Lucid Dreams

I had a pretty wild experience last night, as I was falling asleep. For a few years now, I’ve been experiencing “lucid dreams” on a regular basis. I was trying to describe what it means to dream lucidly to my friend Jim. Basically I understand it like this:

Have you ever noticed, as you’re drifting off to sleep, the beginnings of a dream? And upon noticing, you become more alert, and the dream ceases to exist? I think this phenomenon relates to asmita – the ego-functioning of the mind. We might also define asmita as the portion of the mind that identifies with whatever it perceives – the action of the subject attaching to its objects.

How does this relate to waking and dream states? When you’re awake, the ego mind is actively involved in the perception of experiences. But when you’re asleep, the ego mind is unconscious, and the subconscious and the remaining unconscious is free to express whatever it wishes to express.

For the most part, we don’t remember these expressions upon waking. When we re-assimilate the ego into our consciousness, we can only remember the impression these expressions leave behind.

Lucid dreaming exists somewhere between the states of waking and dreaming. It’s as if the ego pauses at the threshold between the two. The subconscious and unconscious minds freely express themselves, in the form of a dream, as the ego stands at the door, watching the spectacle unfold. Asmita is aware, but it is not attached to the objects of its perception.

The retention of ego-awareness has an extraordinary effect on the dream itself. The dream is rendered much vividly than normal – or at least more vividly than we remember it to have been upon waking.

Here is my “lucid dream” from last night:

My brother and I sat in an empty movie theatre, looking up at the screen, which was actually a porthole to outer space. The screen also served as a medium for the projection of our thoughts – a blank canvas. We were creating music. The music was a combination of different styles. It was a mix of techno and trance, with a low, repeating bass drum. Layered upon it were the gentle strums of a guitar, or perhaps a lute. The music was ominous, yet with a playful, haunting quality.

The strangest part of it was that I could hear the music as clearly as I would if it had been playing on the radio. It was incredibly crisp and all-encompassing.

Suddenly the dream shifted and I was boarding a yellow school bus with a group of monks. The monks wore red robes and all were lost in their own respective trances. The music was still playing loudly in the background, except now, the sound of all of us chanting Om was layered on top of it. Just as with the music, I could hear the Om as clearly as I could hear the music – I could even feel its resonance within my body.

At this point in the dream, I spotted a dwarf among the monks, and immediately I knew he was somehow functioning at a higher level of consciousness than the rest of us. I had a strong desire to drop to my knees and stare deeply into his eyes as we chanted Om, but almost in the same moment, I was overcome by the knowledge that doing so was forbidden, and by a force outside of my control, I closed my eyes and focused all of my attention on the sound of Om.

When I opened my eyes, the scene changed again, and now I was sitting across from a woman who excitedly reported she had just experienced the same dream sequence as I had. We were laughing and practically jumping with excitement over the sheer trippiness and cosmic nature of it all.

Eventually the dream dissipated and I returned to the darkness of my room. There were a few precious moments where I could still hear the compelling music I knew was the product of my creative mind. I sat in awe, trying to prolong the state as long as possible. But as my ego-mind became more aware of this desire, and more analytical of the remnants of the dream state, the music faded and then stopped altogether. All that remained was an impression of it – similar to the memory of a normal dream, yet different. Different since I knew I had been awake through the entirety of the dream, as opposed to being asleep.

So, what does all this mean?

A huge part of me wants to latch onto this and assume I’m receiving messages from the spiritual realm. The “scientist” in me wants to analyze this from a strictly material and psychological point of view. Yet another part of me is aware that all of these dimensions affect each other, and that the experience is an interplay among all of them, so forming any conclusion whatsoever would be a kind of folly.
I’m trying very hard to become more comfortable with mystery, yet maintain the same degree of curiosity and analytical reasoning. Surrendering to the unknown is not my strongest suit.