I just woke up. Of course, I mean I woke up half an hour ago, made a pot of tea, booted my computer, and started all of my desktop applications before opening up this window. I’m still in a sluggish fog, after too little sleep and before sufficient caffeine intake.
In between waking up and getting out of bed, I also jotted down what I could recall of the dream I was having. I’ve done this for a little more than a year now, writing in a spiral notebook which has become my dream journal. It hasn’t changed the way I dream or how much I remember later; it hasn’t given me any insights or inspiration. I’ve gone back to read past entries only once, and that was boring. Yet I continue the habit as a record in case I do have a prophetic dream one day.
Last night’s dream ended with me finding a notebook. I struggled to read the handwriting, but I could see a name and address. In the dream, I wanted to be able to return the lost item to its owner. Upon waking, I wanted to write down the details, but they quickly morphed and faded. If you believe our dreams are communications from an alternate reality, then we really need to devise a better transmission line, because the reception on this end is unreliable.
They say (and you know who they are) that one way to recognize that you are having a lucid dream is that text changes as you try to read it. They also say that you should practice looking for that kind of anomaly in waking life, to get in the habit of questioning reality. I don’t think that will work for me, because my eyesight is so poor. Text is blurry almost everywhere I look these days. Instead, I’ve begun to notice when objects in my dreams morph into something else. Usually this happens when I am struggling to carry or manipulate something and I want it to change. I do not question the change at the time in the dream, which is why I rarely consider these to be lucid dreams. It is only upon awakening that I remember the feeling of casual control over my environment, the matter-of-fact way I simply choose to remake my world, and wonder how I could not have noticed it at the time.
Or rather, it’s not that I don’t notice my power, but that I don’t call it a dream. I’ve dreamt about being able to levitate, and it’s never been a case of knowing that I was in a dream, but rather knowing that I was in another world where the rules were different. “In this world, I can fly,” is the thought which allows me to fly.
My dream journal is documenting what I see when I travel to other places. This will come in handy if I ever go back to the same place twice.