Lucid Dream 2

This is a piece in a growing series of mine about dreams and lucid dreaming. In these stories I give first person accountings of some of the dreams that I have each night. Identities and locations can shift around with little to no warning and the narratives don’t follow typical plot structures. For more of these stories, click here.

Here we are again. We’re driving through a sprawling, luscious jungle and the trees are towering above us. I’m with my mother and my father; we’ve been here before. We drive past abandoned and long-forgotten factories that stand beside transparent pools filled with rainwater. They’re overrun with wild koi. These are no ordinary koi though… they’re human-lengthed and probably quadruple our weight.

The gargantuan, colorful creatures leap gracefully, almost weightlessly, in and out of the water in a way that cues me into the fact that I’m dreaming. As I sit in the back of the car, I struggle with exhaustion. Even in the midst of a dream, I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. Odd.

What I’m seeing is beautiful enough that I try my best to fight against fatigue. It helps that at precisely this moment, my dad decides that he has no regard for any of our lives and begins accelerating over steep, winding, mountain passes that meander through a sprawling ocean.

The waters seem to be growing stormier by the second. I’m terrified enough now that keeping my eyes open is no longer the issue, the issue is now imploring my dad to stop driving like a maniac. Just as suddenly as I realized I was dreaming, I’ve forgotten. Lucidity can be a little tenuous. My sightseeing tour has now shifted into a struggle to simply survive this car ride.

Suddenly, we’re surrounded by thick walls of bamboo on both sides. My dad continues driving at breakneck speeds, nearly crashing the car with each hill we speed over. My mom and I frantically persuade him to relent and he eventually pulls over. We get out of the car and the unmistakable smell of salt in the air brings me back to the fact that I’m dreaming.

Sometimes it’s the most benign things that can cue me into that realization. Other times, the T-rex chasing me through Malibu is hardly even enough to remind me. But this time, it’s the subtle smell of saltwater wafting gently toward me from a stormy sea.

I’m lucid, but the fabric of my dream is still intact. I observe my environment as closely as I can. There’s a trickle of a stream in front of me and a tiny, little bridge leading over it. To both my right and the left side is, first, bamboo, and, second, an ocean that’s equal parts violent and serene. Gaping waves crash to shore with an eerie silence.

On my left side, there’s an opening in the bamboo that leads precariously down to an uninviting rocky shore. Just ahead of the bridge in front of me, there’s a steep hill leading up to an overlook. I’m not sure why, but I can tell it’s important for me to get to it. I cross the bridge and begin to make my way up the hill. As I make my way forward, each footstep seems to grow increasingly difficult. This is a feature of dreams that I’m familiar with — so if I’m in control of my dream… why can’t I fight this? At least I’m up for the challenge!

I get on the ground and begin grasping at swaths of grass in a desperate attempt to make my way up the hill. With each handful I grab, I trudge another foot up. I decide to look at my phone. I pull it out of my right pocket and I open Snapchat to see an ex-girlfriend of mine exploring an abandoned building with a close friend of mine. Bitter envy fills me.

I try to remind myself that, within a dream, the things I see on my phone aren’t actually occurring in real life. This is a hard concept to grapple with. I attempt to write down within my phone’s notepad app what I’m experiencing. But my logic fails me here for some reason — it doesn’t register to me that I can never again return to the things I write within my dreams.

So I waste my time writing words that I forget will evaporate. But I suddenly remember just how much I want to get to the top of this hill. A shack comes into view. It stands starkly against the stormy black sky. It seems to be steeped in mysterious symbolism. It’s important for me to get to it. The harder I try though, the more difficult it becomes to move.

I look at the handful of grass I’ve grabbed hold of and notice how I can feel every blade of it within my palms. With eyes firmly planted on the shack ahead, I sit down on the ground now in happy defeat. I have a water bottle in my hands. I wonder, if I can feel each blade of grass within my fingertips, what will my water taste like? There’s a hint of lemon to it. Fascinating.

I’m not going to make it to the shack — and that’s okay. This is a beautiful experience. I wonder, just how much of this will stick with me? Will all of it? Is It possible that none of it will? That thought scares me. I consider again trying to record the experience within my phone, as my dream world gently fades around me and my waking reality replaces it with the smoothness of butter. (I remember what happened.)

Help support me by signing up for Medium here! By signing up through this link, you’ll be giving me a direct commission as well as getting access to the work of thousands of other writers. Thank you so much for reading!