I had this lucid last night that has been giving me the blues all day. Nostalgic about my childhood and all :(
I'm excited to be remodeling a house in my old neighborhood. My father is driving me around the neighborhood to survey the houses. All the new construction in the area reminds me of when we first moved to town, when I was only six. I remember back to my first year in the new house. A six year old, exploring a new environment with that sense of wonder that only children can experience. Running through the half built houses collecting pieces of construction waste like treasures.
I am snapped out of my nostalgia by a kid running right in front of the car. I scream at my father who is obviously not paying attention. Our car buzzes by the child at full speed, missing him by less than an inch. I yell at my father, but he doesn't seem to have even noticed the child.
Arriving at the site of my new project, I realize it is the exact same house I lived in as a kid. The new family is already moving in, and I excitedly jump out to help them. I survey the house as well as I can, with people coming and going. I help move some furniture, and become friendly with the new family. I pay special attention to the two young boys who are moving in. I try to remember myself and my brother at their age, and what it was like to move into a new house. I end up babysitting these two boys while everyone else moves furniture.
We play with some bright green clay that makes a mess all over my hands. They show me to their new bathroom upstairs so I can wash my hands. It has been remodeled since I lived there. I try to wash my hands in the colorful red and blue plastic sink. Water pours out of the ceiling, and mists up from the sink basin. I realize this is a new children's shower that sprays the whole room to make it easy and fun for kids to shower. Embarrassed, I find the real sink just outside the bathroom. I scrub my hands and pump some soap out of the dispenser, but it just makes a bigger mess. The kids laugh at me. I realize the dispenser is an accessory for the clay we were playing with. It is filled with more green clay, and I've smeared it everywhere. I find the real bar of soap, and easily clean the mess up. I laugh with the kids, telling them, "This is the real reason kids love me. I do silly stuff like this. My life is like a full time clown act."
I return to the adults downstairs, and find them all busy except for one man. I know him as the owner of the house. He is sitting, cross legged in meditation on the couch. He is surrounded by balloons and streamers, like a birthday party. The breeze from the open door blows the decorations around lazily. As I approach him, I notice his skin is a deep purple color, and he is covered in glowing tattoos. From this side of the couch, I can clearly see he is not sitting, but levitating a few inches off the cushions. While remaining standing, I lift my legs off the ground, and fold them beneath me so I am floating also. He opens his eyes, and I ask him, "Are you working on your lotus position? I learned the same way you did. Watch the rhythm of the streamers swaying in the breeze. Match your breathing to the rhythm." I begin floating calmly around the high ceiling room, still holding the lotus position. I aim myself towards the balloons, and bounce off each one in series. I have a hard time keeping myself upright, and by the end of the exercise, I am tilted sideways at a difficult angle.
I feel guilty for having so much fun while others are working, so I land to go to check my list of things to do. Did I finish everything? My list is written in crayon on a ratted orange piece of kid's construction paper. I can't read a word, but I assume I've finished it all.
My best friend walks into the room right as I land, and I try to explain to her how easy it is to levitate. She doesn't believe me. I am so happy to see her. This whole experience has made me so sad and nostalgic. I curl up on the ground, holding her in my arms. Everyone else trails into the room, exhausted from the day's work. We watch a movie about a man and his pet grizzly bear called, "Smokey Bear and the Bandit." It is a terrible family movie, but I don't say anything because the children are present. My girlfriend comes to join us, and I suddenly feel guilty for cuddling with this other woman. I get up to explain, and hear a timer beep loudly.
It is the perfect reason to excuse myself, so I turn to the tattooed man and say, "I'll take care of it." He replies, "Those are my sweet potatoes. Could you just press Shift-1 on the microwave for me?" In the kitchen, I open the microwave to see a sticky mess of purple yams, with one giant one in the center that is richly decorated with jewelery. I try to find the 'Shift-1' button, but can't read the words on the microwave. The buttons look like holograms. I can barely see a shimmer if I angle my head to a certain position.
Frustrated, I return to the movie room, and say, "Ok, I feel like an idiot, but I can't figure out the microwave. The numbers keep shifting like holograms, or like... a dream...?" I continue out loud, to the whole room full of people, "Oh fucking hell. This is all a dream, isn't it? That's why I couldn't read my list. That explains the levitating." I look at the TV, and say out loud, again, "So this stupid freaking movie is all my fault? Smokey Bear and the Bandit? That's the worst joke I've ever heard."
I kneel down to my seven year old brother (he's seven in real life), and explain to him what it means to be lucid. He loves the concept, so I walk him over to the wall behind the stairs. I tell him to draw a door on the wall with his crayon. He outlines one, including squiggly hinges, and a crooked door knob. I tell him to imagine anyplace he wants to go. Anything he can imagine. I reach out to grasp the doorknob, but it is too slippery. He giggles and tries also. His finger punches right through the drywall, and he swivels the whole section of dusty drywall forward on it's crayon hinges.
Inside, is a small cubbyhole filled with lost toys. Transformers, action figures, old McDonalds Happy Meal toys. I pull them out and start playing with them, but my brother can't see them. I say to him, "Maybe you can't see them, because this is my dream. You can only see things that you dream about."
I get an idea, and walk him into the bathroom. We look at ourselves in the mirror, and I show him how strange things can happen in dream mirrors. I tell him, "We need a code word that we can remember when we wake up. Something to prove that we had this dream together." I try to think of one, and he yells out, "Abra Kablabara." I repeat it, trying to remember it. He seems distracted and bored. He runs outside, and I follow.
Outside in the driveway, everyone is climbing in a giant gold Cadillac Escalade. I try to remind my brother to remember the phrase for when he wakes up. I'm frustrated that he won't pay attention to me. He is playing with his dog, and suddenly turns into a dog himself. The two dogs sniff each other. I'm so frustrated with my dream world, I rip a hubcap off the Cadillac and start smashing it against the side of the car. I yell at people inside to get out of the car. I want them to stay here. I don't want them to leave.
I get a hold of myself, ashamed that I let the dream take over like this. I am very emotional, and I know I can't stay lucid much longer. I need to wake up and write it all down before I lose myself. I stand still, and press my eyes closed hard. I open them, and there is a black Honda Civic parked on the grass. Confused, I try again. This time, I really force them back open, and find myself lying in bed.
I don't recognize the dark room for a minute. It is almost pitch black, but something is strange. I am smashed against the edge of the bed, about to fall off. There is a tall post standing next to the bed that may be part of the bed frame. Disoriented, I try to remember the dream. I remember that I was in this house helping out. I must have spent the night while babysitting and helping move in. I know there are three or four people in bed with me, including my girlfriend's younger brother and my best friend. I'm worried about sleeping in such akward arrangements, apparently naked. I'm more worried about how I will write down this long dream. I know I don't have my dream journal here. I hold the dream in my mind, to lock it in my memory. I then prepare myself to go stumble through this strange house. I don't want to wake up the other people in bed. I am horrified about having to walk through this unknown house in the black night, trying to find a pen and paper.
I try to swing my leg out of bed, but it does not respond. It feels like I'm paralyzed. Or maybe it feels like sleep paralysis? I have this thought, and wake up into my real bed.
