(Warning: one of my favourite topics. This will likely be the first post of many on dreams) 

Dreams. Usually fuzzy, otherworldly manifestations, where it is equally likely I turn into a frog, a cat, or a cheesecake.  Time flashes along or stays still, and the only constant is that nothing makes sense. 

But what if I could control my dream? What if I could tap into a power and make the dream an adventure? Introducing Lucid Dreaming! 

First off, lucid dreaming is the sense of knowing that you’re dreaming. While it’s estimated that more than half of us have experienced a lucid dream in our lives (like, for example, telling ourselves we’re dreaming to wake up from a nightmare), only a fraction of us have actually controlled ourselves during a dream. 

Lucid dreaming can be extremely effective to confront a nightmare. Alice Robb’s incredible book, ‘Why We Dream,’ explores dreams in detail, looking at how psychologists have utilized this technique. As she explains, trauma is processed in our dreams, and when one can learn to control themselves in a dream, it helps confront their traumas. When one learns to confront their monster/bully, often the nightmare disappears. 

Therapists often encourage clients to share their dreams and/or nightmares, as it can lead to uncovering untold or undiscovered emotions. In fact, many clients are all too eager to share their dreams in sessions. 

So, if we can learn to lucid dream, why don’t we? Wouldn’t nightmares disappear? 

Potentially, yes, but the problem is that lucid dream is very hard to do. Some try for years with no luck. 

Tales from my lucid dreaming journey

When I started (keeping a journal of my dreams and chanting several times per day in my waking life ‘am I dreaming?’), it only took four days before I had my first one.

I was in an institution, maybe a hospital, and I asked the receptionist if I was dreaming. Without waiting for her reply, I went outside to fly. I began to flap my arms like a bird and gradually lifted off the ground.

Below me, a homeless man ran after me, grabbing at my legs. Undeterred, I flapped and soared into the air above. After a while, I wanted to eat, and landed superhero style near an ice cream shop, but got frustrated with the line, and left.

Later I tried to strike up a conversation with some cute-looking men, but they ignored me. I began to fly again, this time way up into space, where I passed three astronauts, and one approached me and asked if I was lucid. He then pinched me, and I awoke. 

Not bad. Four days in, and I just might be a natural. I had full control of myself, but no control of others (who lines up for ice cream in their own dream?).

I manifested a person pinching me when it was time to come out of the dream. All in all, I was feeling pretty good about my newfound talent. That month, I would lucid dream twice more. 

Sadly, the pandemic hit, pulling the world into a crisis, and along with it, my ability to lucid dream. I assume it was stress that caused my blockage, and it would be five months before I could do it again. 

In a year, I’ve had only six lucid dreams. 

My most recent one was also my most productive. I was fighting with my husband, as he was asking for a divorce.

I was sitting next to him on the bathroom floor, feeling my heart break, when it occurred to me that I might be dreaming. I looked around for evidence, finding a knife, and plunged it into my stomach.

Instead of blood, watery mud emerged from my wound, with great relief on my part. I left behind my heartbreak and went on a flying adventure – showing a perfect example of the power of lucid dreaming to confront a nightmare. 

Risky, for sure. What if I were not dreaming and I had stabbed myself? I was not sure I was not dreaming, yet, I readily stabbed myself, something I strongly recommend to avoid doing  – particularly to beginners. 

For me, thus far, it’s a hobby. If you’re interested, learning to lucid dream is like learning to do anything new. It’s a skill, not dissimilar to meditation (for more details, try this article).

But, if you are someone who doesn’t remember your dreams (my husband, for example, swears he never dreams), learning to lucid dream will be much harder for you than someone who avidly dreams. Some people – such as elite athletes who have spent years crafting and controlling their minds, are naturally more gifted towards learning lucid dreaming. And, while I may have been swayed by a touch of beginner’s luck, turns out I’m only slightly more of a lucid dreamer than the average person. 

Tonight, in my dreams, I’ll try again.