Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Sometimes Lucid Dreams Suck

NOTE: I consider the PG I dream about to be a different fellow from the real Peter Gabriel (the one I usually mention in this blog.)

I love lucid dreams, especially those with Peter Gabriel in them. Well, usually. There are times I wish he wouldn't show up. This morning was one of those times. I've cut down my Xanax to just one pill a day, so perhaps I can blame the dreams on Xanax withdrawal and not my sick psyche.

Yeah, right.

I had a series of nightmares and most of them were alike. In one, I had to clean a particularly messy bathroom and finally could take a break. Then three children robbed me of my Almond Joy candy bar. Quite annoying.

I then had a series of repetitive dreams. I was in a huge home with a stream running under it. It was filled with lots of valuable little artwork and suddenly all of these richly-dressed people with their glasses of wine and pearl necklaces and black satin suits swarmed the place and took off with everything.

I went mental. I was trying to get my stuff back. I remember fighting disgracefully and even setting one man on fire. I took one young woman's manicured hand and slammed it down on a tabletop just so the nails would break off. Then the entire house caught fire and we all had to run for it.

Then I suddenly realized that I was dreaming. Perhaps it was because I couldn't remember how I'd gotten such a large home or why there was a stream flowing underneath of it and where did all of this artwork come from?

So I had been fighting all of these people and inflicting pain all over nothing. Lucid dreams are rare things, and here I'd wasted my chance because I was too angry to realize that it was all a dream. Someone called out to me, "Would serve you right if Peter saw what you did."

"Peter wouldn't show up here," I snapped. "I mean nothing to him."

And the entire dream fell away like a series of thin curtains being hurled aside and when they were gone Peter was glaring at me, looking like in the image to the left. Only he didn't look angry. He looked sick with disappointment. I would've preferred the angry look.

He began to speak softly and eventually I had to just read his lips.

"You know," he said, "I'm beginning to think you're a lost cause."

I suddenly snapped awake. My head, back and guts ached. There was a numb spot between my shoulder blades.


It was only two in the morning so I thought I'd better get back to sleep. The most lucid dreams happen in the last four hours of sleep. I wanted to show that I wasn't a lost cause.

I was in a schoolroom, but I was the oldest and tallest student there. I could see people walking about but everyone else said that they weren't there. When I described them to my teachers, they were quite upset because I was describing dead teachers that they knew.

I had to make a speech in front of the class. The suddenly I thought -- why am I the only kid that is so tall and old? The teachers left the room. Then I remembered.

Everyone was looking at me because I had stopped talking. "My name is Rena Sherwood," I said, "and I'm having a lucid dream."

The kids in the front of the room looked shocked, but a few kids in the very back applauded. "Finally!" one said, smiling.

I said, "At this point, I'm supposed to ask where Peter Gabriel is." (This is a mental trick in order to not suddenly snap awake.)

"He's right outside." They pointed to their left out of the windows.

And there was Peter in a chocolate brown suit jacket and tie, looking like in the previous dream. All of the kids knew who he was and excitedly pressed against the windows, sticking their arms out to touch him. Peter laughed and shook their hands. I stood back, remembering how disgracefully I'd acted the last time we met.

A gap opened up with the kids and Peter looked directly at me through the window. He slowly smiled like a snake uncurling, inhaled and opened his mouth to speak.

It was then I snapped awake.

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