My first lucid dream happened when I was a teenager. I dreamed that I was in my bedroom looking out of the window. The house next door was facing me instead of toward the street like it would have been in a waking state. And at that moment I realized I was in a dream. I thought if I were to reach outside the window someone will grab me and pull me out. So that’s what I did. I reached outside and strong hands grabbed me at the wrists. It frightened me so that I woke up. I never saw the owner of those hands. I tried to pick up where I left off when I returned to sleep but no luck. I will never know who it was that grabbed me.
It took a couple of years before I would be conscious in a dream again. When it did happen I would usually resort to having sex with whomever I wanted to have sex with, fly or try to speak to dead people. The latter wasn’t a very lucrative endeavor as I would try to talk to dead famous people and the people or persons who would show up were no one that I recognized. Now I regret not paying attention to them because they actually could have been the persons I was trying to reach in a different form. It’s hard to tell when you’re walking the thin line between conscious and subconscious. Sometimes I would become lucid in a nightmare. Someone or thing would be running me down and I would manifest super powers to thwart the attacker or conjure weapons to defend myself. Or I would simply tell myself to wake the fuck up…and I would.
I have not been able to do this dream trick in years. And it seems my dreams have taken on a whole new dimension of ordinary. Gone are the days of orgies and super-villains. Hello to mundane. I dream about grocery shopping and forgetting to pick up a vital item. I dream about running late to appointments….trying desperately to get where I need to be but shut down at every turn. Then there are the truly anxious dreams I have about losing my child. I will give you an example of a mundane flight into the dream world that I referenced in a conversation with my mother. Conversations with mothers are never mundane.
My mom was telling me about a bumper sticker she had seen on a car traveling on the highway recently. The bumper sticker read “I Love Bacon”. My mom was floored that someone could love bacon so much that they would express it on their vehicle. Of course I could. I love bacon that much. Unfortunately I only eat bacon at most three times a year because it’s so deliciously horrible for me. She did not believe me. She asked if I would sport a sticker on my car proclaiming it. I said…sure if I didn’t have a nice car. I’m not putting any stickers on my car now but my previous piece of shit would have been littered with stickers broadcasting my bacon love if I had come across them in my travels. She was dubious. So I told her of a dream that I had just a few days earlier.
I was on the set of a show or backstage at something. Pizza was delivered. It was pizza piled high with delicious strips of lengthy, crispy, deliciously dangerous bacon…not cut up or shredded…actual whole pieces. It was mounded so high that I could not see the pizza underneath. It was heaven. I grabbed a plate and massed as much bacon on it as it could hold and began eating. That was is it. The entire dream that I can recall. I remember feeling satisfied and happy. It was a powerful dream.
My mother thought I was crazy for loving bacon so much that I would dream of eating it. But it’s something that I deprive myself that I love…like real full fat mayonnaise and feta cheese. A cheese that mother insists tastes just as delicious in the non-fat versions. Oh, her poor palate.
My grand adventures into my subconscious are over…or are they? The night that I had the conversation with my mother I dreamed I was feeding a wild pig and it tried to bite my hand off…no lie. Maybe these are foreshadows of what’s to be. I hope the former dream is anyway and not the latter.
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