Have you ever fell asleep and had total control of your dreams? Is what happens when you lucid dream, and when it happens — is it as if you are the architect of your own world, the director and Hollywood star of your own movie?
I have been lucid dreaming for years and the following are simple excerpts from those visits, which I am building for my new book.
Is this constant prodding to write or to type — from somewhere else?
Have I unknowingly been spotted by something connected by my Near Death Experience and it now visits when I dream? Has it always been here? It is all strange and sometimes frightening but I still have to sleep.
Now to begin.
When I was around five, my mother, a beautiful soul who believed in magic and all the mysteries it enshrouded, took me to a strange house out in the woods, I was told not to speak but simply to watch and follow strict instructions.
A shaman appeared out of the shadows dressed in white robes with piercing blue eyes, he looked me up down — from my small toes, to my small brown eyes and grabbed my thin arms and proceeded to rub a yellow coloured powder into the crock of my elbow and bicep as he chanted and stared deep into my eyes.
The yellow powder magically disappeared when I looked down to my utter amazement.
I was then quickly ushered into the centre of the room and made to hold hands with my beautiful mother who stoutly said “Keep your eyes closed, on no account open them!”
We held hands, my beautiful mother and I, our fingers locked tightly together, and as she steadfastly watched, I closed my eyes prompted by her squeezing my hands in a forceful rhythmic manner.
I assumed she must have closed hers and as the shaman’s tone of voice changed in accent and pitch, as all inquisitive boys do, I opened my eyes, one at a time. Moreover, no further than 20cm away from my face, the shaman was talking — speaking in a deep and strange sounding guttural voice.
A language I to this day, have never found out but still he talked, and all the while staring deep into my eyes – I still shudder when I reflect, but did that brief spot of having inquisitive eyes and bravery — save my life numerous times and in doing so, attracted something out worldly to me — who knows.
After the ceremony concluded, the voice gradually returning to the original pitch of the village shaman, my mother squeezed my hands once again, and I quickly shut my eyes, knowing she would be opening hers! She squeezed again and I slowly opened mine, shaking my head and staring at the shaman, who showed no signs of knowing my eyes had seen him talking.
I always thought he was hustling my mother by simply changing his voice, but as I grew, I came to realise, out worldly things do occupy the spaces between darkness and light!
My mother and I left that stormy day in the deep woods many years ago, and I never ever told her I had watched a strange village shaman, no more than 20cms from my eyes, utter strange noises as he stared me down.
I never got the chance to tell her if I could, for in later in life, we became separated due to even stranger circumstances, and she unfortunately passed away.
(My mother I later found out followed the old faiths, which are heavily imbedded in African cultures even to this day.)
Nothing bizarre started happening but when I had an accident aged 14, it all changed. I can clearly remember the smoke flowing all around me, billowing white and thick.
Fear was not felt and I seem to be within a never-ending pulsating column of golden rings. Rings seeming made of golden water, which I could see through — beyond them shrouded by the smoke, lay a golden river.
I can remember starting to rise within the rings, each separated ring, encircling me, constantly moving upwards within a continuous motion.
I thought I must have been dying and as I gazed beyond the rings, towards the golden river, large squares with moving images seem to fall as paper I ascended.
Videos of family and friends, images of people I loved upon their ever-moving surfaces. They fell distracting my attention as I ascended, the rings pulsing and seeming forcing me upwards.
When I reflect, were those images there to make me cling onto life, forcing me to fight by showing me my loved ones — filling me with the urge to return.
I was 14, slowly rising to my death, thoughts rushing through my mind.
One image burst past my eyes.
I had recently felt the enticing and mesmerising clutches of first love, the joy and soul bursting pride that follows, simply someone else recognising your own sovereignty. Its emotives filled my soul but it too fell like the others as I rose, I could still see it, shimmering upon the surfaces of the golden river, a visual encounter of my life, a beautiful girl staring up at me with beautiful eyes and like that, it too slipped below the surface and the golden waters enveloped it! My soul dropped.
I had reached the top, the surface seemed covered in floating murky clouds: I stepped forward, not afraid of anything. Just me – alone.
I stepped forward and before I could proceed — a figure stepped out of the grey mist, unrecognisable even to this day, and all it said was simply,” Go back it is not your time!”
I cannot remember anything else.
The dreams started.
Bright and vivid.
To this date, I have been involved in 8 to 10 major car crashes, electrocuted, hospitalized and within all those accidents, the probabilities of survival were minimal.
Crashes at rush hour, on a motorway with the van on its side and hurtling towards those huge lorries tires, knowing you are going to die — is scary I can tell you!
We hit the lorries wheels, the van bounced upright onto its own tires and we were facing the oncoming traffic, going backwards at around 70mph — eventually crashing once again, rolling over three times, eventually with me and everyone else stepping out unhurt without a scratch.
The other motorway crashes were equally scary but this one stands out — for when you know in your heart, that you are not going to make it, that in its self is truly scary — in that moment you pray! That moment I knew in my heart I was dead but I lived once again.
Did something intervene, was I followed from my Near Death Experience by something or was a magical protection charm rubbed into my arm years ago working — or was it a combination of the two!
Are you ready to visit the strange landscapes I have seen, strange sometimes-scary tales!
The stories have no specific timeline; they will just come as I remember them.
I always wondered if I had a guardian angel, and after reading that if you repeated a question before you fell asleep, it can help shape the dream state — I repeated the question in my head, “If you are listening let me see you!”
Repeatedly and then I dreamt.
(When I dream, no one has ever really stared deep into my eyes when lucid dreaming — when it happens, I know something is happening out of the phenomenon of the normal boundaries I have encountered.)
I am walking in a club, the music is loud, and people are dancing. I am lucid; the last thing I remember is asking to see who follows me! My always-watching guardian protector.
I push past the dream like characters thinking, “Do they know I can see them?” I never really look into characters eyes for I never really seem drawn to speak to any of them, unless something strange overcomes me, but in this particular dream — nothing is here or so I thought!
Wait, someone has glanced at me from near the bar, a person in a dark brown leather jacket, (As I write, this, my skin is tingling!) “Strange, is he here?”
He watches as I push past dancers, watching me striding through them with purpose. I look down as I step, and when I look back up for the watcher, he is gone! I shout, “Wait!”
I reach the bar, looking left and right, no brown coat, barman walking up and down still serving randoms.
“Damn!”I think as I slowly walk, passing a brightly lit fruit machine flickering with neon lights.
WAIT. I see someone’s eyes in the fading light staring at me, about five foot eight, mousey brown hair, brown eyes, looks about 14 / 15, brown leather coat, wearing a hat now!
“Is it you?” I shout rushing forward, and as I reach where he was stood — nothing! He is gone and the dream starts warping, folding in on its self as I question what I saw!
“Was it him, my visitor, guardian, protector!”
The trick I have learnt when lucid dreaming has backfired: the trick is that whenever I feel threatened, shocked or frightened — I simply think of the colour White and the dream stops.
Harebrained, when I am shocked or most likely scared to be suddenly confronted by what is in all terms, a ghostly apparition of SORTS — I must have unconsciously triggered my White trigger, imploding the dream within a dream but I did get a glance!
Strangeness, a young soul is seemingly watching over me! My flesh is covered in goose bumps as I write this.
“Is he reading as I type?”
(I may explore this further when I find the time in my never-ending schedules! Thanks for reading.