I hate it when everyone in a dream keeps asking why you’re snoring. At first it’s embarrassing, then after a while it’s more like, “Bah! Leave me alone.”
If you’re into lucid dreaming, LionsRoar.com has an interesting article, What is dream yoga and how do I do it?
We were playing at our camp when my older brother — who was standing on higher ground than I — saw something in the distance. He stood upright, then perfectly still. After a few moments he turned to me in a look of panic I had never seen before, pointed in a direction opposite from where he was looking, and screamed, “Run! Run!” I was startled at his behavior but I knew that something was very wrong, so I ran. And I ran.
I ran as fast as I could, weaving through the brush and constantly changing my course as I was chased by a white man on a dark horse. I thought I might be close to safety when I darted through some bushes, but I ran right into a creek that was too wide to jump across. As I paused for a moment to decide how to continue, the white man shot me in the back.
In intense pain and sudden shock, I stumbled forward into the creek, bent over with one hand in the creek. As I attempted to stand up and regain my balance, I was shot in the back again. This time my body flew forward towards the opposite side of the creek. I tried to control my fall but could not, and my torso slammed against the land. The right side of my face was pressed against the ground, my eyes still open. My right arm was trapped under my body, my left arm was somewhere down my left side. My legs lay in the creek’s water.
I woke up on the left side of a king size bed this morning. It wasn’t my bed, but I was blanketed in a thick, soft comforter, which felt wonderful. I looked around briefly. Wherever I was, the room seemed very nice. It was light outside.
As my other senses came to me, I realized that what woke me up was a strange woman standing on the right side of the bed, yelling at me. She wanted to know where I got the warm Cinnabon that was on the nightstand next to me. More accurately, she rather forcefully wanted to know if someone brought that for me, and if so, who.
I’m laying in bed in my apartment, and there’s a knock at the front door. It’s dark, so as I walk to the front door to see who’s there, I see white light coming in from all sides around the door. “Must be one heck of a light out there,” I think. I open the door, and my wife (who I’m separated from) is standing there, and this white glow is all around her.
I don’t even get a chance to think or say hello, and she says, “You died in a hotel in 1984. Everything since then has been a dream.”
With this, I instantly wake up in my bed. My body is shaking like crazy, but I jump up, look back and think, “I am NOT getting back into that bed tonight.”
As I walk around the apartment debating about whether I should try to sleep on the floor or just go into work at four o’clock in the morning, I remember ... I did spend a lot of time in a hotel in 1984.
Had another dream this morning that I was running on all fours. Rather than ask myself, “Why in the world am I doing this?”, I now just accept that I’m a dog (or a cat, or some other animal) in the dream. That helps me go along with whatever is happening in the dream, rather than fight it and wake up.
(Notes from a dream on June 28, 2016)
Every once in a while I have a dream where someone is speaking in a language I don’t understand. This morning a woman said something that sounded like, “Yada yada yada Thich Nhat Hanh yada yada.”
I replied, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re saying, but I think I heard ‘Thich Nhat Hanh’ in there.”
She got excited and seemed to repeat the same phrase faster, “Yada yada yada Thich Nhat Hanh yada yada!”
Being clever, I decided to speak very slowly: “I .. don’t .. know .. what .. you’re .. saying, but it sounds like it might be in French.”
Her: “Français?! Oui. Yada yada yada Thich Nhat Hanh yada yada!”
Unfortunately I then had the familiar feeling that I was about to be pulled away from the scene. She had been speaking with her hands a lot, so I held her hands with mine and said, “Something is wrong with my body, I have to go now. Come back again and we’ll try to figure this out,” and with a little “whoosh” I woke up in bed.
(A Facebook post from June 13, 2016.)
Every so often a woman in a lucid dream this morning yelled out like that, so after the fourth or fifth time I had to ask her about it. “Why do you keep saying that?,” I asked.
“Gets your attention, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“There you have it.”
“There I have what?”
There’s a scene in the movie, The Family Man, where Nicolas Cage is sitting in a chair and trying to stay awake, because he knows that when he falls asleep his “glimpse” will be over.
The moments just before passing out are like that. Assuming that you’re not panicking, you’re vibrantly aware of everything around you — colors, smells, etc., because you don’t know if you’re just passing out or this is Game Over.
The end of a lucid dream can also be like that. You can be in the dream, know that you’re dreaming, and then know that you’re starting to wake up. You don’t want to leave, but you don’t have a choice, so you pay great attention to the environment because you know that you may never see it again.
To the best of my knowledge, all of those are also the correct mental state for Zen and mindfulness meditation. As Shunryu Suzuki says, “The true practice of meditation is to sit as if you are drinking water when you are thirsty.”
Had a fun multi-level Inception-like lucid dream last night. In two dream levels I saw the time was 11:40. When I woke up (for real) and went in the other room and looked at the clock, it was indeed 11:40pm.
In the last level, Uninvited was playing, until I walked around, following the music, found a radio, and turned it off.
May 3, 2103