see other people but not very often. While this was record breaking dream dialogue between the two of us, he was still standoffish and not directly engaging with me.

In retrospect, I would rate my level of lucidity a 6 out of 10 at this point. I carefully stood up from the couch and tested my ability to levitate. While I did lift a few feet off of the ground, it didn’t come easy. I had a nagging feeling that there was significance to this experience that I wasn’t able to put my finger on. There was something specific I was supposed to do.

My attention was drawn to an open sliding door that lead out to a balcony. I stepped out to take in the completeness of the view and also noticed that from the edge of the balcony was a deadly drop to the ground along a vertical mountainside. A split second later, I was thrust up and over the railing. It was less like a push and more like I had reached an immediate decision without contemplation to jump. After a momentary drop, I took flight effortlessly. For a time, I believe that Phil was with me. Slightly behind and to the side of me, I would catch glimpses of him.

I estimate that 15 to 20 minutes passed while I flew all around the dreamscape. Close to the water. Alongside the mountains. Near houses. Both with others and alone. I would conduct periodic reality checks, such as glancing at my hands, in order to stabilize the dream. Eventually, and again, seemingly without my direct volition, I landed inside of another building on the mountainside. I was standing alone in a great hall. Lucidity level 8 out of 10… maybe 9. I suddenly recalled the significance of this lucid dream. There was something very important that I had been planning to accomplish.

Over the prior couple of weeks, my wife and I were wondering whether we should regret our move to remote northwest New Jersey. We live on a wooded hillside that is both scenic and tranquil but also, during certain times of year, plagued by certain species of ticks that are indigenous to the area. One of which, the notorious deer tick, is a known host of Lyme disease. Residents are advised to follow strict protocols to avoid incident. Mind you, they are no larger than the tip of a sharpened pencil when they start out.

We recently found one inconspicuously attached to the back of my 8-year-old son’s head underneath his hair where it could not be seen. Not good. To the best of our calculation, it had been there for a minimum of 5 days and was at that point, we’ll say, much larger than the tip of a pencil.

From here, my wife and I slipped into the wormhole of various medical opinions and philosophies. The common message, however, seemed to be that there was not much we could do until symptoms presented but that given the nature of the incident, the likelihood was high that there would be some fall out. Typically, symptoms will appear within 30 days.

The issue weighed heavy on my wife and I and the thought of waiting to find out seemed absurd. Nonetheless, we had shopped the protocol around enough to feel confident that our options were limited. In the spirit of “it can’t hurt to try it”, I decided to fix my dream plan on an attempt to dream heal my son. I focused my intention on this objective along with the rest of my usual incubation techniques. The 30 day clock was ticking and I really wanted success. Morning after morning, I woke up with nothing. Of course, the best way to prevent a lucid dream is to want it too badly. But then it happened and, wow, I nearly missed it!