As regular readers know, I occasionally have lucid dreams. Sometimes I share the memory of those dreams so that others can discuss their own experiences — or perhaps just see the weirdness floating around in my subconscious. For all those political posts that have made you ask: “What the heck is going on inside that man’s head?” you now have an answer:
Oct. 23, 2013: 5:00 a.m.
I’m in an office building. I’m following a young girl who is guiding me on a tour that involves a high-ranking military official. As I follow her I think: “I am lucid dreaming right … now.”
I break off from the girl, put my fist in the air, look up, and fly right through the ceiling and up, up, up. I don’t seem to be leaving the dream behind so I think: “Clarity now. Clarity now. Clarity now.” The dream dissipates around me and I find myself in a black void.
I feel as though wherever I am it’s at an incredible height. There’s a part of me that can’t believe I haven’t woken up. I think: “What is the meaning in life?” and I start falling.
During my decent I pass through all sorts of rainbows, fireworks, glittering ice particles (that don’t sting when you fly through them) … and then what I can only describe as childhood cereal boxes with cartoonish characters on the covers. There are words on the boxes, but everything is going so fast that it is hard to read them. Perhaps I pick up the word ‘linked.’
The entire time it sounds like I am in a casino and people are talking all around me. The voices are slightly high pitched in tone. I think: “Interesting. I must be doing something right. There is nothing negative here. Then I get slightly nervous, wondering if the act of pondering the existence of negativity would manifest something negative. That doesn’t happen, but I stop falling and realize that I’m still high above earth.
Still surprised that I’m conscious within my dream I think: “I want to see Yizhou,” [followed by my wife’s maiden name]. I am propelled through space, too fast to really even see what’s going on around me. I’m being hurled to some location. I look behind me and see an infinite blue cord stretching out and realize that it’s attached to me. I’m kind of taken aback by how long it is.
Finally I land, but I’m on some sort of puzzle board of the United States, and I’m in California. I’m on a map and it says my wife’s name. Underneath is a little red dot that is glowing and it says: “disconnected.” I get scared that something has happened to my wife and then realize that I said her maiden name. I shake my head and say: “No, I want to see Yizhou — my wife — in Arlington, Virginia.”
Immediately I am flying through space again like a ballistic missile. As I’m traveling I again think of the blue cord and can’t get over how long it is. When I land I’m on another map, this time with little cardboard houses. I get frustrated and start trying to read the lettering on the ground. I’m floating and can’t just walk like I normally do. When I try and stay still I levitate and sort of wobble around. All I can make out is “Lane.”
I start to float upward, but this time it’s out of my control. I grab a tiny cardboard house that was on the map and pick it up. I try to read lettering on the house and it says, “flick the white tab.” There is, indeed, a white tab on the piece of cardboard. I flick it, and then I wake up.
After waking I realize a.) I should not have said my wife’s maiden name because I ended up where we used to live in college, and b.) in my confusion I screwed up my wife’s location — again — because we used to live in Arlington, but she is now bouncing around due to medical school.
On some level I’m annoyed that I would screw up such a direct request, but on another I’m actually impressed that I was able to keep it as mentally together as I did, given how surreal the experience was. It would have been interesting to see what would have happened if I had I kept enough composure to get my wife’s actual address right.
Any armchair psychologists out there? If so, have at it.