by Gary Iverson

Created on: May 11, 2009

Lucid dreaming is real. How do I know? Because I am one of the people who dream lucidly. It is akin to feeling that something is 'a bit off', and you realize that you are supposed to be comfortably asleep rather quickly. I have experienced this sort of dream at least eleven times in the last two years. I did not realize that what I was experiencing had a name until a few months ago, when I grew tired of being 'stuck' in a dream-state. So, I did some research. Psychologists define a lucid dream as one in which the dreamer is fully conscious of the dream. I, however, have little control over the content, and that is the most horrifying part of it all. Unlike other lucid dreamers, however, I have the ability to move about while being trapped in the dream, much like sleepwalking, except with your eyes open and feeling terribly frightened. As it so happens, I have never had a friendly lucid dream, so to speak. My dreams have always been somehow unpleasant.

One may be wondering what a lucid dream really feels like. At first, I feel disoriented and confused. I hear and see things that do not exist, and I have come to cope with their nonexistence by returning to bed, listening and waiting. I believe that the wakefulness only lasts about five minutes, but it seems to be ceaseless. Another oddity in my lucid dreaming experience is that I have had lucid dreams during the day, when I become overly focused in something to the tone of which I 'slip out of reality'. It is a very odd feeling. Again, I see and hear nonexistent entities that overwhelm my senses. Lucid dreams during the day disappear much more quickly, perhaps because I am not technically asleep.

Some people find the concept of lucid dreams fascinating - they get high on LSD to experience it. From what I've researched, lucid dreams experienced while 'tripping' on LSD can be much more terrifying than mine; people have been known to commit suicide, after all. I fail to understand why someone would wish to experience constantly what I experience on occasion.

I simultaneously dread and welcome my next lucid dream. I loathe the physical and mental toil of the experience, but I also look forward to the symbolism that the dream may hold for me. I take pleasure in analyzing the dream and comparing it to my real life. I compare lucid dreaming to poetry: it is a love-hate relationship. I love poetry for its deeper meaning and beautiful language, but I also hate it for those same reasons. I am complex, and even though lucid dreaming furthers the intricacy of my existence, I relish in it, for lucidity 'brings me closer to me', if that makes any sense.

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